cried on the bus tonight, it was sunset and I was on the bus back from the supermarket and when we turned a corner everyone started gasping and pointing to everyone that the blue super moon was rising - everyone was taking turns looking down the isle and calling people to tell them about it. in that moment we weren't strangers and the moon was huge and it was orange and when I got off at my stop I stood and watched everyone also stopping in their tracks to take a photo or even just look. the same thing had happened earlier with this insane sunset. its the last day of winter and the way there was such beauty in the setting sun in the west and the rising moon in the west I don't know how to word it but it really makes me think there is good out there. like we are all connected through the beauty in thins and want to share that with whoever we can strangers or not. its times like these I just want to keep wrapped up under my bed for the days I don't feel like there's any left. at some point I will reword this to be more poetic but it was just such a moment; I haven't felt this human in so long . I need to make sure there is solid evidence it did happen even if its not the prettiest its here and it was real and I was alive to witness it

Letters To Munson

Synopsis: During the fresh years of high school, you pinned for your best friend. Years later, he finds out in the most...unconventional ways.

Word count: 1.4k

Dear Eddie,

The longer I stare at this letter, the more I’m starting to hate myself for even writing it. This isn’t a 70s romcom, I can’t expect you to read these one day–I actually hope you don’t. But, this is the best outlet for now. 

I’m just going to write it down so I can get it off my chest.

I love you. 

That felt weird to write. I love you should be saved for family, for someone who actually loves you back. I can’t help but think you wouldn’t. Sure that could be me fearing for my heart, but I’m not going to go into that territory.

Hopefully this will be the only letter I ever write and I can forget this ever happened.

—

Dear Eddie,

It’s not the last letter, because of course it isn’t. Why would it be?

Being in today’s campaign was fun. Actually fun. I couldn’t help but laugh when you looked at me funny for some of the questions I asked. Hey, I’ve never really played before cut me some slack. And tell Gareth and Jeff to shove it up their asses, my character was cool.

After the campaign was over, and you drove me home, I found myself getting more nervous. Why? 

Because you kept smiling at me. 

Your smile does something to me.

Stop that. 

—

Dear Eddie,

It’s starting to frustrate me.  Some would argue it’s creepy, which I can see why and now I’m starting to feel creepy.

Am I creepy? 

Personally, I want to say the opposite. 

I’m really just someone who’s in love with their best friend…and they can’t admit it.

Well, I did just admit it but 

Why can’t I ever say it to you? Why do I always freeze up whenever you look at me?

–

Dear Eddie,

Holy shit I’m stupid. 

I’m starting to stutter when I talk to you now. STUTTER! What am I, a middle schooler? 

God, this is so embarrassing. 

It doesn’t help I have nowhere to put these and my mom keeps almost finding them. I might as well buy myself a diary, at least then I can tape it shut.

–

Dear Eddie,

I really want to say this is the last letter I’ll ever write, and then I can finally throw these away and forget about this weird love letter phase. 

I can’t. I tried. I tried so hard yesterday to not write one, but it’s hard keeping this secret in, you know? Hell, maybe it’s not even a secret anymore.

Thinking about it is so easy. In my mind, I can yell out anything with no consequences and I can forget about what I even said later on. 

I can’t do that in person. 

–

Dear Eddie,

I love you. 

–

You found the letters while cleaning out your closet. The box containing them was made of wood, a broken lock on the front. You remembered buying it at a thrift store, hoping it would be enough to hide the letters from reality. It made you laugh, if anything. 

Freshman year, you grabbed a pen in anger and started to write your feelings down. The trend continued until senior year, when you had given up letter writing. The last letter you wrote was a small one, telling him goodbye. You weren’t really saying goodbye to him, perse, but you were saying goodbye to holding yourself back. 

Eddie still never found these, and you were grateful he hadn’t. 

A loud knocking sound could be heard from downstairs, and you knew it was Eddie. You agreed to go to another Hellfire club meeting, and he was ecstatic about it. A one shot that Dustin titled ‘The Great Dungeon of Terror’. It was Dustin’s first time dming for the club, and Eddie wanted someone else to witness it. You couldn’t say no to Eddie’s smile, after all. 

Before answering the door, you looked at the box in your hands, letters peeking out from the corners. Maybe it was time for you to finally toss them out. 

Opening your front door, Eddie greeted you with a smirk. "Are you ready for the grand excursion given to us by Dustin Henderson?" He asked, putting on a voice.

Rolling your eyes, you nodded. "Yes sir, Captain Munson." 

Eddie’s smirk grew wider, obviously appreciating the fact you played along. His eyes trailed down to the box in your hands, bobbing his head with curiosity. "What's that?" 

You shrugged. "Oh this? Uh, a box of letters I want to get rid of."

"Letters? For who?" 

He watched as you opened the box and threw out the contents in your trash can. "For the guy I liked in high school."

Eddie's expression deflated. "Ah, was it Carver?"

"Ew, no, what?" You scrunched your nose. "He's a prick and always will be."

Eddie looked satisfied. "Good answer." He patted your shoulder. 

–

The campaign went smoothly. Dustin had given everyone a challenge, a dragon with 5 heads–a bit cheesy and predictable in your opinion but you didn't say anything. He looked so proud of his creation, it would've killed his mood. Unfortunately, Mike's knight killed it with a critical move. Dustin slumped in defeat after that, but he became determined to overthrow Mike in the next game. 

Eddie offered to drop you off after he did so with the kids. You agreed. A bit more time to spend with him. 

You were a bit disappointed the night went by so quickly. 

"The kid's got potential," Eddie told you, his van jerking to the side. You were used to his maniacal prowess behind the wheel. "But he needs a bit more creativity. A 6 headed dragon? Really?" 

"Dragons are a classic," you commented, "He was probably starting slow. You're telling me you started out with something big and drastic for your first campaign?" 

"Yeah," Eddie nodded. "Demogorgon right on the spot. Boom." 

"I think that's just your style: Explosive." 

"And that's why we play DND! For the explosions, for an outlet." 

"You're just mad Dustin nearly killed your character," you taunted. You heard Eddie scoff. 

"He did not nearly kill my character, that was a fluke." 

"Uh huh," 

"Don't look at me like that." 

You snorted. Banter between you two was always a joy. 

"Seriously though, I'm glad you came." Eddie said, sweetly. His voice vibrated in your ears, and your face became warm. 

"It's no biggie," you mumbled, "You guys are fun to be around. I'd rather be in a Hellfire Club meeting than a basketball game." 

"Ever thought about joining our little group? Always accepting new members," Eddie offered. "Though even if we weren't I'd find a space for ya." 

"I've really been thinking about it," you responded, Eddie's eyes lit up.

"Yes!" He hit his steering wheel with joy. 

–

After Eddie parked his van into your driveway, he asked. "Who were those letters for by the way?" 

You blinked at him. "You mean the letters I dumped out?" 

"Mhm." 

It took everything in you to prevent his name from slipping. You bit your lips. "Someone I knew and liked." 

"Ah, yes, that narrows it down." 

"Just drop it, okay?" You laughed nervously, "Why do you want to know so bad? The last letter I wrote was 2 years ago." 

"'Dear Eddie,'" you heard him say. Your heart dropped. 

(I can't expect you to read these one day–I actually hope you don't.)

"Wait–" you faced him, crumpled paper in his hands, "Eddie don't–" you reached for the paper but he lifted it from your reach. You hated the fact he was taller, even if it was only by an inch. You gave up, placing your face in your hands. 

"How long have you had that?"

Eddie chuckled. "You dropped one as you were dumping them in the trash can. I wasn't going to read it, I swear, I just…saw my name on the top. Usually you read something when you see your name, yeah?" 

Your mind went haywire as you tried to figure out which letter he was reading. There were so many possibilities, the most embarrassing ones were at the top of the pile. 

What made the situation worse was how desperate the letters sounded. Especially freshman year, when you were just figuring out the weird feelings in your chest, and why you felt so clammed up when he walked beside you. 

"You figured out the mystery then," you said, voice small, exposed. 

"...not entirely." Eddie stated, "There's one more clue I need to know." 

"That would be…?" You inquired, your heart was pounding. 

"Do you still feel that way?"

"And if I said yes–" You glanced at him, he was still scanning over the letter, as if he couldn't believe it was real. 

Eddie locked his eyes with your own, his smile soft. "I'd kiss you."

~

|Tags:|

@gonuclear , @masterofmunson , @ghosttownwherenoonegoes , @mediocrityexpert , @flamingo-writes

(Let me know if you want to be apart of a tag list!)

SENTENCE MEME JACK'S MANNEQUIN / EVERYTHING IN TRANSIT

what's a girl to do with friends like this?

she let me drive her car so i can score an eighth.

my hair is growing long.

we can live like this.

if you left it up to me, every day would be a holiday from real.

we'd waste our weeks beneath the sun.

we'd fry our brains.

it's so much fun out here.

i'll come back for another year.

the rents are high and [city]'s easy.

it's a picture of perfection.

you sure look fine.

you wore my favorite sweater.

being poor was never better.

let's screw this one up right.

that's when i spend the most time thinking about what i've given up.

this is a warning.

i'm writing you a symphony of sound.

this mix could burn a hole in anyone.

it was you i was thinking of.

i read your letter.

you said you meant it.

there's a piece of me in every single second of every single day.

tell me how it got this way.

i can't get to you.

this is my mixed tape for her.

it's like i wrote every note with my own fingers.

i had to give you away.

sometimes perfection can be perfect hell.

i swear i didn't mean for it to feel like this.

every inch of me is bruised.

can you make this last?

i am finally waking up.

you haven't shown your face here since the bad news.

i'm unraveling with every word you say.

just think of all the thoughts wasted on you.

all i taste is blood between my teeth.

i'm ready, so don't stop.

i am aware i've been misled.

i disconnect my heart, my head.

when did society decide that we had to change and wash a t-shirt after every individual use?

i need caffeine in my blood stream.

my life has become a boring pop song.

i'm done.

the ending got twisted around.

i've got friends who will help me pull through.

i'm dulling the day with a drink.

i'm far too unstable to settle.

i don't know what you could possibly expect under this condition.

this night's a perfect shade of dark blue.

have you ever been alone in a crowded room?

the world could be burning down.

this flood is slowly rising up and swallowing the ground beneath my feet.

tell me how anybody thinks under this condition.

as the water rises up, the sun is sinking down.

now all i can see are the planets in a row.

we were boxing the stars.

finally i'm letting go of all my downer thoughts.

in no time there'll be one less sad robot looking for a chance to be something more than just metal.

she's so good.

she's no good for me.

why treat him like he's dead?

i've found someone to dull this lonely scene.

it's biblical how fucked my sleep can be.

i would never lie to you.

whatcha sad for?

this hurts like hell.

i had that dream again where i was lost for good in outer space.

tell me how to shake a waking nightmare that is only worse when i am sleeping.

i am losing feeling.

i'd prefer not to be rescued.

i'm following myself just this once.

i'm finally numb.

say you'll miss me.

i'm sweating out excuses that would make your stomach turn.

we filled our cups and lit one up.

maybe we were made for each other.

is it possible for the world to look this way forever?

i didn't realize i'd gona crazy.

i didn't catch my bloody nose or that my heart tried to explode.

some people never change at all.

we're still the same impulsive drunks we were when we were small.

someone get this man to a hospital.

you can breathe.

the rain's the rain.

i deconstruct my thoughts.

this fishbowl life is all they need.

i'm slipping into the airwaves.

the static's where you'll find me.

the gold-soaked afternoon comes slow.

something's not so right inside.

don't panic, there simply is no need.

Archived blog post by Optical Atlas about "2nd Imaginary Symphony for Cloudmaking" and hand drawn Music Tapes t-shirts

[copy below, in case link would not work]

In 2002 Julian Koster of the Music Tapes notified those on E6 Townhall that he was going to begin selling CD-R copies of his upcoming albumThe 2nd Imaginary Symphony for Cloudmaking. A little while later he came through with a first shipment, and fans received a CD-R with a strand of Julian's hair just hanging out from under a label depicting crayon-colored clouds. Because of a long delay in shipping the orders, he sent a hand-drawn "Friends of the Music Tapes" tee-shirt with each package. Julian also mentioned that he had so much fun sending out these packages that he was considering self-releasing the album instead of sending it out via Merge Records. He told us that what we had was a rough mix, and was already becoming more layered and complex as he worked on it.

My wife and I sat down to listen to the 2nd Imaginary Symphony on September 11, 2002, finally turning off the television after endless retrospectives that featured the same footage of planes crashing into the towers. The album begins with a little bit of singing saw, and a narrator--not Julian, but the sort who might narrate one of those old Walt Disney storybook records for children--tells us the story of a young boy named Nigh who follows a mysterious older friend to a factory that produces the clouds of the sky. Apart from the saw (which succumbs to a lovely crescendo in the finale), there's no singing, and no songs. But it's quintessential Music Tapes.

A little while after that we received a second package, a second CD-R, and two more tee shirts. Apparently Julian lost his first shipment list, found our letter, and send one tee shirt for my wife and myself, thinking we hadn't received the first one. I gave the CD-R to my brother-in-law as a birthday gift; I don't believe he ever listened to it. The tee shirts we haven't worn, and they're a bit wrinkled in these photos because for a couple years they've been tucked into a dresser. Now they're hanging up, and I'll have to iron them and take one out on the town when the weather gets warmer. It's almost four years since Julian sent the CD-Rs out, but last August Julian recently posted at the Townhall to reassure us that more Music Tapes material is coming, including the official release of the 2nd Imaginary Symphony. He wrote: "Hello, hello! Goodmornings, afternoons, and evenings to you all! I just wanted to share with you all that the song album is being mastered in early September, and has in fact left the womb, and though I love it very much It is now time to let it go lead its own life. The final version of the story record has already been mastered, and is worth waiting for (rather than seeking out the early versions i promise). There will not be any word on release dates untill early fall, so I'm afraid there IS still a wait before you, but much shorter than those you've grown use to." In the meantime, I know some have been curious to see what the shirts* looked like, so here are some photos. The most elaborate shirt features the following text (all grammar and spellings are "sic"):

"Late August, corner of W. 80th St. and Amsterdam Avenue in New York City. 2000 and two. And old woman in a rain slicker is loading most of her belongings into a trunk on the street. Her belly is full of Hominy Grits. She learned the recipie from her Grandmother as a little girl. She still remembers drawing pictures with her bare Fingers in the Steam clouded windows accross from the stove. She still remembers fealing warm and Safe. How her grandfather could make a spoon float several feet in the air above her, without even lifting a finger. He seldome Spoke, and never Smiled. This parlor trick was the Sole means of Communication between them. I hope she doesn't mind me writing all of this down. She does Not know me, nor I, her. I am familliar only with the warmth that traveled A million human miles and took the care to visit her image upon me for even the briefest of Moments. She will load her trunk intoo the Caboose of a Great passenger train. She will fall in love with a man her own age. Together they will invent a methode of playing the piano that allows for the Storage and Compartmentalization of time. In this way they will begin the Capturing and preservation of indevidual moments. They will build themselves a Workshop in a functioning German Clock tower. They will begin with the preservation of random moments, and eventualy find themselves drawn mostly to moments of sentimentality. The Old Woman sits and blows on her fingers. It's winter. Her hands are cold. She Plays a moment from her childhood. A windy day, the Sun filters through the clouds. It's 1920. There is a great wind, and the mustache of a distinguished gentleman is blown clear off his face. The moustache, a trimmed handlebar, takes flight, Flapping through the air in a birdlike fashion. It is soon joined by the moustaches of Several other men. The wind blows and blows. The moustaches, now numbering in the thousands, migrate Southward for the winter. The old woman stops playing. The Old man walks over to her and Smiles. They love each other dearly. In time they will run out of moments of their own sentimentality to distill and preserve. And so they will begin to detail yours. At 1st you will apear to them in dreams. Only when you wear this Shirt. They will coment on their common dreams, and begin to compare notes. In their dreams they will always try to read this Shirt. They will never succede. My Writing is too small and illegeible. My spelling to difficult to decode. They will grow fond of you, and look forwards always to the next time you put on the Shirt. They will share with you your moments of sentimentality. Play them over and over again on their Piano. In time you will come to feal them....and Never again will you feal alone."

*On the subject of Elephant 6 shirts: lou2ser wants your E6 tee-shirt photos for his flickr archive. His shirts are less wrinkly than mine.

(x)

MY WEEK

CLAIRE SWEENEY

The bubbly actress and singer meets a rock legend — and gains a guitarist

This has been such an exciting week because I've just found that Brian May from Queen will be playing on my new album. I have finished recording the vocals, and one of the tracks is Too Much Love Kill You, which Brian wrote about Freddie Mercury when he died. I met Brian's partner, the actress Anita Dobson, a while ago and told her that I really loved the song and used to perform it on the cruise ships. She suggested I send Brian a tape, which I did. I wrote a little note with it, which was a bit cheeky of me, but I was so chuffed when he wrote a lovely long letter back. He said he thought I had brought something else to the song -- and that he would love to find the time to play on it when I made my album.

Shortly after that I met Brian for the first time at a music awards ceremony and I got really emotional talking to him. I told him it's such a beautiful song for an actress to sing, as the lyrics are so special. That's why I'm so thrilled and honoured that he will be adding a guitar track to my recording. Not only that but he has asked me to be in the studio when he's doing it. It will be great to see the master at work. I can't play the guitar at all but my friends who can say that a Brian May guitar solo is the most distinctive in the business.

From now on I'm going to be busy promoting the album. There will be quiet a bit of telly work and I'll be out and about singing, which I love. Whatever happens with all this, I am so delighted to have been given the opportunity to sing all my favourite songs on an album with a huge orchestra. The chamce to record at Abbey Road Studios doesn't come your way very often either. And I must give special thanks to the Music Sculptures team who have done such a brilliant job with producing.

As well as all the album work I will be celebrating my birthday on Wednesday. That makes me an Aries, so I'm allowed to be a bit fiery and impulsive. I'm not sure what that'll mean for my birthday celebrations (last year was my 30th, and that was quite a bash) but whatever happens I'll let you know.

I usually like my presents to be surprises, but this year the most brilliant gift has come a week early. Brian, I don't know if you will see this column — but if you do, thanks ever so much for making one of my dreams come true.

~~

MY WEEK

CLAIRE SWEENEY

The bubbly actress and singer meets a rock legend — and gains a guitarist

You may remember that a couple of weeks ago I wrote about how thrilled I was that Brian May, Queen's legendary guitarist, had agreed to play on my album. Well, that moment arrived this week and what a brilliant experience it was.

Brian is such a lovely man, very unassuming, very gentle — and very tall. He towers over me! I was amazed to see the transformation that takes place when this gentle man straps on a guitar and suddenly blasts out pure rock'n'roll. Just hearing him play on the track I'm singing, Too Much Love Will Kill You, which he wrote after Freddie Mercury died, sent shivers down my spine. It was fantastic. He's so professional and such a perfectionist that he wants to come back and add some more to the song, which is incredibly kind of him.

I've been busy working with a team of songwriters over the past few days as well. Although I've said we've finished most of the album, we're still doing a few last minute changes and adding things. I've even been writing some lyrics myself, which has been great fun.

I was at a charity auction last week where I met the very talented deigner Matthew Williamson, who has designed clothes for the likes of [...].

[Photo caption: Claire gives Brian May a thank-you hug after the guitarist played on her version of one of his songs]

For much of 2001, I was without internet access since my computer had died, and being poor, it took until Christmas 2001 to get a new one.

Two days after the September 11th attack, I used the spousal unit's work account to get in touch with a mailing list of a smallish group of Doctor Who fans to which I had previously been subscribed to process the events of 9/11. I printed out the e-mail I wrote and filed it away. Last month, while digging through some paper files, I stumbled upon it again.

While I was nowhere near events in New York, being stuck in remote West Virginia, this letter may be an interesting time capsule to events of that day . . . a sort of "Where Were You when JFK was shot?" thing. I have scrubbed this account of most personal identifiers, and substituted a tumblr handle for my brother's proper name in this account. Some things have not aged well (see the comment toward the end about the then-mayor of New York City) but presented warts and all to give an accurate picture of my mindset two days after a nationally traumatic event.

And so, from September 13th 2001:

It's good to be back. I wish that it was under happier circumstances. The last three days have been utterly unbelievable. While I had imagined for several years the possibility of some kind of terrorist attack on US soil, the sheer coordination of this attack was not something I had envisioned outside of some sort of technothriller or would-be summer blockbuster film.

I really haven't had much of an opportunity to talk my way through what I'm thinking and feeling. I've gone into the mode I go to whenever there is a death or accidentally. [I generally allow myself one brief flash of verbalized anger or grief and then clamp down trying to make sense up (often senseless) things. I think that whether by temperament or cultural conditioning, I've been inculcated with the desire to keep a stiff upper lip In the face of outrageous tragedy. ] By yesterday afternoon, I had become almost completely emotionally withdrawn, and I don't feel anywhere near normal yet. So, This post to the mailing list is going to serve as a bit of therapy for me, so I'm going to ask for your indulgence.

On Tuesday morning at about 9:15, my brother called me from his ex-girlfriend's house to tell me that two planes had crashed into the World Trade Center. I grabbed a videotape and turned on the news coverage. [Back in 1986 when the Challenger exploded, the neighbor hood kids back home video tape the coverage and we went over it again and again looking for things the network commentators missed. So once I could afford video equipment of my own, I developed a tendency to do similarly to compare the accounts.] So, prydonianrenegade and I are on the phone commenting on how the fact that the second plane crashing into the second tower makes it look like a definite coordinated attack, and I speculate that whoever did this probably had to have the help and support some foreign intelligence service, that this looks too well planned to be the result of the activities of just one small terrorist cell, and we wonder where the hell the US intelligence was before this happened.

Prydonianrenegade and I get off the phone — he to walk the several blocks to his apartment so that he can keep from running up his ex-girlfriend bill. I get off to call the spousal unit and leave a message on voicemail. About 25 minutes after my brother first called me, the Pentagon has come under attack. Shortly thereafter, my brother and I get back in contact. His cable is dead, but he has found a radio station in his area that is airing the BBC World Service newscast, and I relate to him what I'm getting from my one fuzzy network affiliate. "This is war," he says an hush voice. " "Of course it is," I reply. "There's no way the US military establishment (let alone the political establishment ) is going to tolerate an attack on it's headquarters. And the people won't stand for it either."

About 35 minutes after my brother first called me and I started recording, I see a shot of only one World Trade Center tower surrounded by a huge plum of dust and debris. I think, shouldn't there be another tower there or have they switched to a camera angle that obscures the other tower? Then comes the announcement that the tower has collapsed. I report that to my brother. "It's WHAT?!?" he asks. "It's gone," I say. "One tower has completely and utterly collapsed." And I hold the phone up to the speaker so he can hear the coverage directly. And I'm standing there shaking my head and openmouthed shock. "Jesus f*cking Christ. Oh, f*ck." And my voice is breaking and the merest trickle of tears began to form. "It's f*cking gone." And I think of how many hours it took to evacuate the building during the 1993 attack and realize that there is likely thousands of people who have just died, and I think of how horrifying and traumatizing it must be for the people on site. [I'm almost in tears again just reconstructing and recounting the event.]

And I realized that there is no turning back from the precipice. A new page of history has been turned. There will all likelihood be war, a long war against a barely visible, barely defined enemy, and it won't be a six week "Nintendo-generation friendly" war. This will ultimately be a war that will have barely foreseen ramifications and repercussions not only for ourselves, but for our allies and for the rest of the world. Individuals and countries are going to have to decide where and with whom they stand. Those towers going down sealed our fates in the years to come.

Already, the public mood is becoming ugly.

That afternoon, a mentally unstable man threatened international students at Mountain State University (CWV's new identity) , many of them are from the Middle East. Local and national talk radio hosts and their callers are stoking each others passions to frighteningly reprehensible levels, even more so than during the Clinton era. [I am fairly convinced that to get a job and talk radio, 1 has to be phenomenally ignorant about history, politics, and foreign affairs. And to listen, what has to be even stupider.]

On the other hand, I have been surprised and impressed by Mayor Giuliani's grace and restraint during all this. We need leaders who can not only project resolute strength, but also calm the passions of the mob for the blood of those perceived to be related to those who committed these heinous acts.

I must confess that I am worried, worried about what our quite justified fear and anger will lead us to accept in the name of security.

[One of the reasons I had the spousal-unit resubscribe to the mailing list from her account was so that I could read and gain the benefits of the thoughts and opinions of intelligent, sensible people in this time of crisis.]

I tell you to meet me at the airport. I get a flight that lands before yours will so I can meet you there. it’s a little complicated but I find you, and you use my second charlie card and we get on the train. we hold hands. you’re not used to the transport system here, but this was why god gave me a second card anyway and it’s named after the protagonist of your favorite book (doesn’t it all just make sense?) I keep my arm around you and tease that shouldn’t portland have prepared you for this and you push me, laugh. we check in and drop our bags in the room. it’s only one bed and we hug, my hands in your hair, so grateful that we can do this again, that we are together after so many years. I tell you how I’m worried I might just be a crutch for right now. you tell me I’m not. I tell you it’s okay if I am.

we grab something to eat on the street as we head out to the show. it’s amazing. you look so fantastic, face lit up, silver-eyed, as he sings. we cry together at one point, the whole crowd too overwhelmed by this poet. I’m so glad I found you I’m so glad I found him I’m so glad we are here. you are clinging to me like this won’t have an end.

and after the show we go out and drink and flop down together on the bed later, dizzy and affectionate, and we don’t have sex. we hold each other and fall asleep. in the morning I wake up to sunshine and curls, warm kisses, your call for coffee. I know where to take you for it. I take you around the city, along the river, by where I lived and where she lived. I tell you my stories and you tell me yours.

(- there is a shrinking piece of me from sixteen that stays confused, about why we wouldn’t eventually end back up together through some trick of fate. she tells me so many stories of how it could happen. I take her face and tell her every time that we will never see you again, not in this life.)

by the time you read this he will have returned after a week’s worth of being strange and distant. the boy i thought id never see again, and i can feel the tug on my sleeve of the girl from august. her hair is tucked into a different headband, she is running running running to catch the train and then the bus, three modes of transportation one after the other, just to meet the figure in the dark, at the beach.

but that poem i wrote, it wasn’t about L, it was about M. so it turns out that M was the one to meet me that night under the stars, he admitted to falling in love with me that night, but i didn’t know it was him, so i said the poem was for L. because L was the first. i love your poems but why can’t you say it out loud. i want you to say it out loud. L isn’t listening. i was so sure that i’d added good looking by suki waterhouse to the playlist for L but i searched and it wasn’t there, so i added it today. most of the time i don’t believe when people compliment me. but i do that anyhow. i notice his beautiful beautiful eyes, gray from one angle and blue or green from another, with a touch of brown in the center. i wrap his arms around me and ask to feel his muscle. that’s what the girls in books do. i tell him that they’ll be swarming him, how lucky i am to have a boyfriend so handsome, so strong.

he wasn’t wearing the ring last time because it wasn’t his. it wasn’t, i gave the ring to M. M still knows me as his wife, at least in a metaphorical sense. earlier this week, in a fit of lovesickness, i folded up the love letter he wrote me and stuffed it in my wallet. it ripped a little bit and i had to tape it back together. if i were one of those corny poets I’d say like my heart. like my heart had to be taped back together after the first time L left. and i did the math in my head and i had not seen L for more than six months. the end of august was the gosh-just-look-at-the-sky. shortly before my previously impromptu night rendezvous with M, J had answered the phone. she was fronting that day and told me to take care of myself. we’ve texted a bit since then. of course, i love L, i’d never tell him to go away and let someone else out. but it makes me wonder sometimes if L has forgotten that he loves me too.

***

(The following is about L)

it’s the morning after. things are considerably better, i say that genuinely. working backward now, i dropped him off at his usual stop and he kissed me and told me he loves me just before. this morning he woke up in the other bed (just because his back hurts when sleeping on my mattress). we had our morning ritual. we hold each other in the morning just as we did the night before. heart to heart is actually impossible, because when you hold someone their heart is on the opposite side, but chest to chest isn’t bad either.

he almost left last night too, in the cold and the rain, and i said sit down. hold on. eat some rice. i don’t know why the stereotype is true, about asian moms and passing down to their firstborn kids their way of cut fruit and food as a love language. he did as i said. it was raining too when he got off work that evening, selling jam, and i picked him up. ironically I’d listened to “goodbye earl” that morning, and you know how that song goes with the dead boyfriends. i can’t kill my darling though. even if i ever tried. i bought the strawberry Thai chili jam; he played pretend and asked me what my name was. i said i’d forgotten. and oh, what they say in love songs is true. it takes mere moments to fall in love with someone all over again.

i wrote something while listening to s2 of the magnus archives

-

(The following is a transcript of the audible parts of corrupted tapes found in The Magnus Institute's Archives.)

-and whenever I'm around someone too long they start to... forget. That's why I needed you to write that note for yourself, just in case it happens to you too.

Alright. I will just read the note for the record. Ahem.

You are taking a statement of Mariella Scout, about a phenomenon where people around her start to experience short-term memory loss. Whenever you forget, please add a tally to the space below.

Signed,

Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist

You may begin.

(The feed cuts out.)

-I thought I heard someone say her name was Agatha or Agnes or something like that, I don't recall...

I'm sorry, how did you get in here? This place is off limits.

(The first voice sighs.) Just read the damn paper, I'm sick of having to explain myself. And don't say you don't believe me, because I know you do. Just let me finish talking.

...

Oh. I- er. I'm sorry, do continue, Ms. Scout.

(The feed cuts out.)

Hey, this place is-

Off limits, you're not supposed to be here, this is a private institution, blah blah blah. Mr. Sims, why don't you ever read your letter first? Just, you know what?

(The rustling of paper can be heard.)

I'll tally for you. Since, you seem to keep forgetting.

Oh. Okay. Do go on Miss...

Scout, Mariella. Jesus. And so-

(The feed cuts out.)

And. That's it.

That's... what? I'm sorry, this is-

(A loud groan can be heard.) Off limits! Archive! Gah! By far, you are the most *annoying* person this has happened to. Most people just shrug it off, but you? You keep asking! In our half-hour conversation, you have forgotten why I was here twenty-three times! Most everyone only forgets once or twice or, if they're unlucky, maybe a dozen but- but-

Miss...

It's SCOUT! That's it, I'm done. Just. Bye, Jon.

(A door slams shut.)

(The feed cuts out.)

-ou're still here? It's half-past six.

Martin? What- I just got here. It can't be more than two o' clock.

Oh. Uh, that's not good. They said her side-effects would wear off in an hour.

What side effects? Who's-

One of the people you took a statement for today. You wrote a letter for yourself on your desk.

I don't rememb- (The sounds of rustling paper.) Oh. Well. That explains it.

Here, I have a pen. Let me add to the tally.

I've forgotten almost thirty times?

That we know of. She said you stopped tallying at one point, and she didn't stop you.

So. Why do you remember her?

If you'd listen to her statement, you would know it only happens to when she's around people physically. Recordings and such, you can still remember.

Then, why am I...

I don't know. Sorry.

(The feed cuts out.)

Why've you brought a second tape recorder in?

Jon? Did you forget again?

Sasha, what-

Oh, good lord. Ever since that statement you took yesterday, you keep forgetting things. I'm using this tape recorder so that you can listen to yourself.

And, who told you to do that?

You.

Oh. Go on, Sasha.

(The feed cuts out.)

Ugh. My head...

Jon? Hey, you're awake!

Tim? But- the worms- Prentiss, she was just here, we have to-

Jon! Jon, wait! You've forgotten again.

What?

Prentiss is dead. They incinerated her body months ago. Hell, her ashes are on your desk!

What are you talking about? Last I remember, this place had *thousands* of worms.

Oh, for God's sake, *look*-

(The feed cuts out.)

-y name? Jon... what's my name?

I- I don't- The place is o-

(Three people say this at the same time.) Off limits!

How many times has he forgotten, Martin?

...A hundred and fifty seven.

Jesus.

God.

Jon doesn't want to be taken to the hospital so, I'd say we just. Take shifts watching him.

That's... unethical, to say the least. I vow we take him to-

Since, when did you care about ethics?

Well, I-

(The feed cuts out.)

-don't think he can even walk down the street! He forgets ever two minutes and-

Mr... Blackwood? Mr. Bouchard?

Jon! I thought you'd gone mad by now, Christ. How are you feeling?

I'm feeling... why am I in the Archives?

You're- you don't remember? Do you know the name Sasha James? What's his name? What's my-

Martin.

Sorry, Elias.

Jon, who's Head Archivist?

Uh. Ms. Robinson? Gertrude, I think her name was. Saw her once.

Oh, fuck.

(The feed cuts out.)

-t's getting worse! Why won't you let us take you to the hospital, Jon?

I'm- I'm not injured? Tim, where are...

We're in the Archives. Gertrude Robinson is dead, you're Head Archivist. You don't trust me because you think I murdered her, for some reason. You forgot Sasha. Elias' first name. Hell, one time you forgot *milk* existed.

And you are...?

Fuck!

(The feed cuts out.)

Hey, look at me. Your name is Jonathan Sims, you work at The Magnus Institute as an Archivist. My name is Martin Blackwood, one of your assistants. You're not at college. Stay with me, Jon.

I... this is all really hard to believe, you know?

Yeah. I do.

...

You forgot again, didn't you?

I-

Your name is-

(The feed cuts out.)

Mum? Please, where- where is she?

Jon. It's okay. She'll be here soon. Stay calm.

(The feed cuts out.)

My name... my name is... Jo- J-

Take your time.

(The feed cuts out.)

-AAH! Wh- what? Martin? Where's Sasha? What-

Prentiss is dead, here's her ashes. You've been forgetting things, Jon.

Who's Jon?

(The feed cuts out.)

His memory keeps fluctuating. Sometimes, he can remember his name, our names, where he works... Sometimes, he... it doesn't seem to be as worse as before. He isn't calling me his Da, after all.

(The feed cuts out.)

This is going to hurt a little so, I want you to just... start singing.

Oh. Uhm. Okay. Mister...?

Call me Martin.

Okay.

In three, two, one-

(The feed cuts out.)

Ugh. What the hell? Where-

Jon?

Martin?

You remember me! Holy shit! Wait, what position are you in at The Magnus Institute?

Head... Archivist? Martin, what?

It worked! Yes, yes, yes! Oh my god, I'm so glad you're okay.

(The sound of clothes rustling.)

I- you're hugging me?

Sorry! I'll back off if-

No, no, it's okay.

Oh.

Thank you, Martin.

(Tape ends.)

𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 | 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐠

𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚: druig x gn!eternal!reader

𝗦𝗨𝗠����𝗔𝗥𝗬: the reader and druig used to be in love, but everything had to break apart when the eternals separated at tenochtitlan, both druig and the reader going separate ways. but one day, while cleaning their house, the reader finds the letters druig used to write to them.

𝗞𝗘𝗭𝗜𝗔𝗛 𝗦𝗣𝗘𝗔𝗞𝗦: so this one is, sad. It even has a sad ending, and also, this is longer than most of my other fics. Feedback is always appreciated!

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦: a bit of fluff, but it is mostly angsty, with a sad ending- im sorry 😭

I finally find the last box and set it onto the floor, making a huge sigh escape my lips in tiredness. I have been procrastinating on cleaning out the boxes in my cabinets and cupboards for weeks, and I finally found some motivation to do it.

The stuff in the boxes hasn't been touched in so long, and when I moved here I didn't bother to organise it. It's just random things which don't have any place in my organised cabinets, but I want to see what all stuff I have in here, and maybe try to decide to throw the useless junk away.

I rip off the brown duct tape which were keeping the flaps of the first box in place. I carefully lift aside all the four flaps to look at the contents in the box. It's just small souvenirs I have collected from my trip to Hawaii last year. It was a big trip; around 2 weeks and I brought a huge amount of stuff from there.

I inspect around the contents to see seashells, jewellery made from seashells, keychains, a few books, t-shirts, quilts, and even a ukulele. Ukuleles are extremely popular in Hawaii and I decided on buying one, even though I haven't played it even once.

Once I come to know this is all Hawaiin stuff, I set the first box aside. I pick up the second one, this one a medium sized one and not really heavy. I look around the cardboard of the box to see if I wrote anything on it, but there is nothing written. I pull the tape and look to notice envelopes sitting inside.

Confused, I pull out the first envelope. It's slightly yellow in color, the yellow becoming deeper on the edges. I open the flap and pull out the paper resting inside.

The paper is also yellow like the envelope, and it is also even crinkled. I smoothen out the wrinkles and read the black handwriting scrawled over the paper.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

My lovely,

Nothing seems to calm me down as much as your fingers softly running through my hair, ridding me of all the despairs in my heart. The way you intertwine your fingers with mine always makes butterflies erupt in my stomach.

I love how every morning you await with a basket full of fresh blueberries for me, and we both sit in the tree house munching on the sweet blueberries while attempting to delve into the deep secrets of the world.

Everyday I find myself falling more in love with you. It's an honor knowing you, and an even bigger one getting to call you mine. I hope to fall asleep every night with you in my arms.

Yours forever,

Druig

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

Druig.

I read the name over and over again.

Over centuries ago me and him had a thing. Well, it was more than just 'a thing'. He used to feel like my everything. The perfect person to confide into whenever I feel troubled about things in life. The perfect person to spend my eternal life with.

But someone rightly said; 'all the good things are supposed to come to an end.'

And what we had also came to an end when all of us Eternals separated at Tenochtitlan.

When we separated, I was in my worst stage. The shoulder I used to rest my head on whenever I needed it wasn't there with me anymore. I didn't have anyone who could be by my side all the time. It all shook me deeply.

But slowly, I evolved. I grew. I learnt to be my own shoulder at the times of my despair. I learnt to wipe my own tears when I didn't have anyone to wipe those for me. I learnt to pick myself up whenever I fell down. I became independent, and I forgot about my past life as an Eternal, and what me and Druig had.

Until now.

I have the letters sitting in front of me - letters whose imprints I removed from my mind with deep struggle - and now everything comes back at the speed of light and the work and effort I put in the past years goes to waste.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

Babylon

I skip along my steps, the basket full of blueberries held by my hand firmly trying my best to not drop any one of them. I reach Druig's hut and softly knock against its door.

In a few seconds, a grinning Druig is standing in front of me. He intertwines his fingers with mine and with his other hand he picks a blueberry and pops it in his mouth.

"Hey!" I exclaim, pulling the basket back. "If you eat all of them now we won't have anything to eat at the tree house."

Druig shrugs. "I can't help it they are so sweet,"

I shake my head at him, and both of us continue to walk to the tree house. With the help of Phastos, me and Druig made the tree house together. It was hard, but the end product was pleasing enough.

We reach the tree house and climb into it. It's not really big, but it is big enough for me and Druig to fit in. We sit inside, the view of Babylon spread out in front of us. Druig begins to eat the blue berries from the basket, and so do I, as both of us sit in silence and look at the view in front of us.

I rest my head on Druig's shoulder, feeling him lean his head softly against mine, with our fingers perfectly laced amongst each other. I feel him squeeze my hand three times.

I love you.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

Isn't it funny how you think you have met that one person who will be there by your side no matter what? Who will love and support you always and always. But I never realised even the deepest, most intricately woven relationships also come to an end.

After we all separated, I wanted to run back to him. Being away from Druig was too much for me. It took me so long to evolve from the pain, and I hate to see myself unravelling right now just because I read a letter.

I peek into the box in front of me to see there are more letters in it. Should I read more, or should I not? I contemplate in my head. I decide to read one more, the damage has already been done.

I open another envelope and begin reading the words on it.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

My lovely,

Remember when Ikaris and Sersi got married? It was one of the most beautiful things you had ever seen. Seeing them vow to each other, both of them bound by love almost brought you on the verge of tears.

I want to promise you vows too, love, like they did. I just know you and me are two pieces from the same soul, and we will always be together, no matter what.

So, I, Druig, vow to always love you and be there with you through all of your ups and downs. I promise you an eternity of love and support. I promise you that we will never lose our spark and I will always do little things which make you smile.

You are my forever, and let's face it, I would be hella lost without you.

Yours forever,

Druig

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

The crinkled letter begins to get crumpled in my hand as my fingers hinge closer to each other. Two smooth tear lines make their way down my cheeks, and I, full of pent up anger and sadness throw the crumpled up letter away from me.

How dare Druig promise me to love me for an eternity, when right now, we could be miles apart from each other, not even knowing about each other's whereabouts? That day, in Tenochtitlan, Druig went away. He didn't take me with him; he left me on my own.

There are nothing but lies in this letter.

He lied to me from the beginning. He never actually cared for me. And I was a fool to believe he actually wanted to provide me love for an eternity.

I was a fool to find myself knee deep in his "love".

I was a fool to even think me and him is a possibility, because it clearly isn't.

Tears and sobs continue to rip out of my dry throat, which continues on for some time before I find myself beginning to relax a bit. I wipe the tears from my face, and pick up the box of letters from the ground. I throw every single letter in that box into the bin, including the one which I crumpled up.

Because Druig doesn't have a place anymore in my life.

And he never will.

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TAGLIST: @gloryofroses19 ,, @awkwardfangirl2014

Plat!Yan!Chrollo x Autistic!Reader x Plat!Yan!PT - Soulmate AU Part 1

This is largely self indulgent writing, as I know that very little of this niche exists, if any. The reader here is largely based on myself and my own thoughts of the world, but I hope others enjoy my writing. I have no formal education in writing, so if you have any advice for my writing style, please feel free to send it in.

This idea was largely inspired by the lovely @kiame-sama, who wrote this concept with a romantically yandere Chrollo, though I am aro-ace and changed it just slightly for my own writing. I hope to continue this series with more parts, but they may not all follow the same story thread.

This part just includes the body swap.

-----

You were never going to make the best impression on your soulmate. Or at least, you could never make the best impression on their friends, and that was what mattered largely to you. Talking to people would never be your strong suit, but at least on your end you had many months and other friends to keep your soulmate entertained. Waking up in a stranger's body, talking to other strangers about all details of their life? Horrible.

It should have been a comfort that there was a small yellow flower tattooed just below the date on your back, indicative of a platonic soulmate, but the idea that you would likely be expected to spend time not just with your soulmate, but with their friends as well threw you off so incredibly. Your soulmate would surely need the patience of a saint to deal with you, at least according to most people you speak with about your soulmate.

Your preparations for the switch were over now, all things embarrassing put away for now, some good food prepped, and a letter you had written taped to the inside of your bedroom door. For now, you were going over the final rules for your friends who were under strict instructions of exactly what they could and could not speak about with your soulmate. Even though they chuckled under their breath about your extreme caution, at this point you had to trust that they would follow what you said, since your switch was just minutes away.

Your closest friend, Jo, assured you that they would keep the rest in line. Knowing their authoritative personality and intimidating aura, you were much more reassured that things would go well. Even as you got up to leave, they were giving everyone their famous evil eye to keep them quiet.

Heading into the bedroom, you laid down, only to realize that your breathing was coming short and there seemed to be not enough air getting in your lungs. Were you seriously having a panic attack just before your switch? You tried to calm yourself with the breathing exercises you had been taught, but there was little you could do, which only made your panic grow faster.

You had only seconds to spare, and the reality of the situation hit you with the force of a freight train. Keeping your eyes open, you took one deep breath to hope you wouldn't ruin everything on the spot.

Everything changed in an instant, the position of your body, the tension of your muscles, the temperature and smell of the room. And the last thing to hit you, the fact that your soulmate decided to switch while driving on a highway.

Internally, you felt a massive surge of panic, outweighing the mild anxiety you had been feeling by a landslide. Until you realized that the body you were in appeared to be functioning on its own.

It was common knowledge that during the switch, there was no change to the body's ability to understand and speak languages, though you wondered if you were among the first to find the same thing applied to driving skills.

Slowly, you brought your breathing back to a calm, knowing that a meltdown right now could spell things much worse than humiliation. Once you felt ready enough that you wouldn't cry the second anything moved a moment to fast, you looked up to the rearview mirror to take in the inhabitants of the car.

Seeing the body you were in -- your soulmate -- was jarring, but he didn't appear immediately scary in the mirror. He had slicked black hair, wide eyes the color of granite, and wore a black trench coat with white fur that was open to show his bare chest underneath. But your attention was quickly drawn from his reflection to the fact that there were others accompanying you in this car.

Sat next to you in the passenger's seat was a woman with bright pink hair and a stony face, staring straight ahead at the road, who didn't appear to have noticed that there was any difference in her driver's behavior. Taking up the back seats were three men, one blond with a babyish smile, another blonde much taller than the first with a toughened look about himself, and a man with long black hair tied back looking grumpily out of his side window. All of them gave off intimidating vibes, almost putting you off of speaking at all.

After a few moments of quiet driving, it became apparent to you that these people weren't going to notice you until you spoke up. You were grateful for the time to prepare your first words, but with the menacing energy all these people gave off, you had to put your minimal understanding of conversation to its maximum.

"Ah... This wasn't quite what I was expecting..." Not the best opening line, but at least you had begun to announce your presence.

It was the pink-haired woman next to you who first responded with a questioning hum.

"I'm not sure who this is, but whoever they are, I'm their soulmate." That seemed to incite a reaction from the entire car.

"Soulmate!?" The black haired man jumped from his position, his grumpy mood dissipated and replaced with confusion mixed with excitement. The two other men were looking between themselves, while the woman's face somehow got even tougher, glaring towards you with something that you assumed was suspicion.

"Hah... I'm about as surprised as you are!" You tried to add some joy to your tone, hoping that matching their excitement would somehow dispel the situation faster. However, they continued to glare at you, and you began to wish that you could sink away into the seat, though there was very little that would help with at this point.

It's almost deathly quiet in the car for just a few moments, before all hell breaks loose. The others in the car were yelling questions at you, and yelling in general at each other.

"Would you lot calm down!?" The woman seemed to be your ally here, "If you keep this act up, we're gonna scare his soulmate off before the switch is even over!"

"Why wouldn't the boss have told us about his switch? This isn't like him in the slightest!" The black-haired man was clearly upset, though you weren't sure if he was angry at 'the boss' or at you.

The woman hushed him by saying that 'the boss' likely meant this as a test, which only served to confuse your perception of these people further. After a few moments of whispering between themselves, they finally turned back to you.

"So, who are you?" The rougher looking blond asked, not exactly setting a good tone.

It took you a few moments to even notice that he had even spoken to you, as the realization that your soulmate made seemingly no preparations for your switch hit you hard. Even though the day he would switch with you was embedded on his body, he had let you wake up in some random moment of his life, while you had spent months working around this day to get the best outcome possible.

"My name is (Y/N)," you introduced yourself carefully, not quite sure if you wanted to give your full name away to these people, "And who might you be?"

The four looked between themselves, completely ignoring your question. "No-one we know by that name."

They went further into their suspicious act, but were kind enough to also give their own first names before continuing their own interrogation. It was the baby-faced boy in the backseat, Shalnark, who asked the majority of the questions, he seemed to be very pushy and tricked you into giving answers multiple times.

The conversation was very one-sided, as you tried every trick you had ever been taught for keeping interactions equal, only to eventually realize that all four of them were working against you, using tactics for talking that you had never thought of before.

You were quick to become frustrated with their incessant questions. There were no spaces for the others to talk, leaving you feel like bug under a microscope as they stared at you. Eventually, it seemed that they were happy with the information they had gotten from you, which was a lot, including the full name you hadn't wanted to give them earlier, your home nation and your line of work.

Whoever these people were, they were good at interrogation, Shalnark especially good at tricking you with simple questions that he insinuated much greater answers from, which worried you for what these people could do for a living. If your soulmate was their boss, could he be even better at this type of talk? You didn't think you could handle conversations with a man that potentially intelligent.

Now that they were being less interrogating, you tried to take the opportunity to add your own questions, but you could only glean a few things from the way they answered. For one thing, the highway that you were currently on was on the same continent that you lived on, but a few countries over. For another, there were many more members of this group that worked for your soulmate.

Asking questions about your soulmate got a strange reaction each time, all of the passengers of the car taking a moment to look between themselves before giving you vague answers. His name was Chrollo, and as their boss, they didn't feel it was right to tell you too much about him, or so they said. You found that he was well-read, though they still refused to tell you much about precisely what he read.

It felt useless to try and pursue the conversation further, as you were nowhere near their level of smarts in conversation. To try and alleviate some of the tension you were feeling, you attempted to bring up lighter topics, asking them for funny stories, which they somewhat complied with. Although their style of telling stories seemed odd to you, as they left out a lot of details without prompting, but you were at least happy that the focus was off of you.

They told you stories of traveling around the world, and how they saw some of the worlds most gorgeous sights and expensive luxuries nearly everyday. You had to assume that they were embellishing most of it, but they made their lives sound rather fun, and you wondered if your own friends were giving Chrollo anywhere near as good an impression back home.

It had to have been at least an hour before another fear hit you, one that plagued you nearly everyday. From your perspective, everything was going well, they were laughing and telling stories not just to you but with each other, which indicated that they were happy with how how you acted. However, the fear that plagued you from inside told you that they weren't happy, that you had done something wrong and now they were laughing at you. Looking back on every word you had spoken, you felt almost physically sick, seeing every flaw in your word choice and tone in hindsight.

The passengers were looking and laughing between themselves and talking, so they didn't notice right away that there were tears gathering in your eyes, for which you were grateful. Just as suddenly as you were sat there, surrounded by happy voices with tears in your eyes, you were back home, sat amongst your own friends, who laughed perhaps even louder.

Once you came to and realized that you were no longer driving, and in fact were sitting on your own couch with your own friends, the tears really started to run. The letter that you had spent so much time carefully writing was clutched hard in your hand, but not so much that it would crumple or bend.

You quickly stood while mumbling an excuse, rushing to your room as your friends called after you. It felt odd to be back in your own body, the smells and sounds of everything hitting you horribly clearly. There was very little you could do to keep yourself from getting overwhelmed.

Your friends had already been prepared for what to do if you were overwhelmed coming back from your switch, but that didn't stop their concern for the way you were acting.

"Hey, (Y/N)? You okay in there?" Jo's voice came through the door, and you were grateful that your closest friend was here for you. "The others are all gonna start heading home now, but I'm gonna stick around. I don't want you to feel alone at the moment."

With a quick confirmation from you from behind the door, Jo headed to get some rest in the living room. Practically falling into your bed, you pulled the weighted blanket you had gotten as a gift over yourself, staring up at the ceiling as all of the feelings of excitement and fear finally crashed down on you.

-----

Thanks for reading!

Bad Timing III

A/N: Okay. This one has it all: action, betrayal, confessions, concussions (again), snark, and an ending that is neither happy nor sad, or maybe you make it what you want it to be :) This was so different from anything I’ve written and I want to say thank you everyone for reading it and motivating me to continue loll

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

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I’m surprised to find Harry on my doorstep this early on a Wednesday morning. At first, I think he’d cracked the case. But he looks like he’d just rolled out of bed, a stubble roughening his usual freshly shaved face. He didn’t look like he had good news.

“You look rough,” I comment. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” he blows his cheeks out with a breath. “Ab-so-lutely nothing, literally. I’m hitting a dead end with your case and I feel like shit about it.”

“So...you’ve decided to knock on my door at quarter to 8 and? Discuss the case with me?”

“Well I...not exactly.”

“Did you want to come in? Maybe go through some more of my private boxes?” I ask. I was being petty, making him feel uncomfortable. But I also wanted to just put it out there, so it didn’t hang above us like the rest of our past. The last thing I wanted from him was pity, so if I had to make him feel guilty instead I would own that.

He blushes, just like I knew he would. “M’sorry about that,” he mumbles, looking appropriately self-conscious. “I could do with a coffee if you have some?”

“You look like you need one but...I’ve got to head out soon.”

“I’ll give you a ride in,” he offers. “I...we can just talk about the case. This can be professional.”

My laugh is brittle as I open the door to let him in, like a stray I knew I would regret. “Nothing about this is professional.”

He walks right in through to my kitchen--he knew where it was by now. I put on another pot and the awkward silence settles in. This was exactly how my friends described interactions with their exes, I guess I was truly living the life of a divorcee and it was all very mundane.

“So, did you have a guest over?” He asks. I raise an eyebrow and he motions to the two cups sitting on the table.

I roll my eyes and pick them up, “Great observation skills, Detective.”

“It’s my job,” he rolls with the sarcasm, cracking the ice we’d found ourselves in again. He takes a seat at the table and begins, “So the group that hit your bank hit up two more in the last week.”

“Two?” I was shocked. So many victims, I almost want to make a Bank Heist Survivor Group for us.

“Yeah,” he accepts the cup I pour for him. I sit across him with my second of the morning. The first I had drank with an on-and-off again guy I’d been seeing for the last few months--Alec. I never really let myself get serious with him, afraid to get hurt I guess. I knew he liked me, and he was good to me, but I didn’t want to make any commitments. This morning was the first time I let him stay for breakfast...after that letter it felt like something changed in me.

The letter...Harry...I focus back on his words as I realise he was talking to me, “...last one they’ve actually put someone in hospital--the ICU. If she doesn’t make it, it becomes homicide and-”

“Homicide?” Once again, I’m shocked. These people were really terrorizing the banks, and the police had no leads. Or at least that’s how Harry made it seem: “Any leads?”

“Um, I probably shouldn’t say-”

“So that’s a no.”

He looks up sharply before a small embarrassed smile softens his gaze. “Nothing serious.”

“That sounds like a load of useless shite you lot are doing at the station. Three banks and you’ve got nothing?”

He avoids answering, taking a sip of his coffee. “There are some leads, but the group’s really good. I just--I feel like there’s something staring me right in the face but I can’t see it.”

“What’s new?” I raise an eyebrow. He lets out a short laugh, shaking his head as he busies himself with the coffee. “What? I’m not joking.”

“This,” he gestures to me. “This snarky Y/N is a bit of an adjustment. I know you like your sarcasm, I just haven’t had it directed at me in a while.”

I cross my arms, maybe I needed to dose up my attitude so he knew I was 100% serious. When he catches on, he sets his cup down. “They’ve hit your bank up first yeah? I feel like there’s a reason for that, some personal connection maybe? Have you guys turned down anyone for a loan or anything recently? Someone that might want to target your bank first?”

“I’d have to check,” my mind begins to go over anyone we’ve had come in recently with issues.

“Oh!” He jumps in his seat. “The client you were meant to see--did you talk to him? I was going to ask you when you came to pick up the evidence but...”

“I was too busy to go.” I finish his sentence for him. “It’s weird actually, I called and got voicemail. I also emailed to apologise and reschedule but his office is away, I only get automated replies that they’re out of office or something.”

Harry pulls out the notebook he uses and asks me to write down their information, I was sure I’d written it down for him already but I write it a second time. I push the notebook back towards him, and he places his hand on top of mine instead of taking it back from me. I freeze, his large hand familiar and yet, heavier than I remembered.

“What are you doing,” I ask.

“I...want to apologise. For the other day.”

“Please let go of me,” I stare at his hand on mine.

“If I can just say-”

“Let go,” I say, slower. He clears his throat and removes his hand.

I pick up my mug, and move to the sink. Harry realises he’d overstayed his welcome and gets back up, throwing his jacket over his arm and hovering at the edge of the kitchen.

“Thanks for the coffee,” he says awkwardly. “And letting me think out loud. Should I um, wait outside?”

I remember I’d forgone getting to work on time on my own for his coffee and case updates. Fuck, this was going to be awkward. “Sure, I’ll just grab my things.”

He waits on my front stoop, talking on his phone and once he’s done we walk silently to his car when I join him. The silence in the car is deafening. I watch his hand twitch to the radio but he rests it back onto the steering wheel without turning it on. After a few more moments of silence, he speaks up.

“So uh, did you want to ask me about what you brought up...the day you came to pick up the evidence? You said you had questions?”

“Are you serious?” I look at him, incredulous. He really was incredibly thick if he thought I wanted to have this conversation now, after this morning.

“What? I’m just trying to make conversation and you’re the one that wanted to talk about it so-”

“Have I not made it crystal clear that I only want to talk to you about the case? What makes you think that’s a good topic right now?”

He shrugs, and I once again pray that the other people on his team were smarter than him because if he was the lead, my case was going nowhere.

“Can I just ask one question?” He tries again. I almost want to slam my hands on the dashboard but I sigh through gritted teeth instead and tell him he could. “Did you...ever actually read the letter? Last week...you sounded sort of surprised when I mentioned it.”

“I...” I consider lying. but I go for the truth which is a change for us. “I didn’t.”

“Oh,” he sounds dejected.

“I read it last weekend.”

“Oh,” he says again, slightly hopeful. “But this whole time...you didn’t know?”

“That’s another question.” I didn’t want to go into what I thought of him this whole time. “I only agreed to one question.”

“Fair enough,” he taps the steering wheel. We’d managed to get stuck in some traffic. “So that box I sort of looked into the other day...”

“I said no to more questions, Harry.”

“That wasn’t a question,” he says, neatly catching me in his trap. I glare at him, but his cheeky smile tells me he was slightly enjoying pushing my buttons. I make a mental note to never accept a ride from my ex-husband ever again.

We fall silent, and the letter plays through my mind again, I’d reread it a few times before I tucked it into my bookshelf. I’d decided after that, to take The Box and tape it up. I wrote my sister’s address and left it by my front door to mail out when I had the chance. It was time I let it go, I realized. My sister was having her third child, and I was so happy for her. I had people who loved me, and people I loved. I realised that I was holding on to the box and it was just torturing myself. I had enough torturous things in my life, I didn’t need to be one of them.

It feels like forever until Harry pulls up to the curb down the street from my building. I thank him properly, not wanting to be a complete bitch.

But as I walk around to the sidewalk, he calls my name. I turn back to him standing outside his car with his hand outstretched.

“You forgot this,” he holds out my umbrella. I sigh and go back to take it from him but he holds onto it.

“Are you going to let me have it?” I tug again.

“Yes,” he lets go and I have to balance myself on my back leg. “Thanks for taking me in this morning. And for the coffee...you didn’t have to, yet you did.”

“Don’t read into it detective,” I scowl. “It was purely to get more insight on the case.”

“Right,” he smirks.

“But since you had no insights, it was a waste of time.”

“Don’t say that so loud,” he hisses. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

“I’m not telling the people something they don’t already know.”

He narrows his eyes and grins, and my heart skips a beat. It was a familiar look, he used to look at me like that all the time. And I realise that maybe I’d just been flirting with him a little, albeit aggressively but...I drop my smile into a neutral expression. He notices the change and drops his own grin.

“I spoke to my supervisor and I’m going to set up in an empty room if that’s alright. I wanted to interview some of your staff, see if they had any clients who might want revenge by-”

“You’re coming in today?” I feel like he’d just pulled some sleight of hand trick on me, driving me to work only to come in with me. “I don’t know if my staff wants to talk.”

“It’s an investigation, they all agreed to further questioning when they gave their statements Y/N, I’m not going to be invasive. You won’t even notice I’m there.”

“I have no choice do I?” I turn around and begin walking up the street. He follows me in.

And surprisingly, I barely notice him in the empty conference room until after lunch when he comes in to tell me he would be back later, that he had to drop by the station for something his evidence team found.

I make a few rounds to my staff, make sure Harry didn’t disrupt their peace. That they were still okay after talking about the thieves. Being on the floor, my eyes continue to dart to the door, eyeing each of the customers.

I lock myself in my office for the last hour, channeling the nervous energy to get work done. It’s a few minutes before closing that I get the email. I rush to open it: the client I was meant to see finally responded.

Good afternoon Ms. Y/L/N,

We apologise for the delay in our response, our offices have been closed for the last week blah blah blah. We’re very sorry to hear about the events that occurred in your bank. As a loyal client, we would like to extend our sympathy...

I skip to what I needed to know:

To respond to your inquiry about the meeting we had scheduled, there doesn’t look to be anything on our end. I’ve spoken to the advisor personally, he had a flight out of the city that exact date so he wouldn’t have booked a meeting at the same time. I think this could be an error on your end but do let us know if there’s anything we can provide to help...

I sit back from my screen, my thoughts racing. I read it again to be sure and bury my face in my hands. I read it a third time to be sure.

Adam had specifically told me the meeting was at 10am sharp, the client threatened to switch banks if I didn’t attend. But if they never booked it...I actually had no reason to be there.

Except I was the only one who had access to the vault.

I stand up in a rush, this was an inside job! Someone I worked with knew who robbed this bank, they worked with them! Harry was right, the truth was staring at us and it was so obvious!

I take out my phone and text Harry: call me, the client for Thursday just got back to me...he wasn’t in the city that day?  I think about adding more, but I didn’t want to freak him out. This could be a big misunderstanding, and I didn’t want him to come here only for it to be nothing. I place my phone on my desk and take a few deep breaths to calm myself down.

I walk out of my office, most of my staff had cleared for the day. Two of them deal with the last customers, but my eyes are searching for Adam. I had to ask him more about this client phone call, what number had they called from? Was he sure it was from the correct offices?

But Adam is nowhere to be found, which was weird because he worked until 5pm.

I move to the staff room, but stop in my tracks when a familiar voice chills me to the bone. I knew the voice, it was the same distinct voice that haunted my thoughts for the last two weeks.

I peek around the corner, Adam and a muscled bloke stand right outside the staff room. My shock catches itself in my throat as my heart plummets; the inside man--it was Adam. Adam had betrayed us all. Shy, awkward Adam. Suddenly I remember all of his jumpy behaviours since the robbery, and all his questions about security before. I just thought he was trying to learn more about the bank. Little did I know...my blood boils but  I have to put aside my own feelings of betrayal when the conversation grows louder. I strain to hear.

“The phone and the fucking card are missing, you better not be the reason we’re found out!” The muscled guy with the voice jams his finger into Adam’s chest. Adam looks scared shitless.

“I swear, I looked through the evidence they returned. I-I gave you the phone back! They haven’t said anything-”

“But that one detective was sniffing around here this morning? That’s why you texted me right? What did you tell him huh?”

“I didn’t say anything, he hasn’t even talked to me I-”

“That’s right. Make something up, a crazy customer from the day before some shite like that. If you even look suspicious to him, I’m going to come over to your flat for a nice dinner and invite my friend with me.”

My eyes bug out when I see him shift his jacket to reveal the hilt of a gun. Fuck!

I reach down for my phone but I don’t have it, double fuck, I think. I left it on my desk after texting Harry. I was an idiot, a big big idiot.

I try to soften my footsteps as I walk away from the staff room but the conversation must have ended because their footsteps echo on the tiled floor. I push into the nearest door and lay flat against the wall inside. I’m so focused on listening for their voices that I don’t realise I stepped into the men’s room.

“-before I leave..” to my horror, their voices stop right outside the room I’m in. I look around and realise I was in the men’s room. My instinct is to hide in a stall but this was a one-toilet bathroom, there was absolutely nowhere to go.

In slow motion, the door in front of me opens and the muscled, gun-owning guy looks right at me. It feels like a Western showdown as we lock eyes and freeze.

“Hey...Adam,” the guy calls out to Adam who must’ve been behind him. Adam peers around his shoulder and tenses when he notices me. “She’s in the men’s room! Isn’t that weird?”

“I-Y/N...she usually uses the men’s room.” Adam tries to cover for me but my deer-in the headlights expression is enough to give away that I knew who he was. I was trapped in here like prey. Adam lowers his voice, “C’mon, just leave her here and go-”

“She’s seen my face though,” He steps in and I inch into the corner.

“Look, I can forget your face. We can pretend this never happened please, I really really don’t want to die in a men’s room.”

Tattoo laughs, untucking his gun from his waistband. “I don’t believe you. Adam, get some tape so we can tie her up. I don’t want blood on my hands but if you make any noise, I’m painting this room fucking red.”

I keep my mouth shut, and nod. I’m reliving the worst day of my life all over again as I stare at the barrel of the gun. A small part of me wonders how my life could hang in the balance of this man’s fingers, twice, but I stay silent.

“There’s nobody here, everyone’s gone home.” Adam says, more to me. Tattoo pushes me against the tiled walls and pats me down roughly. I protest but he pushes the gun against my skull and I fall silent. Adam tries to step in, offering to make sure I didn’t have anything on me like my phone but I was stupid enough not to have it on me. His friend steps into the hall and makes a call, I assume to his crew.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry.” Adam’s voice breaks as he pats me down gently. I turn to him, with tears in my eyes. I was scared, and I needed Adam to get help. “Adam please, please don’t do this. Whoever he is, the police can protect you I-”

“He’s my cousin Y/N, you don’t understand he will kill me if I go against him. It’s complicated--my family’s complicated. I’m not like them. Y/N I’m so sorry I swear he...” he falls silent as his cousin comes back in. Adam makes a show of taping my hands and legs. I try to whisper, beg him to try but Tattoo notices and shoves me against the tiles. I think I black out for a second because the next moment, he’s pressing tape down over my mouth. I feel the panic I’d kept at bay blow up in full force, along with an ache in my temples. My breathing comes out short and I squeeze my eyes shut so I wouldn’t cry. I was going to die in a men’s restroom; this was what my miserable life had culminated to.

I remember the text to Harry then, maybe he’ll come. With backup. Maybe he’ll save the day for once. And I think about security, they surely noticed I never left the building, maybe they’ll go looking for me.

But my hopes are dashed when a woman comes in, I recognise her voice as the one who’d pushed me into putting the code into the vault.

“The side door was unlocked,” she tells Tattoo. She notices me and smirks, “It’s like you want your bank to be robbed. Who leaves the side door open after hours?”

She laughs and turns back to Tattoo, tells him that the guards were down and the place was officially locked up. They bring Adam in, and check with him that he knew where I kept my passwords, that he could clear out any money still left at this time of the day. I don’t hold back then, my tears flow silently down my cheeks as I watch them all leave me in the dark. If the police still hadn’t arrived, I really was going to die here like this. I don’t know when, but I pass out, and when I come to again I’m being pulled up aggressively while a familiar voice shouts at the people dragging me. Was that Harry?

H’s POV:

The one time I leave my phone in my car, I miss the most important text of my entire career--my entire life.

Around 2:30, the evidence team calls me, there was a breakthrough on the phone and card from the scene. A few numbers, but they were still trying to process the application for the records. I decided I couldn’t sit around and wait so I drive to the station and rush inside, leaving my phone behind.

It’s a waste of time though, the number leads to a burner that leads to a local shop that leads to a credit card. And that leads to a warrant which could take hours. Two hours later and I’m frustrated and moody. I decide to get some fresh air, and check my phone but reaching for my pocket I realise it wasn’t there.

I head to my car and find it between the seats. When I turn it on, Y/N’s name stands out and her text pushes me to my feet and into my car. I call her three times on my way to the bank but it keeps ringing. Fuck, I think. What if something happened to her? How was it that it was now a second time I was rushing to where she worked, afraid for her life.

I pull up the closest parking spot I can find to see security locking up. I rush to knock on the door but he only glances me, points to the closed sign, and walks away disinterested. I was in plainclothes today so he must have thought I was a customer. I reach for my badge to show him, and realise I’d left that in my jacket in my car. I couldn’t get anything fucking right today. I bang on the door but he ignores me, and the people outside begin to stare at me.

“I’m a detective,” I try to reassure them but they hurry past. It was stupid but I squint to see if anyone was inside, but there’s not a single soul. I see movement cast a shadow at the very end of the room but I can’t see anything with the way the glass is positioned. I center myself at the front again but the security is gone--I was going to have to find another way in.

I move around the big block of a building, looking high and low for another entrance into the building but the next shop over is a cafe so I double back and try the other way. A wooden door sits between the bank and the purses crowded in the store window on the other side. I try the door but it’s locked. Of course.

I go back to my car and find my lock pick kit, picking up my badge was a good idea. Within minutes, I’m in and a sterile hall greets me. I try the door on the left, but notice the keypad. After some bad guesses, I consider who set this: Y/N. I try her birthdate, her family’s birthdates--as close as i could remember. My feet tap against the tile rhythmically when the door knob turns right in front of my eyes. I dash to the side and huddle in front of the next door, rattling my keys as if I were trying to get in. Luckily, that door is unlocked and it’s a utility closet. I rush inside and peek through the crack; a man comes out and holds the door open while a woman opens the door I just came in from.

“It was unlocked,” she says skeptically.

“Shite security, just come in. When’s Russ getting here? He’s always the bloody last of us anywhere.”

Something was very wrong, I realize. But I don’t have time to think, I jump out of my hiding spot and manage to slide my hand into the closing door. I nearly crush my fingers but I nudge the door back open and slip into the bank.

The area’s clear, I move in to investigate. It’s only when I move from the hidden passage to the main lobby that the weight of the situation dawns on me. A different man wraps the security’s hand behind his back and pushes him against the wall. Push was nicer than what it looked like, he practically drags the guard into the wall.

My shoes squeaks on the floor and he looks up sharply, eyeing the area I was peeking out from. I crouch down, next to the trash bin and wait for his footsteps to leave. When I peer around the corner again, a familiar face paces behind the desks. Adam, I think it was, Y/N’s assistant.

It becomes clear in an instant, like a timelapse of a foggy night clearing into a bright blue sky. It was right in front of my face: Y/N’s assistant. The one who’d asked her to come in for a made-up appointment, the one who knew her exact schedule, the one who was jumpy and nervous every time I spoke with him. I thought he was just a shy kid but...he’d betrayed Y/N and been the inside man for these robberies.

I take my phone out, ready to text someone for backup but voices coming my way forces me to stop what I was doing. I press myself against the wall, trying to make myself smaller.

“I think she’s knocked out-”

“Don’t hurt her,” That was Adam. I recognised his cowardly voice. “We wouldn’t have gotten this far without her just, leave her in the bathroom. We can take everything and go.”

“You don’t have a say what goes on around here,” the woman says to him. “Your puny arse is why that detective was sniffing around here anyway.”

“She’s seen all our faces,” one of the guys says. “I’ll do it after you go.”

“She won’t remember, please.” Adam tries again. “Leave the charges at robbery, don’t add murder. She’s my boss I...”

The blood rushes to my head: his boss. Y/N was here, and they were casually talking about killing her? I take my phone out just as it begins to vibrate. I jump and manage to stop it in time, but my badge--the one thing I’d taken from my car purposely, clangs against the metal trash can.

Footsteps rush towards me and I stand up with my hands up, “Backup’s on the way, I suggest you lot put down-” they were all pointing guns at me. Bollocks. “your weapons.”

“That’s the fucking detective,” the one I’d seen tying up security waves his gun at me and I try not to panic. I wasn’t involved with a lot of guns, just the wounds they left in victims. I listen to him swear, “Backup yeah? I don’t hear shit. How did you even get in here?”

“I told you, the door was unlocked. The security here is shite.” The woman says, eyeing me. “I say we tie him up with the bitch and skip out now.”

“We haven’t even taken everything, this idiot doesn’t know the passcode-”

“I told you it changes every week. She must have changed it today.”

“Adam, how could you?” I speak up and all eyes-and guns-are back on me. Adam opens his mouth like a fish out of water but nothing comes out, I watch as he squirms and his group moves closer to me.

“Phone,” the one with tattoos points to the device in my hand. “Check his phone, if he called backup it would be on it.

I curse, they were smart. They’d robbed three banks after this and hadn’t left much behind--I should’ve known to be better prepared.

Someone takes my phone, another comes around and shoves the gun in my back which forces me to walk out into the lobby. They go through my phone and snicker at something. type something in and then toss the phone in the trash can beside us. I balk at the sound it makes when it crashes; the gun in my back pushes me forward and I’m forced to walk down the lobby, through a door and up to the men’s room.

“Wake the bitch up,” one of them men speak behind me. “Tie this one up and get her to open the safe with the new code.”

I knew I was outnumbered, they push me through the door and Y/N’s body is curled in one corner. The freshly pressed clothing from this morning are rumpled around her frame and she looks unconscious. The one who tied up security tapes my hands around my back and pushes me beside the sink.

“Don’t touch her!” I struggle against the arms who hold me back as the tattooed guy hauls her up and slaps her face.

“Wake up, it’s show time.” he shakes her. I push against the body pressing me down as they take Y/N out of the room. Her eyes flutter open and catch mine before she’s dragged out.

“I swear if you guys touch her I’ll snap your neck in half,” I can’t stop the panic turning into rage. “She-”

“Are you sleeping with her or something? Shut the fuck up.” The woman kicks the back of my knees and I fall, hitting my head as I crash down on my knees. She closes the door behind her.

I don’t know how much time passes but it feels like hours. The next time the doors open, they shove Y/N inside and she stumbles. I jump up to help her but with both of our hands behind our backs I accidentally lurch forward and her head bumps off chest.

“God! Harry!” She winces. “Way to hit the one part of my body that already feels like it’s going to explode.”

“Y/N,” I steady her with my chest and lean down to look at her. “Are you alright? Did they do anything to you?”

“Other than terrify, harass, and manhandle me? Oh, and give me another concussion...hm...”

“Here,” I motion with my chin. “Turn around, I’m going to get this tape off of you and you help me.”

She does as I say and I use the sharp edge of the ring I wore to make a small tear.

“Holy shit that’s better,” she shakes her hands out and gets to work on mine. As soon as my hands are free I try the door, there was a slim chance but we were in a restroom. I had to try. But it’s locked. Y/N speaks up from behind me: “They lock from the outside if you have the key--they probably got it from security. I don’t know who I angered in a past life but this is some shitty karma.”

“There’s got to be a way out of this room,” I wasn’t about to give up.

“There isn’t. But shouldn’t there be, like, backup coming?” Y/N takes a seat against the wall, watching me explore every inch of the tiny room.

“I...no. They took my phone before I could-”

“You came here without telling anyone? Even after the text I sent?” She shoots daggers at me.

“Well your text wasn’t exactly screaming danger!”

“I really have no fucking clue how you got your position Harry, surely anyone else would not be this dense.”

“I’m trying to find us a way out of here, this isn’t my fault! And anyway, it is your assistant that’s set this all up,” I say defensively.

“Sure know how to pick the men in my life, don’t I?” She says, but quieter. Seeing her bruised and hopeless there fuels me to look harder for a way our but after a frantic search, there really wasn’t anything in this place. No window, no vent big enough, nothing to pick the lock. I find a first aid that’s mostly empty, but there’s still an ice pack, tape, and painkillers inside. I crack the ice pack and hand it to Y/N who takes it silently, and then I slump down against the wall opposite Y/N and hang my head.

“What do you reckon they’re doing out there?” she asks.

“They were going to clean the place out and skip town.”

“Do you think we’re gonna die here?” she asks, her voice wobbly like she was about to cry. “Don’t. Don’t look at me like that, I’m just...asking.”

I look away from her face, her expression crumbling under my light scrutiny. She sniffs. Without looking at her I say “We’re not dying here. I told my guys to call me when they have something, and if they can’t reach me it’ll be suspicious enough to followup at least.”

“By the time they grow suspicious enough to track you, we’ll be dead. I’ve not got much faith in your team.” Y/N crosses her arms. Even under these circumstances, she’s fierce.

“They’re close to a breakthrough. It was them calling me that got me caught out there actually. Not even the call itself...my bloody badge clanged against the--it doesn’t matter anyway. But they must have something, they’ll be here soon. We won’t die in here.”

I felt more than hopeless stuck here. Out of the two of us, I was supposed to be the one who could make their way out of this type of situation. Months of training and years of experience, and here I sat stuck in a bathroom with the woman I gave up on.

“What a way to go,” she sighs. “In the bloody loo.”

I want to go over and put my arm around her, maybe I needed the comfort more than she did. But based on the way she crosses her arm and keeps her legs up I know she’s guarding herself. I could read the signs. So we sit there silently for who knows how long. Every so often a muffled noise comes from outside, we hear a crash but the silence after doesn’t tell us whether the thieves had left or they were still around.

With Y/N going mute, I look around the room again but there’s still nothing. She slumps further to the floor, and I seat myself back down again. I stare at her, remembering the shape of her face under my hand, the curve of her hips when my fingers traced them. Her laugh, the way she liked to tease me. If I was dying here, and this was my life flashing before my eyes...I sure had missed out on a lot of it. And if the robbers decided to come in here, and put a bullet in each of us, what kind of person had I even been?

A new surge of energy goes through me, I take the slim door handle and try it again. I know it wasn’t going to open but I tug it, again and again. I brace my foot against the wall and try and try again. But it remains stubbornly closed.

Winded, I sit back down. Y/N just watches me silently as the hope officially leaves my body. We sit in silence.

“Are you happy?” she asks after a few minutes. I look over at her bruised forehead, she raises an eyebrow and immediately winces. I reach over--in the small space, even on opposite walls, she was an arm away. I guide her hand with the ice over the bruise.

“I don’t know,” I admit, leaning back against the wall. “Why?”

She shrugs, going silent. I stretch my legs out and she mimics me, finally letting down her guard as her legs rest beside mine. I give her another minute, and she responds. “Your letter, you said you left because you weren’t happy. So I’m just wondering...are you happy now?”

“If I said yes, would it make you feel better?”

“Well, it would make you falling in love with another woman and breaking my heart in the process a little easier to accept...it wouldn’t have been for nothing if you’re happy.”

“You sure have a lot of tact,” I sigh.

“We might die here?” she fixes me with an annoyed glare. “There’s no time for tact when I could get closure? Before I die?”

“We’re not dying in here,” I promise but she shrugs like she didn’t have much faith in me. And why should she?

“Don’t avoid the question: are you happy?”

I give myself a moment, taking in her face. I didn’t know how to answer that without the overwhelming shame and guilt choking me. In a way, yes. In others, no. I settle for, “Sometimes.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” she hits her foot into my knee. “Sometimes? You cheated on me, and dumped me for a sometimes?”

“Okay wait,” I stop her. “I want to get something straight, I never cheated on you--”

“You did! You fell for some woman a-and you literally married her not even a year after we split!”

“Y/N,” I grow serious. She had thought that this whole time that I... “That’s not how it-” I let out a breath, truly realising what she thought of me this whole time. “Y/N, I fell for someone, sure, but I never even went out with her before we split. Nothing happened! It just took falling for someone else to make me realise my heart wasn’t in it--with us. It made me see I wasn’t happy where I was. But I-I went on one date with that person after we split and it was awful. She avoided me at work after that.”

“What?” she furrows her brows. “So-so who the fuck did you marry?”

I almost laugh, but it would be so inappropriate. “Someone else I worked with-”

“Wow, Harry, you really know how to get around.” She crosses her arms.

“I never denied that--you knew me in uni.”

A small smile cracks her guard but she covers it with an eye roll. “That’s the only thing you’ve said all day that’s actually made sense.”

“It’s nice to see you smile,” I say which earns me a glare. I saw it coming, and that makes me smile. Her glare falters at my smile and she covers her face with the ice pack. I continue, feeling more confident to explain. “Anyway, it was this other person from work, we’d worked on a few files together and she was actually the one who asked me out when she found out I was single. I felt like I had a strong connection with her--to be honest I think I was just lonely and h-um,..y’know. Mistook that for a gem, and married her.”

“I always thought you married the woman you fell for. So you could have a baby.”

I have to laugh at that. “I didn’t want a baby that badly--with someone I barely knew at best.”

She shrugs, “Well we were so tumultuous after we found out our chances were low and you were such a bitch to me about that so what else was I to think?”

I feel like an arse all over again. “I was an idiot, a big fucking idiot Y/N.”

“When did you realise?” She leans forward. “Cuz I’ve known that for years now.”

I rub my face with my hand, she was never going to make this easy. “I thought having a kid would make me happy, make me feel complete; it was the missing thing in my life. So when I realised our chances were low, it just killed my hope of ever being happy. Honestly I think even if we got pregnant I would’ve still been unhappy. I was just...using that as an excuse to..break us apart. It was never about you, I was just too cowardly to admit that I was going to hurt you if I told you I wanted a divorce for the real reason: because I wasn’t happy.”

“So...you made me feel like a fuck-up for not being able to get pregnant instead?”

“I...yeah,” there was the waves of shame crashing into me, I was drowning in it. Y/N just sits there, I can feel the judgement and hurt rippling off of her as she pieces everything together. “I feel awful about that. You really didn’t deserve that.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Her tightened fists tell one story, but the tears pooling in her eyes tells a different one. I slide closer to her, crossing my legs in front of her. “There’s nothing I can say to even begin to apologise for that. I should have just been honest, told you I wasn’t happy in the relationship, in my job, where my life was heading. But I let you believe it was somehow your fault and I can never take that back.”

She continues to watch me, her mouth a tight line as she tries not to cry. But with a blink of her eyes, the tears are streaming down her face. I reach out to her, out of habit, but she shrinks away. So I move back to the opposite wall and watch miserably as she cries into her sleeves.

“I was still unhappy, after the other marriage.” The only thing I can do is continue, I didn’t want to watch her cry in silence. “It took me finding her flirting with another bloke at work to realise we were a farce. I split with her, quit my job a few weeks later, and it was only then I felt free. It was a good feeling; the closest to happiness I’d felt back then. And then I lived with my sister for a few weeks while I figured out my next steps. You should know she was fuming when she found out we split, she didn’t talk to me for weeks.”

Y/N had wipes her tears by now, and listens to me talking in silence. When I mention my sister, she smiles. “We talk, here and there. Never about you, but I still keep in touch with her. And your mum. We had dinner when they were in London last year, it was really nice.”

“What?” This was news to me. “They never mentioned it.”

“Obviously not,” a smile pulls at her mouth and I’ve never been more relieved to see it. “They like me better than you.”

“Ouch,” If we got out of this--when we got out of this, I had questions for my mum.

“So,” she traces a crease on her trouser. “you switched jobs? Found the right fit?”

“Yeah, I did really good there. Moved up quickly. I found something I was passionate about, and it felt good. I think I was happy until...recently.”

“What happened?”

A shout from the other side of the door gives us pause, the door bursts open and I quickly move to block Y/N. But someone pushes an unconscious body into the room with their hands tied. With three bodies in here, it’s suddenly overcrowded.

“If you say one more thing to me, I will put a bullet in his fucking head...” The conversation fades out as the door slams and they walk away. Y/N rushes past me to the body and turns it face up.

“Adam,” she gasps. I walk over and her assistant lays there with a black eye and bruises forming all over his face. She unties his gag and I make sure he’s breathing.

“He’s alright, Just unconscious.” I let her know as she pulls off her jacket and piles it under his head. “He is the one who let these people into your life, you remember that?”

She glares at me, “He didn’t have a choice Harry. I spoke to him when I gave him the code--one of them’s his cousin. He said they were going to break in one way or another and if he didn’t help they would shoot him and me during the process.”

“He had plenty of time to tell you after the fact-”

“Have a little compassion,” she throws her hands up. “He didn’t ask to have a fucking criminal family. Just, let’s wait for him to wake up. He’s been through a lot.”

“So have we,” I mumble but she doesn’t acknowledge me. She moves to her wall instead, putting her hand to her head.

“Let me see,” I slide myself towards her and move her hand away from the area. I pick up the ice she abandoned on the floor and hold it to her head but she snatches it back, saying she could hold it herself, right before she pitches forward and passes out herself.

Y/N’s POV:

I wake up confused and groggy, only to see Harry’s face hovering above mine. For a second, I think that maybe I was living in a twisted Groundhog Day type of situation, forced to relive the bank heist until I resolved things with Harry. But then I notice his split lip and remember my life was that unlucky that I was in the same position twice.

“Jesus, you’re awake.” Harry lets go of my hand which he’d been holding.

“It’s actually just Y/N,” I try to crack a joke. It flies past his head, his eyebrows pinching together. He asks me if I remembered my name, where I was, and a dozen other questions even though I insist I was fine. I was laying down with my head in his lap, I realise halfway through the interrogation. But trying to get up made me dizzier so I stay. He shows me the paracetamol he found in the first aid and forces me to down two, and I only agree because my head had started pounding.

“Don’t do that to me again,” he pushes my hair back. I try not to focus on the warmth of his hand on my skin, how nice it felt. I was bloody delirious. “You have to stay awake Y/N, this is the second time you’ve hit your head I think your concussion might be more serious this time if you’re passing out--”

“Harry please,” I put my hand up to stop his rambling. “Your voice is hammering at my migraine.”

“Sorry,” he smooths down my hair again, and again, like it soothed him more than it soothed me. “I’m not used to feeling so useless like this. But there’s absolutely nothing in here that’s going to help us get out. All we can do is sit tight and wait for one of them to come back.”

“So finish your story,” I ask. “You said you were happy until recently. What happened.”

He looks at me skeptically but I insist I wanted to know. I was finally getting the full story, the closure that actually made sense. And I wanted all of it. The good, the bad, and the ugly.

“The box,” he says simply and I flinch because I know exactly what he’s talking about. “Well, seeing you and realizing-- this whole time it’s like, I’ve missed you in the peripheral y’know? And seeing you that day, forced me focus on how much I missed my...best friend. And after that, the box? I realized what I did to you...the impact of it? Maybe I was just daft this whole time for not really thinking about it but-”

“I was pregnant,” I blurt out. If I was going to die, I may as well tell him. “A few weeks before our...breakup. I found out. And I was going to tell you. I was-I was just so excited I’d bought some things prematurely. But then I lost the...baby. I’d just boxed the shite away after that. Carrying it with me...it hurt but I almost believed that I deserved it?”

I watch him swallow, from this angle I can see the muscles in his jaw clench. I reach up and my hand lands on his neck, I move it to rest on his chest where I intended. He looks down and I see the tears coat his lower lashes. I think I was half-drowsy from the pain meds but I want to cry with him, and wipe his tears. A distant part of my brain screams at me for being confused and slightly fucked up, but my medicated brain reach up to pat his face. My heart flutters when he closes his eyes and leans into my palm.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” He whispers.

“Would it have made a difference?” I ask, my eyes drifting shut. But he shakes me rudely and they fly open.

“Stay awake.” He insists. “And...it wouldn’t have made a difference but at least you wouldn’t be carrying it alone.”

“Well I’m not, anymore.” I yawn. “I told you, and you seen it. And m’gonna mail the box to my sister--she’s pregnant by the way. She might have better use for it.”

He eyes me, “How did that make you feel?”

“You’re not a bloody therapist,” I laugh. “Don’t ask me that.”

“I think I’d make a good therapist,” he says over-confidently.

“You’re the reason why I had a therapist,” I mumble. “You’d be an awful therapist. Your patients would need therapy from therapy.”

I laugh, it wasn’t even that funny but everything just felt ridiculous. Harry’s smiling down at me, but a loud crash from outside wipes it. His body tenses, and I watch the door.

“Sorry,” he whispers before gently moving my head off his lap and onto his jacket he’d bundled. He picks something up from beside him--the toilet seat.

“Why are you holding a toilet seat?” I whisper-shout. He puts his finger to his lips and crouches on the side of the door.

“You were passed out for a while, I had time to make a bit of a mess-”

He cuts his sentence short as the door opens and Adam’s cousin comes in swearing at Adam but before he can reach for him, Harry slams the toilet seat over the guy’s head. I watch it all sideways, my head feels too heavy to pick it up. The man crumples on top of Adam, and Harry expertly searches him, picking his gun off of him.

From outside, the woman’s voice come closer.

“What’s taking so long? The car’s outside just grab your stupid cousin let’s go! The cops will be here any min-”

She freezes when she comes face to face with the gun in Harry’s hand. She reaches for hers and in half a second, Harry’s fired his gun into her arm. She lets out a shout and falls to the floor. Harry kicks the gun out of her hand and pulls her inside, blood trailing in her wake. He uses the jacket under Adam’s head to tie her arms and comes back to me.

“Y/N, let’s go. I hear sirens.” Harry bends down and gently lifts me up. I feel like a ragdoll in his arms but I manage to prop myself enough to walk beside him. He closes the door behind him and checks the handle that it was locked.

He helps me down onto a chair, the brightness of the lobby nearly blinds me, my migraine tearing my skull apart. I think I throw up on the floor, I felt entirely out of it. I keep my eyes closed, but I hear Harry letting in some people, and I feel arms putting me on a stretcher, taking me out into the cool air. The fresh air smelled incredible, and that’s the last thought I have before I pass out.

***H’s POV:

It was a crazy 24 hours.

Right before I’d been shoved into a 7′ by 5′ restroom, my team at the station had received the warrant for the credit card. That was the call I received that put me in the tiny room with Y/N. When I didn’t pick up, Detective Cole had taken the lead in tracing it. The credit card belonged to Adam’s cousin and they eventually traced him to Adam. That was the smoking gun for them, they tried me a few times. Finally, tracking my car to outside the bank. Suspicious, they sent out a few uniforms here and when they noticed my car sitting empty, and no guard at the entrance, they called for backup.

I’d debriefed, spoken and written out in detail, what happened. They’d taken pictures, handcuffed everyone in the bathroom, and I’d watched triumphantly as they walked the criminals out. Two had escaped after hearing the sirens, but at least two would be put away.

I drink my third coffee at the station now, when my supervisor finally comes in to talk to me. Tells me I could go home, finally. To get rest--the paramedics had checked me out and I was okay considering what just happened.

But instead of going home, I drive straight to the hospital where Y/N lay like a shell of herself. A tall bloke in a perfectly pressed suits stands above her, brushing her cheek. I watch as she reaches up and holds his hand, I watch him pull her hand up and kiss it. Then he leans down and kisses her bandaged forehead.

My stomach is in knots; I can’t look away. It was the same person who left her flat just this morning--god, this morning felt like years ago. It must be her boyfriend, but she didn’t mention she was seeing someone. Maybe it was casual, I think. But casual wouldn’t come to hospital like this, caress her like that.

The obvious was that I was lucky just to have a glimpse of her in my life again, long enough to clear the air between us. But I couldn’t hold on to her, when I let go so many years ago, I’d lost my grip entirely. And now she was out of my grasp.

I knock gently on the door, Y/N’s boyfriend (?) looks up.

“Sorry, the doctor doesn’t want anyone taking her statement right now-”

“I’m not-” I unclip my badge to show that I wasn’t there for my job. At the same time Y/N rests her hand on his arm.

“Alec,” she says in a hoarse voice. “It’s alright, that’s Harry.”

“Oh,” I can read everything in the two-letter word and the look he gives me. He seems to swallow what he really wanted to say and comes up to me to shake my hand instead. “Thanks, for helping Y/N tonight.”

“I didn’t do anything,” I grasp his hand, he had a strong handshake. Which was a stupid thing to think about I realise, as my eyes land on Y/N. She’s looking at him with a purity in her eyes that she used to look at me with. Something inside of me falls away, it feels raw and dark. I remove my hand from his, “Y/N’s a strong woman.”

“She is,” he looks at her with the same look she gives him. I felt like I should go, like I was interrupting them. But Y/N asks him to give us some space. He happily obliges, like I wasn’t even a threat to him. With what Y/N told him, everything she knew to be the truth before tonight, I didn’t blame him.

“Hi,” she says, she clears her throat, watching me watching her.

“How are you feeling?” I brush her hair back from the bandage on her head.

“Like there’s a rock concert in my head,” she jokes. “Except it’s mostly screaming.”

“Kind of like that one party we went to in uni,” I remind her.

“I thought the party’s theme was emo,” a laugh bursts out of her.

“It was screamo,” I laugh with her. “My ears were bleeding the next morning.”

“You crashed in my bed that night,” she remembers, her voice soft as the nostalgia washes over us. I take her hand in mine and brush my thumb over her knuckles. How times changed.

“You know, my girlfriend broke up with me that day when she found out I shared a bed with another girl.”

“Really?” She laughs again, twice in one conversation with me. She must be high on meds, or finally letting me in again. “You never told me that.”

“I never told you much about the girls I dated,” I say truthfully. “A lot of them dumped me after seeing how close we were. There was always that ultimatum: you or them.”

“Hm,” she hums. “I guess you chose me until you didn’t.”

We lock eyes and I open my mouth--to apologise? To explain something? But she waves her hand. “It’s a habit, I’ve got to get all the one-liners I’ve kept pent up out. I’ll be done eventually, don’t worry.”

“I look forward to that day,” I drum my fingers against the bed. “In the meantime...Alec?”

“Oh,” her face flushes as she looks out the door to where he stands on his phone. “Yeah. He’s been...really good, he came over as soon as he heard.”

“How long?” It was torture for me but it was like I needed to know.

“A few months, on and off again. I think I’ve just been keeping him at arm’s length because...well...”

“Us,” Once again, I’m reminded that I could never fully grasp the enormity of the damage I’d done. “He seems like a smart chap--he’s here for you after all.”

“That would make you a smart chap too,” she says which brings my attention back to her cheeky smile. “If you want to compliment yourself, you don’t have to do it in such a roundabout way.”

I laugh, she was good. She grins back at me and my breath catches, this feeling in my chest made me feel like I was drowning. I couldn’t breathe deeply enough, the old fear of being unhappy had been creeping up on me ever since I got here and saw Alec with Y/N. Now it drapes over my shoulders like a heavy coat.

“What’s wrong?” Y/N asks.

“Nothing,” I sit on the edge of the bed. “Just thinking about everything that happened. And what we talked about.”

“I’m glad that we...” she picks at the thin blanket covering her body. “I feel like I have some closure now?”

“I wish I knew...what you thought this whole time. The baby and...everything.”

“I’ve got a long way to go but,” Y/N rubs my arm. “Let’s just agree to leave all the heavy stuff behind. And live our lives to the fullest. Almost dying in a men’s room has really given me perspective. We both deserve to be happy.”

“You should write a book,” I joke. “It would sell.”

“We can co-write it.”

“We’ll title it Bad Timing,” I say. “A memoir of two people, right place, wrong time.”

“That’s good!” She grasps my arm. “And you could write the whole thing and just give me credit.”

“I’m okay with that,” I would do anything for her.

“You’re the writer after all,” she smiles and it strikes me again, how deeply she knew me. I don’t know if anyone would ever know me the way she does. “Do you still write?”

“Not really,” I didn’t at all.

“I was remembering the other day how you used to leave post-its all over my room-”

“I remember that,” I remind her of a few of my famous ones including one I stuck on her back that said kiss me. She scolds me for that and I pretend to be sorry but she knows I’m not.

“I am sorry,” I say, resting my hand on her arm and she understands I’m not talking about the prank.

“I know,” she looks away, out the door to Alec.

“So I should go, maybe I’ll be the one to take your statement? Tomorrow--or I’ll have my best officer come in here for it.”

“You should take a day off,” she says. “We almost died today.”

“You’re one to talk,” I say. “And we were not going to die today. You’re so dramatic.” I flick her knee and she flinches.

“Ouch,” she milks her current position in the hospital bed, rubbing the spot on her knee.

“Did that hurt? I don’t remember any knee injuries in your file.” I lean down over her and pat it extra hard.

“You’re evil,” she grins but for a small second her eyes flicker down to my lips, and when they meet mine again they look uncertain.

“Alright. Rest up. I’ll see you...later.” I lean down, my lips ghost her cheek, and I hear her sigh. “Goodbye Y/N,” I say, and somewhere it feels final. I don’t dare look at her when I stand up. I walk out of the room, and out of her life.

I think back to the one other time I saw her before the bank robbery. It was outside a grocer, and she’d told me to never talk to her again. I was glad the universe or whatever hadn’t listened, that our lives had crashed into each other even though that meant that in the end she was left in hospital and I was left unhappy again, realizing what I was missing in life. But for a brief moment, in the grand expanse of this universe, we orbited each other again.

As I nod at Alec on the way out. I stand to the side as he walks back in. I hear him comforting her, and I hear her tell him she had to talk in a low voice. I leave then, with every intention to leave her alone. She deserved this happiness she was finally finding as she put our past to rest, she didn’t need uncertainty. As for myself, it felt like it was my burden to bear now; Y/N and I just had bad timing, it felt like, but I just wanted her to be happy. So I let her be; I let go.

Fic: Hello, Darling (1/1)

Title: Hello, Darling By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette Disclaimer: They're not mine. Distribution: AO3  Anyone else please ask first :)

Story Summary:  Instead, he reached for his phone. He hit the only button that seemed to matter at the moment.

Her voice was warm. “Hello, darling.”

“Peg,” he sighed, closing his eyes. “Oh, your voice is just what I needed.”

Angst. Satisfies the Fake Dating a square for the Steggy Bingo Bash. AU, obviously.

A/N: Timeline is as close to sort-of right as I can make it for an AU. 2017 is post Civil War, 2016 is during Civil War, 2014 is during AOU, other time stamps should be self-explanatory. I hope this makes as much sense for everyone else as it does to me- this concept was a little hard to get on paper. I wrote this in about... 2 hours? Couldn’t sleep until I got this out of my brain. Also, I’m sorry. Please get some tissues. More AN at the end.

~*~ 2017

Steve flopped on the bed, wiping his forehead. They’d been training, hard, and he was drained. He and Natasha were spending their days whipping the new iteration of the team into shape and spent their nights sweet talking whatever government officials would listen to them while still trying to stay off the grid.

Their position in multiple areas was shaky, to say the least.

When he couldn’t sleep, which was most of the time, he wrote letters to Bucky, who was still in stasis in Wakanda. The letter writing was a calming ritual, and made him feel closer to his friend when he was doing it, but when he saved the letter instead of sending it, it left him feeling a little more alone than when he started.

He didn’t want to move tonight. He felt empty and exhausted and so very, very much like the small man he used to be on the rickety old bed.

He looked at the second-hand laptop, closed and charging on his desk, and turned away. He couldn’t take that feeling tonight.

Instead, he reached for his phone. He hit the only button that seemed to matter at the moment.

Her voice was warm. “Hello, darling.”

“Peg,” he sighed, closing his eyes. “Oh, your voice is just what I needed.”

Her voice was warm, and there was a smile in it. “Well, I’m just a phone call away, as always.”

“Yeah,” he replied, just a hint of sadness seeping through. He took a deep breath and shifted up on the pillows, closing his eyes and holding the phone tighter to his ear. “We were training again today.”

“How are they pulling together?” She asked, bright and interested. “Has Wanda gained more control?”

“Every day,” he replied quickly, a smile quirking at his face. “She’s more powerful than I think any of us were prepared for, even her. She’s still doubting herself, though.”

Peggy chuckled through the phone. “After what she went through, I’d doubt myself if I were her, too.”

Steve rolled to the side, pulling a pillow tight into his arms. “True.”

“Give her time,” Peggy soothed him. “Think about how long it took you to get the hang of your new body.”

He laughed out loud at that. “What, all thirty seconds or so?”

“I seem to recall you crashing through a store’s front window display fairly immediately.” Her laugh was like bells, light and happy. “Though that was followed by months of tests, followed by months of kick lines.”

Steve groaned at the memories. “The tights… and those boots.”

“I rather liked the tights,” Peggy flirted. “Though, the point of my mentioning, is that it took you rather a few months in the field to figure out you could lift a tank, and that became one of your favorite tricks. Give the poor girl some slack.”

“Actually, fitting my entire body behind my shield was one of my favorites.”

“I still don’t know how you do that.” She sighed. “But it is quite a trick.”

“She is getting the hang of it,” Steve relented. “It’s just been… hard.”

“I can hear the weariness in your voice.” She was soft and gentle. Steve closed his eyes and pretended he was wrapping himself around her. “Have you been taking care of yourself?” She sighed when he didn’t answer. “Steve…”

“I don’t know how…” he drifted off, changing course mid-sentence. “I’m tired, Peg. I’m tired of fighting and running but that’s… that’s all that’s left.” He rolled to his back, throwing his free arm over his head, some of the plaster of the wall of the old boarding house falling on his forehead. He wiped it away with a heavy groan of frustration. “Back then, I had so many plans. After the war…”

“We shan’t be going there, darling.” Her voice left no room for argument.

He was quiet for a moment, the emotion boiling up in him. When he finally spoke, his words were soft. “I miss you. I miss you so, so much.”

The pause was almost too long, and it broke him just a little bit more. “I’m here, Steve. Only a phone call away.”

He sat up, frustrated. “For a little while I had it- I had everything. I had you, I had Buck, I had new friends, and I could… I was…”

“You were almost happy,” she whispered. “We’ve said these words too many times.”

“I don’t…” He took a deep breath and let his head fall to his hand. “I don’t know how to move past it. I can pretend I’m ok, but… but I’m not.” He laughed to himself. “I wouldn’t be calling you if I were ok.”

“I’m here for you, Steve,” she replied sharply. “You call me when you need to call me, when you want to call me. Good or bad. I just wish… I wish there was more good.”

“Me, too.” He cleared his throat, sitting up. “Tell me something good, Peg.”

He thought he could hear a smile in her voice. “Pulling yourself up by your bootstraps, eh, Rogers? Well, then, I can tell you that yesterday I came across a very silly video of a sneezing baby Panda and no matter what your mood, I promise you’ll feel better if you watch it.”

He pulled the phone away from his cheek when it vibrated in his hand, the video popping up on his screen. He laughed, despite himself.

“You always know exactly what I need,” he mumbled out loud.

Her chuckle was soft, just like he remembered. “Lucky, I guess.”

“I love you so, so much, Peg.” He turned serious. “I wish… I wish I could see you.”

“I love you, too, my darling.” She replied softly. “And I’m only ever just a phone call away.”

He could feel the familiar pangs of depression swirling, and knew talking longer would do him no good. Not tonight. “I should… I should go.”

“Good night then, my love.” Peggy’s words were so full of love he could scarcely believe it. “Don’t wait too long to call again.”

He didn’t answer her, just nodded to himself. “Good night, Peg.”

He pulled the phone away from his ear, looked at it, and tossed it across the bed. Like his letters to Bucky, sometimes he felt worse after talking with her. He laid back on the bed, the springs creaking under him.

He wasn’t going to sleep tonight, not with the way his gut was roiling and the loss so close to the surface. Her voice was always a double-edged sword. Some nights, it was enough to bring him back to life, to remind him of whatever little purpose he felt he had left.

Sometimes, it was only filled with loss and the could-have-beens and should-have-beens.

Sometimes, he wished Tony had never given her back to him.

~*~ 1988

“Anthony, get this blasted thing out of my face.”

“Come on, Aunt Peg, no one is better at telling me what to do than you are.”

Peggy looked up from where she sat at the table in what was supposed to be a dining room, but was often used as an extended work space when Peggy and Howard had to pull long nights. “Under no circumstances.”

Tony pulled a chair up next to her and held out the tape recorder towards her. “Under all circumstances.” He started ticking it off on his fingers. “When I almost blew up the garage when I was eight. First time I got caught with a girl in my room. First time I got caught with booze in my room. First time I tried to create a jet pack. Who yelled at me? You did.”

Peggy pursed her lips at him and turned in her chair. “Concerned correction.”

He smiled, shrugging. “See? Concern, correction… all things I’m going to need in the future.”

Peggy swiveled back and picked up a file, eyes firmly set on the writing though she wasn’t reading anything. “Things you need now.” She didn’t look up. “Can’t you go badger Jarvis? Edwin has far more practice at humoring you.”

He laughed and smiled sweetly, moving the tape recorder in front of her. “Indulge your Godson in an experiment?”

“I seem to indulge you Starks far more than I’d like.” She leaned back in the chair and tossed the file back on the table. “Tell me about it.”

“Well, you see, I actually need you to tell me…”

~*~ 2014

Tony hadn’t looked at these cartridges in years. He pulled FRIDAY up and loaded her, knowing the program would make do for now. He could make some upgrades, and mourn Jarvis, later.

He ran his fingers over the last few cartridges as FRIDAY was integrated into his systems and found one that he hadn’t thought about in decades. It had been so long that the ink was almost faded completely away.

He didn’t need the label to remind him what was on there. He remembered each story, each lesson, each crisp English word with a sharpness that he liked to pretend didn’t exist. It was the only AI that was as old as Jarvis.

Tony laughed out loud. There was no way Ultron would have come to be if this was the AI he’d chosen to run his life with instead of Jarvis. She never would have allowed it.

She never would have allowed half of his shenanigans. She had been right all those years ago: Jarvis had always indulged him more. Aunt Peggy had no qualms about telling him, and often stopping him, when he was about to do something stupid, whereas Jarvis would give him an exasperated sir and follow behind, helping to clean up the mess.

He could have used some of her guidance so, so many times since he built that armor. Before, too, to be honest. He should have revisited her AI years ago.

He should visit her in the nursing home.

He knew exactly why he didn’t.  

He flipped the cartridge onto his work desk and slid the rest back into their box to be stored. Save the world first, tongue lashing from his Godmother second.

~*~ 2015

The icon showed up on his phone one day without explanation. Two hours later the text from Tony was nearly as mysterious.

Click the icon and you’ll be routed to an update on an old project, kind of like a phone call. Totally sanctioned, of course. I think she’ll get a kick out of it.

When he told her one day in the nursing home, she laughed.

“That boy had me record hours and hours of tape,” Peggy smiled. “I wondered if he ever got around to making it. I would have rather liked to have another one of myself around while I was still running SHIELD.”

“So, you did know,” Steve asked, “that Tony made an AI of you?”

Peggy looked at him, her eyes sharp and disapproving. “Of course, I knew. And while I didn’t ever say it, I was quite insulted that he eventually chose Jarvis over me.” She sat up in her hospital bed, gray hair falling in waves around her face. “Dial it up, let’s see what he got right, shall we?”

~*~ 2016

He was still in his suit and tie, his cheeks puffy with the tears he only let himself shed in the privacy of his hotel room. The church had been hard, but letting the coffin settle into the cold dirt had been harder.

She was gone.

And he was alone.

He picked up his phone, intent on checking his flight for the morning when an icon he scrolled past daily caught his eye.

He rubbed his thumb over the edge of the screen, temped.

He checked his flight, but it was perfunctory and he couldn’t recall, by the time his thumb hit the other icon, if it was still on time or not.

Slowly he lifted the phone to his ear. He knew from the few times he’d called at the nursing home with her that there wouldn’t be a ring tone, and that he had to be the first one to talk. “Hello?”

“Steve?”

Her voice through the line was young and vibrant, the way her remembered it from all those years back: red rimmed lips and bright eyes in just the vibration of sound.

He lost his breath.

“I’m so glad you called,” her voice was happy, bright.

He’d just left her in the ground, and yet…

Yet…

“Peggy.” He barely got the word out, the emotion choking him.

“Are you alright, Steve?”

“No, I…” he couldn’t speak. He didn’t want to continue, but couldn’t tear himself away.

“I’m right here, Steve.” Her voice was warm and welcoming, like honey and home and everything he was missing. “Tell me when you’re ready.”

He was quiet for a moment. He contemplated hanging up and deleting the icon.

Instead, he spoke, his words broken and full of loss. “I miss you.”

Her voice wrapped around him through the phone, “And I miss you, darling. But I’m right here. I’m just a phone call away, any time you like.”

He nearly laughed the way her words warmed him. She was so real- had always been every time he talked to the AI.

But she wasn’t real- just an amalgamation of information Tony had stored for decades.

He held the phone away for a second, contemplating his choices. He wanted to walk away, but the loss was still so raw. He pulled the phone back to his ear.

Just for today.

He told himself he’d pretend just for today.

Over the phone, he could pretend she wasn’t dead. Could pretend she hadn’t aged and lived on without him.

Just for today, just until he could get past this pain, he could pretend.

“I guess,” he cleared his throat, trying to banish the thickness in it from the tears, “I guess I should call more often, then.”

“Absolutely. I will accept nothing less, Captain.”

He smiled and sat on the bed, tears falling from his eyes as he listened to her voice.

It was just for today.  

~*~ End Notes: Saved this to the end to avoid giving this away. Deeply inspired by Hayley Atwell’s episode of Black Mirror, “Be Right Back.” If you haven’t seen it, you should.

Standards of Performance, Chapter 10: Accommodations

From the Beginning,  Previous Chapter

AO3 Link

Thank you guys again for being so kind about the new posting schedule (or lack thereof). Your comments and messages and rbs always make me laugh and cry (in a a good way).This is just a lil chapter about them being awkward and cute after The Kiss, and introducing some bigger plot stuff. You'll wanna buckle up for the next one ;)

Summary: You’re the BAU’s newest intern, desperate to prove yourself amongst an established team of much more experienced profilers. Agent Hotchner, the seemingly infallible team leader, sets strict expectations for your performance. He commands your respect without even trying, but is there something more to your relationship than a simple desire to impress your stony-faced boss?

Chapter Summary: Some creep is stalking the team and all you can think about is kissing Hotch. 

Words: 2059

Rating: Explicit, 18+. Warnings on AO3.

Pairings: Hotch x Reader, Hotch x You

The BAU had a stalker.

To put it in a way more relevant to your views on the matter: the BAU’s stalker was interfering with the (hopefully) budding spark between you and Hotch.

It wasn’t that you didn’t care that there was potentially unhinged maniac apparently obsessed with the team, it’s just that when you got the slightly panicked phone call from JJ that Morgan, Reid, Garcia, and herself had all found letters on their doorstep professing an alarming fascination with the members of the team, you couldn’t help but feel a bit irritated that the ordeal was bound to put a pause on the progress you two had made.

That is, until you went to leave your apartment in the morning and found an unassuming envelope shoved under the door. You opened it with shaking fingers to a note written on thick cardstock, scrawled in black, seeping ink as if written by an old-fashioned quill.

I’ve been paying attention to your team for some time - quite the impact you’ve made on the world of crime. The heroes of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit! I’m sure the world wishes they had you during Bundy or BTK, hm?

Anyways, I had to see for myself. I must admit, finding you was much easier than I would have anticipated given your ‘status.’ I thought I’d drop you this note to say hi and propose a deal. A Game, of sorts.

The Game goes like this: I leave you notes, and you try to catch me! Easy, yes? This is day 1. How many days until you find me?

Xoxo Talk soon,

G

You put the note in your bag and, after double checking your door was locked (not that the flimsy deadbolt the landlord had installed would have done much to keep an intruder out anyways), you rushed to the office. You dropped your note on the table in the conference room where the team had gathered and pointed at it tremulously. 

“I got one too. I touched it, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking -”

“Don’t worry about it,” Rossi interrupted. “We dusted the others; there was nothing. I doubt yours was any different.”

Hotch plucked your letter up and scanned it quickly before tossing it back on the table. “It’s exactly the same as the others. Nothing identifiable.”

“Why didn’t we get them?” asked Prentiss.

“Access,” said Garcia, notably less cheery than usual. The team turned to her for clarification.

“You three are hard to get to,” she explained. “Hotch and Prentiss live in secure apartment buildings. Rossi has a gated property with security that can rival the President’s. Those of us who don’t live the high life are just... out in the open.”

“So that’s encouraging, right? That the unsub either couldn’t or wouldn’t go through the extra trouble of getting to all of us?” JJ asked, hopeful.

Morgan shook his head. “I dunno if you can interpret any part of what this creep is doing to intimidate us as ‘encouraging.’”

“Does it read as intimidation, though?” mused Reid. 

“I don’t know, you tell me,” Morgan responded. “What’s your take on the language?”

Reid took a millisecond to reread the letter and pursed his lips. “Though the language isn’t directly threatening, the concept of a game implies either winning or losing. He - it’s almost certainly a he - doesn’t mention the consequences for either situation, which could imply that there are none, but that seems unlikely. There’s also the matter of separating himself from others in line three - ‘I’m sure the world wishes they had you during Bundy or BTK,’ not we. He’s trying to distinguish himself to us in some way, which means he wants to be noticed, and I don’t think there’s anything in this language that excludes the possibility of him doing something drastic in order to be.”

“So not encouraging,” said Prentiss dryly. “The question is, why us? Is this personal; did we put someone close to him away?”

“It could be, but the language in the opening seems sarcastic almost, like he’s mocking us,” noted Rossi. 

Morgan nodded in agreement. “It’s a challenge. He’s trying to tell us we’re not all we’re cracked up to be.”

The analysis worried you, because you felt you were the only member of the team for whom that statement might have been true. 

“So, what then?” you asked. “Review security footage and see if we can find anything?”

“Already did!” chirped Garcia. “Hotch had me up all night reviewing the tapes.”

For the first time, you noticed the dark circles under her standard coat of heavy makeup. You looked at Hotch, expecting to find some shame in his expression, but found none. 

“If there was anyone weird creeping around your dwellings last night, I didn’t see ‘em. I even looked through the street cameras in the area. Granted, none of you have a security camera pointed directly at your door, which might not be a bad idea after this -”

“Hold on,” Morgan interrupted, “you didn’t check her apartment though, right?” referring to you. “Cuz she just found it this morning?”

Garcia perked up, but you shot her down with a shake of your head. “Sorry guys, my place isn’t nearly nice enough to have security cameras.”

The team looked unperturbed by that, except for Hotch, who met your eyes with a look you couldn’t quite place. 

“What do we do, then? Wait for another letter?” JJ asked.

“That’s all we can do until we have more evidence,” said Hotch, visibly frustrated. He hated waiting, you knew that. You all hated it. It felt like watching a car without its parking brake on slowly start to roll down a hill.

“If that’s all, sir…”

Hotch nodded at Garcia. “You’re all dismissed. Business as usual for now. If he craves acknowledgement, best not to give it to him unless we have to.”

The team filtered out, and you made to follow them, but before making it through the doorway, Hotch called you back. He shifted feet, cleared his throat, and looked at you.

“About the comment you made earlier,” he started.

What comment? You wracked your brain trying to remember if you’d said something rude, or something that hinted at what happened between you two, but came up short.

He noticed the puzzled look on your face and clarified. “When you said your apartment complex wasn’t nice enough to have security cameras. I wanted to say that -” he ran his hand across his jaw, clearly uncomfortable, “- I know the internship salary isn’t impressive, and if you feel you’re unable to afford safe accommodation, I’d be more than happy to talk to Strauss about -”

“Oh, God, no.” You felt as if your face was on fire. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way, my apartment is fine - I mean of course there’s things that could be improved - but in no way do I feel unsafe.” 

“Well, good. Okay then.”

Before you could make your exit and spare you both from the residual awkwardness of the interaction, he spoke again. “There’s one more thing. Given that whoever wrote this note has displayed his willingness to come to our doorsteps, JJ is staying with Emily for the time being, Reid with Rossi, and Garcia with Morgan.”

You smirked at the last pairing. Leave it to those two to capitalize on a stalker to bunk up together. 

“I was going to have the Bureau get you a hotel in the meantime, since he did come to your apartment, but Garcia suggested that since we live so close, you could just… stay with me.”

Holy shit.

There was a pained look on his face as he finished the sentence as if he recognized what an utterly bad idea it was, but hadn’t had the good sense to reject it himself. He looked at you, expecting an answer despite the lack of a question mark at the end of that statement, and you struggled mightily to compose yourself to deliver an acceptance that didn’t appear uncomfortably enthusiastic. 

You must have taken too long, because he immediately started to retract his offer. “I already told her it was completely inappropriate; the rest of the team is used to staying together for cases but given you just started, and after the last few days I completely understand -”

“No!” You cut him off. “Sorry, no, that’s not what I was going to say at all. I’d love to. I mean, I think it’s a good idea. I’d feel a lot safer…”

‘With you around?’ Is that too much?

Fuck it. 

“... with you around,” you finished, and you swear you saw him push back a smile.

“Alright, then. I’ll let Garcia know.”

You made a mental note to send that woman a thank-you card.

***

As the workday wound down, you were surprised to Hotch turn out his office light and walk out at the same time as you did.

“Early night?” you teased as you walked to your cars in the parking garage, despite it being 7 pm. 

He chuckled. “It would have been rude of me to keep you hanging around until I decided to leave.”

Right. You were leaving together. Because you were going back to his apartment. Together. The undeniable domesticity of the moment put a skip in your step, and you couldn’t help but wish this was happening under different circumstances.

“So I’ll just stop by my apartment and grab my things?”

“What? No,” Hotch responded, frowning. “I’m coming with you. The whole point of all of this is to avoid being alone.”

And that’s how you ended up speeding down the highway like a madwoman, leaving Hotch in your dust, taking the stairs two at a time, and frantically scrambling to get your apartment in order. It wasn’t terrible; not as if you had rotting food sitting out or something (probably because you didn’t actually cook enough for that), but the recent caseload and spending so much time with Hotch in the mornings had certainly pushed general organization to the wayside. You shoved the growing pile of dirty laundry into your closet, straightened up the coffee table, and were in the middle of packing your suitcase when you heard a knock at the door.

Giving the apartment a quick once-over to make sure you hadn’t missed something utterly humiliating, you opened the door to an unimpressed Hotch.

“I could have pulled you over for speeding, you know,” he said as he strode into your living room.

“Yeah, sorry,” you said sheepishly, “I wanted to make sure this place wasn’t a mess the first time you saw it.”

He cocked an eyebrow and you realized how that came out - the first time, as if there were going to be many more - and you coughed and looked away.

“Anyways. I’m almost done packing, just gotta grab a couple more things.”

He nodded and you hurried to it, wanting to get him out of your apartment as quickly as possible. Normally you’d have jumped at the chance to be alone in a quiet place with him, but the way his eyes were scanning the room made you nervous that he was learning more about you in a very short amount of time than you felt entirely comfortable with.

***

You walked into Hotch’s apartment for the second time ever to find it just as clinically neat as before, except for a set of sheets and blankets laid out on the couch. Grinning, you gestured to them.

“Thought you said you were sure I would say no?”

It was his turn to be shamefaced. “Just in case. Besides,” he shot back, grabbing your bags from where you’d deposited them by the couch, “You’re taking the bed.”

“Like hell I am!” you scoffed, forgoing propriety. “I’m not making my boss sleep on the couch in his own apartment.”

“Considering I, as you mentioned, am your boss,” he responded, “I will be making that decision.”

You plopped down on the couch. “Unless I just refuse to move.”

He stood a few paces away and glared, but gave up and dropped your bags all the same.

You could have sworn you heard him mutter “brat” under his breath, but that didn’t sound like something Aaron Hotchner would say, did it?

Taglist (I got a bunch of new ones so message me if I forgot to add you!):  @stop-drop-and-drumroll @criminalmindzjunkie @xoprincessmel @cevanswhre @addie5264 @klinenovakwinchester​ @honeyshores​ @violentvulgarvolatile @masumiyetimziyanoldu @violetclifford​ @pipersaccomplice​ @itsmytimetoodream​ @groovygoob​ @captainhyenafan​ @thebadassbitchqueen​

Manuel Antonio Guzman

I met Manuel Antonio Guzman when I was 14 years old. I told my grandparents I was going to hang out with my friend, Katie Franks. Katie and I went to our very first backyard show ever. It was in Anaheim across the street from Sycamore Jr. High. For those who know, it was when Riff Raff played (first time I met Zach, he was the naked drummer) and someone ripped the toilet out of the bathroom? Yep! That one. My grandma called me because she had figured out where I really was and I was in trouble. Katie went to school with someone who was senior at Anaheim High School, Pedro Garcia. Pedro drove at the time which meant he could give us a ride. The sooner Katie and I were back at home, the less trouble we would be in. Pedro pulled up to Sycamore Jr. High and I drunkenly opened the backseat door. A face appeared and they said, “Nope!” and pulled the door back closed on me. I was soooo PuNk RoCk and annoyed that I threw my little 32oz. Smirnoff Bottle on the ground and kicked the car. He opened the door and laughed and let me in. That was the first time I met Manny. He was funny, he was cute, he was weird, and he was older. A few short weeks later Pedro invites me to Punk Rock Picnic. I accompany him and Manny joins us. I spent the whole day with Manny. We rode a ferris wheel together, my shoe was falling apart and we went back to the car so he could sew it back together, all that jazz. A week later, Zone 3 was playing at the Riff Haus and my grandparents were nice enough to drop me off. Manny met me there and we snuck off back to his house. I knew Manny was 20 years old, and he knew I was underage. We kissed. We made out. We cuddled. We had sex. When we were done, we did the math of how many years it would take until I was 18. It was 4.5. I did not know what the relationship between me and Manny be, because Katie had told me he was seeing her friend named Taylor. Taylor also went to Anaheim High School. Taylor was 15 years old. The person I broke up with to be with Manny was my high school boyfriend, who I will leave nameless. He was hurt and upset and wanted to talk, but I did not give him the time of day. He came over to the house my grandparents and I had just moved into and climbed through my window. He pinched my pinky toe to wake me up. He was really upset but we decided to talk things out. Unfortunately, my grandmother heard a boy in my bedroom in the middle of the night and tried to come into my room. My ex-boyfriend snuck back out my window as my grandmother came in. I was officially kicked out. I called Pedro Garcia and I lived in his car for 2 weeks. This was far from the first time I had been homeless. When I was 13 years old I tried living with my mom because my grandfather would get really drunk and kick me out of the house. My family struggled with my grandfather’s alcoholism. He was a working class blue collar man who had broken his neck on a job site. For four years my family bounced from motel to motel. My grandmother worked cleaning houses to keep us afloat, and my grandfather spent his mornings drinking. He was violent when he drank and I got into the habit, young, to just leave. Sometimes I would stay with my mother, but she was always in and out of jail or did not have an actual place to stay. She abused drugs, would give me drugs, and have various men around. I really did not have family at the time. So being back on the streets was not anything new for me. I eventually told Manny after a few days that I was living in Pedro’s car, and he insisted that I stayed with him. A warm bed, food, and someone who paid attention to me was what every child needed. I did not get that in my home life, but I got it from him. I put him on a pedestal for taking care of me and we never talked about my age. This however did not last very long at all. A good mutual friend had a recently divorced mother with a three story house. Her name was Ms. Kitty. Ms. Kitty insisted a 20 year old’s bedroom was no place for a 14 year old girl. She took me in and I lived with her for 5 months. A few weeks into me living with Kitty, I caught Manny cheating on me with a girl names Melissa. He had a Myspace blog online that was meant to be private, but it was not. He said specifically, I can have Melissa one day, and Ashley the next. Instead of confronting him about this, I did what every 14 year old girl would do. I made out with my ex boyfriend!!! Childish, huh? Well, that’s because I was a child! Manny found out and to him and I both we call this the “Blog War Era.” Because for the next 2 months or so, Manny publically bashed me for being this self-serving slut. And me? I just dedicated a bunch of bad GG Allin songs to him. We eventually let it go, and I continued my life without talking to him. 5 months into me living with Ms. Kitty, I fell into a deep deep depression. I needed family, I hadn’t talked to my grandmother in months and she missed my 15th birthday. My heart was broken. I had severe abandonment issues. I had emailed my grandmother about how lonely and lost I felt, but she did not respond right away. One night, at 15, I decided I couldn’t go on, and I drank a bottle of sleeping aid, took various pills from Ms. Kitty’s medicine cabinet, wrote a letter, filled the bathtub up with water. Put tape on my mouth, cut my wrist, and waited to fall asleep. I had flashes of people pulling me out of the bathroom, of opening my eyes for small moments to see a different face looking over me each time, and to my grandmother and mother taking me home. No therapy. No medication. That same night, my grandparents went to the bar and did not come home for a very long time. I grew up with a sense of purposelessness. I grew up without self-esteem, and I grew up with severe abandonment issues. I lived with my grandparents off and on for a few more months but I started drinking and doing drugs more and more. April 1st, 2010, I moved out of my grandparents’ house again. I was living in and out of different parks, schools, and churches. A friend, Bailee Wilcox from my high school let me stay with her and her family. I lived there for 8 months. Bailee’s sister, started dating Pedro Garcia… and Pedro Garcia was best friends with Manny. Therefore, I saw Manny around a lot more. It was before my 16th birthday that Manny and I inevitably started dating again. We had a sexual relationship. A very sexual relationship. I would ditch school just to be with him, or he would pick me up from school in his ~cool~ 1999 Ford Mustang. Briefly, I caught him cheating on me again with a girl he had an online relationship with. Her name was Victoria. Victoria had a tumblr called fleeting-m00ns. She was 16 years old. Manny and I broke up briefly, for about a month. And he called me one evening and we met each other at the Airplane Park in Anaheim. He immediately held me, started kissing me, and asked if we could go back to his dad’s house. I was dumb, naïve, impressionable, and agreed. I wanted this dumb man to love me. I did not care about how much older he was than me or what those implications were. We went back to his house and we slept together. I was on my period. I went home to Bailee’s that night with Manny as my boyfriend again. Manny, at this point, was 21ish years old. As time went on, I decided to quit doing drugs, I did not drink as much, and I had a job working at the Brea Mall. The house I lived in was a party house so I spent less and less time there. Eventually that put a strain on the relationship I had with the people I lived with, as I spent less and less time there and would not come home. Manny insisted that it was not a healthy environment for me and that I should just stay with him; where I was not surrounded by people who did still party. I loved feeling protected and cared for. I allowed myself to abide by his wishes. If I chose to stay at my friend’s house, he insisted I was not allowed to go into the living room, I was only allowed to stay in the bedroom. I will provide a screenshot of the facebook message I received from not listening to his wishes. September 20th, 2011; “You stupid fucking bitch you can’t just fucking stay in the bedroom and away from the living room. You know I fucking hate it when you’re in there bt you never fucking listen because you’re always so fucking right and mighty and have to fucking be in the living room when you know what the fuck happens there. STOP IT. And never call me again from there, because when ou do, the first thing I’m going to ask is if you’re there, and if you’re fucking lying to me, I will never talk to you again.”I listened. I was afraid of him not staying with me, meant I truly had no one else in the world. I was very submissive. He preferred me to be submissive in the bedroom and in person. He would, what he liked to call, “fuck my face.” He would shove me up against walls (I will provide screenshots of that evidence as well), and use degrading language. There was no love making, or passion, or sensitivity. I did not know what normal relationships looked like. What I knew was he was my protector, I am safe when I am with him. That is all. I sabotaged the relationship I had with Bailee’s family and for those who have known me for a long time, knows what happened. I was homeless again. I could not go back home, I was 16, and I lived in Pearson Park. I dropped out of high school. Sometimes I would stay with my best friend, Danielle, and sometimes I would stay with my sister. Manny did not like me staying with my sister because he told me she was toxic for me. He did not like my sister and would treat her poorly when she was around. If I was at my sister’s house, Manny would shut me out, ignore, more or once told me to stay out of his life. I learned quickly who I was and was not allowed to talk to. If I had friends from my old high school, I wasn’t allowed to talk to them because they might ~be friends with Bailee.~ I was not allowed to go to backyard shows because he “feared for my safety.” I fed into all of it. I truly believed that no one else cared about  where I was or who I was with. Manny was my only source of family, love, and protection. It was the way he wanted it. If I wanted to take the bus to work, he’d insist on driving me. If my shoes were falling apart, he would yell at me for not telling him so he could get me new ones. If it was raining, and I chose to walk, I would be in trouble for not asking for a ride. My entire relationship with him, I walked on eggshells. A good friend of mine, Joey, almost punched me in the face once because I faked punching him in his balls. It was a hilarious to me and Joey. Manny told me I was not allowed to talk to Joey anymore because he was supposedly abusive. If I wanted to see friends or family, I had to sneak around. (Thankfully he forgot about the Joey thing, and let me still see him, I did NOT remind him). Simultaneously, I would catch Manny cheating on me with various women. Grace, Angie, Janet, Rachael (Mouth, for those of you who know her). Once, Manny broke up with me at his house and was texting Mouth saying I was crazy and he was so happy to get rid of me. He told her he was sick of me and he needed to breathe. The next day was my birthday and he picked me up because we still had plans. He must of have been real horny because he asked for me back, fucked me twice, and I was expected to carry on like we never  broke up. Every time, Manny would tell me that him cheating on me was only because he was under so much pressure of being an adult and taking care of me, a minor. He would say that if I truly loved him, I would never leave him. He would tell me that if I broke up with, I would have to move out of his house. I had to swallow all of it and keep going. Some nights, I couldn’t take it though. It was the first of me starting to “lash out” or what Manny calls, “psycho.” One night I bashed my head against a wall. Some nights, I would just leave and walk around for hours, then wait somewhere that I knew he would find me at. Just to be found. Just to be taken care of and cared about. There was a brief time that Manny went to Mexico for 3 weeks. We broke up online and I took it like a champ. I was so relieved. I used the time to focus on myself. I had already started going to Gilbert Continuation School, so I spent my time catching up on years of not going to school. Manny spent those 3 weeks on tumblr telling his followers that when he got back home from Mexico, he expects me to “respect his space.” And that he won’t, “deal with my bullshit.” People would comment on these posts supporting him because he painted me into looking like I was this obsessive monster. I will be including those screenshots as well. When he broke up with him, I wished him the best. The very hour Manny came home from Mexico, he SOBBED to me about how he was going to be a better boyfriend for me, and how he would never hurt me again and that he didn’t want to lose me. I was so hurt about how he painted me on the internet but I was NEVER EVER EVER EVER allowed to talk about it online or to friends because HE WAS A GROWN ASS MAN AND IF I SAID ANYTHING AT ALL, HE COULD GO TO JAIL. I took him back. Nothing changed. I ended up in Foster Care 6 months before my 18th birthday. Manny and I were still together. I was living in a group home and he was fucking a girl named Nicole. I had no idea. I protected his name from social workers and different foster parents I had. Eventually, Manny’s mother, Ofelia took me in. Bless her heart. She always told me, “I don’t see you as my son’s girlfriend, I see you as my daughter.” Her and I are still close to this day and I love her very much. Time went on, I turned 18, I entered transitional housing, and I got my own apartment. Manny was still cheating on me though. But now he didn’t have any more excuses. I wasn’t a teen anymore, he didn’t have to hide from authorities… This was just who he was. We broke up when I met Zach. I hated Manny. I hated him so much from years of what he put me through. As I got older and started to build a life for myself and build new relationships, I realized how much control I let him have over me. Who I was and was not allowed to see, what family I could or couldn’t talk to, what jobs I was or wasn’t allowed to have.  All while he slept with other women both older and younger than me at times. But I still talked to Manny.One afternoon he brought up that while I was in the group home, he was sleeping with someone else. Manny brought up even proposing to me to marry him that day. He cried, he came clean, he said he took advantage of me and how sickened he was with himself. He said I was just a child and I deserved so much better. I cried… I even considered breaking up with Zach. I was just 18 and I never knew my life without Manny and I was so so so afraid to find out. I had this attachment, and he still had so much control over me. Then his phone lit up, and it was girl named Janet. The messages were dirty and sexual. I lost my absolute shit. I picked up a knife from a plate of cake that was in my room and I cut myself. I held It up to my throat and told him that if I died it would be on his conscious. Manny wrestled to get the knife out of my hands. I ran to the bathroom and locked myself in there. Manny told me that if I did not let myself out of the bathroom he would kill himself. He was sobbing outside of the bathroom door and I wanted him to hurt. I did not care for one fucking minute what he did to himself. But I opened the door anyways. He pulled his phone camera out and started to record me. He started to narrate what was happening. He said, “really you’re going to hurt me? This is who you are, this is who she is…” So that he could have something to show people. So that he could tell people how crazy I was. I retorted by saying on camera, “tell them how old I was Manny, I was 14, tell them that, you’ll never tell the truth.” We did not talk for 4 years. I would occasionally look at his tumblr page and see what he would say about me. I’d occasionally get drunk and call and say something like, “you’re fucking stupiddddd” and hang up. Time healed, Zach and I made up.. We moved on. And I have been living my life ever since.Zach and I broke up, and I started dating someone else. It took me years to heal and I still am not there. I occassionaly still have suicidal tendencies. Or have the horrible habit to try and control the outcomes of situations. I still have abandonment issues.Manny sent me an email a year ago. Essentially wanting to talk things out. I agreed because I wanted a sense of validation. We met at the Continental Room in Fullerton. Manny showed up drunk. He immediately said, “you’re ass still looks just as good as the day I met you.” WHAT MANNY, WHEN I WAS 14??? BECAUSE  THAT’S WHEN YOU FIRST MET ME. He said he learned “new things in the bedroom,” and asked me multiple times to go and get a hotel room with him. He made multiple attempts to kiss me. I politely left the continental room and left Manny alone. That’s all I needed, validation. Yep, Ash, Manny is a creep, it wasn’t all in your head. He had hit me up and asked if he left his ID in my car. He emailed me saying he doesn’t remember what happened that night and that he thinks we’re “cool now.” I will include that email as well. Manny also sent me an email admitting he lied to people about me trying to stab him. So!!! Did I try and stab him? No, I did not. Do I wish now? Hahaha, no. But really…And you know what, I confronted him about all of this. And he agreed, he said, in the end of all of this, he was an adult, and I was a child. I told him it wasn’t right for me to threaten suicide, but to NEVER EVER leave out the part that he was a rapist, and he said he wouldn’t. And a year later, after he tried to sleep with me, he comes to all of you to tell you that I was a psycho crazy ex stalker and that he fears for his life and BLAH BLAH BLAH. It’s fucking boring. Manny, I’m sorry trauma serves you in a way where your memory is fuzzy. But my trauma NEVER lets me forget. Fuck you. Lizz, I’m sorry, you are an apologist. He is a rapist. There is proof, you support him, you’re an apologist. So continue to brag about how many orgasms you gave me and cry about how you’re relationship with a child did not work out the way you wished it did, but when you tell your story, don’t forget to include the part where you fucked a child for 4 years. You’re sick. Eat shit, Die. Seacrest Out.

Prunelle de mes yeux (Yandere Rook x Reader)

When I heard the love of my life liked poetry, 😍😳🤤.

"Oh Mon cheri,

You are the one I wish to strike by my arrow of love.

Once you were in my sight,

I became blinded by your radiance and beauty.

I want to sing my love for you to the heavens above,

So that you could hear me.

Dearest love you are the one for me,

You truly are the prunelle de mes yeux.

So, won't you please accept these gifts from me?"

As the poem came to an end her face was redder than the apple mentioned in the text. The words were sweet and heartfelt but what was unnerving was the gifts had been placed in a basket.

Quite a few of her favorite things were placed in the basket, from her favorite flowers in a bouquet, to a few of her favorite snacks. Not only that but the admirer asked to meet within the forest of Pomeifore.

So does that mean her admirer is really handsome? Only good looking people get assigned to that dorm. It's far better than having to go to Savanaclaw at least.

She's still weary about the situation at hand though, on one hand her admirer knows a bit too much about her and on the other hand it would be rude to not show up considering they did all of this. Furthermore she really was curious about who this person was. It was already a given how eloquent they were to write ths poem in cursive none the less.

A little bit of doubt sprung up in her.

"Pomeifore, how can anyone so beautiful from that dorm possibly fall for someone like me?" She voiced aloud to the slight breeze she felt.

She wonders if her admirer could see her love for the gift she was given. How unaware she was that he did see all of it a smile gracing his lips.

"Aw ma chérie, I'm flattered to hear you think I'm beautiful. Truly such an honor that is from a graceful mademoiselle as yourself. Not even the heavens above will stop me from professing my love and affection for you.'

A figure stepped from behind one of the old trees in the area surrounding Ramshackle elated to have heard her reaction to his gift. A good hunter always knew to conceal their presence from their prey.

He would have loved to hear her reaction in person, alas that isn't how he planned it though. He had to set a trap for her in order to confine her from all others.

But in due time it wouldn't be long before his prize for being so patient would arrive.

. . .

The plan was to meet as soon as it was near sunset at around dinner time as the note instructed. She wondered if her admirer had planned to eat with her in beautiful forest scenery that surrounded her. She decided to go in the end cause her conscience wouldn't let her sleep to know she didn't thank the person who went through such efforts to confess.

More and more steps she traveled deeper into the eastern forest of Pomeifore hearing few birds chirp occassionally.

'Head straight from the right side of Pomeifore castle where you'll find a forest beyond the small tower, until you come up to a flat rock. Then you'll find a sign from me there.' Simple instructions.

She saw what she believed to be the rock mentioned and stood there for a moment.

"I wonder if your already here?"

She noticed a paper sticking up from a tree settled behind the rock taped there. It was folded in half and had four words scribbled on the front.

"Prunelle de mes yeux." Was what it said.

'That same phrase.'

She opened it to find even more words scribbled inside.

"You've arrived and have yet to see me, Mon chèri.

I'm sure you're eagerly awaiting my presence, as am I with my overwhelming desire to introduce myself to your wonderfully bright e/c eyes.

But as eager as we both are all good things come to those who wait, as they say.

How about we play a little game?"

Toward the sea,

You shall go,

West from thee

Is where you'll find me.'

"West?"

She could see light trying to break through the foliage of the trees to the right of her.

"The sun sets in the west. So towards the cliffs."

As she walked past a few of the trees, she couldn't help but anticipate meeting this stranger. After crossing the threshold of forestry, she came to face with a sunset that was beautiful beyond words. She was so mesmerized that she didn't noticed the smile directed toward her.

Most definitely she didn't notice his footsteps, as silent as his true intentions.

"Enjoying the view, mon cheri?"

She jumped with a squeak in which had to pull her closer in fear of her falling.

As she looked back at her savior he found himself gazing into flustered expression, that was cute with a faint innocence and shyness that expertly glowed in Rook's green eyes.

She on the other hand noticed his hat that was about to blow off and fall into the sea. Which made her grab it before it could, slipping one of her arms out of Rook's hold. It definitely took him by surprise to see her act with care toward such an insignificant thing. His hold on her did loosen and she was able to get and face him with a reserved nature then the determination he had just saw.

"Ah, I'm such a clutz, here I wouldn't want you to lose such an important item just because you saved me."

"I'm flattered mon amour, but your far more important than some silly hat. Risking your life for something like that makes that beautiful visage shine even brighter." His bright smile definitely had her heart beating at a rabbit's pace not only that but his words weren't something you would hear from any normal student of Night Raven College.

The tone definitely matched the letters she had been sent.

"Your the person who wrote those letters."

"Dearest, prunelle de mes yeux you are indeed correct. Rook Hunt, a pleasure it is to finally meet you up close after seeing you afar." Even though she should've she didn't think too much about the last part of his statement only one phrase in particular.

"What does that mean, it is French right? You said that in your first letter, I recognize the common phrases of love but this one is more complex." As she finished her question she felt as though his happiness visibly increased.

He came a bit closer cupping her cheeks in his gloved ones, a subtle smile but with evergreen eyes that hid so much behind him.

"It means apple of my eye, I'm so glad you remembered that part." He was so close you could definitely see why his soul was chosen to be apart of Pomeifore.

Before she could take a second to admire him longer he had took her hand leading her about a few yards from where they were currently. When he moved to the side there sat a table, two chairs and plates, silverware, an appetizer and a small macaroon tower. Not to mention the small lit candle out of three in between, it was strange since the sunset provided a enough light already.

"Shall we commence our date then? How about we get to know you more personally and me the same?"

. . .

The date was enjoyable to say the least for both parties. She enjoyed his personality and theatrics while he enjoyed her company and entire being sitting across from him, listening to every word she said.

Even after the food was eaten and they stayed in each other's company. It was dark now and Rook had lit two more candles with his pen to add some extra light as he urged her to continue on with her story. The flicker flame kind of casted an eerie shadow over her companion.

Overtime she started to feel insanely sleepy. Yawning in the middle of yet another of their conversations. She apologized for the umpteenth time, as she believed it was because of her herself being tired. It was still rude of course though.

He found it cute, smirking with hidden intent as his plan was working. He was currently teaching her words in French upon asking for more terms he could teach her.

"It's okay, mon amour. You seem sleepy no? How about we get you home?"

The nickname still didn't sit in her mind in complacency causing her to blush. He had already gotten up from his place bringing along the candelabra closer to her face to extend a hand to her.

As soon as she took his hand getting up however she could her eyes automatically closing, and body shutting down. Before she could fully fall into slumber her legs were swept up into the arms of her captor who had placed the candelabra a far enough distance on the table.

Holding her in a bridal fashion Rook examined the unconscious female. As he gently caressed her lips and admired all that was before him in that moment he had her in his arms.

"Words enough aren't able to convey my love to you ma chérie for you are the prunelle de mes yeux after all, and one spell was all it took for me to be able to gain such an astonishing view of your visage." He held her delicately in his arms brushing away some of her hair on her face, gently laying her head on his chest.

"Too curious and naive for your own good, that is why I must take you away so that no one will ever taint that beauty of yours." He says with a calm smile painting his expression as he headed toward Pomeifore.

Masterlist

An Open Letter to an Old Friend

An Open Letter to an Old Friend

Dear You, I can honestly say I never imagined myself writing you a letter at this age, but here I am. I don’t remember the last time I wrote you one. However, I do remember the most notorious letter I ever wrote you. It’s the reason I’m writing to you now. St. Elmo’s Fire (1985) I found an old VHS tape that had the movie I made for a high school project. The movie was about a fight we had…

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