#//and it's bc i wrote myself into a corner on one thread. to say that craig basically hasn't changed hairstyles in like 10 years | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

unbridgeabledistances · 3 years

Note

prompt: domestic gallavich/being intimate in a nonsexualway bc there’s like 3 weeks til the next episode 😐

your wish is my command, anon!<3 i decided to tie this into next ep bc i simply cannot HANDLE mickey’s outfit/big gay metamorphosis & i needed to create the scene that inspired it so i wrote this

a one-shot bridging 11x06 and 11x07 in which ian and mickey talk about “gay friends,” ripped jeans, and do a bit of processing along the way

tw for brief mention of homophobia/abuse (bc terry lol)

“How come we don’t have any, like, gay friends?”

Ian looked up from where he was laying on the ground, breathing heavily after a series of push-ups, a nightly routine that he was trying to keep intact even though he and Mickey were practically driving the entire circumference of Chicago every day to make weed deliveries from dawn til dusk, leaving them both exhausted. It had been a week since all the shit with Terry, and a month or so since he and Mickey had started the security gig; while months ago their evenings would be spent sitting side by side on the bed in a brittle silence while Ian read or scratched in his notebook and Mickey played games on his phone blasting at full volume in the pajamas he’d been wearing all day, these days the evenings in their bedroom were softer and warmer— like they were settling into the space together, like they were both on the same team instead of constantly clashing and butting heads while trapped in a too-small space. These days, after having dinner in the clamor of the crowded kitchen, he and Mickey would head upstairs and change out of their uniforms, and Ian would work out while Mickey mostly just lounged on the bed, sometimes making commentary and watching him bob up and down with a pensive smirk or scrolling through his phone.

But tonight, Mickey was quiet— his eyes flickered to the curves and edges of Ian’s torso every now and then as Ian broke a sweat, but otherwise he wasn’t playfully poking and prodding like usual.

Mickey had been a lot quieter in general this week, after all the stuff with Terry— Ian knew seeing the source of all of Mickey’s trauma in a wheelchair immobile from the neck down, the most vulnerable Terry could have been, felt worse than someone repeatedly twisting a knife in Mickey’s abdomen. But beyond the initial shock and the almost-murder and lugging him up the stairs, having Terry in a wheelchair twenty feet away did something deeper to Mickey. This whole situation shifted something solid that had been lodged in the pit of Mickey’s stomach for years— Ian could see it, and he fucking hated it. He hated Mickey’s glassy contemplative eyes as he looked out the car window while they drove to a new dropoff location, lost in his head when he thought Ian wasn’t looking. He hated the tightly wound tension between Mickey’s shoulder blades as he slept, curled into himself and twisted in the comforter, facing away from Ian on the other side of the bed. He hated the tight smiles Mickey gave him as he made some offhand joke about Terry when they could hear him cursing and shrieking through the open front windows, smiles that were trying to prove something outwardly but showed the barbed pain stinging at Mickey’s insides. Ian poured out what he could in soft touches, in skims of fingertips at the breakfast table and in an arm over Mickey’s waist while they slept; but he could only give as much as Mickey would take, and for most of the week Mickey had shut everyone out with iron walls.

Ian couldn’t imagine what was stirring in Mickey’s mind; he’d seen some of Mickey’s trauma firsthand, sure, and some of the stories about Terry came slipping through the cracks when Mickey’s guard was down— mostly on those late nights when they both couldn’t sleep and Mickey whispered into the crook of Ian’s neck as they were curled into each other, cradled in the dark silence of their bedroom. But Ian knew there was deeper shit that he hadn’t heard about, and he could see the constant fear of Mickey’s adolescence hanging heavy around his neck all these years later. But Mickey didn’t need anyone to push his walls down— Ian knew he’d open up when he was ready.

Which is why this random question, the most direct statement Mickey had really made to him all week, caught Ian off guard. He sat up, folding his arms over his legs and staring up at where Mickey was slouching on the bed, propped up by a pillow he’d shoved between his back and the wall. “Gay friends?” he asked, more than a little confused.

Mickey cleared his throat. “Yeah, gay friends, y’know. Like all your youth center queers that came to the wedding or whatever.” He suddenly looked down and picked at a fraying thread on his shirt sleeve, not meeting Ian’s eyes.

Ian raised an eyebrow in curiosity. This was random, sure, but Mickey wouldn’t have brought it up if something wasn’t weighing on him, bubbling up after all the events of this week.

“I don’t know— I guess since the pandemic and stuff, I haven’t really kept in touch with Geneva or any of those guys who came to our wedding. We only really talked after I got out of prison because of all the Gay Jesus publicity bullshit, but after you got out I wasn’t really thinking about that as much.”

Mickey blew out a breath, so quietly Ian barely noticed it. Ian stood, wiping his sweaty forehead and plopping down on the bed next to Mickey, folding his legs so their knees were almost touching— but still giving him space, still letting him breathe.

“Why’re you asking?”

“Don’t know, really. Just thinkin’.” Mickey picked at his shirt sleeve again, then flickered his gaze up to meet Ian’s eyes, two clear pools of glassy blue. “Thinkin’ about what life could’ve been like. If I wasn’t scared shitless of who I was for so long.”

Ian felt something twist in his gut, the same queasy pang of pain that always resurfaced whenever he saw Mickey like this, whenever he was reminded of all the unspeakable agony that Terry had put him through.

“It’s fucked up that you didn’t get to be who you were for so long, Mick,” he breathed, knowing that statement didn’t cover the amount of things that were fucked up about this situation.

Mickey ran his teeth over his bottom lip, like he was concentrating. “Yeah.”

Ian let them sit there for a second. It seemed like Mickey wanted to say more, but something in him was frozen solid. After a moment, Ian tried to break the tension.

“Hey, for the record, I’ve had lots of gay friends and you aren’t missing much. There’s lots of PC bullshit that’s important but took me fucking forever to learn— and even then, I never really felt like I totally belonged.” He gently nudged Mickey’s ribcage. “I guess that’s why I forgot about everyone, between work and getting to be with you all the time— I’d rather eat pizza in the mall food court with you than go to some boujee fucking café with the youth center people any day.”

The corner of Mickey’s mouth ticked upwards slightly. “Yeah. Guess you’re right.” His fingers went slack around the threads on his shirtsleeve he’d been picking at. “You don’t… miss it though? Bein’ around people who’re like us?”

Ian paused for a moment, imagining the youth center crew in the same room as Mickey— it would be fucking comical, like people speaking two different languages, like astronauts trying to communicate with aliens on Mars through gestures and confused looks. But that was just because Mickey didn’t know how to speak that language— he’d been kept shrouded in an abusive household with daily death threats for years, and then stowed away in prison where he didn’t have the chance to go to fucking brunches and clubs and education events like Ian could. Ian got the chance to learn all that shit— it wasn’t Mickey’s fault that he never did, and if it was anyone’s, it was all Terry’s.

Ian’s eyes flickered to Mickey’s face— he looked vulnerable and split open, like he was drifting away in all the possibilities of what could have been. When he answered, Ian spoke softly, carefully.

“I mean… I guess I do. There were nice parts of going out with people, or even those after-parties back when I used to work at the club. There’s something nice about being with your people, where you can make jokes about stuff or talk about deep shit and everyone’s on the same page. It’s hard to find that around here.” Ian tentatively crawled his hand over the blanket, letting it rest on Mickey’s knee. “S’there anything else going on?”

Mickey raised his thumb to his mouth, biting at a hangnail contemplatively. “Dunno, man. Just thinking. How it might be nice, to have friends like us. I used to be scared of hangin’ with other queers, but I think that was just some deep bullshit with Terry.” He looked up to meet Ian’s eyes. “It’d be nice to stop… hating that part of myself, or whatever.”

Ian smiled, reaching to intertwine his fingers with Mickey’s and tracing a pattern with the thumb that was free from their grasp on Mickey’s inner thigh, a soft touch of validation that Ian hoped would soak into Mickey’s skin.

“I think so too.” Ian watched the corner of Mickey’s mouth curve upwards. “I can definitely hit up some of the people I used to hang with, and see if they wanna get coffee or something? With the two of us? Only if you want.”

Mickey nodded— then chuckled a breathy laugh, like he was relieved. “Fuck it. Yeah.”

Ian couldn’t help it; Mickey looked so fucking sweet and so relieved that he had to press a kiss to the top of his head. Mickey squirmed underneath him, bristling like a cat that didn’t want to be pet like he did with most of Ian’s soft touches— but Ian just grinned and doubled down, pressing another slower peck onto Mickey’s temple. Mickey blew out a slow breath.

“Don’t know what I’d fuckin’ wear to a brunch with a bunch of Northside do-gooder gays,” he said after a moment, his voice wavering so slightly that no one except Ian would have noticed.

Ian rolled his eyes fondly, giving Mickey’s hand a quick pulse of a squeeze. “Mickey, are you kidding? Wear whatever the fuck you want. You don’t need to change yourself, that’s kind of the whole point.”

“Yeah. Fuck. Guess it is.” Mickey was quiet for a moment, but still chewing on his bottom lip, like he was building the courage to say something more. Ian could tell— he let the comfortable silence hang between them, knowing that Mickey would break it when he was ready.

“D’you think it’d be stupid if I, like, tried to… jazz up my look a bit?” He darted his eyes nervously to Ian’s face, down to their clasped hands, and then back to the covers again. “Like, uh— I don’t know. Maybe wore some shit that didn’t have holes in it. With patterns, or whatever.”

Ian felt his face split into a grin. Patterns, or whatever— god, he loved his dumbass husband so fucking much. He pressed another kiss to Mickey’s cheek— this time Mickey didn’t flinch away, his only resistance a forced roll of his eyes.

“Mick, I don’t think that’s stupid at all. I think you should dress however makes you feel good.”

“’Kay.” Mickey pursed his lips, like he was still hesitant. Ian rubbed his thumb over the back of Mickey’s hand, their fingers still clasped and hanging limply in Mickey’s lap. The silence was hanging again, and Ian could still feel the tight waves of anxiety bouncing off of Mickey. He took in a breath.

“I could… help you, y’know. If you wanted to dress a certain way. At the very least I could gas you up and tell you how hot you look.” Ian paused, smirking and running his eyes over Mickey’s torso. “But I could also help you pick shit out, or whatever. We could order some stuff online.”

Mickey looked up at him, his eyes oddly relieved and open in a way they hadn’t been in days. “Yeah?”

Ian softly smiled. “Yeah. Only if you want to. You’re you, and you don’t have to pretend to be anyone else. I love the way you look— hell, it drives me crazy, Mick. But— if you feel like you aren’t dressing the way that makes you feel the best, or like you’re putting on an act for other people and you don’t want to anymore— then we can figure this out.”

This time it was Mickey that initiated affection, lifting their clasped hands and pressing a quick ghost of a kiss to Ian’s wrist. Ian smiled in acknowledgement, then playfully raised his eyebrows. “You wanna look online now? I’m done working out and more than happy to help you gay up your look.”

Mickey unclasped their hands, playfully shoving Ian squarely in the chest. “Fuck you.” Then, in an uncharacteristic move from the way Mickey had been flinching away from his touches all week, Mickey leaned in closer to Ian’s chest, nestling his back on Ian’s sternum and reaching for his phone that was discarded on the blanket beside him. “Alright, hot stuff. Where’re we fucking shopping?”

Ian grinned and snapped the waistband of Mickey’s sweatpants playfully, shuffling underneath him and getting comfortable.

“’Kay, let me think. I used to order a bunch of shirts and stuff from Primark when I was going out with the youth center people. They have good denim, too.”

Mickey’s bottom lip was caught between his teeth again while he listened. He hesitated for a moment, his thumb hovering over the phone’s keyboard— then, in an automatic movement, he quickly shoved his phone into Ian’s hand, cheerfully wriggling back into Ian’s chest. Ian smirked and unlocked the phone, happy to take the reins— online shopping for fashion was clearly lightyears out of Mickey’s comfort zone.

Ian navigated over to the Primark homepage, plastered with torsos of toned models wearing striped button ups and ripped jeans. His thumb pressed down onto the “denim” tab, and he started to slowly scroll through the rows of options, holding the phone so Mickey could see.

“I don’t know what you really want, but they’ve got pretty cheap pants and shit that’re good quality…” Ian let his voice trail off, speaking softly to where Mickey was lying on his chest in a voice that he knew was tickling the shell of Mickey’s ear. Mickey almost seemed… nervous, or at the very least paralyzed by the wealth of options. He raised his thumb to his mouth, anxiously biting the hangnail again.

“I guess those ripped ones don’t look too bad.”

Ian clicked on the picture Mickey was referring to. They were black jeans, a dark wash and skinny cut, with patches ripped on both knees. Ian felt something well in his chest, probably an overreaction to a pair of jeans— but these jeans were perfect for Mickey. They weren’t too much, weren’t overly fashionable, but they still felt more clean-cut than the baggy pants Mickey usually threw on. These jeans were badass, and totally aligned with Mickey’s don’t-fuck-with-me vibe, but they were deliberate. Stylish. Like they were saying here the fuck I am.

“Yeah?” Ian knew Mickey could tell he was smiling from his voice.

Mickey smirked, craning his neck and turning to look up at Ian. “Yeah. Think I can pull ‘em off?”

Ian pressed his lips together. “Fuck yeah. You’re gonna look so good.”

Mickey just gave a satisfied smile, and nestled back against Ian’s chest again. “Let’s get ‘em, then.”

#i hope u enjoy!<3 #also im sorry I’ve been so mia in regards to prompts #my mom’s been in the hospital all week and it’s just been a very tough and draining time #but writing this brought me so so much joy!#gallavich #gallavich fic #shameless #shameless fic #ian x mickey #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #shameless season 11

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expectingtofly · 3 years

Text

Eternity

15x20 fix-it coda

also on ao3

I don’t know how to cope with the finale, so I wrote this:

Dean opened his eyes to mountains.

Bright, blue sky, tall grass at his feet. Cool, brisk, fresh air. He ran a hand over his chest. No blood. No pain. He took a deep breath. So this was his Heaven.

He hadn’t wanted to die. Not now, not when he had just been finding his way. Researching, hunting, trying to be happy for Sam and Eileen—adopting a dog, for fuck’s sake. Trying so hard to not let Cas’ sacrifice go to waste, to live his life fully. But there was so much he’d still wanted to do.

His eyes burned with tears and he blinked fiercely. Funny, he’d once thought Heaven would be peaceful, happy. But it hurt, so much, to leave Sam behind. It hurt knowing there was truly no chance of ever seeing Cas again—

Shaking his head, he stepped forward, staring up at the weathered, old building he’d appeared beside. This was his ending. He had to accept it; maybe one day he could accept it. He had an eternity to come to terms with it all, he supposed.

“Dean!” someone greeted him as he walked around the corner of the building, and he realized Bobby was sitting on the front porch. The front porch of the Harvelle Roadhouse, Dean realized.

“Bobby?” He raised his arms automatically as Bobby rose out of his chair and pulled him into a hug. “What are you doing here? What memory is this?”

“It ain’t a memory.” Bobby pulled away and clapped him on the shoulder, smiled. “Heaven’s different now. Your boy Jack fixed it. Everyone’s free, not trapped in memories of their past life. You get to live a new life up here.”

Stunned, Dean looked around. Baby sat a few feet away in the parking lot. Low music carried from inside the Roadhouse. No monsters. Freedom. Felt like a pretty good ending. Almost perfect.

“Jack’s here, by the way,” Bobby said, sinking into one of the chairs on the porch.

“He is?” Dean sat down in the chair next to Bobby. “But he said—”

Bobby laughed. “He may be God, or the equivalent, but he’s just a boy. I think the whole raindrop thing got old after one day. I have a feeling he’ll be visiting Sam and the others on Earth soon enough.”

Dean laughed and gestured to the roadhouse. “Are Ellen and Jo here?”

Bobby nodded. “Rufus too. Your friend Charlie, Kevin, everyone else, they’re all just down the road. We’ve been waiting for you and Sam. Didn’t think you'd arrive so quickly, to be honest.”

“Me neither,” Dean admitted. “Sam, he’ll be okay, won’t he? I told him, I don’t want him to hunt anymore, I want him to be happy with Eileen, have some kids—” He realized he was clenching the armrests of the chair.

“I think he’ll be just fine,” Bobby said. “You’re gonna be alright too.”

“Have to be, right?” Dean asked. His throat felt tight. “I’m in Heaven now.”

Bobby studied him and Dean looked away, swallowed hard as he stared out at the mountains, at the trees in every shade of green, at the dirt road disappearing into the distance.

“He’s here too.”

Dean snapped his head back to stare at Bobby, who smiled knowingly. His heart began thumping in his chest and he gripped the armrests once again.

“Soon as Jack showed up, he brought someone else back.”

“He did?” Dean stood, his heart racing. Tears were pricking his eyes again, but he saw Bobby’s smile widen. “Cas?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Bobby nodded at the door to the roadhouse. “I’m sure he’s waiting inside.”

Turning, Dean wrenched open the door and rushed into the barroom.

The lights were on, the jukebox playing “The Rain Song” low, and there, turning around to face him, was Castiel.

Blue eyes, the trenchcoat, the crooked tie. Dean froze, staring.

Castiel smiled. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean had him in his arms before he realized he was rushing forward. His hands gripped at the familiar fabric of the trenchcoat, and he felt Castiel’s arms come up around him, hold him tight. A sob rose in his throat, then he was crying like he hadn’t cried since the night Castiel died. He buried his face in Castiel’s shoulder and cried from relief so acute it felt like he was dying all over again.

“I thought you were gone,” he choked out. “I thought I’d lost you forever—” He pulled back to look at Castiel and search his face to confirm it was really him. “You died, I watched you die.”

“It's me,” Castiel said, still holding tightly to him. His eyes were wet. "Jack brought me back."

“Since when?” Tentatively, he raised a hand to touch Castiel’s face, then let his hand stay there, cupping Castiel's jaw. Castiel looked younger; Dean wondered if he looked younger too. “When were you going to come see me?”

A sad smile tugged at Castiel’s mouth and he ducked his head. “I wasn’t sure, I thought perhaps—”

“Cas, I love you.” The words came out so easily, but they had been building in his chest for a long time now.

Castiel raised his head, and he looked so surprised, so unsure.

“I love you,” Dean repeated. He brought his other hand to Castiel’s cheek, cradled his face. “I’m so sorry I never told you; I never even admitted it to myself for so long. I told myself you couldn’t ever feel that way towards me, of all people. And then when I knew, it was too late.” His voice broke at the memory of black enveloping Castiel, pulling him away, and he shut his eyes, took a stuttering breath. He'd been so scared he'd never get to say these words aloud, so scared Castiel would never hear them.

He felt light fingers touch his hands, warm palms cup them with his own. “Dean,” Castiel said quietly and pressed his forehead against Dean’s.

“Thank you for saving me,” Dean said, steadying himself with the simple touch. “Thank you, for everything. You’ve always been there, and I love you. I love you, Castiel, and you can have me, you’ve always had me.”

Castiel nodded, then tilted his face up and they were kissing, and it was wet and messy, and Dean was pretty sure he was still crying, but he was so damn relieved, he thought it was the best kiss he’d ever had.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” he said when they broke apart. He tried to catch his breath and let out a laugh. “I didn’t think I’d ever be this happy.”

“Good things do happen, Dean,” Castiel said, smiling through his tears. He wiped at the tears on Dean’s cheek with his thumb.

Dean smiled. “Yeah, I think I’m ready to believe it now.”

Clutching Castiel’s hand, he took a deep breath and looked around the Roadhouse. “So this is it. This is Heaven.”

“It’s... beautiful here,” Castiel said. “Jack did a wonderful job. You can have anything you want now. Any life you want.”

Dean nodded slowly. “Well. I know Sam is alive and has Jack to look out for him. I have Baby. I have Bobby and Ellen and Jo.” He looked back at Castiel. “I have you. I want you. You’re all I ever wanted.”

“I’m here,” Castiel said, squeezing his hand. “You’ll always have me.”

Dean kissed him again. He’d never felt more alive, which shouldn’t make sense, but he felt hope and joy and relief thrumming through his veins, so many emotions he didn’t know what to do, he felt almost dizzy.

Pulling back suddenly, he asked, “Do you want to dance?”

Castiel started laughing. “Yes,” he said, threading his fingers through Dean’s. “Yes, I do.”

They turned slowly through the room to the music from the jukebox. Dean spun Castiel around and Castiel laughed. Pressing back up against Dean, he beamed at him. "I love you."

Dean slid his hand under Castiel's trenchcoat. "Love you more."

“Not possible," Castiel said, and Dean smiled wider. He thought he would never stop smiling. Never stop smiling for an eternity, an eternity with Castiel.

have to link to these gifs bc they make my heart happy <3

**story edited on 11/22 to replace “your mom and dad are down the road” to “charlie and kevin are down the road” bc fuck john

Tag List

@becky-srs @xojo @marvelnaturalock @cas-you-assbutt-dean-needs-you @aelysianmuse @prayedtoyou @letsjustdieeveryone @spookyskeletonsandallthezombies @good-things-do-happen-dean @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @theninthdutchessofhell

these characters hold a special place in my heart, so I won’t stop writing about them anytime soon. Let me know (message, ask, comment) if you’d like to be tagged in my other destiel fics or removed from the list :)

#my heart hurts #but if dean had to die in the finale #at least cas couldve showed up!!#if he was indeed there as bobby hinted #just makes me sad that cas got so fucked over #anyway #fluff #forehead touch #kissing #crying #love confession #slow dancing #destiel fic #expectingtofly writes #sappy shit

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seanfalco · 3 years

Text

To Hurt | Nathan Young x Reader

Wrote this sometime last year when I was having a bad night, but then talked myself out of posting it. Went back to it tonight bc I’m back in the same place and finished it. Figured maybe it might help someone else feel better too.

A vent piece in a similar vein as Comfort.

word count: 1.1k

warning(s): language, depictions of self harm

You wanted to hurt.

You wanted to hurt as badly on the outside as you did inside. That thought hadn’t surfaced in a long while, not since you’d left your stepmum’s, so the fact that it did now scared you.

It scared you a lot.

But It would be so easy. Hurting yourself. You’d done it before, many times, in so many different ways.

Jumping up, you balled your hand into a fist as you faced the bedroom wall and punched as hard as you could.

It only took a moment of anger, a moment of frustration and it was over... but the pain that traveled up your arm seemed to shock you awake.

Oh, it hurt worse than you’d thought.

Already your hand was beginning to swell, throbbing hard enough to bring fresh tears to your eyes and you shook your hand, a choked sob escaping your lips. Shit, did you break it? You couldn’t move your fingers.

“[y/n]? Th’fuck was that noise?” Nathan’s voice called from the other room and you just stood there, pressing your back to the wall and sliding to the ground. The apartment was small, you knew he’d find you soon.

How were you supposed to explain this?

Raising your eyes you stared at the crack in the wall where your fist had just made contact. You were probably gunna lose your safety deposit for that.

“[y/n]? Oh, Jesus!” Nathan exclaimed as his eyes went from the hole in the wall to the steadily darkening black and purple bruises covering your knuckles. Crouching in front of you he winced as he took your hand to get a closer look before his eyes flicked back to your tear stained face, your makeup no doubt a mess.

“What happened?” he asked, though it was pretty clear what happened.

With a sniffle, you shrugged halfheartedly, unable to quite make your voice work. When you didn’t answer, merely averting your eyes ashamedly, Nathan let out a long breath.

“I’ll get some ice,” he muttered, leaving you with your guilt, the empty pit inside you threatening to swallow you whole. He was only gone a minute, back with a baggie of ice and a towel and you couldn’t stomach the worry lurking behind his green eyes as he wrapped the towel round your hand, to hold the ice bag in place.

Pressing his back against the wall next to you, he drew his knees up to his chest and you felt his hand brush your non injured one. Letting him thread his fingers with yours you felt another wave of self loathing coming and you almost wrenched your hand away, instead squeezing his fingers hard, desperately holding onto him.

“Why’d you do that?” Nathan asked, watching you from the corner of his eye, his head pressed back against the wall as he worried his lip with his teeth.

“I wanted to hurt,” you murmured softly. “We don’t all get blackout drunk when we hate ourselves.”

At your words, Nathan grimaced and you felt shame wash through you, a stray tear falling down your cheek. “I’m sorry…” you muttered, shaking your head, sniffling thickly. “Are y’mad about the wall?”

Nathan turned to gape at you incredulously. “No! God, no! Fuck th’wall, who cares bout that? We’ll hang a poster or somethin’ over it. I’m worried bout you. I’ve never seen yeh like this before,” he exclaimed, shakily.

“Don’t you ever just feel like you’re not good enough?” you whispered, your voice cracking.

Silence stretched and Nathan nodded, leaning against you. “Are y’kiddin’? I always feel that way.” He swallowed and turned to face you. “But you… you’re the best damn thing t’ever happen t’me, and I think you’re better than good enough. I wouldn’t trade you for all the money or--or booze, or blowjobs in th’world! I’m serious!” he exclaimed, picking up speed. “An, y’know how much I love all those things.”

For a moment you nearly cracked a smile, but Nathan caught it.

“Next time you feel like this, tell me an’ I’ll distract you. Or we’ll go out an’ break something or vandalize something instead. Fuck, we could even steal your stepsister’s car again and crash it, just for th’hell of it. But yeh don’t hafta do this alone. That’s why I’m here, yeah?”

Oh no, you thought, here come the fuckin’ waterworks, but Nathan was quick to pull you into his lap, and he didn’t care if you got his shirt wet from crying against his chest. He merely began to murmur all his favourite things about you into your ear, each thing cheesier than the last til he got you to finally laugh, even if it was a watery one.

“There, see,” he murmured looking rather proud of himself, “I’ll earn my keep yet.”

“Thank you,” you managed to sniffle and Nathan wiped the last few stray tears from your cheeks before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“‘Course, like I said, that’s what I’m here for, love.”

Flexing your hand, you grimaced at the sting, pulling the ice bag from it. At least you could move it; it seemed less likely that it was broken now.

“What am I s’posed t’tell people bout this? It’s not exactly… subtle,” you sighed, already regretting your actions and Nathan grinned slightly.

“We’ll tell em… you got in a fistfight with a mugger and that you won.”

Though you looked skeptical you felt somewhat lighter, buoyed by Nathan’s easy grin and his jokes.

“C’mon, I think its time for a proper snuggle,” he exclaimed and you didn’t argue, letting him carry you to the bed before folding you into his arms.

“I meant it when I said you’re th’best thing t’ever happen t’me, y’know?” he murmured, taking your face between his hands. “I don’t wanna lose you... you know what I mean?” he asked, giving you a pointed look, as if saying it aloud might make it happen and once more white hot shame washed through you.

“I know, I’m sorry,” you whispered, clutching at his shirt with your good hand.

“Please don’t do that again?” he insisted, his eyes seeking yours, all trace of amusement gone, and you nodded.

“I won’t, I promise.”

Hearing the sincerity in your voice, Nathan seemed to relax, pressing his lips to your forehead before tilting your chin up to kiss your lips.

“Good, cause I don’t think the wall’ll hold up if you hit it again. You’re too strong,” he teased. “It’s be like kapow! and then turn into rubble or somethin’, and then we’d hafta share one big open flat with th’neighbors, and I don’t know about you [y/n], but I don’t think I’d like that. There goes all our privacy!”

When he got you to laugh, really laugh, a proud smile stole across his face, his expression lighting up hopefully as he watched you.

“Hey Nathan,” you murmured, as your giggles finally died down.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

#misfits #nathan young #nathan young x reader #self harm tw #my writing

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mego42 · 3 years

Text

fav lines tag

RULES: share your favorite sentence/paragraph from each one of your fics and tag 6 other fic writers to do it too :)

tagged by the talented brilliant incredible @foxmagpie (💖)

tagging: @pynkhues @hypermania @bethsuglywigs @riosnecktattoo @missmaxime @sothischickshe @joeyjoeylee

some ground rules: I’m only doing brio fic bc at some point when I wasn’t paying attention I wrote a metric fuckton of it and we’re already gonna be here all day bc my other ground rule is I’m allowed to interpret the concept of a line however i want. i’m also gonna tell you why i picked them bc no one can stop me. cool? cool. good talk.

your monster looks like mine

okay so my first choice for fav would be the entire ~conversation around whether or not beth had a choice when she set rio up bc oooof I just love how that came out so! much! BUT if I’m limiting myself to something closer to a line, I’m going with this one. i love what it establishes for rio’s emotional state when it comes to beth, i love how it captures their push/pull constant one upping battle, I love the rhythm of the flow of it and the grandiose verbiage (i was having a frankly unreasonable amount of fun with natural phenomena imagery throughout the whole fic and this captures a bit of it). idk I just think it’s neat.

The words rip through him, a bright, blazing comet trail whipped across his sky, illuminatin’ his landscape, impossible to ignore.

Elizabeth’s spread out on the bed below him, golden hair tumblin’ around her face, mouth red and swollen, lookin’ up at him like she’s got him. Like she’s figured some shit out. Like she fuckin’ did something by putting that together.

Like Rio doesn’t fuckin’ know. Like that doesn’t fuckin’ haunt him, torment him, mock him every time she pulls some of her bullshit and he’s left picking up the pieces, knowin’ damn well what the right answer is but also knowin’ he’s always gonna be wrong when it comes to her.

a song inside the halls of the dark

another one where I’d pick a whole scene if I could BUT if the whole opening flashback isn’t on the table (idk I love it for 14,000 reasons including how it sets up the bookend structure for the chapter, how it sets up a bunch of the final payoffs, the tone of it, idk everything about it came out exactly how I wanted it to and I really love how it tees up the ending), then I’m going with this bit from the final brio scene. it ties back in a whole bunch of threads that have been woven in and out all the way back to the first chapter and closes them out in a way that also feels (to me) like a beginning which I love bc the whole theme of the chapter is it’s a beginning, not the end.

What does it mean then, that he’s slept so soundly beside her?

The playhouse glows softly. She wonders how many more times she can get away with sanding it before it weakens past the point of supporting the kids’ weight and the whole thing collapses.

Behind it, she can see the long shadow it casts reaching for the boxwoods bordering the yard. The lines of the structure frame windows of bright moonlight on the grass, eerily reminiscent of the windows that loomed large in the nightmares Beth abruptly realizes she hasn’t had in weeks. Not since that last night at Rio’s loft. And that’d been the last one since...his car. Canada. The night all of this started.

Beth blinks. What does it mean that she’s slept so soundly beside him?

A-live, alive, alive, I—

Her breath catches.

—

pills’n’potions

I don’t have any grand reasoning for why I picked this bit from the 4th (i think?) ~ch as my fav, I just really like writing annie and rio interacting and I especially love writing them with annie like, intellectually aware that she should probably be afraid of him but also spiritually incapable of not being herself and rio being wildly annoyed by it

"What?" He asks, giving the t an edge sharp enough to cut.

There's a pause. "What like you didn't hear me, or what like what do I want?"

[...]

"Hello?"

Now the sister sounds like she's getting annoyed, and Rio's really gotta do somethin' about the two of them runnin' 'round actin' like he's someone they can get away with not takin' seriously. Like he's some sort of pet. Defanged. Declawed. Fuckin' neutered.

"Get to the point."

"I mean, I kind of did in the message."

—

trade my heart for honey

the only thing sexier than rio being good at pool is beth being a fucking shark and rio being out of control turned on by it.

Dropping all pretense at being less than she is, Beth grabs the cue ball, positioning it slightly to the left of center where the felt is slightly more worn. Even without the tell, she's seen Rio put it there enough times to know it's the table's sweet spot. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Rio shift his weight before she tunes him out entirely, drawing the stick back and letting it fly.

It's as close to a perfect break as she's probably ever managed. The cue ball connects dead on, scattering the rest far and wide. The one and the six drop neatly into pockets, the four and five coming to a stop right on the edge of the left side and far left corner, nearly closing off that whole side of the table.

Every stripe remains in play.

"Solids," she says, not letting herself dwell on the way Rio's mouth hangs slightly open, his eyes glazed over.

—

swaying evergreens

the whole theme of this fic is the terrifying intimacy and vulnerability of sharing your most precious moments and memories with someone you care about and I like how this touches on that along with sort of nutshelling the double edged sword of grief-tinted memory which is another major theme

There's somethin' extra about these unguarded moments. That Elizabeth trusts Rio enough to drop her guard completely and give him this completely unvarnished look at her. It's been over a year since he's been back in her bed, since the first time he'd slept here, but there's still somethin' tentative about it. Like there's a part of him that's never going to be all the way over the first time he'd been here, that can't fully believe how far they've come, that this isn't going to crumble, melt, drain away.

Truthfully, Rio doesn't mind it, that faint edge. He's well acquainted with the different flavors of loss, and the threat of it's a counterpoint that keeps him sharp. Lets him know this is real but not somethin' he'll take for granted.

—

swear on a silver knife

there were a couple of sexy tension bits that made for strong contenders but ultimately this won bc I’m obsessed with how this reference to 306 came out.

“I told you. I got my own debts to pay.” He bit off the words like it cost him something to repeat them.

Beth shivered, abruptly right back at that picnic table, cheeks wet and staring at him, searching for any hint of the man she’d—she’d—anyone besides the cold, unfeeling stranger sitting beside her, blood so fresh on his hands she could nearly smell it underneath the scent of the cold, misty night rain falling around them, blurring her eyes, beading in her hair and on his eyelashes.

—

listening through the air shaft

this was a really hard one to narrow down but I ultimately went with this but bc I love it for a culminating look at how beth and rio’s relationship has evolved throughout the fic and also bc a version of this scene was the first thing I wrote for the whole fic so it was fun to finally get there with everything in place behind it. I also just love it as a reference for the dichotomy of both beth and rio and also how complicated that is makes being around them for everyone else

They aren't even doing anything, just quietly working side by side, but there's a synchronicity to their movements, a quiet peace that makes Dean feel more like an intruder than anything else that's happened today, and he hates it.

It’s so far from the guy that’d broken into his home, beaten him up. Who’d looked at him with those terrifying, blank, shark eyes before casually shooting him in the chest like it was nothing right where they’re about to sit down and share a meal.

A guy, Dean suddenly realizes, he hasn’t seen any hint of in a long, long time. It’s not that he doesn’t think that part of him isn’t there, it’s just...it’s weird, is all, how completely he puts it away.

It reminds Dean of Beth, actually, now that he’s thinking about it.

God. They look so...so domestic. Sweet. Disarming in a way that completely undermines everything Dean thought he'd known about the guy and their whole...thing.

He just—he doesn't get it, what Beth sees in him.

—

now use both hands

idk I just like this bit let me live

"What are you—what service?"

He makes himself take the route through the showroom that brings him right past her, leaning in and softly brushing a lock of hair out of her face for the first time in longer than he can remember.

Her eyes flutter shut, and he feels absolutely nothing.

"Helping sad, lonely housewives get off once their husbands are done with them."

Her eyes snap open, and he makes himself look at her long enough to watch the hit land and the hurt bloom.

He's empty, untouchable, she's nothing to him.

Rio doesn't look back.

—

I'd give her a HA! And a HI-YA!

you can take my made up backstory for rio and mick from me when you pry it from my cold dead hands.

Mick had been there the first time Rio'd had to get his hands all the way dirty and had kept an eye on him when he'd gotten blackout drunk after, and Rio'd done the same for him. Every bloody, grimy step Rio'd climbed, Mick had been right there with him, watching his back all the way to the top.

The point is Rio's Mick's brother in every way that counts.

Mick'd seen him twisted up over business and twisted up over personal shit, but he's never seen him let both get twisted up like he had since that fuckin' weasel Boomer'd got his ass handed to him and Rio'd gotten curious about it.

—

as the world turns, the blunt burns

I pull this every time I have to pick a fav and I can’t even really explain it aside from I think I’m really, really funny and that’s enough

Beth suddenly sobers as much as she can when she feels like she's simultaneously floating away and sinking into the Earth and wipes her eyes. "Are you gonna get in trouble?"

"You're in the house, ain't you?" He's answering Beth but looking at Rio.

"Mick," Beth frantically tugs at his pant leg because apparently, he doesn't have all of the information. "We're in the yard."

"Yeah, Mick," Rio says, glaring. "You're in the yard."

Mick shrugs, and Beth realizes he isn't scared of Rio at all. That's a neat trick. How does he do that? Maybe he can teach her.

—

smoke, fire, it’s all going up

there are realistically many other better lines in this fic but this one never fails to make me laugh so it remains my fav.

"You- you-" She sputters at him, flailing around a little. "You were the one that started mailing me pieces of a dead body."

"You blocked my number." Rio snarls, which is not what he'd meant to say, and he hates that she trips him up.

"That is not a proportionate response!"

—

got a kiss (with your name on it)

it was this or the text exchange at the beginning of the fic bc I strongly believe established relationship brio would continually roast each other for their past dumbassery but the elizabeth kink won out

"Come here," Rio's voice is thick but insistent in a way that brings every cell of Beth's body to attention. She hooks her thumb over her bottom teeth and drags her lower lip a little, a gesture full of who me mock innocence, waiting for him to say-

"Elizabeth." There it is.

There's an endless amount of things that Beth finds ferociously, irresistibly sexy about Rio, but when he says her full name in that commanding tone? Even if she's pissed the fuck off and has no intention of doing what he wants, it gives her goosebumps.

—

say it’s all in my head (i remember what you said)

I will be real with y’all, I forget I wrote this fic a lot of the time hahahaha but! that means every time I’m reminded I go back and am like oh yeah! I like this! anyway there isn’t like, one specific but I really love most as much as I really like the tentative breathless nervousness and then also overwhelming so muchness and I like how this but captures both of those

For a single, breathless moment, she stands in the middle of the room, alone and terrified.

Then Rio wets his lips and comes towards her, moving with that languid grace she's never been able to look away from even before she had any idea why that could be.

All of the fear collapses like a dying star, sending a supernova of relief and molten heat zinging through her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Her head swims, and every cell in her body feels like it's leaning towards him- like she's made of magnets on a molecular level and he's the lodestone.

He gently pushes her bangs off of her forehead, slowly running his fingertip down the side of her face, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He tilts his head towards hers and stops, going no further than halfway, leaving it up to her to close the distance.

She lets her eyes fall shut as she leans into him and tentatively touches her mouth to his for the first time.

—

the world is on fire (and no one can save me) / what a wicked game you played (to make me feel this way)

two for one!!! idk if either of these is my number one favorite line from either fic individually but I really like how they both play together. I like writing beth and rio pov and having them mirror each other’s narration both in thought and structure a lot bc I like thinking of them as two versions of the same

Beth checks her phone, nothing from Rhea, and sends a quick I'm here, text me when you're close, and I'll grab a table before wetting a paper towel and wiping away the last of her smeared mascara. With precise, brisk movements, she snaps open her bag and fishes out her compact, her lipstick, and her mascara; lining them up click, click, click on the tiny shelf below the mirror.

She can live with this; she has to live like this; she will live like this.

She flips open the compact and methodically dabs away the flush and pallor and shadows that are not grief, are not loss, are not anything other than shock and horror that she'd gone so far, that she'd lost control, that she'd killed a man (that man).

and

So what the fuck had he been doin' with Elizabeth fuckin' Boland, giving her chance after chance to cross the line? What the fuck was the point of a line if it might as well not be there at all? All because he liked her big blue eyes and the way she worked a tight sweater? Nah, that ain't him. That can't be him. That's the kind of shit that'll get you killed, and he's got three spent bullets in his pocket and a scar next to his heart if he ever needs the reminder again.

He shifts in the driver's seat, reaching into his pocket and fishing the bullets out. Lining them up on the dashboard with a definitive click, click, click. He looks past them to the brightly lit valet station. He's been parked in the back of the lot for ten minutes now, waiting for Rhea to give him the go sign. He ain't hiding, doesn't need to, Elizabeth ain't lookin' for him, he just wants to make sure he sees her before she sees him. Get a good look first, so he can size up the situation.

#good lord when did i write so much fic?????????#imagine if i hadn't onlly stuck w/ ch 12 of song #it would've taken me weeks to do this #tag games #my fic #shut up meg #gg related

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reblogcentre-2 · 3 years

Text

tw for: sh & trans stuff & blood & auto-surgery

So you asked about my experience with auto-surgery. I actually wrote a vent fanfiction so I copy-pasted it & added more notes & stuff. The notes I added after are in ((here)) & the rest of it is my vent fanfic. The fanfic is p much accurate to the experience & any inaccuracies are pointed out ((in the)) notes.

I've dreamt about this before, but I never thought I would actually do it. It's completely an impulse decision. Well maybe not completely. I have the sense to find supplies first. Like a pack of razor blades. ...And scissors, toilet paper, rubbing alcohol, ice packs, a needle and thread, and a glass of water to keep me hydrated. I may be making a stupid decision, but I'll at least do it right.

I sit on the floor of my room, and take off my shirt. While holding an ice pack under my… on my chest ((don’t wanna say boobs)), I tie some fabric around my waist so there’s no bloody mess I have to clean. ((didn't work.)) Damn this ice pack is so cold, it almost hurts. Though, that's a good thing. It means my nerves will be numb.

Right.

I look around at my setup in confusion, I've lost my train of thought, ((adhd)) what am I doing what next- Ah, razor.

A thin piece of metal, flexible, yet strong. It doesn't glint in the artificial light. It's a matte metallic grey. I pick up my little prize, and having sanitized ((sadly not sterilized tho)) it in the alcohol and let it dry, letting down the ice pack. I bring it to the underside of my chest- but I can't see it. Disappointment. I put it down.

I need to get my fat ugly breast out of the way. Then it occurs to me- tape! ((I shoplifted this tape)) I use the tape to pull my chest up and back so I can see underneath it, or as much as I can, considering the size of it.

Now, I take up my razor. I remember reading about this one lady who gave herself a cesarean section with three long slices of a kitchen knife. She was a Mexican butcher. ((k so she had to go to the hospital after to get her intestines re-arranged I think. Also, this is what I would ask you to do, If I’m numb I won’t feel it so you can just boom three long swipes with a nice sharp chef’s knife & boom my boob is gone.))

Taking a deep breath, bracing myself for what's to come, I put the razor to my skin and pull. But I don't pull. I lift. I was too afraid, too cowardly to actually try. ((this is why I want someone else to do it)) Thankful to have lost some sensation from binding, I replace the ice pack and breathe again. Ok. I've got this. This is good. This is ok.

I lift the ice pack again, and this time I test my skin slightly. I… can't feel it. At least, not much. So, with the tape pulling back the offending tissue, I use my right hand to swipe across my left chest. It's barely a scratch. I try it again, this time closing my eyes before opening and doing the cut. It's much faster this time, and slightly deeper. How did she do it in three slices with her kitchen knife?

The blood is warm, and it drips down my chest. I unravel some tissue to dab at the blood. Then I make another cut, following inside the first, deepening it.

Yes.

I can't easily reach all the way across the bottom, so I'll have to settle for my scar being slightly on the inside. ((I can legit send a pic of the scar if you’re comfy with that)) I wipe the blood, then replace the ice pack. I need some more freezing. In a moment, I get back to it with the razor.

I can sometimes feel the pain, but I try to ignore it, or freeze it away. I keep slicing, wiping, and icing my chest. ((ok so only the skin felt painful & if you’re good, you can get thru the skin rly fast with the knife)) All the way until I see something unusual.

That's not skin.

That's… something.

Subdermal fat maybe? ((I had seen this already, but this was written as a vent fanfiction)) I keep going with the razor, another slash or two. Then I take hold of my scissors. ((oh the scissors were shit)) I can pinch my loose-from-binding skin to make a slight fold where I can use the scissors. So I do.

I use the scissors to open up the hole wider, ((idk if I actually did a lot of this or only a little bc scissors were painful af)) and I can see the fat in it. It's lumpy and greasy.

I'm disgusting.

It's a yellowish ((in culinary, the paler the fat the healthier the deer/animal. I think it might have just been discoloured from the blood. Btw there was no blood in the fat bc fat doesn’t have caapillaries)) white, made up of little bubbles, or maybe they just look that way because of the mutilation I'm committing. It's covered in red blood, so it looks more of an orange pink.

My gash is about 10cm long, maybe less. Probably less. ((I can measure if u want)) I use the scissors on the fat under the skin, and surprisingly, I can't feel it. I wipe up the blood, ready to strike again, but when I pick up the scissors I've bled again. I wipe again, pick up the scissors again, and prepare to slice again, again; but like last time there is too much blood. ((ugh I remember this, it was so annoying & my rag was already blood soaked))

I try to wipe it up enough to continue with my surgery, but I keep bleeding. and my ice packs are getting warm. ((I had to ask my brother to get me another ice pack but he brought me one that was only partially frozen))

So…

Shower.

I can do this in the shower.

I'm covered in blood, but the water would wash it away, keep it clean, moist, prevent it from clotting, and the cold water could provide numbing. Yes. I'm a genius. Shifting my pins-and-needles legs, I gather all the supplies I can carry, and peek my head around the corner. Nobody is coming.

Perfect.

I dash through the hallway, and my supplies are dumped on the washroom counter.

What do I do now? I… turn on the tap.

The cold water is uncomfortable, but I lean my body down, supporting my weight on either end of the tub, so that the water only runs along my chest. I tense as it cools the flesh. Then I step out of the shower, thankful that only my chest is wet, and try to keep on, but it’s so bloody. ((I remember thinking it literally looked like a murder scene. I was a Sherlock fan t the time))

It would make perfect sense to just bring my tools into the shower with me. I bring in two of my sharpest razors and my scissors, as well as one ice pack. ((I didn’t want the water to warm up the ice)) I run the cold shower over my laceration again, numbing it more, and once I’m done with that, I take my scissors and I put them inside.

Repeat repeat repeat. ((ok I think here is where I try to separate my skin from my breast tissue? I got such bad bruises bc I didn’t manage to take it all out))

Soon, I’m done separating the skin and extending the opening up a little higher. I keep rinsing the blood, the water runs down my entire body at this point, but I’m used to the cold.

I use my scissors to cut in deeper, I can’t feel it in the mammary fat at all. The scissors are opened and closed in rhythm, without being taken out of me between snips, and I reveal something that looks less like skin, and less like the bubbly pale fat. It might be a mammary gland- I’m not sure. It’s a different texture though, and-

Ouch! I can feel that! Damned fuck! I mean heck! ((I think I legit tried to not swear. I hurt a lot to cut that part. If it’s just done in one swipe tho it wouldn’t be as bad))

I water my wound again. I can’t have my body in pain. Just a few more seconds of cold water, and I can get back to it. Or maybe I should use my ice pack too… The ice pack helps freeze whatever that thing is, so I can cut through it with my scissors.

I’ve made a thick cut now, but I’ve seen surgeries before, I’ve watched so many videos of top surgeries, even some full surgery videos. I know what to do.

So I take my razor from the soap-bench in the wall and run it between the skin and my tissue until I get enough space for my scissors. ((oh! no- here’s the part where I separate the skin & get bruising)) My scissors go right between them, opening and closing as I move them around under my skin. I can see my skin stretch around them, like seeing someone’s legs under a blanket.

Now that I have it separated, I could maybe cut out an entire chunk. I rinse my scissors under the shower, and put them down on the floor of the tub, then I look down.

I’m covered in blood.

I open the shower door and look in the mirror across from me. It looks like a murder scene. There, my skin held apart by tape, a gaping slash under my- my breast, blood drips coming down from it, blood spread all over my torso from the water, blood in the hole in my body, ((yes a hole in my body, kinda wish I took a pic)) blood bright red from being mixed with the water, blood clotting on my belly. I made jokes about some things looking like murder scenes before, like when working with food colouring.

Oh how I was wrong.

This is what a murder scene looks like. I’m so bloody. Part of me wants to take a picture, ((lol I was just thinking this!)) but oh hell (I mean heck) that would be messed up. As though I’m not already messed up!

Well I can’t stare, I have work to do. Work. I close the shower door, and bend down to pick up my ice pack, but I need to be careful, I don’t want to disturb my broken chest.

Numbing my chest again, I continue with this routine, pulling out chunks of my own body and flushing them down my shower drain like the serial killer I read about a little while ago. ((I don’t remember much about the chunks. It might have been less chunks than I’m making it sound. I have memory problems so : / ))

At some point I look in the mirror again, and I’m almost disgusted at what I’ve done.

My family probably needs to use the washroom, I’ve probably been showering for an hour now, they might get suspicious.

The smell is metallic & meaty, almost fishy even.

Thankfully, when I look down at my chest, it seems like I might be slightly smaller than before. ((not rly. It partially looked that way bc of the tape)) It definitely looks smaller than the one on my right. I haven’t been using my ice pack much lately. The blue liquid in the plastic pack has lost most of its cold.

I rinse off my less sharp scissors and razor, and spray all of the leftover bubbles of fat and drops of blood down the drain, trying to get the bloody footprints and handprints ((I forgot I made hand/foot prints!! If I had forgotten them mum could have walked in to pee & seen bloody handprints lol)) from the edges of the tub where I supported myself before getting used to the completely cold shower. I rinse off my torso, too now. Blood is strewn all over it, and some has dripped down to my legs, which has now dried. As soon as I rinse it off, I bleed some more. Ah. Well.

Onto the burgundy red floor towel I step, and I try my best to dry off my bloody chest and abdomen, but of the two rags I have, one of them is wet from taking it into the shower, and the other is already soaked with blood. Neither can help. I do my best nonetheless, and decide I should move on to stitches.

I know how to sew, and I’ve gotten stitches before, I should be able to do them. ((irl I had only gotten stitches once & I already gave myself stitches once))

But I can’t find my needle, ((yeah I just couldn’t find my needle when I moved from my room to the washroom)) and the water hasn’t numbed my skin enough. Inside my body, in the fat, I can’t feel it, but, seemingly, I would still be able to feel it if I were to perform my own stitches.

Alrighty then, I can just tape myself together until I dry. But the tape won’t stick. ((ugh this was so annoying! I literally used all of my skin tape)) Neither will the bandaids. I have no sewing needle. I don’t know what to do, crap! I don’t know how to fix this! The tape won’t stick! Screw this fucking hell! I mean hecking heck!

Eventually, I go to my room. I put on my faux binder. It’s an old bra with a piece of fabric of my measurements sewed on the inside to compress my chest, the bra is just for the straps. Over that loose and torn excuse for a binder, I put on bra after bra, binding my semi-detached chest down so that I might be able to sleep without causing more damage.

I have a.. A thing tomorrow. ((practice for my baking competition)) I can go to the hospital a few blocks away from my school ((20 minute walk)) and get stitches there. Maybe they’ll even say I need to get top surgery an’ the gover’ment will pay for it. Yeah that’d be nice. I can jus’ wai’ ‘ntil tomorrow... and tomorrow I can take more ibe- ibu- ibupropen- ibuprofen... ((I wrote like this for the dramatic effect in the vent fic)) I can't take any more t’day. I’ll just go to sleep now n’ then I’ll wake up for school and when mom... asks me whaveter she asks I'll just tell her I have carpentry, and I'll tell the instructor that I’m not working today. ((irl I went to culinary, then told my teacher “actually I’m going to pick up my supplies to practice with & skidaddle”)) He’ll unsterdand, it’s not like I have school, it's the teacher’s comvemtion, I’m not obligated to stay, I can lust jeave. Mum will be none the wiser. Yah. Sleepy time. Hospital tomorrow.

((so yeah. I go to sleep & ppl always say they can’t sleep on their sides so I tried that but I couldn’t handle it so I slept on my side while hugging a pillow to make sure nothing fell. I’m shaking too. Tbh I was just thinking “I’ve been in the bathroom for an hour or more, why has nobody knocked asking to brush their teeth?” I wake up the next day & put on a button-up shirt bc ppl say they can’t lift their arms, I practice walking on google maps to the hospital, then mom drives me to school. I had my learner’s license but I didn’t want to drive bc of my injury. I go in, I tell Chef I’m leaving, he’s cool abt it. So now I’m loaded up with a huge backpack, it’s february in canada & I forgot a jacket (bc I was driving in a warm car to a warm school & busy planning other things), I also brought my fiddle bc I waited for 4 hours last time & was bored, & I have a huge toolbox & a tub of fondant. I walk 20 minutes to the hospital, get in, & I need to change from my mask to the hospital mask. I go through talking to ppl & stuff. Eventually I’m called up for triage & I tell the guy what’s up (& take my meds bc I forgot that morning & she thought I was doing drugs) & sheasks me for my healthcard number & stuff. I think she was able to put my preferred name in the notes. I’m unbuttoning my shirt & she says “actually come in here” so I go into the nurses’ station & she peels up my bras a bit (apparently I’ve bled) & she’s like “wtf bro” & I’m like “what?” & she’s really concerned that I wanted like 12 hours to come. It was like 9-10pm that I was doing it & it was probably 10am at the time I saw her idk. So she gets me into a private room immediately I think (idk I might be mixing this up with the hospital trip where I had to wait for ages. Idk whether I had to wait here too.) Oh I forgot, I also plucked my violin while waiting for triage or to get called to a private room, but I wasn’t allowed. So eventually (really soon by hospital standards) I get taken to a private room. They get me to change into a gown (all of my bras off too) & now my breast isn’t secured. So while I’m waiting I play my fiddle & look up chords on my phone. Everyone likes it. The nurses & doctors & porters are like “where’s that music coming from?” & “It’s like we’re at the beach” bc chords on violin sound like chords on ukelele despite the fact that I was singing mostly mother mother. Ppl come in a lot tbh. I think the doctor comes in but he says “my shift is over soon & you will take a long time, bYe!” also I’ve been asked so many times if this was a suicide attempt & I’m like “nah bro if I wanted to be dead I would be, I’m not actually suicidal anymore.” Eventually a porter comes to move me from my nice private room to some curtained one. I’m plucking my violin quieter but some fuckin security guard says it’s loud & might be disturbingother patients so I play a really quiet eidelwisse & then I think I might stop. The guard called me miss too & it sucked. Eventually the doctor on shift comes & asks me about things & why & he’s also got his hands on my boob. (when I saw the first doctor he asked if I needed a female doctor & I was like “nah dude ur a doctor & I’m a trans.) So he’s going to sew me up & at some point he asks “tdo you want me to take the rest off?” I’m super confused until I realize he’s making a joke: “do you want me to finish the job & take the rest of your boob off?” so I laugh & say “I wish” & he says “I’d do a horrible job” & I’m like “BRo I AlreAdy did a hOrrible job!” so that was funny. He also asked me about trans stuff bc he didn’t understand a lot (he was respectful even tho he didn’t understand) & he even suggested I claim back pain to get a reduction. I have back pain (mostly from binding). Anyways he drops the needle with novacaine or whatever the hell& needsto get a new one & nobody can touch it bc it’s sharp. A few times it hurts but it’s fine I just close my eyes. He asks “do you need more anesthetic?” & I’m like “bro I did this with only a fucking ice pack” but w/o the swears. I ask him if I can bind after & he’slike “idk” so that was fun. I have a dip in my scar now. Then a nurse comes in & puts a fuck ton of bandages & gause on me but it’s stupid bc I was lying doen & as soon as I stood up (& worse when I put on a bra) it changed everything. So they give me a bag for all my bras & I walk back to school. Now it’s like 15.00 or 3 o’clock so I get back to school… & my phone is at 1%. I text my mom “hey I’m done at school” on google hangouts but my phone dies before I know whether or not the message sent. Chef is already gone, so I can’t get into the school. I can’t call mom. I walk around for a bit, assuming she’ll pick me up when she thinks it’s time. Nope. I’m outside in the cold. I start knocking on doors asking for a phone but it’s fricking covid season! I walk to a nearby coffeeshop & borrow the phone of a nice couple. Mom got sus of that. I warm up in the nice coffeeshop, mom takes me home, but she knows I skipped practice. I think she even called my chef. So yeah that was stupid. I told her “haha I went to get drugs” but she didn’t believe me & also what kind of a lie is that? She knew I cut myself, I guess I just didn’t want to worry her or have her demand to see or cry & ask me why I felt the need to change my body. I’m pissed off that she caught me (she caught me last time I gto stitches too). I can’t jump anymore *& I’m wearing my size-up binder. The doctor told me to scrub my stitches in nthe shower, the nurse told me to wrap in in plastic wrap. I’m wearing button shirts for ages after this, I’m avoiding lifting my arms, everything sucks. Whenever I think of it, I could smell it. I smelled the blood. Every time I smelled a glass that was washed in a dishwasher, I smelled my injury. Every time I remembered it, I could smell it. I don’t get that anymore but I was literally in mild shock & I think I may have traumatized myself. There’s more to say but I forget it all & idc so good night))

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mavspeed · 3 years

Text

First Line Meme

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line, then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

Hey @applesfallingfromblondehair, thanks for the tag love!! likewise i dont usually do this but this feels interesting so lets see if my ass has improved over the last few stories lmfkjgjk

also this will prob be a mix of xmcu fic + kingsman fic bc i think i have a more or less equal number of fics written for both

The first time Charles meets Lucifer Morningstar, actual devil from hell, ruler of the underworld, fallen son of the lord above and god knows what else, it had been after Erik had been sentenced to life imprisonment in the highest security cell in the Pentagon.

- this is from a professor and a devil walk into a bar, which is kinda a crossover rarepair fic that rose out of me and mutuals on twitter discussing tom ellis and james mcavoy being roommates and kinda... devolved from there. i am proud of this one lmfnjgkj

“Are you okay, Professor?” Hank asks quietly.

Charles blinks. He supposes it’s a valid question. He’s been in a bit of a funk the past few days- scratch that actually, the past few years. He’s just lost so much- his father, and then his mother’s love, and then Raven and Erik and Sean and countless others. Building a school, gaining students he loved to teach and nurture hadn’t helped him in the slightest, and he’s as lost as he ever was, wandering the halls of a drafty mansion alone, feeling like he’s been stranded at sea even whilst surrounded by people.

- from in the belly of the beast, which again came out of me wondering what would have happened if fox had gone w their original plan and charles had been that last horseman instead of erik. this story will prob gain a sequel... sometime in the near future when im not too bogged down by current wips

The Xavier family hall of the deceased- because of course they’re weird enough to have a cemetery- is full of rows upon rows of holograms. Charles is four and gets bored of his father crying over his mother’s hologram, so he toddles over to the other rows. Unfamiliar names, all of them- Charles is young, and he doesn’t understand death. He doesn’t even know who his mother is, who’d died at childbirth and left him with a father still at a loss when it came to bringing up a kid.

- from tequila on a spaceship, the sequel to a fic that still has some people angry at me i think. this fic never did gain as much traction as the first one but im still proud of it esp since it discusses certain themes of reincarnation that ive always wanted to see explored for myself in reincarnation aus (and i only ever saw it in danveresque’s reincarnation au)

There are cork boards covering every inch of the wall. Red strings, photographs, conspiracy threads, everything. Raven takes it in, swallowing, noticing the picture in the middle.

It’s one of Charles, when he’d been in university. His final year- he'd just been done presenting his year- end project, his fringe a tumbled mess and a bright smile on his lips. Erik had taken the picture, Charles scurrying to his side once he’d been done and demanding to look at the image, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth. He looks like how Raven had always imagined him to be.

“He wouldn’t want this,” she finally says, turning to look at Erik.

- from tequila on a beach, the first fic to the fic above. this fic is v special to me because i actually wrote this on a spiral after having a very tough visit with one of my parents in the hospital after a surgery for organ removal to prevent the onset of cancer. its simpler than my other fics yet i think more powerful because of what happens. also i think the first time i killed charles off lol (spoiler alert). also idk if ppl were aware of this but this is called tequila on a beach precisely bc charles and erik were tipsy from tequila at a frat party and then went to a beach. its the way they first met (and will continue to meet for all their next lives)

Erik doesn’t know how it all started. Maybe it was when his insane sergeant had started rambling about imaginary cities, treasures of gold and cursed incantations. Maybe it was when trickles of rumours had started pouring down about the higher ups wanting to investigate unfound territory, disregard the Egyptian government’s feelings on the matter, and put a previously unfound myth on the map for all the world to see. Or maybe, Erik thinks, it was when archaeologist Klaus Schmidt put a bullet through his mother’s head and he ended up going to America armed with dual citizenship and the sole intent of wanting to drive a coin directly between Schmidt’s eyes, joining a division of the American military focused solely on guarding archaeological digs- more importantly, in Egypt, where Schmidt’s interest had shifted.

- from courting the end of the world, another one i’m just insanely proud of! this is the first time i’ve ever attempted a multichapter movie au and it actually managed to work pretty well, i at least haven’t run out of inspiration for it yet lmfjgjg. also erik as himbo rick connell... very rent free in my head

The day after they murder Shaw and leave his house of horrors, Erik crosses the Canadian border with Charles across his back. Charles had started getting tired while they’d been walking, stumbling and nearly tripping until Erik had forced him to get on his back, ignoring Charles’ protests.

The blood’s seeping out steadily from Charles’ nose, staining his shirt and soaking it through. It’s been leaking on and off, and the effects are already obvious in the dark circles beneath Charles’ eyes. Any more, and Erik knows they’ll have to find him a doctor. He hopes the nearest town in Canada has one that would be willing to treat them.

- from a world built for two. i actually dk where the inspiration for this came from, i think i was once again on a depressive spiral and wanted to break my comfort characters into pieces and put them together again. this also deals with codependency and unhealthy coping mechanisms as a result of trauma which i showed as sweet in the fic but i would def not recommend in real life. pls if u relate to either charles or erik in this go see a therapist

The call comes in the afternoon, an hour before Charles is supposed to teach his Intro to Genetics class. Frowning, Charles abandons the game of Candy Crush he’d admittedly been playing rather badly and picks it up. “Charles sp-”

“We need you, Prof,” Kitty says desperately into the phone. “He’s been in a temper all morning, and then Alex’s reports missed out a whole subsection, so he’s fired the entire marketing team! Please, Professor, you have to come immediately!”

- from and we can be pirates. i wrote this in like 4 seconds for my friend who wanted professor charles and ceo erik and actually did not expect this to gain the attention it did... its always the fics u write in like 4 seconds lmfjggj. a sequel for this Is coming too probably at some point in the very far future

Charles Xavier can admit as he sits across from Essex, hands cuffed to the desk, that in hindsight, this had perhaps not been one of his better ideas.

He refuses to admit it as he controls Erik’s mind, preventing him from lashing out and making him close his eyes to the nightmare unfolding in front of him. He refuses to admit it as he gets shoved into the back of a black pickup truck, and the butt of a gun is smashed across his forehead hard enough to knock him out cold for a few hours. He refuses to admit it when he wakes up what appears to be hours later in a cold interrogation room, hands cuffed to the table in front of him, with a suppression collar rendering his mind dark and almost achingly silent.

- from from the land of gods (bring me home). i’ve been struggling w this fic a lot (it didnt come as easily to me as the first one did) but its getting there. also i put charles through hell in this rip sorry mister xavier

In the aftermath, both of them stand at the border of the mansion. The air feels frigid, slicing into Raven’s lungs like a thousand paper cuts. “Charles, please,” she begs, heart in her throat and voice hoarse. “He wouldn’t want you to be like this. He wouldn’t want you to do this. It’s not too late, you can come back.”

Charles gazes back, a brick wall. He hasn’t even cleaned up, still in that damnable yellow and blue suit with blood drying in the corners of his mouth, the bridge of his nose. There’s nothing in his eyes- blank, almost see through. He looks as if he’s a mere shade, a ghost lounging about where he once was. Raven knows better.

“I will raze the world to the ground,” he finally says, his voice free of any inflection, “and when I’m done, no one will be left standing. Not you, and certainly not me.”

- from where all the poets went to die, a dark fic based on what would have happened if moira had killed erik with the bullets. its the first time ive written dark charles and it was v fun if im being honest

10.

Charles is a light sleeper. It’s a trait that stays with him- all the way from his father and the tests to taking care of his mother to Cain Marko and his fists to Cuba and then now, the dust of Washington settling over him and making the waking world lie an inch beyond his eyelids. It therefore stands to reason that the second the windowsill creaks he’s up in a shot, hoisting himself up and lashing out with his telepathy instantly.

That’s not a trait that had stayed with him. That’s a newly formed trait, bitter and bold, carved into existence by Cuba by his students disappearing one by one in Vietnam by the letters that announce Sean’s death in black unfriendly print by-

The tendrils of his telepathy forged cold and distant meet a barrier and recoil, stunned. He focuses his eyes and then widens them, staring at Erik who stares back, hidden beneath that infernal muddied magenta helmet of his. They stare at each other for a moment before Erik clears his throat.

- from in the valley of kings (you will come home). my first ever cherik fic! im actually also proud of this one even if i ended it horribly and half my mutuals refuse to read it bc of how it ended LMFJGJGJ. i cant believe this was supposed to be a funny and cute kid fic and then i turned it into an angst ridden mess. also leo is actually an oc whose adult version is fancasted as charlie rowe by me and another mutual on twitter and im v proud that readers are willing to die for the baby

11.

Mike has to google it, finding a crafts shop nestled into the corner of the street right smack in the middle of Louisiana, past a long and winding dirt road and the crumbling farmhouses relics of a time long past. The air is hot, humid, sticking to the back of his neck like an unwieldy parasite as he pushes the door of the shop open to the sound of the bell tinkling above.

He finds the origami paper quickly enough and has a momentary breakdown about what Bill’s favourite colour even is- he had never thought to ask him. Twenty seven years of following every single footstep of his like a dedicated, most definitely creepy stalker, three months of more than a few states traversed with Bill’s laughter now echoing in his ears like a shadow that trails after him, and this is what stumps him. It takes ten minutes, but he finally settles on light green.

- my first and last entry into the IT fandom bc i love these two but to be very fair there isn’t much content out there for him (and twitter content actually intimidates me lmfjgjjg) a thousand paper cranes never got much traction either but i suspect its bc i was horrible at promoting it. also i very much love this fic even if it never did that well bc ive always wanted to write a fic like this after watching the movie in cinemas in 2019

12.

ok nsfw i guess

Mornings start like this- Eggsy snuffling into David’s neck, attempting to work his way back up to wakefulness as David sleeps the sleep of the dead, the streams of morning sunlight gradually lightening up the room. It’s a while before he gets the energy to sit up, pushing an eager V off the bed- V for Vendetta, a kitten named after one of David’s favourite movies that they’d adopted about a month after moving in together- before stumbling to the loo. He’s already in the shower when David comes in, naked as the day he’s born with his arms entwining themselves around Eggsy’s waist as he murmurs a sleep-soft, “Good morning, love,” as he presses a kiss into the two-days-old hickey on Eggsy’s shoulder. His breath smells of toothpaste, the minty fresh kind he insists on buying from Target no matter how much Eggsy insists that the other brand is much better. Without fail, Eggsy always has a split second thought of thinking that he must truly be in heaven because no way can this be his reality, every single day, before sinking to his knees and allowing David’s cock to hit the back of his throat.

- from that’s the kind of love i’ve been dreaming of. i genuinely wish i had an opinion for this but i don’t remember writing this its been way too long

13.

The first time Eggsy sees her is in Trafalgar Square.

Trafalgar Square is uncomfortably packed on any normal day, but on New Year’s it is quite the hothouse. Sweating armpits and hot bodies plastered against each other, the twinkling lights overhead providing a flash of blue and green and yellow and red, screaming children and giggling teenagers shoving their way through- it’s a recipe for disaster. Eggsy doesn’t know how he ends up there. It happens sometimes- one second he blinks, sequestered in the comfort of his living room, and the next he’s somewhere else, as if he’s been teleported. “Life goes past you,” Tilde had said once, “and you don’t even notice.” Tilde would be right.

- this is a roxy and eggsy friendship centric fic that i abandoned bc i lost my ardor for this world about the same time i got into xmen lmfjgjg. all the king’s horses also had some great fancasts in it with dev patel fancasted too... rip ig

14.

once again, nsfw

Eggsy, truth be told, doesn’t actually like having sex in bathrooms. First of all, bathrooms generally have an unsanitary air about them. Besides that, the granite of the sinks always feel cold against his hips, there is the ever present fear of being walked in on and unlike what people might say, he actually really isn’t that much of an exhibitionist- and truth be told, he’s never liked the look of himself in the mirror mid coitus.

For David Budd, however, he suspects he might be up for anything.

- from do you ever dream of me. im actually proud of this fic and this series, i never usually write straight up porn or friends w benefits and i think it worked well in here. once again didnt get much traction but that was very of the norm for my kingsman fics lmfjgj

15.

It is on his fifth meeting with the therapist on site that she brings the issue up. The elephant in the room- or the bomb , David thinks morbidly. If asked, he can’t remember specifics about that day now. All he remembers is this- the burn of Julia’s picture in his wallet against his thigh, the Botticelli painting on the far wall and Miss Paulson’s face, severe and unsmiling.

“When you couldn’t reach Julia,” she says, after he finishes describing the feeling of running to Julia, the panic searing his chest as he’d prayed for his legs to work faster so he could do something, anything to reach her hand. “How did that make you feel?”

- from your haunted social scene. i genuinely... do not remember anything about this either helpfkjgjg,,, this has 55 comments tho which. Nice

16.

David brings her home on- in a move far too cliche for it to be reality- a stormy night. It’s in fact storming so hard the windowpanes shudder like leaves in the wind, droplets crashing against the glass in a cacophony so loud Eggsy more than once considers turning the radio all the way up to drown it out. He’d gone scrounging for David’s sweatshirts instead of his own halfway through, wincing intermittently at the flashes of thunder. At a particularly loud one JB had jumped up, squeaked in a very undoglike manner and skidded across the floor to cower beneath the sofa, only coming out when coaxed by Eggsy to do so. Officer Oatmeal had watched the proceedings from her regal place by the armchair, dozy eyed and blinking heavily.

- from a cat named lavender. from what i remember this was also my first try at bringing up trans eggsy

17.

He first appears at the black prince on a cold Monday evening, eyes like Frank Sinatra and lips arresting anyone’s gaze if they weren’t careful enough. He stood out too, clad in a respectable bomber jacket and boots that clicked against the tile rhythmically and loudly, a sort of organised, measured cacophony.

“Go and serve him,” Andrew said, fat and disinterested, seated behind the counter and idly flicking through bills, less than ten percent of which he pays Eggsy. “I’m busy.”

- from trust is left in lovers after all. i never continued this which is sad bc this did get a lot of attention... it was just v hard to keep the story going

18.

It usually rains cats and dogs in London but for some reason, the rain is heavier than usual today. The droplets splatter against the windows in a constant buzzing rhythm, the sound meshing together in a melody not altogether pleasant to the ears. It’s half past five and yet the light has to be kept on because that’s how dark the sky has gotten- thunder rolls like a loud crack, abrupt and deafening, causing Daisy to jump in her seat.

“Just a thunderstorm, flower,” Eggsy says. They’re seated at the dinner table, Eggsy going over her homework while David sits opposite them, hunched over his laptop as he attempts to finish a post mission report. Eggsy is half convinced he gave up ten minutes ago- he’s got his earbuds in and he hasn’t really typed anything in a while, eyes focused on the screen. His eyebrows are scrunched up in a glare that’s too adorable for his own good- and for Eggsy’s.

- from could feel like kryptonite. a lot of my kingsman fics are actually so much happier than my cherik ones... i should prob look into that rip

19.

“When you’re done lazing around you can come in, you dozy dog,” he tells Officer Oatmeal, who butts her nose into his knee. She’s the only one not on a diet in the house, Eggsy deeming her far too healthy and skinny to need one anyway. In fact, she’s under strict instructions by Eggsy to fatten up instead.

Once the animals are done feeding- Eggsy sporting a suspicious scratch on his left forearm- they settle down to eat their scrambled eggs and toast. David’s taken a large gulp of his scalding coffee when Eggsy says, all of a sudden, “So, I have a school reunion.”

- from gonna set this dance alight. don’t remember much about this either tbh

20. (the last one FINALLY)

It isn’t a big event or explosion that makes David realise he wants to see his father’s ring sitting pretty on Eggsy’s index finger. No teary confessions in the rain like in the rom coms Eggsy loves to rent out and sniffle his way through, or a fight that makes David see sense. In the end, it’s breakfast that cinches the deal for him.

The day had started out normally enough. David wakes up at eight like clockwork, the soft downy hair at the base of Eggsy’s neck tickling his nose with his arm locked tight around his waist. He’d yawned, exhausted- mostly because they’d stayed up very late into the night making good use of the bed- before standing up and shucking his shirt off to head for the shower. Eggsy had shifted in his sleep, mumbling something unintelligible, and the sight had been too endearing to resist so he’d bent down, pressing a kiss to his forehead and smiling when Eggsy groaned out loud.

- from lover boy rules. i actually started a lot of my kingsman fics in the same way which is rather awful of me. im glad thats changed with my xmen fics lmfjgjk. also this has 15 comments???? i dont even get that much attention with my xmcu fics these days... which is arguably a more active fandom... Hello

anyway that’s the end of it needless to say i do not know 10 other authors so im just gonna tag whoever i know rn: @hellfre , @queerneto, @ikeracity, @drinkingstars, @zebraljb

#whew this is super long i apologise #u can pinpoint the exact time i replaced taron with james as my number one boy #fic tag #fic meme

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jimmymcgools · 4 years

Note

From ch 17, "Through his airplane window once, Albuquerque had looked like an afterthought, dwarfed by the sky." all the way to the absolutely perfect ending! (since I'm about to chonk on this chapter 🥰❤️)

♥️💙♥️💙 thank you so much! this one got long, wow

fic commentary meme and my answers

i am WEAK for an indulgent callback and this ending is the most indulgent and callbacky thing i’ve ever done. i really hoped it would give the chapter a sense of closure and finality -- or at least that’s the excuse i gave myself to go absolutely ham.

Through his airplane window once, Albuquerque had looked like an afterthought, dwarfed by the sky.

i didn’t do it deliberately at the time i wrote chapter one, but at some point i noticed that interesting quirk of jimmy’s very first observation of abq. it’s all sky and mountains and nothing of the actual city: “Albuquerque makes a disgustingly beautiful first impression: the sky as big and curved and blue as he’s always heard it can be, streaked with paintbrush clouds.”

It had looked like something ready to be forgotten

another callback to chapter 1. “Here, the architecture feels almost temporary, as if it’s been carelessly dropped on some enormous play-mat and forgotten.” i always try to use jimmy’s observations of abq to reflect how he feels about himself at that point.

along with the thought of the heavy suitcases that he’d watched slip and shift in the overhead lockers before takeoff

i don’t think it really stands out enough to be anything, but i was stuck for list items here and i ended up trying to fold in some of that slippin’ jimmy gaze. the idea that maybe he’s not only looking at people to read them / figure out how he could scam them, but looking for these liability insurance $$ payouts waiting to happen.

... along with the thought of their drive out to O’Hare, Jimmy silent in the passenger seat of the rental car, the radio off and Chuck’s grip tight on the steering wheel.

oops--just remembered jimmy says chuck’s waiting in a taxi!

Jimmy had listened to the line ring for what felt like forever, each silver chime spinning a silver thread across the city, winding toward his mother’s living room.

more damn callbacks! when he thinks about calling his mother in chapter 9: “He imagines a line emerging from the handset, a thin silvery thread spinning off from his room and his street and then out of Albuquerque, crossing over the Sandias and shooting northeastward, over rivers and fields and Dust Bowl states, until finally arriving in Cicero, in his mother’s living room.”

It echoed through the handset like it was being piped back to him, like the prison phone was just a sick joke, a closed loop, locked inside

so much of acb is jimmy trying to break out of these closed loops

In a bright and steady voice, or at least his brightest and steadiest, he had said, “Hey, Mom. Something’s happened.”

law offices of james m mcgill, how may i direct your call! 🙂

It seems unfamiliar at first, but then the city starts to take shape, and he thinks he can see the squat skyscrapers of downtown, the geometric cubes that rise from the flat land.

i wanted this to be the end point of a series, where jimmy’s first impression is the beginning, and him arriving back from cicero is the middle, and now only here is he finally familiar with the city. the next few sentences are kind of a walk through acb -- "squat skyscrapers of downtown” is similar to how jimmy sees the city in chapter 7 when they go to the movies, then we get central avenue/route 66 “historic and neon-glowed”, and then finally the airport on the “desert shore” like in chapter 14.

Might even see Chuck’s house, still lit by lantern light.

ofc jimmy’s thinking of the luminarias but the dramatic irony here was too good to pass up 🔥🔥🔥

And in the west now, clouds. As the sun vanishes below the horizon, they become briefly clear, shadowed with lilac and orange, and Jimmy can see their shape by the light on them.

you’re going to have to forgive me for how damn metaphorical this is gonna get, but thinking of metaphors is one of the big ways i spark ideas for description, and this ending is really just an enormous chunk of description, so 💀

these clouds. these damn clouds. ever since hamlin snr told jimmy to find a space in the world only he can can fit, jimmy’s thoughts have kept returning to that idea -- and his mother’s innocent words, too: “you were really in no shape”. so the idea that, if he can figure out what shape he is, he’ll know which space he can fit.

and throughout the fic when i was stuck on kim description i’d play with light, and the idea of kim being a source of light, like the sun. the fireworks sequence is a big example, where i wanted to make her as bright as the fireworks, or at the holiday party: “Beneath the hanging Christmas lights, she’s luminous.”

so when i wrote “and Jimmy can see their shape by the light on them” i was thinking about him seeing the shape of himself and therefore his place in the world because of kim.

... but the clouds only become briefly clear.

(it’s also a little bit of inspired/stolen phrasing from the end of no country for old men: “and i could see the horn from the light inside of it.”)

If he watched for long enough, he thinks that he could also see them moving slowly, driven by high winds.

oh did you think i was done talking about these clouds? ☁️☁️☁️

this from chapter 11: “A display entitled Surviving in a Moving Landscape shows how the dunes can shift almost forty feet a year in places, driven by high winds”

“surviving in a moving landscape” ♥️ i always thought that was a really nice way to look at the characters of bcs. they’re the animals in the dunes having to adapt to survive, but also the dunes themselves. moving slowly because of these intangible forces on them, adapting to the forces, but changing forever for it.

The winds move through him, too, hollowing him out.

a future callback, i borrowed "hollowing him out” again for chapter 5 of safs, so keep an eye out 👁

In the darkness, the flat land below the Sandias seems to go on forever, black and flickering with dying embers: scorched earth.

if i had seen this specific image of abq from the sandias before i wrote the chapter, the light on the clouds would’ve been the city lights of abq -- even BETTER than the sunset! look at it! LOOK!

He can even smell them on the wind: the woodsmoke scent of evening

jimmy thinks of night smelling like woodsmoke on their drive along route 66, and then again on the forecourt of clines corners. bringing that back here with the idea that it’s coming from those imaginary fires of the city lights.

And he thinks that his whole life since arriving in Albuquerque has been like a controlled burn: searing away the silk shirts and the fake Rolexes and the ice of Michigan Avenue until nothing remains—breath on a cold mirror vanishing—a blank slate.

(peter griffin voice 👉AHH, AHH, 👉THERE IT IS)

the end here is inspired by this from “how to embrace a swamp creature” by tmg:

Alone with your bathroom mirror Try to get my head straight Breathe on the glass and wait for it to clear Clean slate

Burned back and clean. So he thinks about what he could build.

jimmy thinking very much like kim here, and especially what she said in the last chapter about the desert being sterile.

He thinks about his brother on a park bench, surrounded by luminarias. He thinks about a paper-wrapped book with fourteen words inside it.

i really wanted there to be some of chuck in this moment, even though i’ve ended up in such a shippery/kim place.

He thinks of letting her move against him, move over him, move around him. Of letting her define the edges of him.

the same idea as the light on the clouds, but hopefully a little more apparent! 😂and more returning images, and the seed planted by kim in the white sands motel.

there’s something so fragile about jimmy’s realisation here, i hope. he really is still doing so much of this for other people. it’s hard -- there’s something about slippin’ jimmy coming to abq and deciding to *dedicate years and years of his life to becoming a lawyer* that’s just... incredible. i tried to get to a place by the end of this fic where it made sense, and of course we all know he ends up doing it, but -- i always wanted there to be this inspiration from within himself to do it, too, outside of him just doing it to follow kim or to make chuck proud.

but i don’t think he’s found it here, as much as the shape of himself is briefly visible atop the sandia peak.

Jimmy wonders if he’s allowed to stay here all night, up on the Sandias. Up on this one high place.

oh jimmy if only you could stay up there forever. hamlin snr voice: perspective!!

He imagines waiting exactly here until the sun returns, until it rises behind him and breaks over the mountains. Like sitting beside Kim on the trunk of her car, their legs pressed together beneath the blanket.

this specific idea of holding off on seeing 🌄morning over the sandias 🌄at the end of chapter 16 came as i was planning that chapter. i was worried that ending with a sunrise would seem too final, seem too much like the ending of the whole story, and that chapter 17 would then end up feeling tacked on.

Then, the dawn had seemed to reach out close enough to touch them, huge and breathless, warm fingers on his skin.

three rapid fire callbacks in these next sentences. first an inverse of this from chapter 6, when kim takes a cup of coffee from him: “He can feel the ghost of her fingers like sunlight on his skin.”

And Jimmy had inhaled the colors of it: blue and gold and orange, streaks of brightness across the enormous sky.

then white sands: “as Jimmy inhales the air and the colors he thinks that there could be nothing more opposite of a Cook County jail cell than this exact spot in the middle of the White Sands National Monument.”

Morning sliding over the land.

and this is so niche and impossible, but it’s “I watch the sun rise over this wall / I watch it break and slide” from “graffiti” by throwing muses, which is on the road trip playlist and shows up in chapter 10 with: “A smile crests Kim’s face like the sun over a wall.” but, you know. callback?

And now he stands on the edge of the viewing platform and he looks out into the darkness of the city. And he imagines it all bathed in light.

i said that i decided to shift the idea of the sunrise here because it felt too much like an ending -- and man, the noise i made when i realised that jimmy imagining the sun rising behind him was jimmy imagining the world before him finally illuminated.

i also loved the idea of the weird clash of him standing there at sunset, at night, and imagining dawn.

🌄🌄🌄☁️☁️☁️ thank you so much for asking!! 💙

#commentary ask meme #asks #the-parallax-of-rain #a controlled burn

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vanchlo · 4 years

Text

The Firsts / #2 “The First Time Bringing Him Home”

*not my gif*

---> NEXT BLURB: I hope that I can put it out on October 19th, following the every other week rule, but I’m not sure with my busy schedule. Keep an eye out for updates on the series masterlist!

---> READ BLURB #1

READ THE ASSISTANT, AKA WHAT CAME FIRST

SERIES MASTERLIST

READ ON WATTPAD

-> SHOULD I CREATE A TAGLIST FOR THIS SERIES? IF YOU’D LIKE TO BE ADDED, LET ME KNOW! :)

LEGEND:

+ : a break in the story; a time jump.

italicized words : a flashback.

WARNINGS: None

WORD COUNT: 10.7k words (!!!)

SONG: And I Love Her by The Beatles (CLICK TO LISTEN)

* SNEAK PEEK, DUH BC ALWAYS *

“A tear collects at the corner of my eye, reminding me that at times like these, I expect to blink and it’ll all be gone. I wait for myself to wake up from the dream, and to have him ripped away from me, just like all of those other times he was. But it doesn’t, because how could my dreams beckon for me when my life was finally better than anything I could dream about?“

“She thinks that there’s one soul out there, just for her. One that will stay by her side forever and that someday, she’ll find it.”

- Kazuya Kujō, GOSICK -ゴシック-

“Are you kidding me?”

Groaning, I drop my purse in the doorway where it falls with a thud, and my quick steps echo down the hallway. “Harry Edward, I swear to God,” I mutter under my breath, narrowing my eyes at his laughing figure at the other end, but the happy sound only grows further and further away.

“What would you ever do without me?” I ask nobody aloud, coming to a stop in a patch of sunlight dancing through the tall window. Rounding his desk, I find his brown messenger bag that I still smile at every time, and begin to pack his stuff up.

Pulling open a drawer, I find his Macbook charger that I may or may not be stealing for the tenth or twelfth time. After the last of the unwrapped cord comes out, something pink flutters to the marbled floor. Huffing, I shove the charger into his bag and bend down to pick it up, smoothing down the end of my skirt against my bottom. The thought of standing back up comes to my mind, but as a hint of his recent Sage and Citrus candle trickles through the air, I stop at the words I see.

“Huh,” I sigh, my lips curling into my cheek as the writing on the Post-It clears before my eyes. A certain somebody’s handwriting that I could recognize instantly, but my noggin takes a moment to rouse the reason for this very note.

I hope your case went well today, Harry, and I’m sure it did because you’re so good at what you do. I just wanted to let you know that I really like working with you, and I’m so glad that I found this job, and more importantly, you. You’re one of my best friends, Harry, so thank you a lot for that.

Your Becks xxx

The space between my eyebrows softens when the jigsaw pieces click inside my head, but then it’s followed by the smallest of tears in my chest when I notice that my name is smudged. The paper all over has smudge marks, and looks almost crinkled, as if somebody spilled something on it . . or shed tears onto it.

“Oh, Harry. I hate to think what you did do without me,” I whisper, brushing my thumb over the note I wrote so many years ago, and yet, he still clung onto it. Standing back up, I clear my itchy throat and tuck the note back into the drawer where it sat in the little divider surrounded by coins and pink erasers.

“Can I help you with sumthin’?” a voice teases from the doorway. I almost jump when I hear it, the sleek wooden drawer closing without a sound.

“Yeah, you can stop making us late.”

“What, we’re not gonna be late, Becks.”

“We will if you don’t stop it with your Minnesota goodbyes,” I quip, draping the cloth strap over my shoulder and stepping forward.

“Whatever tha hell that means,” he titters with knitted brows, that breathy laugh escaping his lips to grace the air. He closes the distance between us and I feel zings of electricity on my forehead where his lips touch. “Here, gimme. I was jus’ sayin’ me goodbyes t’ My’ t’ make sure we’re all set with bein’ gone t’morrow and Monday, and you as well.”

“If you say so,” I exhale, letting him take the bag from me. Somehow, it only makes him all the more attractive, clutching onto it across his chest, clad in a teal and black paisley suit with a button up the color of raven feathers beneath.

“C’mon, brat. Let’s get this show on tha road then,” he complains ever so annoyingly, making me roll my eyes.

“Hey! Watch it, you’re on thin ice, bud!” I exclaim, whipping around to find him giggling after pinching my ass.

“Oooo, ‘m so scared!”

“Harry, hurry up already! I don’t want to hit rush hour traffic! What more do you need to bring? It’s only a three-four day trip,” I call up the staircase, my hands slapping against my thighs in impatience.

“‘m comin’! Would ya chill yer tits, woman? My God,” Harry chuckles, appearing around the corner of the staircase a moment later. Shaking my head, I catch sight of the large box wrapped in floral paper. “Don’t smile now, Becks. Dontchu’ smile, babe.”

Stifling a giggle, I turn around fast and thread my fingers through the cloth handle, “Dammit, Harry, what do you have in this bag? It weighs a ton.”

“‘s yer birthday presents, bug.”

“It is?” I ask excitedly after an intake of air. His steps stop in front of me, but I ignore him and push aside the fabric of the large reusable cloth bag.

“They’re wrapped, silly. Hey, you were gonna cheat and take a peek, weren’t you?!” Harry exclaims. Looking up slowly, I press my lying lips into a line and shake my head. His own pair rise to pinch his cheeks and now, it’s his turn to shake his head. “Naughty, naughty, Becks. Hmm, maybe I should jus’ leave ‘em here and you can open ‘em when we get back on Monday. Fo��get ‘bout openin’ ‘em up t’morrow mornin’ on yer birthday.”

“Harry, no!” I almost shout, but his stern look dissolves into a giggle. A spark ignites on my cheek when his thumb brushes along it, hooking his fingers into my hair.

“Don’t worry, sweets. I can hardly wait t’ give ‘em t’ you, let alone anotha few days,” he winks, and I feel my shoulders relax when I breathe out. “Now, let’s go put this in tha boot, and get goin’. Yer dad’s expectin’ us soon,” he hums, bending forward to sponge a kiss under my eye. I can’t remember when he had started doing that, but I smile at the feeling of his warm lips on my birthmark.

“Hey, what’d I say earlier?!” I argue a moment later, almost jumping into the air after he pinched my bum.

“I don’t care. Yer gonna be tha one makin’ us late now, if ya don’t hurry that cute bum o’ yers along.”

Giggling, I open his glossy, black front door to step onto the front stoop. Humming a tune, Harry helps me to get the heavy bag into the boot of his Rover, fitting it and his large box amongst his suitcase and my own. Things are shoved to the side, including his windshield scraper, a jumper or two, and his bag of workout clothes with his highlighter yellow Nikes spilling out.

“Becks, I get t’ pick this time!”

“No, you don’t. I don’t even remember who picked last time, but I got to your phone first. That’s the rule,” I return with a mischievous grin pointed towards him. Huffing, he adjusts himself in the driver’s seat before pulling the seat belt across his chest.

“Pick sumthin’ good please, and would ya plug me phone in then?”

“Sure, and wait, what do you mean? I always pick good music!” I say, turning to look at him as he presses the button to start the car.

“I love ‘Dancing Queen’ and ‘Bohemian Rhapsody,’ babe, but please, can we have sumthin’ different t’day? ‘s a three hour drive, I don’t wanna be listenin’ t’ those songs or bloody ‘Hannah Montana’ tha whole way.”

“You’re no fun,” I groan, finding the words I had just said feeling heavy in my throat when I see his lock screen. A giggly picture of us from the other night fills it, the first time I’ve seen it. Smiling, I unlock it regrettably, and find his Music Library.

“Alright, Ms. GPS, where am I goin’ exactly? ‘s been awhile since ‘ve been up this way, y’know,” Harry says, adjusting the air conditioner until it flows softly.

“Thanks for driving,” I tell him first, squeezing his hand and watching his eyes scan over to me. They instantly fill with the smile that follows on his face.

“Welcome, babe. Take all tha time ya need with gettin’ back t’ it. But, y’know, ya should start lookin’ fer a new car.”

“I don’t wanna talk about this right now, Harry-,” I begin in an upset tone, scrolling through one of his playlists.

“Ya, but I do. I don’t see why you won’t lemme help you pay-.”

“Harry, I can afford it, I’ll be fine. The settlement money will be enough for a used one,” I disagree, settling on a Haim song just to have something to listen to already.

I just hope it’ll help me tune out this impending argument.

“Ya, a shitty used one, Becks. ‘m not gonna let you drive ‘round an unreliable car, I-.”

“Well, I don’t remember needing to have your permission before I did something,” I retort, setting his phone down above the radio on the little mat, noticing his fingers darting around on the touch screen.

“That’s not what I said, Becks, y’know that . . Ya don’t ever need me permission t’ do sumthin’, I can’t believe ya’d think that ‘bout me,” Harry sighs, stabbing at the screen one last time before backing away from his closed garage.

Closing my eyes, I let my head fall against the window, regret pooling inside of me darkly. I try to swallow, but the words I want to say sit there, unsaid.

“I don’t think that about you, Harry, I-.”

“Then why fookin’ say that, Becks?” he spits back, harshly switching gears before zooming along as the directions are spoken to him.

“Because I’m upset and people say things they don’t mean when they’re upset, and I’m tired of-.”

“Doesn’t fricken ‘scuse what ya said, actin’ like ‘m controllin’ when ‘m not like that. You know ‘m not,” Harry grumbles under his breath, stopping suddenly in front of a changing stoplight.

“I’m sorry.”

“Ya well, what have you said t’ me befo’, huh? ‘Sorry doesn’t always cut it,’ ‘cuz y’know, it doesn’t mean a whole lot when it gets overused all o’ tha time,” he continues, a bite in his voice. I soon taste blood in my mouth and release my tongue, unaware I was taking out my frustration on it, as well.

“I don’t want your help buying a car, Harry, why can’t you just accept that already?” I almost explode, wishing I wasn’t, but the words were shoved up and away before I could stop them.

His sigh is automatic and unavoidable, as is the click of his tongue, “‘Cuz we’ve argued ‘bout this how many times, and ya still won’t tell me why not.”

“Fine, because I don’t want to take your help- your money. I-It’s just how I was raised, I don’t know. It’d be so embarrassing, Harry . . ,” I trail off, my voice growing small and choked.

“Oh, Becks,” Harry says in an exhale, lacing his hand with mine and pressing a kiss to it. “Ya don’t hafta be embarrassed, love . . I know that you’d pay me back, and however long it takes ‘s fine.”

“Thanks, but . . I don’t know. I don’t like ‘talking money’ with you, no offense or anything. It’s just . . weird with you being my boss and signing my checks, like you say. You know how much I make, and I know you pay me a little more than an associate because you like me.”

“‘m sorry I give you shit ‘bout tha check thing, but y’know that other part’s a bit o’ an understatement,” he wheezes, squeezing my hand in his. Breathing in, I move my head to look at him and watch his eyes turn to me and soften. “It ‘s. I liked you afta a few weeks o’ knowin’ you at tha firm, then I really liked you, and then I loved you.”

“Harry,” I say with a sigh, looking away and finding our laced hands sitting on his thigh, right where he always places them.

“What, ya aren’t gonna reciprocate me love?” he giggles, and I remain quiet. “‘s okay, love, ya don’t always hafta.”

“I love you too, but-,” I start, but cut myself off, just in time. Or, so I think.

“But what?” he asks, his indicator making a ticking noise while he switches lanes. It takes me a few moments to notice the absence of the music. I think that he’s lowered the volume, but then, I gather that he’s turned it off altogether. “Becks, what’re you thinkin’ bout?”

“Bug? Yer scarin’ me, what’s tha matter?” he says, hurrying through his words. My lips are dry when I swipe my tongue over them, but the landscape outside my window is anything but that. It’s green in between the buildings and the hot sun shines high in the sky.

“I feel like a burden to everybody . . the last few months . . ,” I admit in a small voice, focused on the sensation of him twirling a ring around my finger. An old one I had found in a drawer the other day, from my uni days with Skye. “What are you doing?” I ask hurriedly when I notice he pulls off the road onto the shoulder, and parks.

“Becks,” Harry says firmly, pressing his thumb into my hand, but it doesn’t wake me up quite yet. “Rebecca Holte, listen to me. No, I need you t’ look at me too,” he continues, cupping the side of my face and pressing on it until I look into his eyes overwhelmed with something. “You are not a burden t’ anybody, let alone t’ me. I love you, Becks, mo’ than I thought I could ever love somebody. Hell, mo’ than ‘ve loved anyone. Yer never a burden t’ me, ‘ve told you this fer years, and I wish you’d believe it, love. I really don’t mind givin’ you lifts t’ work, and I know Skye doesn’t either. How else would I know that you secretly love Miley Cyrus’ music, or ya still jam t’ High School Musical or The Lion King? I love ridin’ t’ work and home with you ev’ry day, I honestly cherish gettin’ that extra time with you. Sure, ya drive me nuts sumtimes with yer odd music tastes, but I love you fer that. I love you for yer stubbornness, even with this bloody car issue, ‘cuz I dunno if we’d be t’getha if it weren’t fer yer stubbornness. I love you fer how good you are with yer money, tha effort you make fer those you love, like spendin’ tha weekend at yer Dad’s fer yer birthday with Robbie. I love you fer yer dedication t’ anythin’ and anybody that you love - throwing Asher a surprise birthday party tha other week, or organizing that baby shower fer Rose next week. Yer amazing, you blow me off me feet ev’ry day with sumthin’ new ya did. You could never be a burden t’ me, yer tha complete opposite, bug. You make tha world spin ‘round fer me, always done that, you have. Ya make me excited t’ get up in tha mornin’, t’ be a lawyer, hell . . t’ be a person, and mo’ importantly, yer boyfriend and best friend. I never wantcha t’ think yer a burden, ‘specially t’ me, ‘cuz that’s tha last thing you are t’ me. I love you mo’ than I could ever begin t’ tell you,” Harry divulges and not for the last time do I feel like The Grinch, because it feels as if my heart has grown another size, or two.

His warm laugh dances across my head when I fall into his arms and pull him against me for once.

“Dontchu’ cry on yer birthday weekend now, bug,” he jokes against my temple, his lips making a smacking noise against my flushed skin.

My favorite song in the world fills my ears as his words from before drunken my mind with their never ending meanings. I never thought I could love somebody this much, either. Sorry, Skye.

Sniffling, I brush my hand against my itchy nose and peer up. His greens brighter than the grass outside my window peer down at me, softer than can be.

“I love you too, Harry, so much. I don’t know what more I can say after that,” I croon with happiness plastered across my face. “But, thank you.”

“Ya don’t hafta say anymo’, that’s mo’ than enough fer me, sweets,” he assures me, pressing his lips to mine. “‘m sorry ya didn’t get mo’ settlement money, ya would have if it was me who fought yer case.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that it’s okay?” I giggle and he nods with those dimples on full display for me. He nibbles at his bottom lip, leaving short white imprints amongst the rosy color. I sometimes still amaze myself at getting to run my fingers through his hair whenever I want to, like now. The clean, citrus smell of his new shampoo wafts over me as he smiles down at me, making me think all of my dreams have come true. Almost all of them.

“I know, bug, but it was disappointin’, tha settlement.”

“Your friend at Williams and Knox did great, Harry, and you couldn’t have argued it with your connection to me. Nobody at the firm could, seeing as how I work with them,” I explain to him, my thoughts brushing over the redundancy of it all.

“‘ll tell ya what, I have an ol’ mate who works with cars, and I bet he could knock off a few grand fer me-.”

“Harry!” I begin to protest, but it’s soon whisked away by the softness of his lips against mine. Our giggles tickle the others, and his hand is cold against my hip when he slides up my shirt. “I don’t want you to-,” I start again after he pulled away, but he dives back in for another kiss. Now, I don’t really care if we happen to be late.

“Ya gonna stop arguin’?” he wheezes after ending the kiss, brushing the tip of his nose against mine. My lips part and he raises his eyebrows in response, making me nod moments later. “Good. Now, as I was sayin’, he owes me a favor so ‘ll see what I can do ‘bout gettin’ you a new car. Actually, I think a lease would be best fer you.”

“But, Harry, new cars are too expensive and the insurance as well, and-.”

“Hush,” he whispers against my lips, soon letting me taste his coconut chapstick for the third time in the last minute. Then again, time has seemingly gone out the window these last few minutes, and I couldn’t care if I tried. “I really do think ‘d be best. Ya, insurance would be higher, but then ya have a new car, guaranteein’ no problems, and if there are, tha dealer place fixes ‘em free o’ charge. Inna few years, ya can buy it, or trade it in and sign another lease.”

“Okay, Mr. Convincing Lawyer, you do have a few good points,” I at last agree, watching his sixty-watt smile only grow brighter at my surrender.

“Yer music t’ me ears, y’know that?”

“Ditto,” I say, smiling up at him.

“Maybe if ya continue t’ be good and give a li’l less lip at work, ya jus’ might get a raise when it comes t’ yer six month review next week,” he jests with a lift of an eyebrow, a shit-eating grin plastering his lips. “Reckon that’d help with tha car, bug.”

“Is that so, Mr. Styles?”

“Mmmhmm, it ‘s indeed, Ms. Holte,” Harry answers, but I ignore him and choose to get lost in his lips, and the baby curls on the back of his neck.

A Paul McCartney song hums around us, the soft twang of acoustic guitar filling the holes as buildings pass on by. Yawning, I shuffle my feet in front of me and tip my head against the window. The song comes to a gentle end before a Bowie song follows, and I find my thigh warmed by his touch. I lose myself in the lyrics as his thumb leaves circles through my jeans first above my knee, then higher, and higher. Turning away from the window, I peek a look at him to find him biting at his nails while focused on the road.

“Stop biting your nails,” I whisper, my hand falling onto his and dragging it back towards my knee. It’s difficult, but I hold back the grin begging at my lips when I watch him blink with emphasis.

“Stop movin’ me hand. Y’know what, it took me tha last ten minutes t’ get that high,” he retorts without moving his eyes from the traffic in front of us.

“Why are you trying to get so high, huh, Mr. Styles?”

“Yer not helpin’ things by callin’ me that. Y’know how I feel ‘bout you callin’ me it,” Harry sighs, his thumb falling from his lips, and he turns on his indicator. After switching lanes, he reaches into the middle compartment and offers me a stick of gum before shoving a piece into his mouth.

“And how do you feel about me calling you that?”

“Stop,” he says, turning his head to look me straight in the eyes when a light has turned red. “Playin’ dumb, Becks.”

I avoid his eyes with a giggle and peer out at the landscape where buildings soon become far and in between, knowing how it gets to him and in a good way. His tsking tickles my ears and I shove his hand away, sure I’ve only made matters worse. The next few songs tick Queen off the list, as well as The Stones, and Simon and Garfunkel before a Beatles song follows.

“Penny Lane is in my ears, and in my eyes,” the radio sings back to us while Harry cruises at a steady 68 miles per hour. His distracted humming along eggs me on, and without a thought more, I slide my hand across the divider and onto his thigh. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything, and when I glance over, he’s blowing bubbles between singing along. “And in his pocket is a portrait of the Queen. He likes to keep his fire engine clean . . ,” he nods to the words, and smacks loudly on his gum. I take the chance and slowly lift my hand from the warmth of his leg, and find another spot a little higher up.

“Yer cheatin’,” is all he says while sitting back further and adjusting his hand on the wheel.

Huffing, I look away guiltily and try my darnedest to hide the smile blooming on my lips, “I am not.”

“Yes, you are. Only slidin’, no liftin’, Ms. Holte. Start over, then.”

“Fine,” I groan, replacing my hand to above his knee where I had begun in the first place. His chuckle irritates me, but when he picks up my hand to press a kiss to, I find it hard not to melt next to him.

Throughout the next few songs featuring Jagger, Backstreet Boys, and McFly, I don’t get very far. I hardly beat my record when he picks up my hand and places it back at the starting point.

“Harry!” I exclaim in annoyance, turning to face him. His dimpled cheeks round out with a pink smile. “No fair, I almost won!”

“Ya, and ya were gettin’ a li’l too close t’ me junk, y’know.”

“That’s the point of the game, silly!” I argue but it only collapses into a laugh that he reluctantly echoes. “We don’t actually . . touch each other, you know that.”

“What’re you talkin’ ‘bout? You did jus’ tha other day!”

“Stop it!” I whine, crossing my arms over my chest and facing the window once more with hot cheeks. With my face smushed into a line, I find only a few bits of relief when my forehead meets the cool glass of the window, wishing I hadn’t heard those words. “Don’t,” I mutter when he pries at my stubborn arms that coax me back together.

“Babe, I was jus’ jokin’ with you. It was only an accident, ya don’t still hafta feel bad ‘bout that, Becks,” Harry insists, but the harmless giggle feels anything but that when it interrupts the new Busted song.

“I would if you’d stop bringing it up! You know that I’m never going to hear the end of it from Skye, and now, you too!”

“Bug, it was funny. We all agreed it was, ‘s nuthin’ t’ be ashamed of still, I promise you.”

“Oh, hush,” I say through gritted teeth, shaking off his hand only to hear his depressed sigh.

His voice grows low, and somehow, I let his hand remain when it graces the round of my knee, “I didn’t mind y’know, ‘s rather flatterin’ actually-.”

“Would you shut up about it, please? I touched your crotch the other day, I know because I was there, and it was in front of Skye. I almost died from embarrassment when it happened, and if you don’t stop bringing it up, I actually will die from embarrassment and it’ll be all of your fault.”

“Becks, chill out, babe,” he titters, the emphasis held in his hand that tries to rub the worries away, but I remain pouting. “Stop it with tha poutin’, love, ‘s not lost on me. It was an accident that ‘m sorry I keep givin’ ya grief fer. I like our li’l game, and I know ‘s harmless. Maybe one o’ these times ‘ll make it up t’ you and let ya win.”

“Stop talking already, you know I hate it when you let me win.”

“Young lady, ya better stop it with tha whining, cuz yer stuck with me for tha next three-four days, and ya best bet ‘m stealin’ all o’ tha covers,” he gripes, and I at last look at him with my body too.

“Harry Edward, you will not!”

“I will too, ‘specially if ya keep on poutin’ ‘bout that thing, ‘s not worth it,” he insists, pulling free one of my hands to lace with his one, and smatter the skin of with kisses. “I jus’ hope ya like what ya felt, but ya should know, ‘s mo’ impressive when ‘s hard.”

“Harry, would you stop it?!” I shout, yanking my hand away from him and shrinking against the window with a shiver. “You’re gross.”

“What, like ya haven’t thought ‘bout me dick befo’?” he wheezes with that breathy laugh I’m trying not to love right this moment. Sighing, I close my eyes and try to focus on the song, but it’s becoming too difficult as his words spring a leak in my mind.

This little ‘game’ of ours had started shy of a few weeks ago, and I can’t even remember why really. One of us had started laying our hands on the other’s thigh and as a joke one night, I think after some drinks, I got a little handsy and tried to see how far I could slide my hand without him noticing. It’s become a competition ever since and harmlessly, given the fact that a few steamy makeout sessions as of late hadn’t progressed to anything besides that. Running across some old photos the other night with Skye when backing up my phone made me realize again just how lucky I’ve gotten with him. The man I never thought I’d be able to love, and here I am, embarrassed because my boyfriend is talking about his dick that may or may not occupy my thoughts at times.

God, if I could tell Past Becky that sometime in the near future sh-we may get to see Harry naked, she wouldn’t believe me, or the fact I probably get to sleep beside him the next few nights with him wearing nothing but shorts. I can’t decide which outweighs the other, the excitement, or the fear of the f- that kind of future.

“No,” I whine, continuing to comb through the contents, despite the fact that I already know that it’s not there.

“Yer bedroom ‘s cute, y’know. Look at all these posters, I love ‘em. Bloody hell, ‘s that a Scooby Doo stuffie? Powerpuff Girls too?” he giggles from across the hallway, and I hear things being moved around. “Becks?”

“I know I packed it, what the heck?”

“What’s tha matter?” Harry coos, coming up from behind me and circling his arms around my waist.

“I forgot to pack a razor.”

Apparently, he finds that very funny, because within seconds he’s laughing, “Why ya frettin’ over a razor, bug? We’re only here three nights.”

“Because . . I didn’t want my legs to be prickly when we sleep together,” I reveal softly, and that sweet sound of his returns, soon muffled against my hair.

“I honestly don’t care if yer legs are hairy t’night, or t’morrow, or tha night afta that. I never have, love. But, if it really matters t’ ya, ya can borrow me razor. Lemme find it.” Facing him, I watch as he picks up his small, black toiletries bag and plucks a silver handled razor from it. “Here.”

“Uh, no thanks. Forget I asked,” I rush, occupying myself by grabbing my toothbrush and toothpaste from the bag to set on the counter beside his gray one.

“What, why ya look scared, Becks? Ya never used a safety razor befo’ or summat?”

“No,” I reveal slowly, untwisting the cap of the white tube, and squeezing a dollop of the blue gel onto my toothbrush.

“‘s really not that bad, I promise you. I like it better, doesn’t gimme razor burn and goofy bumps, or ingrown hairs as much.”

“I’m fine, no thanks,” I mumble with the toothbrush in my mouth as I move it around, scrubbing my teeth.

“Becks, c’mon. Really, ‘s not that bad. Hey, why dontchu’ help me shave t’night, and that way you’ll learn how t’ use it. Reckon ‘s easier t’ use on yer legs, not havin’ all tha contours o’ yer face and jaw t’ nick.”

“Really?” I ask, placing a hand against the cool countertop, and facing him. “Wait, but I like your stubble and it was just coming back after you had shaved.”

“I leave the upper lip area and chin, but tha cheeks get patchy, so I shave those. I guess yer gonna hafta put up with tha stache again.”

“That’s okay, you know I like it. You’d really trust me to shave your face?” I respond, turning on the sink and filling a cup with water.

He nods, and with an eager smile, fishes out the large tube of shaving gel from his bag.

“What if I cut you?” I almost whine moments later, with the heavy handle in my hands.

“Babe, ya won’t, and if ya do, I won’t be mad. Rememba, like I showed you - forty-five degree angle, short strokes, and tha lightest pressure. Rinse every few strokes under tha tap. You’ll be fine,” Harry insists with the emphasis placed in his rising eyebrows. “Promise you that I trust you.”

“Okay, I’ll try it a few times, but that’s it. If I don’t like it, I don’t want to continue. I don’t want to hurt you, Harry.”

“Ya won’t, bug. This ‘s how ya learn, anyways. Now, c’mon, give it a go,” he coos, pulling me closer to him by his hands pressed to my hips.

Exhaling, I lift my hand and leave a gap of air in between the safety razor and his cheek covered in the white foam. Tilting it like he had said to do, I wait for him to open his mouth to pull the skin taut. I go with the grain and pull the razor along with short strokes, listening to his encouragements as his cheeks slowly reappears before my eyes.

“God, you look like a baby like this. I’ve always wondered what you looked like as a teenager, I want to see more pictures.”

“Noted, ‘ll hafta have me mum bring some over next time,” he replies and I nod, being careful when his face slopes with his cheekbones, but I save the jawline for him to do.

Goodness, Becky, you’re shaving your boyfriend’s face. Sometimes, I still catch myself when I call him that, Harry.

“Bloody hell, ‘s yer dad good at cribbage. I thought I had that last game 'til tha end there,” Harry chortles from across the hallway. Nodding to myself, I flick off the bathroom light, and stop in the doorway to find him snuggled under the covers of my childhood bed. Talk about a sight for sore eyes.

“I told you that I learned from the best,” I reply, closing my door softly and then getting the light. Dashing across the room, I almost jump onto my bed.

“Come warm me up, bug, ‘m freezin’ with that fan on,” Harry says, his teeth chattering, but I wonder if it’s only for the comical effect. “And then, God, what he said when we brought our suitcases in.”

“What’d he say again?” I ask, burying myself underneath the plain, gray comforter, and draping the rainbow colored quilt on top.

“How could ya forget, Becks?” he chuckles from beside me, the sound surrounding me when I place my head on his chest. His laughs continue and grow deeper over the next several seconds whilst I get comfortable under the blankets and his arms find their way around me. “Hey, Dad, where should Harry sleep? Have him sleep with you in yer old bed, I’m not getting any younger y’know, I want some grandkids soon, and Robbie isn’t looking too promisin’.”

“I can’t believe he said that either, I could have died from embarrassment right then and there,” I comment, my laugh joining his to echo around the room. His chest and belly shake and then squeeze beneath me as I nuzzle my head into the middle of his chest.

Little old me had nearly all of her dreams granted after I kissed this fellow, including getting to feel his toned body any time I want to, or lay my head between his solid pecs. Christ Almighty.

“Once again, ev’rybody, but us, thinks we’re havin’ sex,” Harry says, his laugh seemingly not going anywhere. My cheeks warm at his words and I wish that I could bury my head deeper into him, but I only feel the lukewarm metal of his cross necklace against my cheek.

“Hey, that’s not too bad of a deal. We didn’t have to do anything, and people think we are.”

“You have a silly mind, li’l one. I mean, I don’t care what people think, but I wish our parents would stop askin’ fer grandchildren, seein’ as we’ve only been t’getha four months,” Harry giggles, and I nod, remembering my dad missing vague and going straight to obvious when he said he was traditionally named after his father. His elbow into my side didn’t help his case, either.

Suddenly, a disturbing thought whisks my laugh away and I don’t find the joke very funny, anymore.

“Why aren’t you laughin’, hmm? Here, then - it was funny when he hinted he wants a grandson named afta him. Our parents really are obvious, aren’t they?” Harry chirps, and I nod silently, only now noticing the callused tips of his fingers dancing along my arm. “‘m sorry, I overplayed tha joke, didn’t I? ‘s not too funny afta a few goes, ‘s it?”

“No, you’re fine,” I say, but the thoughts kicking up dust in my head don’t feel very fine. No, they don’t make me feel ‘fine’ at all.

Why is it that she always has to ruin everything, ever since I was little? Even now, with her well out of my life, she’s still there despite the fact she’s not . . here.

“What ‘s it, Becks? Did I say sumthin’ wrong, love?”

“No, it’s not you, Harry. I don’t know, just overthinking things,” I reveal, letting my hand rest on the curve of his bicep, wishing I could see his tattoos in the dark to trace them. I know that that wouldn’t make them go away, though.

“Wanna talk ‘bout it, or jus’ go t’ bed?”

“I dunno,” I almost laugh, wishing this was ironic and that it was still funny. But, it’s not. “It’s hard to think about being a mum and mine not being there for it. I know that’s how I’d want it to be, though. It’s just . . hard, knowing how much other mums rely on that and enjoy getting to share the experience with theirs.”

“Oh, love, ‘m so sorry. I didn’t mean it like that,” he pipes up, resting his head against mine, and I welcome the closeness.

“I know you didn’t, it was just my thoughts stirring up ‘what if’s.”

“Hey, ‘m sure when ya get t’ know me mum betta and Gemma, that me mum would be happy t’ step in fer that role, and me sister too. I already know with Gem that me mum would be all over my babies, and she’s a wonderful grandmother. I only wish she lived closer, but she’s always joked if I had kids, that that’s what would take her t’ move t’ London,” he says into my hair, and I nod into his smooth skin, my cheek tickled by his chest hair.

“Gemma must have been annoyed with that,” I titter and he agrees.

“‘ve thought ‘bout it too, y’know. Me dad‘s ‘round fer Harper and Ollie, but I dunno if ‘d ever want him ‘round my kids. He fooked up things with me, so why would I let him do tha same with me kids? I don’t want them wonderin’ why their granddad doesn’t come t’ their birthday party this time but did tha last, or t’ see us have a row . . It makes me sad, but y’know, ‘m glad we can relate t’ each other on this stuff, whatta load o’ rubbish it all ‘s.”

“Me too, Harry,” I breathe, tracing the shape of his necklace as his heartbeat thuds in my ear. “I can’t ever see things changing with my mum, but maybe it could with your dad someday . . It’s a good thing we’re not having kids anytime soon, huh?”

“Ya, reckon so, but ‘m already thirty, Becks. Time’s a tickin’ fer me in that father department,” he shares gently, and I wish I could see his eyes and lose myself in them, and maybe drag him along for the ride too. It’s all that I can think of to get rid of the sour remnants of this conversation, one that’s all of my fault.

“Oh, hush. My dad was thirty-four when he had Robbie and I, so you’ll be fine.”

“Ya, but I dunno, rather sure ‘d want kids soon afta gettin’ married,” he hums happily, a longing for the future in his voice. Boy, is it contagious. “Prolly within tha year.”

“Okay, would you chill it with the future talk? As you just said, it’s only been four months, Harry,” I laugh, nervously. A similar sound rumbles through his chest as he hugs me in his arms, smattering kisses along my head.

“Well, maybe four months will turn into forever one day, ya never know, bug,” he says with a lilt in his voice, teasing dripping from it. “C’mon, ya don’t know yet whether or not ya wanna be my Mrs. Styles one day?”

“I can tell what your answer to that question is,” my answer comes out in between apprehensive laughs, my cheeks surely scarlet against his skin.

“I never reveal me secrets, Becks,” he whispers, as if I don’t know it by now. “So, will ya marry me one day?”

“I’ll have to think about it . . ask again in a few months, weirdo.”

The streams of sunlight tease at my eyes while a sensation tickles my neck. Groaning, I shuffle my legs under the covers but they don’t get very far, knocking against another hairy pair.

“Wake up,” somebody coos softly into my ear, followed by a stream of gentle kisses down my face. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to pull the covers higher, but they don’t budge. “Becks,” they say, dragging out the sound of my name as they rub circles into my stomach.

I lay there for a little while longer, dipping in and out of sleep, amongst the sound of my name and indiscernible humming. The next time I open them, the sun is beating through the window and the standing fan whirs along. A pair of arms is secure around my waist, and although used to it, I feel somebody’s prickly stubble against my cheek. I smile into the soft kisses pressed along my face and then a last one to my nose. “Wake up, Boops, ‘s yer birthday. ‘s my baby Becks’ birthday t’day,” Harry croons and I feel his cheeks rounding out from a smile against mine.

“Mmmmm, my twenty-seventh birthday,” I reply, stifling a yawn. They reply with an ‘mmmhmm’ before they hide their face in my neck. “And I get to spend it all with you,” I hum, my thoughts waking me quickly. It’s black and white from my birthday last year, pining away for him as he loved somebody else and ignoring his presents.

No matter how hard I could try, I wouldn’t be able to remember how long it’s been since I’ve had a birthday as good as this one already is, and undoubtedly will be.

“‘m so glad I get t’, bug, ‘s ‘bout time,” he yawns from behind me, stirring under the covers. I whine when his leg moves away from mine and takes its warmth with him. “I didn’t imagine ‘d be wakin’ you up in yer childhood bed, but here we are,” he giggles. “Tha first o’ many birthdays spent t’getha, babe.”

“Yeah,” I reply distractedly, propelled back to this day last year and how robbed I felt of a day that was supposed to be all about me and being happy. That was the last thing I was, it seemed, and it’s like a different life to think about that while Harry kisses the hollow below my ear. My boyfriend, who kicks off a blanket with a groan, a laugh rising from my lips as he complains about being hot.

“‘ve taken off all tha clothes I can and ‘m still bloody boilin.’ God, Becks, could ya be any mo’ o’ a heater, love?” he sighs and I only reply with a loud laugh that grows when his hands roam my body to tickle me. I find his sleepy face painted with a smile when I turn around to face his naked upper half, and it makes me wonder how he could ever be any more perfect than he already is. “What? ‘m sweatin’ over here,” he wheezes, carding a hand through his mess of curls while his eyes shine back at me.

“Nothing, I just . . “

“You jus’ what, love?” he murmurs, threading his fingers into my hair and stroking it away from my face.

“I just, really love you,” I confess, watching the contentment blossom on his face to almost embarrassment.

“I love you too, Rebecca Ann,” Harry beams with that contagious smile again, dipping forward to peck me. “More.”

“No, I do!” I protest, fingering his gold cross necklace that’s warm in my fingers. “I love you most! There!”

“Okay, okay,” he titters, batting a hand at me before pulling me into his chest. “‘ll let you have it, but only cuz ‘s yer birthday, my love,” he coos, surrounding me with his arms and covering my head in kisses.

I silently roll my eyes but I know he hears my huff, “Don’t be a pout on yer birthday, jus’ be happy ‘m lettin’ you get yer way with e’rythin’,” he remarks, muffled against my cheek where his warm breath wafts over me.

“Everything, you say?” I tease, and his intake of air eggs me on.

“Oh, what d’ya want now?”

“Hey, it’s my birthday. I get whatever I want on my birthday, isn’t that what I told you on yours?”

“I don’t rememba those exact words, but yes, my girl can have whatever her heart desires on her birthday,” Harry responds softly, his eyelashes leaving butterfly kisses against me. “What ‘s that li’l brain o’ yers cookin’ up now, huh?”

A laugh peeks out from my lips and he groans in response as I ready my proposal, sure he’s falling back asleep in my arms.

“A baby,” I divulge, and begin to count the seconds after the words have met the air. 1 . . 2 . . 3.

“‘Scuse me?” Harry exclaims, pulling away from me and looking at me with a wild pair of eyes. I find it so hard to hold it back when his green eyes widen further, accompanied by a sudden pallor to his face. “Rebecca Ann-,” he begins adamantly, but the moment the chuckle pours from my lips, he stops. “Woman, I swear- Jesus Christ, ya really are gonna gimme a heart attack one o’ these days.”

“The look on your face, Harry! I wish you could’ve seen it,” I giggle profusely, only fed by the crimson appearance of his cheeks as he shakes his head.

“You li’l smart ass, you,” he tuts, swiftly flipping onto his back and pulling me on top of him. “Y’know, ya kinda hafta be havin’ sex in order t’ have a baby, love, sumthin’ that doesn’t quite exist fer us yet,” Harry remarks with the cutest double chin from below me. I adjust myself lying on top of him so I’m not crushing his lungs, or well, his baby making junk.

“Not yet, anyways,” I murmur with a smirk, enjoying the squirming he does at my words. He giggles and covers his face with both of his arms, exposing as well as hiding some of his tattoos.

Propping my chin on my hand, my elbow finds a place on the mattress as my finger finds its way to his chest. I trace the numbers in my handwriting above his heart, so entirely grateful for this year and mostly all that it’s brought along with it.

“Maybe one day I’ll have a baby with you.”

I hear his wheezy laugh and the happy sigh, because they live inside of me too. His greens are stuck on me from between his peeking hands when I look over and my smile brightens.

“If we’re havin’ kids, ‘s gonna be mo’ than one, ‘ll tell ya that right now, missy.”

Somehow, my lips spread even wider, “How many then, Mr. Styles?” I pose aloud with a raise of my eyebrows at him.

“Five.”

“Harry!” I exclaim and he giggles from behind his hands that his eyes peek out from. At last, he drops them and peers across at me, making me believe in the cuteness that is triple chins. “Five children? Five mouths to feed, lunches to pack, activities to put them in, bedrooms, pairs of shoes, car seats, bums to change, new school clothes and well, new everything every year, and five babies for me to push out of my crotch?”

That really gets him going and soon, a deep chuckle rumbles through his chest and from his lips, but I really couldn’t be complaining. It sparks one from mine too, and only makes me think of what it would be like to do this with him every morning. One day, with a swaddled baby lying to the side, or on his chest. What have I started now?

“Yes, five . . Five kids t’ cuddle, make memories with, take on adventures, introduce Harry Potter t’, bake and cook with, watch grow and do great things, have mosey into our bed at night, maybe teach guitar or piano t’ one or two, teach ‘em so many things, and I hope they all have yer eyes and yer laugh . . Can you imagine all that love, Becks?” Harry says, dreaming aloud with an effervescent look in his eye that I’ve only seen a few times before. “Hey, don’t you do that on yer birthday,” he tuts, but I’ve already started and go to sniffle into the crook of his neck. “Did I say sumthin’ wrong? ‘m sorry if ‘s too soon and-.”

“No, you said everything . . right,” I whisper against his neck, the absence of words letting me feel how it moves with every tick of his pulse. Gulping, I wait for him to answer, but I get it when he begins to hum our song amidst running races up and down my back with his hand.

“Maybe one day- Wait, no. Not ‘maybe,’ hopefully one day,” Harry coos as I stare into the darkness, but this time I’m not afraid or fleeing. I could never feel anything but safe in his arms, and I know our children would too. “Mmmm, ‘m lovin’ tha cuddlin’, but holy shit, am I warm!” he continues, our skin sticking together as he separates from me between our laughs.

After a few trips to the bathroom between us, Harry plops onto the bed and pulls me onto his lap. His lips sponge kisses along my cheek and his arms surround me, almost swallowing me with their span.

“Well, are ya jus’ gonna stare at ‘em or go and open ‘em, bug?” he coos, the hairs on the back of my neck lifting at his words tickling my neck. Turning my head, my excited eyes connect with his, and he nods. “Go already,” he says, kissing me before I leave his arms.

“Which one first?” I ask, crossing the bedroom to kneel in front of the line of gifts set before my dresser and our suitcases.

“Whichever yer li’l heart desires,” he answers. I grab one of the smaller ones and look over to him. “Savin’ tha biggest one fer last, I see.” He folds his hands together, his long arms already turning golden this early in the summer, and so are his legs that his arms drape across.

Giggling, I stand up and make a few trips to bring the presents to the bed.

“Openin’ ‘em up here, are we?” Harry asks with dumbfounded astonishment gracing his tired features.

“Mmmhmm,” is all I say as I settle onto his lap again, and relax when he wraps me up inside of his embrace. Tipping my head to rest on his shoulder, I stare down at the pink and purple flowers that branch across the crisp wrapping paper, and suddenly, it’s like for the second time.

I’m not going to let it happen again. No, not sitting on the floor with his presents before me, and him so far away, if only a few steps. His chest rises and falls with rhythmic breaths and I remain there, moving my ear until I hear the song his heart plays, needing this to feel all the more real. A tear collects at the corner of my eye, reminding me that at times like these, I expect to blink and it’ll all be gone. I wait for myself to wake up from the dream, and to have him ripped away from me, just like all of those other times he was.

But it doesn’t.

I blink and the tear falls, and his lips rest in my hair, waiting for me. His large hand leaves waves and blossoms against my back, and hopes and promises. I make them too, just as silently against him. I promise myself that I’ll never give up on him, and although he doesn’t know, I promise that to him too.

“Open it up, bug, what’re you waitin’ fer? ‘m dyin’ with anticipation here!”

Smiling, I lift my head and don’t waste any time finding his lips with my own, just because I can. He moans a sound against mine and holds onto me, and I know that he would never let me go, either.

No, not again.

“What was that fer?” he breathes half a minute later, staring deep into me.

“Just ‘cause,” I respond and he only smiles back at me, but then he tips his head to meet mine, resting his forehead on mine. He winks and brushes his nose against mine a few times in a different kind of kiss.

“I hope I get anotha one o’ those afta ya open yer presents.”

“We’ll have to see about that, Mr. Styles,” I grin and he amplifies it with a snort, bumping his shoulder against mine to remind me of the present I hold, and his affable impatience.

Wrapping paper still litters the floor, so do purple bows, and Amazon boxes. The shadows of our mingled laughs pepper the air as his hair falls through my fingers, and his slow breaths are whispers against my skin. I let my head fall and my hair dance across his skin before my lips do, ever so gently.

“Sweet dreams, love,” I barely whisper, careful to leave the bed without waking him. At the last second, I turn back and pull the comforter and quilt up his thighs covered in gray shorts, and past his bare shoulders. He’ll need it with his personal heater gone from his side, I think.

Tip toeing across the room, I take careful steps around the pile of presents still sat by our suitcases. The elation and disbelief comes over me in another wave when I see them one by one, starting with the lilac colored Kitchenaid mixer.

“Ya need it fer yer bakin’, love. I know tha kneadin’ part o’ recipes ‘s a bore, and yer handheld one was almost shot. We both know that. Maybe ‘m tellin’ you t’ bake fer me mo,’ I dunno,” he had laughed after my jaw had fallen to my chest, and his faced turned a proud crimson.

“We’re already halfway in, might as well make sure we have tha whole boxset fer when we wanna rewatch it,” Harry told me after I had opened the large box with the five Friends’ faces on it, assuring me that it was just as much a present for him as it was for me. He had kept making it known that that was the theme, so I would stop complaining about him spoiling me too much.

“I can’t take any credit fer that one, which ‘m quite sorry ‘bout, but mum wanted t’ knit ya sumthin’. Told her ya loved blankets, and here we are. Reckon I might have ya keep it at mine so I can steal it too,” runs through my head as I once again rub the chenille type yarn between my fingers at the end of the bed where the knit blanket lies. With a proud grin, I grab two corners and drape it over the sleeping man in my childhood, twin-sized bed, a dated McFly poster hanging over his head.

“This one’s jus’ as much fer me as it ‘s fer you, too,” he kept saying, then for Paul McCartney’s second show at the O2, and then for another pair of tickets to his daughter Stella’s fashion show in just a few weeks.

The same phrase, give or take a few words, flowed from his lips when the bag of candles graced my hands. He explained that we nick so many candles from each other’s offices that it was only natural that he bought me some, seeing as how he’d be stealing some here soon, especially the Tobacco Vanilla, Whiskey Cedar, Sage and Lemon, and the highly coveted Cinnamon Roll one.

The cribbage board was just a bonus, him claiming that he could finally bring his office one home and keep mine at work for us to play on.

What he couldn’t claim his rightful ownership to as well was the card full of unintelligible scribbles from Harper and Ollie, that thank the Gods, Gemma helped them write. The tears in my eyes since the first present grew and grew, and didn’t waver at the message of how Harper wanted to have a sleepover at Harry’s soon with me - nail painting, baking cookies, and all.

But, when I met his eyes with my sad, puppy dog pair, he melted right then and there.

“Harry, this is too much. I can’t accept all of this,” I had told him and he shook his head, lifting my own with his thumb to look in his eyes.

“Please, Becks. I-I hate t’ say it, but I have too much money than I know what t’ do with, and ‘ve been so excited to give you all of these. Don’t worry ‘bout tha money. Alright, my love?”

I gave in, and with the kisses he smothered me with, there was no way in hell I could say no to that face.

He stirs underneath the covers behind me, and so do my thoughts, but with a huff, Harry returns to snoring softly. I carefully open my suitcase and fish out my last clean outfit, and without a sound, walk across the hall and into the shower.

I thought I had made out like a bandit, but when I slip back into my room in search of Post-Its and a pen, I find that somebody else is awake.

“Where are you goin’, Becks?” they rasp, pulling themselves up to sit and the covers pool on his lap. Rubbing at his eyes, Harry cards a hand through his tousled curls, quickly yawning.

“Oh, just to run an errand quick. Go back to bed, I won’t be gone long.”

“Mmmm,” he groans, knuckling at his left eye. “Can’t it wait ‘til we leave this afternoon, bug? Y’know I can’t sleep without you, I get too cold, and miss havin’ you in me arms.”

“No, it can’t. I’m sorry . . You’ll fall right back asleep, Harry, I promise,” I shush him, stepping forward and pressing on his shoulder, but he doesn’t fall back in any of the ways that I’d hoped.

“I’ll come with, then. We can grab some pastries from that bakery you love fer brekky with yer dad.”

“It’s okay, I will if you want. Please, Harry, go back to sleep. You were up late, you must have a headache from all of those drinks with Robbie. I dunno why you pair had to have a shots competition,” I insist, and my distraction makes a raspy laugh fall from his mouth.

“I like yer brotha, y’know, he’s a funny git,” he drawls, rubbing his hands down his face once before pulling back the covers. “Can I come? ‘ll be mo’ awake after I have a shower.”

“I dunno,” I nervously laugh, tucking a wet lock of hair behind my ear. Huffing, I smooth down the floral skirt of my dress and sit on the edge of my bed. Thoughts whizz around in my head, flying to that destination and the next, but this one isn’t sure where to go.

“If ya really don’t want me t’, ‘s okay. ‘m sorry t’ pressure ya, babe.”

“It’s okay, Harry. I’d like you to come, but . . I dunno,” I reveal, toying with the ring and starting at the corner of my eye, I watch his hands still my pair that wring each other.

“Don’t hafta tell me if ya don’t wanna, I trust you y’know.”

Nodding, I wonder how I had ever gotten so damn lucky with this one. A split second giggle tickles at my lips, and then the toying turns into twirling, and then, telling.

“She would’ve been eighty-five today, I think,” the whisper fights to make itself known, and I can’t meet his eyes, but I think I hear it in his breathing when he connects the dots. The spinning of the ring, and the tracing of the flower, frozen in time. “I bring her flowers every year, just wildflowers I find on the side of the road. I’ve wanted to bring a cupcake and sing before blowing it out, but it seemed odd to eat it sitting there, when she can’t,” I continue, the frog jumping into my throat at the end there.

His words are absent, but they’re the least bit of that and so is my surprise when my head meets his shoulder, and his fingers trickle through my hair.

“You don’t have to come with, if you don’t want to,” I pipe up, grabbing hold of the smooth chain around his neck. The swallows beckon for me, and I trace their wings slowly, wondering how silky they’d feel if they were alive on his chest.

“I’d like t’ come with, if that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah, it’s more than okay,” I respond, my thumb and finger holding onto the cross when my arms go around his neck, and he lifts me onto his lap.

“I wish I coulda met her, yer Grandma Ann . . but bringin’ flowers t’ her grave sounds rather special too. Yer tha sweetest, Becks, y’know that?”

“So do I, she would’ve loved you,” I say, watching the tear glide down the slope of his back, and past the golden hairs lit by the sunrise behind the curtains.

“Does yer dad go with you?”

“Sometimes, maybe he will today.”

“‘d like that,” Harry coos, drawing the letters of my name, one by one, along my spine. I only know that because he’d told me last night when I couldn’t fall asleep, and he was happily buzzed.

I think that’s why I couldn’t, because how could my dreams beckon for me when my life was finally better than anything I could dream about?

“Ya mean it, tha best ever? In tha whole, entire history o’ birthdays, ever and ever?” they titter and its feeling against my cheek brings one forth onto my lips.

“You’re so silly, but yes. I had an amazing birthday, Harry. One to remember.”

“Good, bug. ‘m glad t’ hear. Only tha best fer me favourite girl,” he coos, dragging his nose along my cheek.

“Maybe next year for my birthday you can grow your hair out again for my birthday present.”

“Oh, really? That’s whatcha want? Hmm, I was thinkin’ o’ givin’ you a baby fer yer twenty-eighth,” he giggles, the rich smell of coffee hinting on his breath. Now, it’s my turn to giggle and I share it into his neck, our chests bumping when he pulls me closer. I steal a kiss from his swallow and nuzzle in deeper as he drapes the blanket his mum knitted for me over us, sinking further into his sofa.

“Stop it with the baby talk, marriage comes first, dumbo.”

“Fine then, ‘ll getchu a ring fer yer birthday,” he continues and I hide my reddening cheeks in the place between his shoulder and neck. Monica laughs at something on the TV behind us, but my focus darts to the melodic kisses he sponges along my neck, and his nose nudging at my shirt.

“Shush it, I’m not going anywhere,” I insist, revealing my scarlet cheeks to his smiling eyes.

“Better not, I dunno what ‘d do if ya did.”

“It’s a good thing neither of us have to worry about that, huh?” I return, tapping my finger on his nose. He nods and brushes his thumb under my eye where he often traces the imperfection that lives there.

“‘m lookin’ forward t’ mo’ weekends at yer Dad’s. It was loads o’ fun gettin’ t’ see where ya grew up, tha house ya grew up in, yer old schools, tha park at tha pond, and bloody hell, that night out back by tha bonfire,” he says, words falling into a sound of happiness. “I can’t remember tha last time I had so much Tequila. Fook, can that brotha o’ yers drink, and yer dad too. And that pizza yer dad made, ugh, ‘m gonna need anotha one o’ those soon. I miss playin’ board games so much like that, I see where ya get tha love o’ it from. I ‘specially loved playin’ on yer family piano with you, reckon we might make a good pair if we practice some mo’.”

Giggling, I agree with him as my fingers mingle with his necklace, “Yeah, it was a birthday to remember, that’s for sure.”

“Reckon so, and I couldn’t be gladder to hear that, bug. Remember last year’s wasn’t tha best, you’ve said. I hope they only get betta and betta, my love,” Harry croons, and I nod, sure that they will.

It all seems to be a hill that I get to climb by his side, but it’s the least bit tiring, and all the more exhilarating with every step that I take.

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bma-2020 · 4 years

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Okiedok here’s the delio. I have a list of all the blogs from the last six months who’s actively either responded to a meme i sent, responded to a message ive sent, replied to something regarding mally herself, has actually written with me, written a starter for me from my liking a starter call, has at least liked a starter i wrote for them to awknowedge it exists, all that jazz, i have a lot of open field so it’s not just a possible tumblr didnt let them no option anymore, because i send memes to everyone who posts them that i see. I reply to most peoples ooc posts. I like most starter calls I pass by. I try my darndest to actually interact bc i know how it feels to be ignored and its… i’ve been called one before so i’m using the word, thats fluffing cunty behavior, and honestly if you complain about not being interacted with but never even try when i try with you, ya being cunty, end of. I gotta list. That list only entails Mally because she’s who I care about the most. I’m probably gonna start instilling a new rule in all my blogs that if you ignore Mally and/or Darcy( @tasedandconfused ), since I would say they’re my two main blogs tho darcy gets ignored even more than mally does, probably bc i denied canon and left it entirely we know fandom hates that, if either of them is ignored then… Ya out of luck, I’m gonna unfollow you. I’m debating soft blocking everyone who ignored me on both of them but I don’t want to like be mean and deny the chance to eventually try again but at the same time i shouldnt feel bad for taking a stand and saying this is bullsheet, idk my anxiety says im awful for giving a fluff about myself but also i should give a fluff about myself probably, ive nearly died in the last three months, my brain almost exploded, i just had three root canals on one corner of my face, i have to potentially get surgery on my inner ear which i cant even afford, i dont got time to deal with only being used for like smut memes or like as a resource blog or utter bs like that, i dont got time for it. So new rules here. 1: If Mally or Darcy are not acknowledged, written with, responded to, viewed as more than just their fluffing bodies? ya dropped, im unfollowing, potentially soft blocking, which means blocking and unblocking for those not in the know, on all accounts I follow you on. Every single one. I know most of my muses are on sideblogs but despite not being able to send memes from sideblogs you can block people from sideblogs fun fact, i will do that if i have to. 2: I’m gonna be posting SCs, PCs, memes, etc. I like and respond to plotting calls, starter calls, i send memes, all of that. If I don’t get any response within.. I’m giving one week for people who don’t run on a queue and a month and a half to people on a queue based system, if i dont get anything within that time like at least an im being like ‘its posted’ or ‘its queued i wanted to let you know in case tumblrs a fluffbutt’ (i do this sometimes if i dont get even just a like on the starters i post so i at least know people saw it since i know tumblrs bs, i wait until the day they’re active to do so in case theyre busy yknow) basically i need acknowledgment at all. No you can’t claim this is abt follower count bc when you unfollow someone they inevitably unfollow you too, thats gonna drop my following, not as quickly as soft blocking would but i wanna be fair i guess, which leads to: 3: I’m basing this on your activity too, like if i like a think and you’re gone for a month after that its fine, im not gonna unfollow you unless you never come back or youre online and posting others just not mine because that tells me youre specifically ignoring me and im gonna drop you for that end of. I’m done with the bullsheet im done w the dillish behavior, i love friendship but if im giving and never receiving thats extremely one way and not gonna work. I check through my follow list weekly and i go back about five-10 pages on someones feed before i unfollow them to see their actual activity and see if theyre here or if its a q so. I’m thorough basically. 4: You dont have to be active with me on all your blogs, i mean i’d prefer it but thats hard as fluff so essentially if you have like five blogs and are just like trying w me on two or three thats fine. Ten blogs, four or five with at least a plot formed is cool. Multis just one muse is all I’d need. I’m not gonna unfollow the blogs youre not writing w me on if you at least write w me on some. Again, specifically Mally and/or Darcy. If you ignore both of them, we’re done. I havent been active on darcy because of being ignored and its a huge butt mess and im just tired i wanna use my babies, you don’t get to have my ‘better’ muses like i know a lot of ppl only follow me for my boys or my villains, you don’t get them if you ignore my baby. But, there is a limit there too. 5: If you never respond to a meme or thread even once with Mally or Darcy, or post a starter, i reply, its never replied to again after a month, I’m unfollowing and/or soft blocking for that too. Bc that means youre just raising my hopes to fluff with me or get someone else and honestly, youre even more cunty than than the people just flat out ignoring me if you do that. And this isnt a specific person, this is five of the people actually on my list. Yes, my list is also annotated with specifics again I was very thorough on this yesterday, I hyperfixated I’ll admit it, I’m in a fluffing depressionary bubble and being told to get over it because people want something they dont deserve to have to. I am a believer that people deserve good things but if youre purposefully being cunty… no you dont. 6: No I’m not releasing my list, maybe I will and I’ll omit the urls because I don’t want people being buttholes to each other too but otherwise, yall not seeing it im not giving a callout because… really thats just unnecessary here. I don’t think yall are toxic people or something i just think yall are unintentionally being cunty. And no I don’t mean everyone that follows me i mean the ppl that add up to what i’ve documented so far and fit the bill of butthat that i’ve shown, its behaviors yall gotta check before ya wreck. Yes there will be some people who have priority, everyone has those people, I write w kathryn on other platforms since she doesnt go on here as often but when Kathryn returns from war here (if she does cause she also agrees most ppl on this platform are cunty, i feel really bad saying that word so often but im gonna keep doing it i recently deleted an ask saying I was a huge cunt for not sending someone smut memes when I didn’t even follow them or know they existed so, again the travesty of this place is nutballers) same with owly, alex is here too, my most active partners are always going to be priority because theyre the ones who show the most interest and the most care. I understand that with others as well which is why I have the timeframe set up, because I want to be as open and shizz as possible while atill being firm i guess. I don’t want to have extreme double standards like its impossible for double standards not to exist at least a little bit but I want to avoid a golden chest full of them I guess. 7: I don’t have a seven rn, this was an even number and it bothered me. Seven is nust my warning that I’m bittery writing this on mobile so formatting is not real but i tried my dandest to make this look like something people might actually mind. I dont want to be butty, i dont want to be awful, i dont want to start drama or have drama but that shizz comes around anyways so i might as well make my space as okay for me as i can cause im supposed to avoid stress so my brain doesnt almost explode again, like again i almost fluffing died i dont need ppl fake being my friend or anything, i want stuff to be real and clear. I want to be happy to be on here again and have fun like i used to since my health is plummetting and I’m not allowed to go outside near plants by myself anymore because i welt up. I have plants outside my work place and im surrounded by chemicals all day long I’m welted from here to new york constantly and never comfortable in my own skin because of it and constantly see people online acting like these actual real problems are pretentious because ‘its an excuse’ when, im a fluffing sagittarius, do you know how much i want to magically be a millionaire so i can pay for friends and my own medical stuff and go on traveling and adventures, be outside probably not camping bc as a pagan i know thats a death sentence but like be outside, lay on grass, go back to swimming because i used to swim competitively and due to health reasons i can barely even go in a pool anymore because theres too much sunlight which, bit plot twist i know, im fluffing allergic to vitamin D and the rays of the sun, so go figure, attempts to be healthy kill me more, i also cant eat most plants and am constantly dying from just eating food, they dont know whats wrong with me. i cant fix it by going ve/gan for a month inf act i tried and it almost made my heart stop thanks society. These arent excuses these are the lives of disabled and diseased and to a lesser but still very real point, ethnic lives every fluffing day. This is real shit and its murder and online and gaming? It may be all I have soon since I can’t just go out and make new friends cause, again, I’d fluffing die. I get sick going to the mall or the movie theater, I miss theme parks so much but have to minimize it to weeks i dont have work so i dont get fired for having a welt while working in the beauty industry. I may have to get a degree online and change my field entirely because of my illness that nobody understands. People even make fun of it constantly online and I wish I could just drop online entirely because of how unbelievably ableist the entirety of the world is, i wish i could drop humans in general for their ableism, but i cant. I don’t have choices in most cases, but throwing away people who maybe purposefully maybe unintentionally thats why i’m giving you this warning and will be repeating this warning for awhile, this is where i have choice. I have to use what little choice I have in life while I can since everytime i go to movies or a concert or a theme park i almost die because of not having an immune system that functions or being in certain air qualities pr being near plants or unclean people, I may not have much time and I gotta do whats best for what little mental health I have, and if that means dropping people i care about and really want to write with and do things with but who ignore me then, i guess so be it.

#out.#illness cw #health cw #food mention #ive been writing this since noon and its now two pm so this is great #i’s usually put this under a read more but... maybe most people dont deserve a read more rn lol #their behavior will keep being awful if its not pointed out to them so #im done im gonna go welt up from hugging my cat and cry for a bit because i feel mean

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ccrtana · 4 years

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i don’t need to know

A/N: I was doing the dishes yesterday and the song “I Don’t Need To Know”, by Maddie and Tae, came on. I couldn’t stop thinking about this idea for a Rowaelin AU... So I wrote it! I’m very proud of myself for finishing this first part and wanted to challenge myself into posting it. Where anyone could read it. Who knew this was so nerve wrecking (major props to all the authors out there who do this on a regular basis). Thank you for reading :)

The silence is the only tolerable thing about the Western Wastes, as far as Rowan’s opinion is concerned. The improvised base his team is staying at is close to the routes they have to watch, but far enough from Briarcliff that all he can hear at night is the wind and sounds from people around camp, minimal noise at one in the morning. It almost made the heat during the day and the dust that was everywhere tolerable, this peacefulness at night time. Almost.

On the outer edge of the base, Rowan lets himself fall against one of the vehicles to try to take his mind off of the never ending meeting he just had with mission command. He should probably be going to bed, but there is too much information swirling around his mind to just lay down and sleep. He takes his phone out of the pocket, there are a few unanswered texts he didn’t have time to look at during the day.

Running a hand through his silver hair, he opens the conversation with his mother. He is met sequence of photos: a beautiful lasagna his mom cooked as dinner for the evening, a selfie of his parents as they beam at the camera, a shot of the pup they had recently adopted as he destroyed what looked a lot like one of his dad’s shoes. Rowan’s soft smile can’t be fought, taking over before he knows it.

This isn’t the first time he is deployed somewhere far from home and it will not be the last, so it’s not as if he isn’t used to it. But some days are particularly harder than others, and today he is specially missing his family and his life in Terrasen. Next week, he will complete three months away and officially reach the middle of his service. Rowan replies to his mother’s pictures with one of his own, capturing the sky full of stars above him and wishes her a good night, even though she won’t be seeing this until morning.

There are more messages in the group chat he is in with his cousins, but he just scrolls past those. Apparently, they had all gone out to some bar tonight and drunk texting had ensued. Nothing that made sense, so Rowan didn’t even bother trying to decipher what any of it meant. A private chat with one of his cousin’s catches his eyes, though.

Sellene: heyyy, went out todaay nd u wont believe who i just saw

Sellene: [attachment.picture_6474]

Sellene: that is aelin right???

Sellene: this dress is gorgggg do yuo think i can go ask where its from?

The picture is blurry and there are a lot of people in the shot, but he would recognize the blonde woman anywhere, in any crowd. Aelin Galathynius is wearing a red dress that seems to have been made just for her, based on the way it fits her body perfectly. Standing next to her is another woman with dark brown hair, probably Lysandra, and another shorter one, Elide, if he had to guess. Rowan can’t seem to breath right and his body tenses.

He hasn’t really seen Aelin in four months, since they broke up and he deleted all the photos he had with her on his phone. Seeing her now is a shock to say the least. They did not end their relationship in the best of terms. One fight, and it was as if the year they spent together, the best of Rowan’s life, meant nothing, both too proud and too angry to back down and be civil. Even thinking about her sets him on edge. Sellene must have been really drunk to text him this. The more he reads of the thread, the stronger the ache in his heart gets.

Sellene: was goin up to her but someone arrived :/

Sellene: [attachment.picture_6475]

Sellene: do u know who that is?? ive never seen him

Sellene: is it too weird if i go up there and say hi, remember me? sellene ur ex’s cousin also where is ur dress from? endy says it is…. boohooo

The second picture his cousin sent is also of Aelin, but now she is sitting on a corner booth at whatever bar they were in. And there is a guy right next to her, way too close and staring way too deeply into her turquoise ringed with gold eyes, not visible in this photo, but forever etched into Rowan’s memories, for him to pretend he doesn’t know what was happening.

Rowan’s hand tenses around his phone and the silence he appreciated just minutes ago now makes everything worse. Because the love of his life is miles and miles away, in someone else’s arms, laughing at him with the smile that has been the star of all of Rowan’s dreams since they met, and he has no one to blame but himself for this pain. And there is nothing he can do, not just due to the fact that he is in the Wastes while Aelin is all the way in Orynth, but because she has moved on, and now it’s too damn late.

Sellene: now everyone is making angry faces at me bc i told them i sent u the pics

Sellene: but the way i see it u should know that ur ex is moving the fuck on so u can just text that girl i told u about alreadyyy

Sellene: srry if that was rude, but u deserve to be happy too

Rowan stands up straight and gives himself a second to think his reply through. He isn’t feeling very rational right now and doesn’t want to be rude to his clearly plastered cousin. It’s not as if he hasn’t considered whether Aelin has gotten over him before tonight, imagining what was going on in her life, what she was doing and who with, when he was feeling particularly bad. But it is different from seeing it so clearly. Hurts a hell of a lot more now that it’s not just him beating himself up over his stupidity for letting her go, now that this is reality. He settles with the true.

Rowan: i dont need to know who is keeping aelin company

Rowan: so stop telling me

On the walk back to his sleeping quarters, he deletes the conversation with Sellene. Rowan doesn’t need any more reminders of what he has lost.

#rowaelin #fanfiction #tog fic #throne of glass #rowan whitethorn #aelin galythinius #modern au #tog fanfiction #rowaelin fic #ccrtanawrites #rowaelin fanfiction

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gloriouscrowncreator · 5 years

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QUARTET NIGHT LIVE 2018 FLY TO THE FUTURE DAY 1 REPORT + DAY 2 HIGHLIGHTS

NOTE: this was NOT written by me, I DID NOT attend QN Live 2018 (as much as I wanted to). Someone on Weibo attended and I’m translating their posts. This is Day 1′s report. I also embedded links of Twitter fanart for some parts whenever I could.

Warning: long post

Double warning: Original Poster (OP) of the posts is a Tattsun fan, so this is a heavily Tattsun-biased post.

Triple warning: be prepared to have your heart slayed by QN seiyuu

Feel free to reblog with comment/write in tags/slide into my DMs if there are any parts you think can be refined for accuracy!

Everything under the cut!

Setlist (this is from Day 2 I believe but I don’t think the setlist changed)

Legend:

(?) indicates that I’m not sure about the translation

(T/N:) are my personal thoughts.

I skipped over translating the parts where OP was basically waxing lyrical over the seiyuu, sorry.

The talk corner was split between Morishow-Maeno pair and Tattsun-Shoutan pair.

Morishow and Maeno talk

Maeno: “usually we can’t have a 4-person rehearsal, we’re always missing someone”

Morishow: “that guy with the colour red was the earliest to begin rehearsal” (T/N: according to fans, Tattsun began rehearsing in September)

Maeno said he was really surprised to hear how early Tattsun began rehearsing

Shoutan-Tattsun talk (same link as above)

Tattsun: “I often end up practicing with Shouta, and he looks more and more like a girl to me - his feminine power is too damn high xD”

Shoutan did a dance move of putting his hand on his waist (apparently in a feminine way?). Tattsun tried to learn it live, totally failed and was like “how did this guy do it orz”

Shoutan smiled shyly (?)

Shoutan: “Tatsu-nii always says ‘let’s stop practicing here’ but always says ‘let’s do it once more’ and ends up practicing for a long time”

Tattsun: “it was no fun practicing songs on my own, so Shouta came over and said ‘why don’t we do QN songs’. Shouta often comes up with ideas like this, and is always supporting the 3 of us like this”

Tattsun is very grateful to Shoutan for showing him how fun it is to sing with others (T/N: is this real-life Ranmaru?!), although he sings a lot on his own, he’s really happy to sing with Shoutan.

At first Tattsun wanted to let Shoutan lead the song and he would support him, but it turned out Shoutan had the same idea lol. The two of them do their best in supporting each other~

The two of them end off with bowing towards the audience and whispering “thank you very much”

OP noted that the atmosphere was like a newly-married couple roflmao

Talk ends, Haruhana performance

They sat and sang with gentle swaying, but their singing was no less powerful.

When they sang “Ah…夜風がロンリネス締め付けて” they stared at each other soulfully. At the refrain, they stared at each other as they sang “声へと･･･歌へと”, and then suddenly the music stopped, the penlights were turned off. The two of them stopped singing, looked at each other and the whole hall was silent for a few moments. Then the two of them took a deep breath together and sang “Ah…夜風がロンリネス締め付けて”.

Be Proud

Tattsun’s first solo. As usual he carried (?) the whole performance by himself.

He walked from the doors that open at the middle of the stage (T/N: sorry, I don’t know what that’s called) and slowly walked towards the middle of the stage to sing. They sprayed dry ice too.

When he sang the second part, Tattsun went up the stairs, knelt down and used all his strength to sing “最愛なんて言葉だけでは･･･尽きる日まで”. The LED screen was showing red mist and stars, all the penlights turned red, and the onstage dry ice was colored red by the stage lights too.

OP noted that the sound quality this time round was better, probably because it was indoors (6th Stage was outdoors).

The last line Tattsun dragged the last note for a really long time, before pumping his fist with his mic up. The whole hall erupted into applause.

Not Bad

Ranmaru’s 2nd solo. the stage had pyro effects and backup dancers. Tattsun was singing, dancing and manipulating the pyrotechnic effects - when he raised his left hand, the left side of the stage spewed fire, and the same for his right hand and the right side of the stage.

The dancers were originally standing in a line, before quickly splitting into two, and Tattsun walked like a boss from between them towards the centre of the stage. The dance at the centre was really hype, with the fire - “(the atmosphere) was super high” accordingly to OP.

Non-Fiction (same link as above)

OP thinks that the best choreographed performance of the live was actually Non-Fiction though.

Tattsun was sitting on the sofa like a boss, while Maeno sat on the other side elegantly, with a noble air. Apparently the two of them sang with angry expressions throughout the song LMAO (T/N: something like this, 2nd pic), and on the second half of the song they went to the stage centre.

They were surrounded by black-clad dancers who danced smoothly, while the two of them had rougher (?) movements. The changes in the dance followed the changes in the song, and the beat was good. OP thought it was a high-quality performance.

Synchronism (lmao, the only non-Ranmaru song the OP wrote about)

According to OP Shoutan was super adorable hahahah

When he sang Synchronism, Shoutan had a hoodie lined with purple fur, complete with animal ears. (Here’s another visual.) He winked as he sang, blew kisses towards the audience (T/N: did Reiji teach you this lol), put the hoodie up and used his hands to make the ears move, with his eyes wide open and looking pitiful… (T/N: this boy is out to kill orz)

OP says they want to raise a Shoutan LOL

Final Thoughts

Tattsun:

“I’m the voice of Kurosaki Ranmaru, Suzuki Tatsuhisa. That guy (Ran) at first didn’t care about band and idol, and I wanted to tell him to focus on being an idol and leave the band part to me (the audience laughed at this point). Since he chose to be an idol, I was thinking if it was possible to do more, to do better. Previously I felt that no matter how much I practiced it wasn’t good enough, I kept feeling that today was a really scary day. Before you guys (the audience) sat here, we were practicing on this stage, and I was thinking ‘how can I do this better for everyone’. Even until now, I still feel uneasy. I want to take this chance to express my feelings and thoughts to the audience and live-viewing audience.”

“When I like a work, I like every aspect of it! I like every character, every cast member, and every staff. Every one of them deserves respect, including the staff who have been supporting us all along, the fans who couldn’t make it today, everyone at live-viewing, and of course all of you seated here right now. I’m really happy to be able to stand here as Ranmaru. Thank you everyone!”

Maeno:

“I am in charge of Camus’ voice, Maeno Tomoaki. Usually at live stages like this, I try to speak as Camus, but today I would like to speak a few words as myself, please forgive me. I entered this franchise with no experience at all (T/N: I believe he’s referring to his lack of singing career compared to the other three), really none at all. But after meeting these 3, I think that I’ve been slowly changing. It’s really a great thing to have met them. Hopefully, there are more chances in the future for me to continue playing Camus, and I won’t stop chasing after Camus’ shadow. Whether it’s Starish, Heavens or Quartet Night, I hope everyone can continue to support them.”

Morishow:

Morishow mentioned at the end of the concert that having met and performed with Starish and Heavens at Utapri 6th Stage, he got the strong impression that Quartet Night too needs to keep changing and revolutionising, so he wanted to let everyone witness a different, new side to Quartet Night today.

He also said that it’s thanks to everyone’s support that Quartet Night was able to continue from 2013 to last year’s solo live, and to today, and that he’s grateful to everyone’s support.

At the centre of the stage, Morishow said there was no need to use mics, and the 4 of them raised their hands towards everyone and shouted “thank you”.

OP tagged this part with “leader of Quartet Night” lol (T/N: it’s true!)

Final moment: After thanking everyone, they went back to the centre of the stage, discussed a little and shouted together “Utapri, arigatou”.

2nd Day

I’m not going to bother writing this because there are people on Twitter who’ve already discussed this in English, so read them here.

Raine’s thread

(Will update this if more people write reports)

Highlights and stuff:

Oh god so many things happened where do I begin (note: the following are all link dumps bc I’m not gonna take credit for someone else’s translations and art so open them and read)

Shoutan broke his nail

Maeno imitated Ranmaru’s growls lmao

Q: What is one thing you like most about your character? Shoutan: His voice.

Maeno had long hair and had a snowflake pin in his hair. Another visual. A 3rd visual because what do you mean I’m spamming fanart

Tattsun said during live that Shoutan stayed over at his house and wore his shirt, kind of like the boyfriend shirt concept

Tattsun also said he specifically picked out the shirt for Shoutan

Shoutan later tweeted that Tattsun was lying orzzzzz, he didn’t stay over at Tattsun’s house

Tattsun later blogged “Shouta, itadaita” (Shouta, itadakimashita)?!

Tattsun yelling at Shoutan for adjusting his belt on stage (this boy orz)

Tattsun and Maeno have a “hi/bye” relationship IRL lol

Morishow did Reiji’s Force Live kick!

Maeno as usual was all decked out in gear

To no one’s surprise, Shoutan cried on day 2. Tattsun comforted him.

Directly from the horse’s mouth (aka seiyuu own content):

The 4 of them went out for drinks after Day 1 and took this photo. (T/N: this is such a Reiji-style photo LOL. Apparently fans think so too!)

Gold long coats outfits

Shoutan and Tattsun pics (where Shoutan said he didn’t stay over at Tattsun’s house)

Group pic

Maeno’s blog post

Tattsun’s blog post

Shoutan’s selfie with Tattsun (yes, he posted this separately from the other 2′s selfies...)

Shoutan’s selfies with Morishow and Maeno

My thoughts:

Don’t blame me for making Tattsun and Shoutan sound shippy, they did this to themselves xD

I’m not sure if the seiyuu got to pick the songs they wanted to perform this time round, like Starish did, but I wouldn’t be surprised. I heard that Shoutan likes performing Synchronism anyway lol

FKING TATTSUN AND SHOUTAN YOU JERKS STOP DOING THIS TO US ORZ

Morishow did the Reiji kick ;-----; thank you Morishow

I bet Maeno looked beautiful ;-----; please BD release soon I need

Thank you Maeno for basically being Camus’ biggest fan ;-----; honestly I love it whenever he’s all decked out in Camus gear bc that’s just so amazing of him

#uta no prince sama #quartet night #quartet night live future 2018 #quartet night live fly to the future 2018 #morikubo showtaro #suzuki tatsuhisa #aoi shouta #maeno tomoaki #LOOOOOOLLLLL THIS DAMN PERFORMANCE #shoutan and tattsun were totally teasing their fans #i bet you 100 bucks they know exactly what they're doing to their fans #kind of hard to not know considering how the fans always scream whenever tattsun bullies shoutan or says something nice about him lol #who needs fanfic writers when the fanfics write themselves orz #for the record i don't actually ship shoutan with anyone but this ship sails itself roflmao #my translations #utapri #karunai #i love 4 adorable dorks

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tsaritsa · 6 years

Text

the end is the same (for everyone)

hi guys. here’s the 6k fic i wrote for day 1 of royai week. i incorporated all 3 themes bc i’m that Hoe

warnings: allusions to child trafficking (but it has a happy ending)

“He knew we were on a lead! But sure, let’s just drag us out of that because of some third-rate mobster-”

“Brother-”

It was late afternoon at Central Headquarters, with the sun lazily hovering in the sky, drenching the Western Wing in deep hues of orange and pink. The majority of the administration personnel had already turned in for the day; instead leaving the night staff flitting around the building like moths around a candle. Edward had only been inside Central Command a few times in the short years since he became a State Alchemist, but it still gave him pause when he considered just how vast the place was.

They certainly weren’t in Resembool anymore.

He threw up his hands in frustration as they rounded the corner and opened the door to the office they’d been given direction to. “Al, he knew! Next time he asks for my help-”

“I can’t think of a time when I’d be asking for your help Fullmetal, but I certainly wouldn’t be complaining about it as much as you are,” Mustang answered smoothly, standing up from the desk he had been hunched over, ink stains all over his hands. “You have been ordered to join this mission and you will perform your duties as such.” He turned to Lieutenant Hawkeye, who Edward realised wasn’t in the familiar navy of the military uniform – none of the occupants in the room were, actually. Blues had been replaced with blacks, uniforms with formal suits, and for the Lieutenant – a slinky black number that was practically dripping in what he could only assume were diamonds. It almost looked like armour, with the way the fabric was sewn, and how the gems laid on top of on another, interlocking in a complex pattern.

Mustang cocked his head to the side as he considered the Lieutenant. “Do you need more diamonds?”

Hawkeye hummed and stretched her arm out to inspect her shoulder better – the diamonds glinted and dazzled with every movement. “I think we should be fine now, sir. Anything more and I wouldn’t be surprised if Bobby suspected we were there for him.” She turned to face the brothers properly, an expectant look on her face. “You have received the dossier we sent to Eastern Headquarters, correct?”

Edward and Alphonse nodded.

She gestured to the couch, accepting the file the Colonel handed her. “Then tell me your role. This operation has to go smoothly, and the last thing we want is for you to get caught in the crossfire if something goes wrong.” Hawkeye settled herself neatly by the low table, adjusting her dress as she knelt down. It was a far cry from how he had seen her before – Lieutenant Hawkeye wasn’t someone Edward would personally call scary…but her no-nonsense attitude left Edward with the impression that she didn’t have the time to suffer fools. How Mustang made himself an exception to that rule was a mystery.

“We’re acting as decoys, right?”

The Lieutenant nodded. “Us two, as well as Colonel Mustang will be acting as a lure for Bobby Carlsberg. The event we’re attending tonight is a charity function that’s actually a front for a black market auction. The man has done far worse than peddling illegal goods on the side, but we need to arrest him with an actual crime to ensure we can make all the other charges stick.”

“What has he done?” Alphonse asked.

Hawkeye’s lips thinned. “It doesn’t need to be repeated,” she said firmly, shaking her head. “In any case I’m sure more will be uncovered once we have jurisdiction over his financial records and can do a through sweep of his townhouse apartment. But those aren’t details necessary for tonight. What I need from the two of you is absolute compliance with any orders I give, or that the Colonel gives tonight. This isn’t an operation where you can just fight your way out-”

Edward scoffed. “We’re not that bad-”

“Tell that to the expense reports the Lieutenant is continually filling out on your behalf,” Mustang said pointedly from one of the desks, not looking up from his work. “I’m not in the mood for a tantrum tonight, Fullmetal. This is our only chance to get this guy and I will not have you screwing it up for me.”

“Please, Edward. We know you and Alphonse are capable – but in this instance you’re simply playing the role of a child.” Hawkeye’s tone was less acerbic, but no less insistent. “Working as a team is the best way to catch this man.”

Edward crossed his arms over his chest. “Then why aren’t we including Al in this? If it came to blows, then-”

“Alphonse is a civilian. We are not endangering his life when there are plenty of soldiers to spare first.” Mustang pushed himself away from his desk, passing the Lieutenant a small bracelet that glinted in the office light similarly to the gemstones attached to her dress. “Is that too gaudy for Mrs Phillips?”

Hawkeye shook her head, a small smile curling up her lips. “Such a shame you won’t let me keep these diamonds – I could afford to rent a better apartment if you kept me supplied. I doubt the lapidists would notice you transmuted them.”

“Knowing you, you’d only adopt more dogs. The economy would crumble overnight as you bought out every breeder in the country.” Mustang’s tone was teasing, and this annoyed Edward for reasons he couldn’t quite explain.

“I thought State Alchemists weren’t meant to use their abilities to create personal wealth.” The words were careless and thrown out, and he knew he had overstepped as soon as he had uttered them.

Mustang’s jaw tensed, and he knelt down next to the Lieutenant as she extended her wrist towards him. He was quiet for a moment as his fingers worked over the catchments. “And I thought you had been told before that I won’t have any backtalking when we have a job to do. We ordered you here because you are beholden to, and I will use any advantage in my arsenal to ensure this operation goes smoothly. If you do not follow my orders tonight, you will be court-martialled Fullmetal.” His hands dropped from the Lieutenant’s wrist and he looked squarely at Edward, eyes hard. “Do I make myself clear?”

Edward sunk further into the couch. “Yes sir,” he mumbled.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that-”

“Yes, sir,” he said louder, irritation as clear as a bell. Mustang’s eyebrow lifted slightly, before he sighed.

“Lieutenant, I can trust you to get Fullmetal ready?”

Hawkeye nodded shortly, watching as the Colonel strode away towards where Havoc was preparing some handguns, hands shoved deeply into his pocket. “I wouldn’t try my luck if I were you,” she admonished, standing up and dusting off her knees. “There’s a lot riding on tonight.”

“But-”

Hawkeye shook her head, signalling him to follow her. “We’ll be back in a moment, Alphonse,” she said, opening the door and waiting for Edward to pass through.

He kept quiet as he followed her down the hallway. It was…strange seeing her out of her uniform, truth be told. The idea of her having a life that existed outside of the military – one that didn’t revolve around tailing Mustang – still seemed like a foreign concept, like those old adventure movies with the fantastical creatures that he and Al would watch when Mr Smith brought his projection box to Resembool.

The Lieutenant stopped before a door, and unlocked it, glancing down the hallway as she did so. Inside was what Edward could only describe as a costume closet and he found himself wedged between boxes marked ‘shoes’ and a rack of black suits. Hawkeye ran her hand over the selection, her tongue poking out as she peered at tags. “I guess you could always do some alterations if the pants don’t fit well,” she said, selecting one of the coat hangers and holding it at length. She passed the suit to Edward before stretching up onto the balls of her feet – as her arms lifted to pull back a box on the highest shelving level, he noticed the shoes she was wearing. The dark fabric of her dress had hidden them before but now, even in the dusty yellow light of the supply-closet-cum-undercover-outfit-storage, the diamond embellishing covering the nude satin of the heel glinted and sparkled.

“The Colonel really goes all-out for this stuff, doesn’t he?”

Hawkeye nodded as she rifled through the box. “It takes a bit of time – I spent most of the afternoon with him sewing all these diamonds on – but we’re mingling with the highest that society has to offer in Central and they’re very good at sniffing out those who don’t belong.”

Edward frowned. “Why not use alchemy? I do it with my coat all the time.”

Hawkeye laughed – a proper one, that caused her lips to stretch widely across her face. “The Colonel is very talented when it comes to alchemy, but we agreed it would be easier to simply do it by hand, rather than risk ruining the dress if he calculated a part of the transmutation incorrectly.” She handed him a tie – a deep burgundy one with flecks of gold thread woven in the silk – and pushed the box back into its place.

He adjusted the suit and tie in his arms as she shifted next to him, peering into one of the boxes labelled ‘shoes’. “I didn’t realise the Colonel could sew.”

“How did you think he managed with his gloves otherwise? I taught him the basic skills when we were younger-” she abruptly paused, hands hovering over another box before she sighed. “It goes without saying, Edward,” the Lieutenant said quietly, voice barely carrying over the hum of the heating pipes overhead, “but in the same way that we carry you and your brother’s secret – you will carry ours as well. Is that understood?”

Edward nodded quickly. There was no mistaking the ‘we’ – both on the level of the inner team themselves, undoubtedly entertaining his brother with jokes while they waited for the two of them to return; but also, the deeper meaning. It wasn’t hard to catch wind of the rumours, not certainly when he was still seen by most of Eastern Command to be something of an oddity and not truly considered part of the Colonel’s men. The most salacious ones were whispered in the mess hall with an air of incredulity and exaggeration – but there were little comments thrown his way, ones that he sometimes didn’t understand and sometimes wished he didn’t. He might’ve only been fourteen, but Edward wasn’t that unobservant.

The two of them reminded him a bit of binary stars – the theorised phenomena where the gravitational push of each affected the other in a constant, ever-shifting dance. It was easy enough to argue that was simply a result of the Lieutenant’s skill as a bodyguard, but even in the environment of his office, where danger was supposedly at its lowest, the two of them still shifted and adjusted, seemingly unaware of their actions. A shared history made a lot of sense, he supposed, accepting the shoes she passed him, still deep in thought. But it also raised questions of just how long they had known one another, and he had remembered the Colonel making a comment about the trials of trying to flirt with girls when he was a teenager and learning alchemy at the same time –

Yes, perhaps there were secrets better left untouched. Mustang’s alchemy was legendary with good reason, and men had killed for less.

He blinked rapidly as Hawkeye rested her hand on his shoulder, head cocked to the side in concern. “Are you okay?”

Edward nodded. “Yeah. Where do you want me to get dressed?” He followed her out of the small closet and waited as she locked the door.

“There’s a bathroom just around the corner. Come back to the office when you’re done.”

He shuffled into the office twenty minutes later, the tips of his ears burning with shame. The pants had been fine – one quick transmutation later and the fabric no longer bunched embarrassingly at his ankles. But the tie – the bloody tie! It wasn’t something he had ever learned how to do – there were no fancy school uniforms when he and Al were kids, and even if he did wear a military uniform, the need was only if you were a cadet. The fabric was crumpled tightly in his automail hand as he shut the door as quietly as he could manage, not wanting to attract any attention towards himself, but it was too late: as if on cue, everyone in the office turned their heads towards him expectantly.

Second Lieutenant Havoc grinned at him brightly from where he sat, his hands full of ammunition clips. “Looking good Chief!”

Mustang looked up from the desk he sat at. “Havoc’s right – you don’t scrub up too badly at all, Fullmetal. But where’s the tie?”

Edward sullenly held up the offending fabric. “I’ve never had to do one of these before.”

A small smile pulled at the older man’s lips – one that Edward was surprised to recognise not as unkind, but sympathetic. “Lieutenant, can you-”

“You know how to tie a tie better than I do, sir,” Hawkeye answered, in a manner that Edward felt was a bit more pointed than it necessarily needed to be, not looking up from a clipboard Sergeant Fuery had given her. “And I daresay you know more than just the Windsor knot.”

Mustang nodded, chastened. He beckoned Edward over, pushing himself away from the desk, which he realised was covered in blueprints and diagrams as he neared. Exits had been circled in thick red marker, with the Colonel’s familiar handwriting spread across the paper, scratched out furiously in places.

“I couldn’t do my own tie for the longest time either,” Mustang told him, flicking up the collar of his shirt and smoothing down the fabric of the tie to lie flush to his shoulders. Edward shifted awkwardly at the contact but said nothing. “My mother had to tie them all for me and then I just loosened them enough to get them over my head. But it’s bad form for the fabric to be twisted continuously.” His hands were sure and methodical as he worked the fabric. “Let me know if it’s too tight for you – can’t have you fainting in the middle of all this.”

“I thought a black tie dress code meant a black tie.”

Mustang nodded. “True. But you’re a child, and children are allowed to break the stupid rules that adults make up. It’s also so my men can identify you quickly in case of emergency.”

Edward snorted. “Would’ve thought you’d be basing that on my height-”

The knot was pulled up against his throat firmly, but not uncomfortably as Mustang drew back to admire his handiwork. “No, that would be unprofessional, Fullmetal, and I don’t have time for mucking around tonight.” He smoothed the collar back down and dusted the tops of his shoulders quickly. “And now you’re all set. We’re moving out in ten, so keep close by.” He tossed some white gloves his way, and Edward caught them easily.

“What’s wrong with my gloves?”

Mustang gave him a sceptical look, sitting back down. “Mine aren’t stained with oil.”

Jerk. Edward turned on his heel, and walked to where Al was perched, hilariously oversized on a chair that somebody had brought him. He rested his bare hand on his brother’s head, absorbing in the cool steel. “You’ll be okay without me?”

Alphonse nodded energetically, armour clinking. “Yeah! Mr Fuery is going to be in the building over handling all the communication, so I’ll be hanging out with him. It won’t be as fun as what you’re doing though.”

Edward laughed, rubbing the helmet. “At least you’ll be safe if things go sideways tonight.”

Alphonse scoffed. “If you’re going to be there, something is going to go wrong, brother.”

He flicked the top of Alphonse’s head, wincing as pain bloomed briefly across his finger. “I don’t think the Colonel has left any space in the plan for me to muck up. Anyway, you should have more faith in me! I’ve been in plenty of situations where things could’ve gone badly but didn’t.”

“Only because things were already bad enough by the time you came onto the scene,” Alphonse muttered.

Edward opened his mouth to protest but was interrupted by the door to the office opening once more.

“ROY!”

“Hughes,” Mustang replied in a bored fashion, standing up. “Everybody’s ready on your end?”

Hughes nodded, winking at the boys as he crossed the room. “We’re good to go on your order. Team Arthur and Bruno are already in position.” He turned to Hawkeye and placed a hand dramatically over his heart.

“First Lieutenant, I’m sure Roy has already told you numerous times how wonderful you look tonight, but truly, you will outshine every guest there.”

Hawkeye tucked some hair behind her ear. “I hope you don’t mean that literally, Lieutenant Colonel Hughes. The plan rides on our ability to identify our target.”

He held up his hands in defeat. “Right, right, we have a job to do, and there’s no time for dad jokes – by the way, have you seen the latest-”

“Later, Hughes.”

The subsequent briefing had been quick and to-the-point: they couldn’t arrest Bobby until after lot number two-hundred and fifty-two, and the little radio headsets that Fuery had kitted them out with would only work within a certain range in the building – if they strayed too far from the main floor they’d run the risk of losing the signal and his team would be unable to forewarn them of any issues. The earpiece felt uncomfortable in his ear but there was no point – nor time – to complain. Within minutes he was being escorted into a flash-looking car and sitting opposite the Colonel and Lieutenant.

“I still don’t understand why you needed me on this mission.”

“Bobby has a thing for blonds,” Mustang replied darkly after a beat and Hawkeye sent him a furious look.

“We weren’t going to tell him-”

“He’s going to find out anyway Lieutenant-”

Edward frowned. “I don’t get it. Lieutenant Hawkeye is blonde, so-” Realisation dawned on him and he felt the contents of his lunch churn dangerously in his stomach. “I see.”

Hawkeye was staring daggers at her superior officer, who in turn was watching the city lights flicker by as they made their way down West Avenue. “It is insulting that you don’t think me capable, sir.” The title was thrown out bitterly, and Edward shrank back into his seat as best he could. This was a conversation he had no wish to be involved with.

“You’re more capable than any other person in the military, dear,” the Colonel answered finally, as the car slowed down in front of the glittering Heritage Hotel, “but we have a job to do and I need my wife-” he stressed the word as Havoc opened the door for him, “to be supporting me as best I can tonight.”

The Lieutenant stared at him, stony-faced as he offered her a gloved hand. “Of course, sweetheart,” she responded, a practiced smile forming on her face. “Come along, son,” she said to Edward as she accepted Mustang’s hand. “We have an auction to attend.”

Two hours into the evening and Edward was near ready to tear his hair out in frustration: auctions were the most boring thing he had ever attended in his life, and he had been subjected to some frankly inane military ceremonies before. Lieutenant Hawkeye stood out in the crowd in her bejewelled dress, but not by far – Edward was sure he had seen the entire wealth of his hometown on many a neck tonight. The numbers being tossed towards the auctioneer were absurd too – but he had long given up on his game of calculating just how much money was being transferred, instead busying himself with arranging his string beans by various qualities; first by length, then by shade, then –

“Bobby en route.” Fuery’s voice crackled in his ear and Edward felt himself stiffen despite the fact that he needed to appear as uncaring as possible. The Lieutenant had sat up straighter as well, though she masked it well by leaning to whisper something in the Colonel’s ear, who smiled after a few moments. The two of them seemed completely at ease in the roles of new money banker and ditzy socialite wife – it didn’t quite make sense to Edward why nobody was questioning his presence there: he hadn’t seen anyone near his age and he’d spent a good portion of the night people-watching from the second floor while his superiors blended in with the dancing couples below. He had noticed Bobby skulking at the edges of the dancefloor and had made a mental note to keep his distance while he wasn’t within shouting distance of either of his ‘parents’. Alphonse was right: he did have a unlucky habit of trouble finding him, and the fight that he had witnessed in the drive over put to rest any ideas of sorting the problem by himself. Trouble was sure to find him tonight, in the form of a man who boring name belied the monster within, and Edward was more than happy to delay the inevitable for as long as he could manage.

Bobby Carlsberg was a thin man with thinning hair and an even thinner moustache that only served to make the man look as sketchy as his report indicted him to be. There was an oily, slippery aspect to him too: and when he spoke Edward felt the revulsion slide down his spine unpleasantly.

“I must say sir, I have been admiring your wife all night and I’ve only just gathered up the courage to come say that.”

Everything about the man screamed sleaze and dishonesty – Edward shifted in his chair, adjusting the way he rested his head on the back of the chair so Bobby would be obscured by his fringe. The less he had to see him, the better.

Hawkeye’s laugh was airy and almost as disturbing as the man who stood before them. The auctioneer droned on in the background – some dusty old vase depicting a field of wheat was being frantically bid between two old men who looked to both have one foot in the grave already.

“You’re far too kind sir! Victor told me I had been turning heads, but I was terrified it was for the wrong reasons!”

Oh. That was why the dress had been sewn with what looked like a million diamonds – it wasn’t as a method of blending in with the society here – but to be seen, even amongst a dense crowd. For him to be seen.

“Nonsense! Your husband has an excellent eye for the latest fashion. Bobby extended his hand, and ‘Victor’ rose to shake it, a charming smile on his face. “You’re a very lucky man. The name is Bobby Carlsberg.”

“Victor Phillips. And yes, I am lucky. More than I will ever know,” Mustang said proudly, glancing back at his ‘wife’, his eyes passing over Edward as he did so. A warning. He sat up a little straighter and fiddled with his beans.

“Can I ask what interests you in this auction tonight, Victor?”

Mustang signalled a server to being them another chair and placed an order for some whiskey. “Well,” he began, casting the most obvious furtive look Edward had ever seen before leaning in closer to Bobby. “There have been a lot of very interesting auctions, but one has really caught my eye. Do you know about number two-hundred and fifty-two? I hear there’s a surprise included by request of the seller. I have a hunch I know what it is, but I’m dying to find out.”

Bobby’s eyebrows shot up. “A surprise?” His gaze slid to Edward, who grinned as toothily as he could manage before shoving all thirty-two string beans into his mouth.

“Alexander!” Hawkeye’s voice was playful as she leaned over the table to bat at his arm, but there was an undercurrent of sharpness woven into his ‘name’. “Don’t make me send you back to etiquette class.”

Victor laughed loudly. “Ah, boys will be boys, my fair-faced friend! As soon as a girl as pretty as you comes along he’ll change his tune.”

“Nobody will ever compare to my sweet Violet,” Mustang replied, his eyes glittering as he took the Lieutenant’s hand and kissed the ring on her finger. She smiled benevolently, before rising from her seat and leaning close to kiss the Colonel on his cheek.

“You’re too kind, sweetheart,” she said softly, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders. “But I must dash for a moment.”

They watched her leave, and Roy waited until she had passed through the ornate stained-glass doors before leaning in conspiratorially. “I have an inking the surprise in two-hundred and fifty-two might kick my wife down to second place.” It was incredible how well Roy could change the tone of his voice to mimic that of Bobby’s. The other man’s eyes were wide, glancing quickly between him and Edward.

“Do you mean-”

Mustang tapped the side of his nose, smirking. “I thought you might be a kindred spirit because you were one of the few who hasn’t bid on anything yet. I fear I’m not well-versed in the language here in Central but-”

“Not to worry my good man,” Bobby responded easily, his body relaxing as he accepted the whiskies from the server, passing one to Mustang with a lecherous grin. “We’re a little more refined than other places but I assure you the sights are even more pleasant than you could possibly imagine.”

It took everything in Edward’s willpower not to vomit his dinner as auction number two-hundred and fifty-two took to the stage. It was a necklace – even more ornate than the one the Lieutenant was wearing. Hawkeye flipped through her programme and gasped audibly as the auction house employs set up on stage.

“Oh – ! Victor! You must get that necklace for me. Bethany will go positively green with envy at Monica’s garden party next month!”

Mustang and Bobby shared a knowing smile. “Of course dear. But our good friend Bobby here also wishes to buy the necklace for his wife. We may be out of our depth, love.”

‘Violet’ pouted. “I guess we’ll have to see,” she said, disappointed. Her hands rested in her lap, fiddling with her fingernails. The tension was palpable as the auctioneer stood behind the podium and cleared his throat.

“Tonight, our last piece up for auction is the priceless Louiban set – a dazzling necklace that can be taken apart to make three more stunning necklaces. Ladies, this is a piece that only comes up for auction every blue moon, and it’s unlikely to be sold again for another sixty years. Can I get the bidding started at thirty million cenz?”

Edward choked on the water he was drinking, and the Lieutenant shot him a sharp look. Her entire posture had changed in a single moment; no longer was she a vapid socialite, but the woman he knew as the ‘Hawk’s Eye’ – and with good reason too. Other servers had slowly put down their trays – Team Arthur and Bruno were preparing too for what had every possibility of becoming a bloodbath.

A literal one.

Bobby looked back at Edward, before winking deliberately and he raised his hand. “Sixty million!” he called out in his oily voice.

What happened next was utter chaos.

The Lieutenant leapt across the table to pin Bobby down; Edward felt his chair being pulled back violently by some unknown force and then a pair of strong hands grab onto his upper arms. Shots rang out and they echoed loudly in the ballroom; there was a second of silence while everyone looked for the source of the original commotion, and then screams erupted as the high society of Central began to scramble for their nearest exit. Edward briefly caught sight of the Lieutenant wrestling with Bobby on the ground, a gun flung out of her reach while Mustang was dealing with his own mystery assailant.

Edward realised very quickly that the person dragging him away was not from Team Arthur or Bruno – and he roared as he clapped his hands together before slamming his palm onto this automail forearm as best he could manage. The scream behind him told him his aim had been true, and he fought off off the other arm that went to wrap around his neck.

He didn’t recognise the man who fell back to the ground, clutching at his shoulder that was bleeding profusely, but decided that it wouldn’t be a good idea to let him escape. The sound of his automail arm shattering the man’s jaw was immensely satisfying. Dimly, he could hear Fuery’s voice yelling frantically in his ear about something –

More shots rang out across the ballroom and Edward whipped his head to the front of the stage, breaking into a run. The crowd was thinning now, and he could see Mustang running towards the front of the ballroom too. It was probably only a matter of seconds before he caught sight of Hawkeye, standing over the twitching figure of Bobby Carlsberg with a gun firmly aimed at his head. Her dress had ripped: a thousand diamond crystals were scattered around the two of them, sparkling in the growing pool of blood despite the wound Bobby was desperately trying to staunch.

“Get the medics here, sir,” she said firmly, shrugging off the hand that tried to lower her gun. “We’re not risking him dying out on this floor so his operation keeps going.”

Mustang sighed and nodded, turning towards one of the approaching undercover servers. He looked pale – almost as pale as Bobby, who was busy swearing black and blue that he’d get her for this, the cocksucker –

Edward stood next to her, and she shook her head, gaze and gun still firmly aimed at Bobby. “You don’t need to see this,” she told him firmly. “Havoc and Breda will be here in a moment to escort you out-”

“But-”

“That is an order, Fullmetal,” she said tightly. “Go.”

A warm hand clapped on his back. “We’ll be alright here Edward,” Roy’s voice came from his right, his hand steering him away from the situation before him. “Simon here is going to deliver you to where Sergeant Fuery is. He’ll bring you back to Headquarters after you’ve been checked over.”

“The Lieutenant-”

“She’ll be fine.” The Colonel’s tone was worryingly hesitant. “We’ll see you back for the debriefing soon.”

Said debriefing took a lot longer than the briefing had: Edward was sure he had started to doze off towards the end as leaders from Team Arthur and Bruno recounted their version of events for the record. As far as he could tell, the operation had gone as smoothly as could be expected: Bobby, most importantly, had been captured alive, and so had a number of his associates. The child who was to be sold off had also been successfully located in a separate sting that happened elsewhere at the same time.

Edward recounted his own version of events quickly: “Some guy tried to pull me away but I stabbed him and then punched him to make sure he didn’t run off.” Hughes sat next to him on the couch, writing away furiously in a notebook. After what felt like hours, he closed it and stretched his hand.

“The rest can happen tomorrow. The details are all accounted for,” he told Mustang. “Your job is done, and Central Headquarters thanks you for your service.”

Mustang nodded and waved his hand in a dismissive fashion. “Everybody get some rest tonight,” he called out as they began to shuffle out of the office. Edward blearily opened his eyes – when had he shut them? – and spied the Lieutenant sitting opposite him, curled up with a dinner jacket resting loosely on her shoulders.

“You did some quick thinking tonight,” she told him, pride evident in her voice. “I’m sorry it came to that.”

Edward shrugged. “We caught the bad guy,” he said simply.

“Hardly a good reason,” Hawkeye replied, standing up and stretching her arms above her head. He could see the need for the jacket now – in the fight with Bobby, a whole section of the dress had torn down the side. Diamonds were hanging on by mere threads, and Edward quickly ducked his head when he realised he could see the skin stretching over her ribcage, already marred with dark purple bruises. She nodded at Hughes, before wrapping the jacket tighter around herself, and slipped into Mustang’s office.

Edward let himself doze once more and was dimly aware of a blanket being draped over him.

Later, he woke to the smell of takeaways and low chatter and got himself a plate, sitting next to his brother and hearing his versions of events. From what he gathered, it had been very boring with Sergeant Fuery for Alphonse; it was only within the last five minutes before all hell broke loose that he could pick up on anything exciting.

However, there had been a friendly stray in the alleyway behind their building and so Alphonse had spent most of his time playing games with the cat and talking to the soldiers positioned there. Edward let himself drift off while Alphonse continued to talk, watching the remaining soldiers talk in low tones to each other over heaping piles of chips and fried rice. It struck him as strange that he hadn’t seen neither the Colonel or the Lieutenant since the food had arrived – glancing towards the door that led to the inner office, Edward made up his mind to let them know, if nobody else was going to. Almost everyone had gone home by this stage; the outer office was nearly empty as he walked towards the door that was left slightly ajar.

In hindsight, that should’ve been his first warning.

His hand was raised ready to knock as he pushed on the door – the heavy wood gave way under the pressure of his hand slowly, and Edward paused as he took in the scene before him.

The light was low in the office, as the two of them sat on top of the desk, looking out over the parade grounds. Hawkeye had discarded the jacket – which Edward realised was Mustang’s dinner jacket and was resting her head on his shoulder. In the dim light, he could almost make out their hands intertwined as they spoke to one another in low tones.

It was hard to look away, and even harder when Mustang turned and pressed a soft kiss onto her bare shoulder.

A hand reached out from behind Edward and pulled back the oak door. He twisted jerkily, so tired at this point he didn’t have the energy to cry out in surprise.

Hughes raised his eyebrows deliberately as he shut the door with a definitive click. “Not now, kid,” he said quietly, guiding Edward back towards where the remaining men were, dealing out cards and promising to go easy on Alphonse. “That’s a story for another time.”

#royaiweek18 #royai #fullmetal alchemist #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #edward elric #alphonse elric #my fanfic #this just....kept growing #title taken from 6 billion by nothing but thieves #i hope u enjoy!!!!

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