#and it’s not worth putting your blind faith into

[yuri-is-online]

Why So Rude? (Or Yuu's BF Asks Crewel for their Hand in Marriage and What Happens Next Will Shock You)

For legal reasons, this is a joke. I have been dealing with a health issue of sorts (i am not dying so no worrying ok? just v annoyed) so writing longer stuff is escaping me at the moment, enjoy some crack while I take a breather. More can be found on my masterlist here.

NO (FLOYD, Rook, and Malleus)

Crewel has been in denial about this "relationship" since it started. Not that his disapproval is really going to stop Floyd, but Crewel 100% refers to him as "Yuu's ex boyfriend" much to the confusion of... everyone who hears that. They do find some common ground in their shared interest in fashion, but Crewel has never forgiven him for his behavior in his class OR his "stealing" Yuu's heart.

Rook on the other hand he didn't have too much of an issue with until he realized just how familiar he seemed to be with his home for someone who had supposedly only been there to visit you. The twenty page letter he wrote to confess his feelings to you didn't help either once he saw the few lines where Rook wrote about the beauty of your finger prints, but he knows his disapproval means very little to someone as obsessed with romance as Rook.

Malleus... is the King of a country genuinely hostile to humans and Crewel thinks he is a little too obsessed with Yuu for his own good. He is also not a fan of how condescending Malleus is towards his disapproval, but it's an issue that will be worked out eventually. They are fighting out of love for the same person, your safety and happiness is all they really care about at the end of the day.

No, but as a joke (Sebek and Jack)

I don't think he has anything against him really, he just wants to see how important tradition and the opinion of his elders actually is to him. When Sebek begins to plead his case because he does not wish to put a wedge between Yuu and their father figure, but cannot deny his feelings for Yuu Crewel's more than happy to "change his mind." He knows you will be happy and well looked after.

Jack is a solid partner, and he is a wolf beastman who speaks of Yuu as his soulmate, his one and only, his eternal life partner and- well. Crewel just can't resist a bit of teasing, he's always been so serious and easy to fluster about these sort of things. The sheepish look on his face when he realizes Crewel has been teasing him makes it very worth it.

I can't stop you can I... (Leona, Kalim, and Rollo)

While Crewel has faith that Leona has what it takes to save his home- he lives in the Sunset Savannah. That is really far away from the Queendom of Roses ( ; ω ; ) have some pity on your poor father he can't travel that far all the time it's bad for his skin. The pressures of being the partner of royalty is something he worries over, but a smug promise from Leona to protect you soothes his worries somewhat.

The flippant way Kalim talks about the assassination attempts is not the way Crewel wants to hear about attempts on your life or heaven forbid your death. Kalim is very sympathetic to this, he has no real argument against how ignorant he was in the past, but he isn't a child anymore. Just filled with a childlike love for the world and determination to make it better. It is hard to say no to that.

Rollo is too much like Trein. His request for your hand in marriage feels like something that the old man would cry tears of genuine joy over, so of course he hates it. Unfortunately he also knows how much this teen grandfather matters to you or whatever so the answer will be yes. At least he has an excuse to visit Fleur City more now.

Give me one good reason. (Azul, Jade, Idia, and Lilia)

Azul was such a good student that he should have zero complaints that you started dating. But he also isn't blind and dislikes being pandered to, which is very much what Azul is doing here. He does wonder briefly if this is a cultural thing and he is being insensitive, but he is still exasperated enough to not immediately say yes. The strange twinkle that comes to Azul's eyes at the prospect of negotiations makes him wish he had though.

Speaking of not being blind, what does the Leech family do and is it legal? Survey says probably yes, but Crewel remembers dealing with Jade's parents while he was in school and has no desire to feed his child to the shar- err eels. Jade immediately begins to sniffle, oh how could Crewel say such bad things about him? A poor innocent eel and blah blah blah. If Jade wasn't such a good partner he'd be cooked.

Crewel understands and appreciates the effort Idia has put in to his personal growth and he has no desire to shit on that... but S.T.Y.X. and the secrecy around it is no joke. He wants to continue having a relationship with Yuu and as soon as Idia reassures him of that he has no more objections.

Lilia is an old man, a war criminal, and a father. Of course Crewel has seen how he was able to live as a student while at NRC but his own credit as a father would be under fire if he didn't object mildly. Lilia has some fun with it and has a bit more respect for him for objecting. So long as the eventual answer is yes.

Yes (Riddle, Trey, Cater, Ruggie, Jamil, and Epel)

While Crewel does have some red flag concerns concerning Riddle's mother, he has no real objections to Riddle himself. He is a perfect gentlemen and the correct amount of nervous to be asking the question. He gets full marks, as if there would ever be any other outcome.

Trey is that sort of solid option that parents really love, but he also has that tight personal relationship with Crewel from his Science Club days. He lives in the Queendom and is tight with his own family there are few better places for Yuu to be.

While Cater isn't Crewel's favorite student, he doesn't hate him or the Shaftlands. He is also not entirely unconvinced that him asking is for a magicam trend but! He has no real major objections. He is more than ready to have two kids, as soon as Cater is willing to admit he could use a stable father figure.

I don't think that Ruggie would even suggest marrige unless he's obtained that stable, high paying job he so baldy wants and has moved his Granny out of the slums. It's the perfect time to ask for permission to propose, and while the Savannah is still super far away (r.i.p. Crewel's skin) he is much more supportive of the two of you and how far you've come.

Similarly to Ruggie, I don't think Jamil would propose to Yuu unless his personal issues with Kalim and his position with the Asim's had been sorted. He wants to actually travel on his honeymoon, and Crewel is very willing to suggest the Queendom of Roses. Jamil's ego is absolutely stroked by how Crewel had zero objections but your adoptive dad doesn't get to see how smug it makes him, Jamil saves the smirks for when you say yes.

I think that Crewel seems to like all of the first years, and Epel is no exception. Sure, his request starts out well put together and polite but devolves into a dialect that leaves Crewel with no idea of what he's saying, but he has a general idea. Of course Epel has his blessing, Harveston sounds like a lovely place for Yuu to live their life in Twisted Wonderland and Epel a perfect person to keep them safe and happy.

He already planned the wedding (Ace, Deuce, Silver and Vil)

I know what you're saying. Crewel approving of Ace? Of course he does! He was in his homeroom class, and Crewel has a soft spot for trouble makers from the Queendom, he was one after all! Sure he might have had some problems with him when you first started dating, but now, when he is deathly serious saying he wants to spend the rest of his life with you? Crewel has been waiting for this since he fist saw carrot head yanking your chain.

Deuce is a much easier sell, Crewel was always a bit harsh on his intelligence, but only because he ran a tight ship and wanted him to reach for the stars. Well he has, and he has you to support him through it, Crewel is so proud of both. He and Dilla have absolutely been hypothetically planning this for years.

While Silver's curse did not endear him to Crewel for his first two years of schooling, he really grew on him when you started going out. He's glad that you've found someone who loves you as much as Silver does, really he is. Unfortunately this means he has to plan a wedding with Lilia, something they both have been doing since you started going out and never talked about. Don't worry! They only intend to fight a lot little bit.

The instant you started dating Vil Crewel entered his mother of the bride era. The permission asking was less Vil wanting to be polite and more him coming up with a way to distract him and convince him to focus on designing the clothes. Thankfully it works and no one other than his dogs have to know just how insane the prospect of his two favorite students marrying made him.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #heartslaybul x reader #savanaclaw x reader #octavinelle x reader #scarabia x reader #pomefiore x reader #idia shroud x reader #diasmonia x reader #idk have whatever this is i am so eepy

[janeyseymour]

stick season

summary: it's stick season. Hurt.

WC: ~1.85k

Feel free to listen to my cover of the Noah Kahan song!

Melissa has been your girlfriend for a year now. And she just joined you on a long weekend to go visit your hometown up in Vermont. Your parents absolutely adored Melissa, giving you the stamp of approval on your newest girlfriend, and you couldn’t be happier about that. 

It was warm, it was cozy, it was perfect. Or at least that’s what you thought. But apparently you were wrong, because the drive back to Philly just felt wrong.

As you promised me that I was more than all the miles combined, you must have had yourself a change of heart like halfway through the drive, because your voice trailed off exactly as you passed my exit sign; kept on drivin' straight and left our future to the right.

Melissa had told you that it was entirely worth all of the miles you were putting on her car to go up there with you over the weekend, and you can’t help but smile with joy. And then she’s kissing the back of your hand and promising you that you were more than all of those miles combined.

But then, about halfway through the car ride home, there’s a shift. She takes her hand off of your thigh as she drives, and when she passes the exit that she usually would to take you back to your apartment, she goes silent, biting her lip as if she’s deep in thought.

When she pulls in to her own driveway, she looks to you sadly.

“Hun? What’s wrong?” you ask, clearly concerned about this sudden shift in attitude. 

She bites her lip nervously. “Y/N, I don’t think I can do this,” she whispers.

“Do what?” you ask, although deep down you know what she’s hinting at.

She gestures between the two of you. “This. I- I’m not ready for the commitment that you’re ready for… you want to get married and have kids, and move back up to Vermont, and I can’t do that. I- I’m sorry.”

You leave her house in a puddle of tears. The uber driver that gets the misfortune of taking you home gives you quite a few concerned looks through the rear-view mirror.

Now I am stuck between my anger, and the blame that I can’t face, and memories are something even smoking weed does not replace. And I’m terrified of weather cause I see you when it rains. Doc told me to travel but there’s Covid on the planes.

You’re furious. You don’t know who you’re more mad at: yourself or Melissa. She just spent the last three nights with you up in Vermont playing the part of perfect girlfriend before dumping you and leaving you to explain to your parents that you’re single again. And you’re mad at yourself because you knew she didn’t want the future you did, but you had foolishly hoped she would change her mind. You suppose you should take the blame for that one, but you don’t want to face it- admit that it was your fault for putting blind faith in her.

Deciding that you need to relax, you roll yourself a joint, but the memories of you and Melissa over the past year just continue to replay in your mind. And for the first time ever since you started smoking weed, it doesn’t help the pain you feel in your chest. The drug might be able to remedy physical aches and pains, but it sure as hell can’t fix a broken heart; you’re not sure anything can right now.

You don’t leave your house for the next few weeks unless absolutely necessary. You’re a mopey mess, and your therapist finally tells you that you should travel. And you consider going back to Vermont because being in the same city as your now ex-girlfriend hurts too much. But there’s Covid on the planes, and you can’t quite justify driving up to Vermont on Friday night just to leave again on Sunday morning. Come Friday, you really do still toy with the idea of making your way back to your parents’ house, but there’s a cold front making it’s way through the Mid-Atlantic all the way up through New England, and you’re not about to attempt to drive through seven hours of rain and wind. Besides, when it rains, you can only think of Melissa. She used to have you dance out in the rain with her before cozying up on the couch and watching movies. She claimed it was the only way to spend a rainy day.

And I love Vermont but it’s the season of the sticks. And I saw your mom, she forgot that I existed, and it’s half my fault but I just like to play the victim. I’ll drink alcohol til my friends come home for Christmas.

There’s a season that happens in New England when Fall starts to make its exit and Winter presents itself- and every year, around stick season, your life changes. Melissa came during stick season last year, and she left during this stick season. It hurts.

You end up seeing her mother at the grocery store, and you look like a wreck. You give her a shy wave just to be polite- things may have ended with her daughter, but it’s clear to you that she’s entirely forgotten about your existence or previous presence in Melissa’s life.

That stings, and you make your way to the alcohol aisle, throwing a few bottles of wine in your cart so you can mope and play the victim at home tonight. You suppose you’ll just drink until a few of your friends from college come home for Christmas.

So I thought that if I piled something good on all my bad that I could cancel out the darkness I inherited from Dad. No, I am no longer funny cause I miss the way you laugh.

For the childhood that you had with your father, the relationship that you have with him as a grown woman is nothing short of a miracle. Because of everything you witnessed growing up as a child with having your father for a Dad, you came out better. You knew where to draw the line with certain things. You were funny because of the trauma that he caused you though too… but you aren’t funny anymore because the off color jokes that you used to make were usually just there for Melissa- and you miss the way she laughs. So now, you’re back to the quiet and shy, reserved person that you used to be before she brought out the best (and worst) in you.

You once called me forever, now you still can’t call me back. 

You remember when she told you that she was going to be yours forever. You didn’t think that she would ever say something like that- you knew that she hadn’t ever wanted to get married again, but you continued to pursue her romantically. And it was all looking really good for you, until she broke up with you.

You’ve called her a few times, to beg and grovel for her to take you back- tell her that you didn’t care about marriage and children as long as it meant you got to keep her in your life, but she refused to pick up the phone or call you back.

And I love Vermont but it’s the season of the sticks. And I saw your mom, she forgot that I existed, and it’s half my fault but I just like to play the victim. I’ll drink alcohol til my friends come home for Christmas.

You end up flying home after a few weeks because you simply can’t bear the pain of this heartbreak alone, and you can’t quite justify driving for a weekend. It’s still stick season though, and you feel the cool air wash over you as you exit the airport and try to hail a cab back to your childhood home.

After the flight back home, you see Melissa’s mother at the airport. She has a sign that she’s holding indicating that she’s picking someone up. But she doesn’t see you, and after the last meeting with her, you doubt she remembers you… she’s definitely forgotten about your existence by now.

You’ve come to terms with the fact that your breakup with the Schemmenti was half your fault at this point, but you still take the Septa to get closer to your house before stopping at a liquor store- with the intention of once again playing the victim and drowning your sorrows in a bottle of tequila.

Maybe once you’ve seen some of your old college friends, you’ll head back north to see your hometown friends when they come.

And I’ll dream each night of some version of you that I might not have, but I did not lose. Now you’re tire tracks and one pair of shoes, and I’m split in half but that’ll have to do.

That redheaded beauty has haunted your dreams since you broke up with her. And you miss her dearly. But in each of your dreams, she’s a different version of herself, and it’s quite odd. Somewhere deep inside though, you know none of the versions of Melissa that your mind had made up are her- so you didn’t really lose her in a sense.

You always wake up though and sigh. She isn’t next to you like she should be. And when you head into your living room, you see a pair of her shoes that she left here and hasn’t asked to get back yet.

Your heart splits in half every time you see those shoes. You should just throw them out at this point, but you don’t want to touch them- if they’re there, maybe she’ll come back to you one day. 

Oh that’ll have to do… My other half was you. I hope this pain’s just passing through, but I doubt it.

She really was your other half, and you hope that the pain that you feel every time you see her shoes passes eventually, but you doubt it will.

And I love Vermont but it’s the season of the sticks. And I saw your mom, she forgot that I existed, and it’s half my fault but I just like to play the victim. I’ll drink alcohol til my friends come home for Christmas. And I’ll dream each night of some version of you that I might not have, but I did not lose. Now you’re tire tracks and one pair of shoes, and I’m split in half but that’ll have to do.

Stick season passes by, and you’re still left on your own. Christmas time comes, and you find yourself with a bottle in your hand almost every night to try to help numb the pain. It’s becoming less and less, but you still miss her with all your heart. You know that being split in half will just have to do… maybe next stick season will bring you something happy again.

Tags (and let me know if you want to be included!): @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne @sunsol-22 @notinmyvocab

#melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti fanfiction #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #abbott elementary fanfic #abbott elementary fanfiction #abbott elementary

[superblysubpar]

masterlist | the music

19.7k words | Sorry freaks, no smut this chapter - but the series is 18+ and so is my blog so skedaddle on out of here if you're not!

A/N: I have a really long one here - so I'll just say thank you once again and that I love you. Also, another special thank you to @sweetsweetjellybean and @loveshotzz💛💛

chapter warnings: very brief mention of religion (but not reader participating or believing in one in particular) | small mention/description of reader's maternal death and cancer symptoms | teeny tiny spoiler for the ending to the movie 'when harry met sally' | use of dialogue from the movie 'My Best Friends Wedding'

Why do we want to believe in things like fate or destiny - divine intervention? Why do some put their faith in religions with blind following? Why do we look to the stars in moments of despair, when we’re desperate for hope, when we’re lost? 

We seek out answers from something we can’t see but we want to believe in. Whether it’s a fortune cookie in your take out, a penny head’s up on the sidewalk, a community of like minded souls coming together for prayer or worship, or a horoscope you read on your morning Instagram scroll - the reasons have to be the same for choosing to believe, for the hope that starts to rise in you for the promise these things try to offer. 

We look for solutions to problems. We need reason. We need purpose. We need to feel like we’re not alone. We need confirmation that it’s all gonna work out even though nothing can really guarantee that. 

When you look up at the stars that work hard to shine through clouds and a full moon, your chest rises with air trying to fill your lungs and you wonder if they’re up there. Your eyes blink up at that indigo sky, searching. Steve sits next to you and Leigh waves, whispering their hellos. His hand rests next to yours on the plaid blanket, he clears his throat and straightens his shoulders. It’s all too stiff, too on edge, and you hate it. That attempted deep breath is unsuccessful, lungs deflating as it catches in your throat, and your thoughts wander back to the stars again. They wander to him, and them, and seek answers. 

What if they are up there, watching, like it’s one of those movies your mom was always putting on and your dad and you boo’d at from your spot playing cards. When he walked in with her with that on her finger, your mom would have gasped, she would have paused the movie, she would have yelled at you and your dad about the plot. She would have thrown popcorn at the TV and declared there’s something going on, he couldn’t, no way - there was no way. She’d have calmed herself down, rationalized there was still time left, gone to the pantry for more chocolate, kissed the top of your head and your dad’s cheek as she passed. By the end of the film, her prediction would have been right, she’d be crying and sighing at the couple who got their happy ending.

So could Steve declare his feelings for you here in a dramatic scene? Tell you it was all a big misunderstanding - that he’s sorry, that it was a rocky road but being together is worth fighting for? Could you leave here, hand in hand, as a top forty song plays and the credits roll? 

Of course not. 

Because this isn’t a rom com your mom would have loved. Life is not a movie full of soul-mates and cosmic connections. People like your parents are the exception to the rule. The couples who make it work - the ones who don’t let the trials of life take their love away like Allie and Noah, Kate and Sam, or Westley and Buttercup, are fictional characters. They’re stories to escape into when the despairing reality of yours is too much to read or write anymore. It’s exactly why you don’t like most movies or stories like theirs. Because eventually, the movies end, the credits do roll, and you have to face real life once again. Love like that doesn’t exist off the big screen, and you’re just kidding yourself when you fall into their traps. 

Knowing this simple fact of reality doesn’t stop the hope though. 

That painful, aching hope that clings to your skin like honey when you can feel the heat from his arm even through the sleeve of your sweater - like your bodies burn hotter when closer together - too close to the sun. It feeds the hope that your brain tries to squash away but your heart thuds harder for. The what if, what if, what if replacing each beat of it. Hope that makes you want to cry out ‘please let this just be a bad dream’ to the universe. Hope that tries, but can’t escape the gnawing pit in your stomach that’s growing wider, threatening to swallow you whole. Hope that makes you wonder why this can’t be a story - why can’t you just be the grandson, yelling at his grandfather that he can’t be telling it properly? Someone is getting the story wrong. He can’t be marrying her, you’re just sure of it. Screaming at him, at someone, to please, just get it right. 

You wonder if someone were watching, would they be feeling the despair you are? Is this the moment? That scene in the movies is always the gut punch - for the audience and the character. It’s meant to hurt, make you hold your breath. Made to be dramatic - yell at the screen, break your heart, make the character in the action get back up and fight. They’re moments made to ignite that hope - but really, it’s the double tap - coming right after the feeling catches flame, that’s made to shatter you completely. 

The moment that extinguishes the what if for all it’s worth. When the audience’s heart's already breaking for the grandson, only for the grandfather to ask who says life is fair? Where is that written? When the knife is entering your chest, but the mask falls and the killer turns out to be someone you thought you could trust. When you’re untethered in space only for your last moment of consciousness to be watching a friend cut the cord. The person who sucker punched you is now kicking you when you’re weak, taking it one step too far, leaving you crumpled on the mat. It’s all enough to make that fight, that urge to be angry instead of scared or hurt, disappear. It’s enough to knock you down so hard, you can’t possibly get back up - the hope is extinguished, and the story seemingly over. 

Robin squeals quietly, pulling Leigh’s hand across you to admire the ring, knocking Steve on the shoulder and saying something about the Dingus doing good. Your gaze flits down to the brown sugar and apple donuts in your lap, convinced you’re about to get sick right on top of them. Not because he’s marrying her, but because instead of being angry with him, you feel like you’ve been squashed, you’re hurt, you’re betrayed. Despite your better judgment, despite the past several years, you’ve let a man make you some pathetic, sad, heartbroken, and weak version of yourself. 

When Leigh’s hand retreats from Robin��s, lifting and curling a piece of hair behind her ear, diamond sparkling in the moonlight as she smiles over at Steve, your story’s end is written, and you need to accept it if you ever want some semblance of normalcy to return. You can’t lose him and them. But when Steve’s pinky brushes yours and you look over, his eyes resemble the broken beer bottle from the football game all those weeks ago. Shattered emerald and amber, cutting you to shreds with each shard of glass as he murmurs, “Can I tal-“

“I’ll be right back!” You whisper-shout, cutting him off and squeezing Robin’s shoulder as you get up. 

She yanks on your wrist, halting your attempt at an exit. Her eyes narrow as she interrogates, “Where are you going?”

Swallowing harshly as her blue eyes peer directly into your soul. She can probably smell the desire to run on you. Remembering your vow that Steve won’t take them away from you, a not quite a lie falls from your lips as you gesture to the concession food trucks, “You don’t have those cinnamon roasted almonds. They were my mom’s favorite and the smell is driving me crazy. Promise that’s all.”

“I swear to god, if you don’t come back, I will literally come stand outside your window on the sidewalk and scream-sing Monster Mash until someone calls the cops and I’ll drag you down with me.”

Her eyes blink, features incredibly serious despite the amusing threat. Your laugh mixes with Leigh’s and you ignore the shared moment, tugging your wrist free. “Would expect nothing less Robin.”

She motions she’s watching you, fingers to her eyes then yours, lips twitching in the corners before she turns back to the screen. 

Your feet feel heavy as they drag through the damp grass, and come to a stop to wait in line. It shouldn’t be a surprise after ordering when you hear his voice behind you. It floats through the air, soft, barely audible over the popping kettle corn, “I really didn’t know you’d be here. I wouldn’t have…” he sighs, settling on restating, “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Your shoulders fall and your eyes stay focused on the truck. You’ve had time, since that night on the sidewalk, but your hurt still sits fresh under your layer of armor - tender like an open wound you need to keep protected. Your palms slide further under the sleeves of your sweater, clinging to the garment like the shield you’re willing it to be - you don’t want to fight with him anymore, no matter how hurt and angry you are. 

So the tone you respond with aches to sound indifferent, if not a tad harsh, reminding him you’re mad and pretending there isn’t any spark of hope within you still. It’s over, it has to be over, and all it ever was to him was something to kill time - fun and no strings exactly what you wanted. So your words are really just a reminder to yourself, another layer of the wall you need to keep up around him, “It’s fine Steve. Would have been nice to get a head’s up,” your shoulders shrug, “But, well, that’s probably too generous for the girl you were just fucking while waiting for the one, right?”

The people next to you clear their throats and you can’t find it in yourself to care, to be embarrassed. 

Steve moves in front of you, his face filling your vision. He shaved - no more scruff you like. His jeans are dark again, with fresh, new creases, and a light blue sweater pulls across his chest and shoulders. He’s picture perfect, his polished uniform in place.

He shakes his head, eyes bouncing between yours as he asks, “Is that really all it was?”

Your shoulders shrug again, because it’s easier. It’s easier to try to deny, to ignore the flutter the question causes in your stomach. Easier to bite back the words that try to form on your tongue. Because of course that’s not all it was, at least not to you. You wouldn’t feel the way you do right now if that were true. But what’s the point in telling him that though? What happens? Can you forgive each other for the words said, that, no matter how true, can’t be taken back? Things like this only end in heartbreak - because what happens if you tell him how you were starting to feel - does that change anything for him? And even if it did, that means a broken engagement, it means complicated truths coming out, it means attempts at forgiveness. And even after all of that, life won’t give you a guarantee. There is no promise of zero fights, of nothing bad ever happening. There is no happily ever after where the possibility of a break up, of losing everyone you’ve grown to care for deeply, doesn’t exist. 

So yes, it’s easier to not say any of that, because you know. This isn’t how life works. This isn’t a movie. No one is immune to life’s misfortunes. These sorts of open-ended questions and complicated emotions that come from his simple ask are unmeasurable and unreliable. Wondering and giving into those feelings only open you up to be used as a target for someone else’s shooting practice. You’ve known this, but you allowed yourself to forget, hating it was Steve who had to remind you. 

Which is why you look away from his eyes as you say, “I believe that is what was established a few weeks ago at that party Steve. You were there, remember? You were dressed as a pirate.” 

His head drops, hands running through his perfectly styled hair as he laughs, breath shaky, like the laugh is covering up any feeling in his voice. “So, that’s it? We’re just gonna act like none of it happened? You don’t wanna talk. You run away every time we get a chance to do so, a beer in my face and-“

Your hand rising in the air cuts him off, his mouth clamps shut as you make eye contact with him. “You deserved that and I’m not apologizing for it.”

He takes a step closer to you, his hand reaching towards you, then back into his hair, second guessing himself. “I’m not asking you to, and I’m not apologizing for what I said either.” Steve swallows, hands on his hips as he looks at the ground then back up at you, “What I said wasn’t a lie.” 

He breathes out the next words, both of you staring at each other with the weight of what he says hanging in the air between you.

“You couldn’t tell me.”

Your hands shake from the confrontation, from his request you left unanswered that night. The emotions that still want to bubble over, the time apart did nothing to cool either of you down. That what if, what if, what if that replaced your heartbeat grows louder, but your brain only shuts it down harder. If you hurt now, how will it feel if you keep feeding the flame only for him to extinguish it again?

The beat of your heart and those hopeful words thud in your ears as your head shakes and your voice tries not to, barely audible as the words leave your lips, “I don’t want to do this anymore Steve. We’re just going in circles. You’re getting married. You didn’t tell me. Can you look me in the eye and tell me you were really my friend while you were clearly getting engaged this whole time?”

Blue light flashes from the screen, catching the corner of your eye and illuminating his, their gaze bouncing over your face. Your bodies move closer like they can’t help it, like they know they won’t be this way again. Steve’s tongue darts over his bottom lip before his breath blows out, your name a whisper on it. The way he says your name with that look in his eyes, chests almost touching, it’s easy for your head to tilt with familiarity. Your breath out is his breath in, and it’s even easier to forget the last time you were this close. Sounds other than his harsh swallow and your heartbeat fade away. Time freezes, just a little, and the air pulses with a tangible possibility of hope. 

A shrill classic horror movie scream shatters the bubble. Your name is called, you blink, and take a step away. Guilt washes over you as you see your friends staring intently at the movie you’d practically forgotten you were there for. Leigh and Robin talk quietly and your eyelids flutter as you will whatever wants to escape down your cheeks away.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore Steve. I just want to go hang out with my friends. I need this to be over. Can it please be over?” You stare intently at the ground, one single tear slipping past your lashes. It feels like it rolls down your cheek for an hour before Steve finally answers. 

“Okay,” he quietly agrees. 

Your head nods once and you brush past him, barely choking out a whispered ‘by the way congratulations’ as you grab your snack. Hand swiping at the stray tear as you make your way back to the blanket slowly. 

When you sit back down, Leigh’s typing on her phone. She squeezes Robin’s hand before whispering a goodbye to everyone. She jogs over to Steve, cocking her head at him. He pushes his hands through his hair again, giving her a short smile. He runs his thumb and forefinger down the bridge of his nose, swiping under it with the back of his hand. His other extends towards her as she reaches him, fingers lacing together as they walk out. 

Robin’s shoulder nudges yours and your head turns to find her with eyebrows pinched together. She leans in and quietly asks, “Is he okay? Did he say something about leaving to you?”

Your head shakes, and you extend the bag to her with a tight smile. You will just keep lying to her. Steve and you will move on, and maybe, one day in the distant future, you’ll be able to tell her. It’ll all work out.

She mirrors your sad smile, the wrinkles in her forehead deepening as she takes a small handful and turns her attention back to the movie. Or she tries, but you watch as her eyes glance down to her phone every few minutes, until it lights up with his name and she quickly starts typing a response. 

It’ll all be fine. 

“Said ‘I’m fine’ but it wasn’t true. I don’t want to keep secrets just to keep you…”

The pop song playing overhead makes your teeth grind, your skin itch, it pries at your armor. It clangs its melody like fists on the metal plates around your heart, screaming to let it in. 

Fuck Taylor Swift and her poetically relevant lyrics. 

You’re fine. 

“Mommy, why is that lady wearing pajamas?”

“Well, sometimes people, um, well maybe they’re sad or-“

“Not sad,” you call over your shoulder, but spin as you decide to face the stranger. The poor, unsuspecting stranger who is unprepared for the wrath of a person wearing blue, fuzzy pajama bottoms with ducks all over them, yellow smiley slippers, and holding several pints of Cherry Garcia in her arms. “Could just be sick. Or lazy. Could be a lot of different things, but sad is not one of them, and it’s rude to assume there’s any reason at all. I could just have wanted to stay comfy today, you don’t know!”

It’s almost laughable, if it wasn’t so humiliating or awkward. A practically audible record scratch kind of moment. Conversations of several other customers quiet then stop altogether. Eyes blink at you in concern and pity under too harsh of fluorescent lights, surrounded by neon advertisements and packaging trying to convince you the world isn’t shit as long as there’s junk food. The poppy beat overhead seems to play even louder, yet a pin could drop and people from another state would hear it. 

The mother’s hand runs through the small child’s hair next to them as she stammers an apology, “I really…I’m sorry, I just-“

“No, no, I’m so sorry. It’s fine…I…” You close your eyes and turn back around, mortified beyond a depth you ever thought possible. The pints of ice cream tumble onto the sticky counter-top, lottery tickets beneath it staring up at you and mocking ‘hey wanna test your luck even more?’. Your hand flies up into the face of the cashier as you grumble, “Not a word, Keith.”

The employee you’ve come to know on your late night and early morning snack runs snorts. His mouth closes, slurping his Mountain Dew through a straw as he rings up the ice cream. His lips leave the red plastic, squeaking it against the lid harshly, about to tell you the price you already know, when a bottle of wine is placed on the counter with a low thunk. A leather clad arm extends across your vision, a second bottle landing beside it. A deep and familiar voice from behind your shoulder calls out, “These too. But definitely not because she’s sad.”

Turning, you find Eddie just as you knew you would, his brown eyes the same as they have been since you met. Full of warmth that’s contagious, except now something darkens them, they’re colder. Reminiscent of how they looked in a bathroom that feels like you were in it ten years ago instead of a month. They’re kind, but they’re hurt, confused, and most importantly - disappointed. 

“Right,” you clear your throat and look away from them. Embarrassed, but adamant in your denial of the purchase and your appearance having any connotation with the emotion they all think you’re feeling. “These are not sad items.”

Despite the look in his eyes, Eddie’s lips twitch in a fight of a smile. He looks over your outfit and the hint of amusement disappears. His mouth turns down in a grimace. He faces Keith, hand waving across your form, “Right. Sad people don’t wear duckie pj’s to the store to buy ice cream and wine, they just don’t. People who ignore their friends though, they might…”

Honestly, the call out is nicer than what you deserve. You hadn’t dared to miss a text or call from Robin again, but all other group contact had gone unreciprocated for two weeks - convincing yourself it was easier for everyone that way. Biting the inside of your cheek, your eyes blink up at him apologetically, hopeful you can fix a small part of the mess you’ve made still. “Yeah. But if a person,” your hands wave as you speak, “Who isn’t sad,” you quickly tack on before continuing, “Did ignore their friends, it was probably for a good reason and she probably feels really bad about it and-“

“Jesus Christ, pay for your sad shit and get out,” Keith groans, snapping his fingers and then waggling them for payment. 

Eddie mashes his lips together, a genuine smile threatening to break as he hands over a bill. He salutes as he grabs the bag of items. “Keep the change, dude.”

“See you tomorrow, new shipment of Ben and Jerry’s at nine A.M!” Keith calls to your retreating forms. Eddie and you turn in tandem, flipping him off. 

“Mommy, what did that mean?”

Eddie snorts, his laugh finally bubbling out of him as you hide your eyes under one of your hands. The door swings closed behind you as the brisk November air does little to cool off your embarrassment.

His laughter trails off in a sigh and yours in a groan. When you peek at him from behind your fingers, you hold your breath as they fall to your side. Eddie’s eyes seem to poke and prod at you with their gaze, like you’re a frog laying open on a table for dissection. Like he already knows what he’s about to find, but he’s giving you an opportunity to just say it before he makes the first cut. 

Gesturing towards the bag in his hand, your eyes drop to the ground as you clear your throat. “Thank you, you didn’t have to pay. And I really am sorry for going radio silent. I’ll get better at that.”

When he doesn’t respond right away, you risk a glance up. His brows are furrowed, meeting under parted bangs, brown eyes glued to your pajama pants. Eddie nods slowly, tucking his tongue into his cheek before clicking it against the roof of his mouth. Rocking back on his heels, the plastic bag swings at his side. “Sure. What are friends for?”

His eyes meet yours again finally, and as your lips part, he keeps going, his voice a little crisper than it’s been to you before. “Cause, we are friends. Right?”

Head nodding as your brows bunch together from the tone delivering the question. That and his gaze makes something under your skin itch, your feet restless against the pavement like a horse before a race. 

Hesitation heavy in your words as you respond, “Yeah, of course…listen, I have to get back but-“

“Great,” he spins on his heel, heading down the sidewalk like he was waiting for those exact words to leave your mouth, “I’ll walk with you, sad girl.”

Blinking at his abrupt interruption, hand still raised to take the bag from him, it takes you several seconds for his words to register. He’s already halfway to the corner, your apartment just around it and you have to take a quick few jogs to catch up with his long strides as you call out, “I’m not sad.”

“Uh-huh,” Eddie nods, flicking a zippo in his hand, converse scuffing against the sidewalk as he kicks a pebble, “And I’m the King of England.”

Tired of his tone and demeanor you didn’t invite or ask for - you don’t need this. Eyes rolling as you huff past him, your shoulder bumping his harshly as you do. Eddie scoffs, but falls back into step close behind you, not letting you get away. “Quite the attitude to have with the friend who just bought your sad girl treat, even threw in the wine.”

Your shoulders hunch at his words, eyebrows pulling together and face growing hot as you fiddle with the first key to the apartment building. “Well, I didn’t ask you to buy it and if you only did to just rub it in my face you’re not really my friend. And I didn’t ask you to come here.”

Eddie’s hand lands on the door above your shoulder as you push it open, arm blocking you from entering. “Quit the tough girl act, you’re not fooling anyone.”

Your skin burns at his accusation, hands balling into fists at your sides. “I’m not trying to fool anyone, Eddie, or do anything. I literally don’t know what you’re talk-“

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you can keep trying to sell this shit to everyone else, but I’m not buying.” He points inside, “Let’s go.”

Face feeling hotter than when you were six and scolded in public, you stomp through the entryway, each step echoing across the old tile. As you turn to head up the stairs, if only to get away from his all seeing eyes, the realization of what your apartment looks like and how extremely not ready it is for guests has you pausing mid stride. 

When your gaze makes contact with his again, Eddie simply makes a statement. Flat, disappointed, and no question in his tone, “It’s worse than I think isn’t it.”

Before you can argue, before you can tell him to leave, the keys in your hand are snatched by swift fingers, and Eddie’s long legs are jumping up the stairs, skipping over several steps and disappearing around the landing. Chasing after him, the thundering of both of your feet is dulled by the faded and dingy carpet and the shriek of his name leaving your lips. 

Watching as he pushes the key into the lock, turning the knob, you sprint down the hallway. Your body barrels into his, but it’s too late. Eddie falters from your weight crashing into him, but he remains upright, although slightly hunched, as your body clings to his, trying to drag him down. The door swings open and he winces, and you drop to the ground, defeated. 

For the first time in a few days, you take in the state of your living space from an outside perspective. You watch as Eddie reviews it all for the first time - the take out on your counter, the empty beer bottles pushing the lid of the recycling up. The stack of Double O Seven DVDs on the coffee table. The couch covered in blankets because you’ve been sleeping there, your bed still sitting free of sheets in the other room. The bag of chips and the tub of frosting. It’s not a pretty picture. 

Eddie suddenly crouches, hands grabbing at you and you push him away shrieking, crawling into your apartment and away from him. Both of you swat at each other, hair flying in faces and grunting like you’re siblings fighting over the remote. 

 “Go-get off! What the hell is your problem! Eddie!”

He manages to grab your phone out of your sweatshirt pocket and you leap towards him, arms over his shoulders, you reach for the phone, and he holds himself up on his knees, arm extending it away from you. He manages to tilt it just right to get your face to unlock it and you growl, thumping on his bicep as he shoves you off. He presses the familiar green icon on your home screen while you accuse, “What is your deal? What the fuck are you-“

Eddie groans, holding up the screen displaying the last song you’d been listening to and getting to his feet. He points towards your bedroom. “Go put on some jeans. No more sad girl music. No more cheese out of the can. Field trip. Let’s go.”

Your hand holding a slipper that had fallen off in the scuffle points towards the open door, any neighbors paying attention getting a hell of a show. Your scowl meets his frown. “Um, you can go. Don’t basically break into my home and insult Britney and Easy Cheese in the same sentence asshole. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows, they disappear under his bangs and he looks at you as if you’re the child you’re determined to act like. He sighs, voice dripping in drama as he heads into your kitchen, “I really didn’t want to do this, but you’ve left me with no other choice.” He spins the cheap metal cap off of one of the bottles of wine theatrically, flicking the cap onto the counter before turning the bottle upside down as he stares at you. “I’d get going. The ice cream is next.”

Your eyes roll as you scoff, “You’re not gonna do shit to the Ben and Jerry’s, you and I both know it.”

He starts on the second bottle, both ringed hands holding tight to each, red liquid splashing the sides of the sink. “I will literally drag you back out of here in your sad girl jammies to a very public place. I’m generously giving you the opportunity to avoid that embarrassment, but if you insist…”

Eddie sets the bottles down in the sink, stepping over to you in two strides, hands on your waist as he moves like he could toss you over his shoulder.

Your hands push at his chest. “Fucking fine! Give me a few minutes.” You start towards your room but spin sharply on your socked heel, one foot still in a slipper that skids as your finger points in his face. “Touch my ice cream and see what happens.”

He snorts, crossing his arms. “Big, tough words coming from a girl with chocolate frosting on her chest and ducks on her ass.”

You turn away from him, slamming the door on his call of, “If you ever want to see your precious Ben and Jerry’s again, you’ll be back out here in five minutes!”

When you make eye contact with the chocolate stain in the mirror, you have to suppress your groan. 

Eddie’s Jeep tires crunch over gravel before coming to a stop in a homemade parking lot. Tan dust kicked up and floating through the air partially obscures where he’s taken you. 

The entire twenty minute drive had been enveloped in stilted silence. He had managed to dump one of the pints while you changed, claiming to have thought you weren’t coming back out, and now he was on the receiving end of one of your finest silent treatments. His hand flexes on the gear, moving the car into park. As his jaw clenches while yanking the keys out of the ignition, you start to rethink your silence. There’s a part of you that wants, maybe needs, to run back to your apartment, lock the door, and never speak to him again. But there’s another part, far larger, and riddled with guilt, that made you follow him. 

Staring out the window at the dilapidated bar, your voice feels scratchy from the lack of talking as you push out, “What are we doing-” Eddie’s driver’s door slams, and the end of your question falls into the empty car, flat, as you blink at his back walking away from you, “Here.” 

As Eddie makes his way to the building, you hoist yourself out of the Jeep and begin to follow despite the cold shoulder. You’re willing to appease him and participate in whatever this field trip is if it means you can somehow get the apology you definitely owe him out - try to make things right for the mess you’ve pulled him into. 

A faint and familiar sound echoes in the quiet and practically empty parking lot. The distinct whip of a ball and the ting and harsh smack of metal meeting it, mix with the crunch of rocks under your rubber soles. Behind the tired and washed out brick building, chain link fencing rises, hinting further to what the sounds are and where they’re coming from. The large red letters above the doorway spell out “Murray’s” in distinct vintage lettering, hollowed out with unlit bulbs reminiscent of an old theater’s marquee lights. You pause beneath the sign, stealing a deep breath because something tells you Eddie has officially pinned you to the table, and the first inevitable cut of the dissection is imminent. Your fingers curl around the gray, metal door’s industrial handle and pull, and you step inside. 

Billie Holiday’s voice croons from somewhere deeper in the building. Voice and music crackling and staticky, like it’s playing off a real vinyl. The urge to find out why Eddie’s brought you to a place seemingly stuck in the past draws you deeper down the dimly lit hallway. Rich, red paint on the walls partially covered by framed photographs line the entire space. Black and white film prints of American icons, with individual golden lamps lighting up each from their spots attached to the frames. Your feet carry you past Elvis, Jackie Robinson, then Marilyn, and Michael Jackson before you enter a spacious and circular room. 

Red vinyl booths line the curve on one side, small round tables meant for two lit by glowing lamps scattered across the floor. A stage and space for what appears to be a dancefloor sit opposite of you, nestled between the booths and a bar running across the opposite curve. Speckled and worn mirrors behind the bar reflect the wide range of liquor bottles and the different glassware in a variety of shapes and colors, clearly thrifted antiques, hanging above them. Eddie leans against the bar talking to an older man, neither of whom spare a glance in your direction. 

This room’s photographs on the walls are covers of Life and Time, clippings from other renowned news outlets - all famous headlines like when man went to the moon and the JFK assassination, the Cubs winning the world series, spanning all the way to current events. As you spin, you see the vintage photo booth, much older than the one you and Steve took photographs in at Replay, and you push the memory away, focusing on the bulletin board next to it instead.

The flier for Corroded Coffin has your attention as the song crackles on it’s end notes, the next from the album playing softly. Billie’s voice sings the familiar lyrics of ‘I’ll Be Seeing You’ and your heart drops into your stomach, palms sweating profusely. Why the hell are you here? Why this song? Why, why, why.

“Ouch. Who broke your heart?”

The unfamiliar voice asks the same question Eddie had asked you back in September, and this time you’re even more unprepared for it. Your head whips to the side, gaze looking over your shoulders that hunch. Your body turns to face them head on, but your arms cross in defense. The man Eddie had been chatting with now has his focus solely on you. Wire rimmed glasses frame eyes that stare intently at you as he wipes down a glass. His balding head of hair and the confidence he carries, along with the way he tosses the rag over his shoulder before leaning on the bar, has you feeling like you’ve suddenly entered a sitcom. 

Eddie continues to ignore you, one foot resting on the metal of stool as his ringed fingers crack peanuts. He avoids your gaze as you turn your frown on the man who seemed to have read your mind. You keep your voice as neutral as you can when you ask, “Excuse me?”

“Written all over your face, kid.” The nameless man, but you have a hunch the name of the establishment and him are one in the same, winces with his words. He pulls down three amber colored, short glasses, then a bottle of vodka. Before you can argue, he keeps going as he pours, “Well, maybe you’re not in love. Not yet anyway,” he muses to himself, “Or maybe he is and you don’t know how to let the poor sap down?”

His eyes lift from the glasses of alcohol to yours and he squints. Pausing before pouring the third glass, humming, “Wait, no, well…maybe.” Keeping his eyes on you as he tips back one of the generous shots before he breathes out with finality, “No.”

Eddie smirks into his own shot, as the man snaps in his face, but technically commands, “Name.”

Your mouth opens to stop this nonsense and analysis you absolutely didn’t ask for, but Eddie beats you to it. Eyebrows raised, mouth pursed as he offers up, “Steve.”

The man behind the bar hovers the liquor bottle above the now empty glass, blinking wide behind his frames. He sets the bottle down, pressing his palms to the bar top. Scoffing with an incredulous tone, “You’re kidding.”

“Excuse me!” You try to interrupt, but the man shakes his hands, ignoring your objection. 

“We’ll deal with that little slip in the simulation some other time,” pushing the third glass down the bar towards you as he continues, “So, Steve,” he laughs a little, licking his bottom lip, “Right. So he loves us, maybe, but perhaps it is us who loves Steve? Mm, tragic, because he doesn’t reciprocate? Or are we too scared to tell him how we feel?”

Your shoulders are up to your ears now, arms wrapping around yourself even tighter, trying to make whatever see-through, vulnerable shield this man can penetrate more resilient. Your gaze is harsh on the side of Eddie’s face, death stare glaring and attempting to burn his cheek with only your eyes as you ask again, “What are we doing here?”

“The cosmic question, isn’t it?” The bartender muses, pouring another glass for himself. He raises his eyebrows at Eddie in a silent question who shakes his head no. 

“I’m leaving.” You start to turn towards the door, but Eddie’s call behind you makes you freeze.

“Have fun walking back then!”

Your hands go to your pockets, searching, even though you know they’re empty. When you look at him, you see your phone in his fingers and his brown eyes that have turned to stone. “Yeah, I still have this. So either you can participate in the field trip, or you can walk all the way back home to your sad girl cave.”

“I’ll just have him call me a cab.” Gesturing to the nameless man with your solution. 

“Murray,” he offers with a toothy grin and head nod, confirming your assumption. 

Eddie laughs, cold, tossing a peanut shell on the bar, “Yeah? And pay for it how?”

You’ve been very, very, dumb, because it’s only now you realize the empty pockets would also mean you don’t have your wallet. Your eyes close in defeat. 

When you open them, Eddie is staring at you and it feels an awful lot like that scalpel is resting just over your heart, waiting for any final words. 

He doesn’t take his eyes off of you as he says, “I’ll take those quarters now.”

Murray rolls a tube across the bar to him, eyes darting back and forth between you two like he is watching a ping pong match. 

Eddie grabs the roll, storming past you and down a different hallway, out the back door of the bar. The chipping black paint flutters as the door swings closed, a slam as it meets the frame making you flinch. The final notes of ‘I’ll Be Seeing You’ finish and you release a shaky breath. 

“And I suppose I’m to follow him and his mysterious quarters?”

Murray’s lips twitch and he raises his hands in surrender. Your sigh and step towards the door has him dropping his hands though, nudging the still full glass of vodka towards you. Figuring it’s his way of telling you to clean and sterilize the wound before the prodding at it begins, you take a step closer. Hesitating slightly, your finger wraps around the amber glass, a deep breath leaves you as you tip it to your lips. 

He nods his head towards you and raises his own glass, and as the liquid flows into your mouth, he toasts, “To Steve.”

The liquor sits on your tongue longer than you’d like it to as you glare at him. Swallowing it down, you blame the harsh burn in your throat for the prickle that’s forming behind your eyes.

Spinning on your heel to follow Eddie, Murray’s voice calls out quietly, making you pause.

“I’d tell him sooner, rather than later.”

Looking over your shoulder, he puts the glasses in a bin underneath the bar, not looking back at you as he quietly adds, “In my experience, there’s always space to dive deeper into the story. Things are often not what they appear to be. And well,” he chuckles to himself, “Harrington’s got a lot more going on under all that hair than meets the eye I think.” Your brows furrow as Murray looks up at you, patting his hand over his heart with a smirk on his lips, “And I’m not talking about the stuff on top of his head.”

Normally, the joke about Steve’s chest hair would have your lips twitch into a smile, a roll of your eyes, but instead, his words float through the air until they arrive in your gut, sitting heavy and dragging you down. They try to ignite that hope again, but you know it’s no use in letting it light anymore. 

Your feet push forward, stomping down the hallway without a word back. As the door swings closed behind you, your eyes blink, adjusting to the harsh sunlight you’d forgotten was shining outside. The sounds from earlier now connecting to what’s before you. Several enclosed batting cages sit just beyond a wooden and covered back patio of the bar. There’s two older men with their bags of gear sitting at their feet. Each drinking a beer at a small wooden table, rubbing their shoulders. Eddie is inside one of the cages. His leather jacket hung on the fence, a blue helmet squishing down his curls. The white cotton of his baseball tee stretches over his flexing back muscles as he swings at a ball released by the machine. 

As your feet scuff against the deck and then the gravel, you take another deep breath, mouth opening to just blurt out some sort of apology to him. Eddie stops the machine with a harsh smack to a button on the side of the cage. He comes out the door, holding the helmet and bat out to you, chest moving up and down with each ragged breath. He offers a closed lip smile as he says, “Your turn.”

“Eddie, I really don’t…” you trail off until you settle on just asking, “Why?”

“Would you just do it?” He frowns, tone annoyed as he extends his arms towards you further. 

Eyebrows raised in anticipation he nods once as you take the items with a huff and stomp into the cage. As you place the helmet onto your head, and stare down the machine, you exhale and press the button. It whirs back to life as your hands wrap around the bat and you step up to the metaphorical plate, Eddie’s voice calling from over your shoulder as you do. 

“So, wanna tell me why you’re sad? Talk about anything Murray said?”

Your fingers curl tighter around the grip, shoulders going up in defense again. Your jaw clenches before you grit out, “For the last time Eddie, I’m not sad. I’m fine.”

Eddie snorts behind you as you swing at the first ball released, missing.

Strike one. 

“Sure, figured that’d be your answer. So,” he sighs heavily and you hear the fence rattle like he’s kicking it, “Why’re you avoiding us again then?”

You knew this topic couldn’t be dodged forever. It’s true, you’d been pulling away again since Halloween, and getting the save the date was the nail in your friendship’s coffin. As the wedding looms in the not so distant future, it’s easier to pull away from him, from all of them, because you know that they were and always will be Steve’s friends first. Intentions of not letting Steve keep them from you seem futile now, when you know the history and depth of friendship you’re up against. You’re not gonna say that to Eddie though, so as the next pitch is released, you swing and stammer out a pathetic lie. 

“I-I’m not.” The ball makes contact, causing your forearms to vibrate from the bad swing. Your grip tightens so the bat doesn’t fall from your fingers as the ball pops up and behind you, rattling the fence. 

“Well that’s a load of crap. Wanna know what I think?” Eddie yells, not pausing for you to refute and sarcastically continuing, “Great, I’m overjoyed to tell you.”

Your heel digs into the gravel and your eyes narrow on the whirring machine, waiting for him to sink the scalpel into you, defenseless - trapped from running away from him, stuck in this cage with nowhere to go to avoid what he’s about to tell you. 

“I think you are sad. I think Murray was right and you don’t wanna admit it to him, to anyone, and especially not yourself. Instead of an easy fix of talking about it, you wanna sit in your pity and throw a party.” Eddie’s voice takes on a dramatic, high pitched imitation of you as the next ball is released and you swing, “I’m Y/N! Woe is me! I’m all alone! Nobody loves me!”

You miss the ball again, shoulders hunching in, desperate to make yourself smaller with each of the words that he shouts at your back. Turning to look over your shoulder, you glare at him. 

Strike two. 

Eddie leans against the fence, glaring right back at you with his eyebrows raised as you hiss, “You’re being an asshole.”

“Yeah? At least I’m an asshole who’s got friends,” he gestures towards you, “You clearly think you don’t.” You twist your toe in the gravel deeper, returning your focus to the machine and taking a deep breath as he keeps going. “I’ll have Murray pour you some more vodka and you can sit here and think about how your life is horrible. Truly tragic.”

Your eyes narrow from his bored tone, lifting your chin and elbow, adamant to ignore him. 

“You have nothing and no one.”

Another exhale, your chest rises and falls with a deep inhale and your shoulders relax. Straining to hear the hint of the ball being released instead of Eddie yelling at you. 

“Maybe you’ll get a cat one day, but ultimately you’re gonna die alone!”

SMACK.

Your bat meets the ball and it soars to the end of the cage and you spin on him. Face hot, your emotions bubbling and ready to explode. Anger mingling with adrenaline coursing through your veins from the hit, amping up how the words fall out of you in an angry cry. 

“Yeah! I am Eddie! And that’s what I want! So fucking lay off!”

“Why?” 

“Because it’s easier!” 

When he yells right back, without pausing, asking you for a reason, the excuse falls out of you easily. Your mouth closes immediately after the words tumble out in your scream, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes as Eddie’s narrow. He shakes his head, volume lowering only slightly. 

“Nah, that’s just fucking running. And take it from someone who ran for a long time, it feels easy, but it’s the furthest thing from. Eventually, you are going to get tired, and your problems will be right on your heels. 

Facing the machine again so you don’t have to look into his eyes any longer, you shake your head no at him, letting a ball hit the end of your bat, popping forward limply as you try to speak with confidence. 

“I’m not running from problems Eddie, I’m just…it’s easier to be the one who does the leaving than to be the one who’s left, okay?”

The words float through the air, unable to be taken back, and their weight makes something in your chest squeeze and constrict. 

“That’s some next-level, glass half empty, pessimistic, depressing shit. And who the hell said anyone was going anywhere? You’re refusing to see that if you looked back for one second from the door you’ve been half out since you got here, that nobody else even has their shoes on.”

The squeezing in your chest only intensifies, his cut getting deeper as he searches for answers, and your bat hesitates halfway through your swing, sending a ball straight up into the air above you. You breathlessly ask, “What?”

Eddie waits until you look over your shoulder at him, emphasizing each word. “Nobody’s leaving you.”

His words hit you harder than your bat has hit any of the balls. It feels like one was pitched right into your gut, expelling all the air from your lungs and causing the tears that have been right behind your eyes to well up hard and fast. You spin to avoid his gaze again and square up for another pitch. 

Eddie doesn’t know that it’s not a promise anyone can make - life doesn’t care. 

Your head shakes, tears brimming on your lash line as you argue, “You can’t know that Eddie, not really. It’s better this way.”

SMACK.

A tear slips over your bottom lashes, trailing down your cheek as the bat makes good contact again and Eddie digs the scalpel in for his final cut. “Fine. Believe that. But you need to admit that you’re slamming the door on our faces and pretending like no one is still standing on the other side, knocking and asking to be let back in.”

The machine whirls, it wooshes with the release of a ball as another tear, and then another falls. Your vision progressively grows fuzzy, the world around you blurring as you swing again and his voice washes over you. 

“Did you know that Nancy is a freak just like you, and I’m sure she’d be happy to split some Cherry Garcia any time? God help you both for liking such a disgusting flavor.”

You let the tears fall openly, but silently, as you swing harder this time. The weight in your stomach - the knots that have been forming since the very first lie was told - twist and tug harder. 

“I know you’re not stupid enough to think I wouldn’t come have a beer with you, or take you to Target to get some new sheets or food that doesn’t have the Frito-Lay logo plastered on it.”

Another ball pops up and behind you as you clear your throat. Refusing to believe what he’s saying, you wonder if he can see the tears hitting the tan gravel beneath you and darkening it like drops of rain.

“And Robin! She’d love to watch Double O Seven with you. You should hear her Sean Connery impression. It’s terrible.” Eddie laughs a little and you twist the toe of your converse into the gravel, covering up a dark spot. 

“But no. Instead of any of that, you just gave up. You didn’t give any of us a chance. Steve Harrinngton’s dumb ass is the only thing to blame for all your loneliness, sadness, and problems. So keep ignoring the footsteps running behind you and the knocking, or open the fucking door.”

You want to believe Eddie, you really do. But what happens when you come to rely on someone, need the support to lean on, and they’re gone?

Your head shakes harder, a sob stuck in your throat as you barely murmur, “Eddie, I can’t.”

His voice is softer than it has been all day as he asks, “Can’t or won’t?”

More tears fall past your lashes. The last ball is pitched and you choke out, “I’m sorry.”

You don’t attempt to swing at this one and it hits the fence behind you. The machine whirs one final time then stops. 

“Yeah, me too.”

Heavy, suffocating, disappointment lingers in the air around you. 

It takes several minutes, even more tears falling quietly, for you to remove the helmet from your head and drop both it and the bat on the ground with a clang. When you turn around, swiping at your cheeks, Eddie isn’t there. 

Each drag of your feet inside is an active fight. Limbs heavy, heart even more so, because you know what awaits you inside before it’s confirmed. 

Murray looks up from a keg he’s tapping and simply nods to the end of the bar. Your phone and wallet sit there and you know the Jeep and Eddie will be gone when you push out the door crying. 

You’ve somehow done the leaving and were left this time. 

Strike three. 

It’s literally a symptom, or as some like to claim - stage - of grief. 

Denial. 

We lie all the time. We tell lies to spare or protect feelings, and more importantly, we lie to ourselves, instead of facing truths head on. 

Because it’s easier to lie - to avoid, to shut something down, or deny its existence when it’s too hard to look at directly. Which is interesting. Why has there not been some sort of evolutionary transformation from this reaction? And really, the longer you wait to face something, the harder the truth is going to hit you. The time you give a truth to sit untold, unacknowledged, it only grows larger. That truth takes hearty roots, and your avoidance in the form of lies, whether to yourself or others, or both, only allows it to spread more rapidly. 

Eventually, you will have to stop lying, to stop running, and that truth will have grown in strength. It has sprouted new truths or problems because your lies only fed it the fertilizer it needed to do so, and now it’s suddenly not the one thing you have to face anymore, but the multiple harder truths. 

Which may be why you’re still outside, staring up at Nancy’s brownstone, where all of your friends, or well, the people you hope are still your friends are-

“Out of the bike lane!”

You jump forward onto the sidewalk just in time for a man in bright yellow spandex to zoom past you shouting some sort of curse as you clutch the dessert in your hands tighter. 

Grateful you had a firm handle on it to begin with, it's one of the few family heirlooms you held onto along with the recipe it’s holding. Hoping to gain some sort of courage from deep within it, like your mom can offer you some through the dish, you make your way up the brick steps. 

The only reason you're here, the only reason you’re facing this day the way you’re feeling just so happens to be the one to open the door before you can even ring the bell. 

The door is flung open and her bright blue eyes fight to sparkle behind squinted eyelids that are almost shut she’s smiling so wide at you.

“Happy Friendsgiving!” Robin shouts louder than she needs to and holds her arms out in a dramatic greeting. She’s covered from fingertips to elbows in thick, orange goo, her clearly thrifted oversize old man sweater sleeves pushed up to her shoulders. You smile your first genuine smile in weeks as she goes to hug you and you both pause, rethinking it. 

“Fall in a pumpkin?” You quip as you balance the dessert in your hand to shrug off one arm of your coat. 

Robin wiggles her fingers and hands spirit and jazz style with a beam that shows off her dimple as she corrects, “Sweet potato casserole.”

“You fell in a sweet potato casserole?” Following her deeper into Nancy’s, you take in a long breath, the tight chest you’ve had since Eddie left you at Murray’s loosening with each word exchanged between you and her. But knowing you have to face him, Nancy, Steve and her, and continue to pretend nothing is wrong while around Robin, has the constricting pressure around your heart returning quickly. 

Robin rolls her eyes, turning and walking backwards and making a face at you. She huffs as she turns back around, “No. Steve is making his famous mac and cheese and apparently I was annoying him, can you believe it? So him and Nance put me on mashing duty to keep me busy like a toddler.”

“You said it, not me!” Steve calls, his wine glass stopping before his lips when he makes eye contact with you. 

Weeks of not seeing each other after the way you left things was going to be hard, you knew that. But you really weren’t prepared for how he looks today, or how it would affect you. 

He’s got a burnt orange, almost brown, thick sweater on with light wash jeans. You’re sure both are from the section of his closet you stumbled upon months ago. That part holding his clothes he doesn’t wear often for whatever reason. He looks comfortable, casual, content. Down to the tube socks on his feet and the worn brown leather of the band of his watch. Your chest aches a little as you wonder if it’s Leigh that’s gotten him to relax into this version of himself. Even his hair, longer than a few weeks ago, is different than you’ve seen from him. Far messier than usual - like it hasn’t seen products or been styled lately, and several days of facial hair evident on his jaw. He looks like a version of Steve designed to torture you - a Steve who you’ve only gotten glimpses of and you miss before you’ve even really met. 

“Hi,” he says quietly, smiling closed-lipped at you.

“Hi,” you offer with your own hesitant smile. Your fingers fiddle with the tinfoil over the edge of the dessert from your spot where you linger in the doorway.

“How are you? Do you…wine?” Steve stammers over his questions, cheeks turning pink. He spins and starts pouring you some without waiting for your answer. It gives you a small bit of relief that he’s as anxious as you are, neither of you knowing what comes next. Do you ever return to normal? And what is normal for you and Steve?

“Sure, yeah, good. You?”

Steve nods his head too quickly, spinning to face you again with the wine. “Good, yeah, thanks.”

“Good.” 

“Yeah.”

Steve blinks at you, hazel eyes bright under the soft glow of Nancy’s pendant lighting hanging above her island. As you stare at each other, unsaid words float in the air, it was silly to think it could ever just be over with him. You miss entering a room and not sharing this awkward, palpable, tension - when it was a smile or joke exchanged instead of forced greetings, a warmth and joy felt instead of dread. 

You hate that you don’t hate him. 

You hate that there’s this horrible ache in your chest, like words want to tumble out but you physically can’t say them - why can’t you both just apologize? Why can’t that save the date be ripped to shreds? Why can’t it all work out? 

“You two are acting weird.”

Robin’s voice bursts whatever bubble you were both in, and you clear your throat, looking down. Steve’s fingers adjust on the wine glass and he shakes his head. 

Steve stammers, “N-no, we’re g-”

“Good?” Robin questions, eyebrows raised, “Yeah I gathered that.”

Before either of you can say anything in response, Nancy’s voice calls from the front door, “Crisis averted! I found a bag!”

Her brown curls bounce against her cheeks as she jogs into the kitchen. Dressed up in black suede boots and flared jeans, her tan peacoat left open showing off a silky black blouse. She pauses, mid stride, bag of marshmallows held aloft and her smile faltering as her gaze darts around the room.

Feeling warm under Robin’s sudden perceptiveness, you’re grateful when Nancy springs into action, relieving the awkward tension. 

“Geez Robin, did any sweet potato end up in the dish? I left you alone with them for twenty minutes.”

Robin’s lips twitch slightly, eyes finally leaving Steve’s as she looks down at her hands, flexing her fingers, the orange goo becoming stiff and hard on her skin.  

Nancy gives you a look, her eyes narrowed in a question but smiles when Robin looks back up. She places the marshmallows on the counter and grabs her hand. “Well, Y/N, can finish up.” She directs her next words to you, head nodding to a pan on the counter, “Put those marshmallows on top and stick it in the oven. Steve, your cheese isn’t gonna grate itself. And you,” Nancy tugs Robin out of the kitchen, smiling sweetly at her, “Are gonna come get cleaned up with me.”

Robin’s entire face turns pink, freckles standing out on her skin, from the way Nancy stares at her intently, like no one else exists. You look down, hiding your smile when Robin coughs, sputtering out something that you’re sure is supposed to be a yes. She eagerly nods and Steve huffs loudly, which makes her turn to glare over her shoulder at him, but it quickly turns into a smile as you call out, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” to their retreating forms. 

Their footsteps fade and Steve reaches out with one hand, looking at the dessert as he asks, “I can grab that from you?”

As the door to her bedroom clicks closed, you breathe out an exhale, unsure of how much longer you can keep it all up. His eyes are warm as his fingers brush the dish and you pull it back from his reach a bit, whispering, “It’s really fragile.”

Steve’s eyes bounce over your face, setting the wine down, both hands reaching for the dessert as he promises, quiet and sure, “I got it.”

Your fingertips graze each other as he takes it, and the electricity of just one more touch from him is enough kindling for the hope to spark. The heat from his stare has your cheeks warming and his turning pink. Steve’s lips twitch slightly in the corners as he glances down at the dish, then back up at you. 

“So, this just from Mariano’s then?” 

Your eyes roll hard at his assumption, scoffing as you turn to rip open the bag of marshmallows and keep your back to him. “You would ask if it was from there instead of Jewel.”

Steve knocks the faucet off from washing his hands, shaking them into the sink and flinging water across the stainless steel before drying them. He sucks his teeth with a wince as he turns to the counter, his shoulder next to yours. “Yeah, okay that’s fair.”

You laugh quietly, popping a marshmallow in your mouth in between placing them haphazardly across the orange mixture. Steve sighs next to you and gestures to the dish. “See, this is why I asked. No way you baked something. Didn’t think you could do anything in the kitchen except keep your take out menus impeccably organized.”

“Impeccably huh? That your word of the day on the calendar Robin got you?” You toss another marshmallow in your mouth with a smirk. 

“Actually, no today’s word was assiduous.” 

The veins in his hands flex as he grates the cheese, and he gives you a look as he says the word with confidence and emphasis, eyebrows raised.

You stall, taking a sip of your wine and hiding your smile in the glass before asking, “What, am I supposed to be impressed or something?” 

He dumps the cheese into the pot and turns to you, cocking his head, tongue in his cheek before he frowns. “You’re not?”

Steve’s lips twitch, his facade breaking easily and you both laugh. Your shoulders relax further and so do his. Why does it have to be so easy with him, yet so hard?

“Actually, I think it will be you who’s impressed,” you start, making the marshmallows a little more purposeful and pretty for his sake. 

“Oh yeah?” 

You hum, nodding, “I made that pie from scratch.”

“No you didn’t.”

Looking up, you see him shaking his head. He makes eye contact with you and he shrugs, adamant, “Nope. No way.”

Your hands land on your hips as your tone turns indignant. “Yes I did! I made the crust from scratch, cold butter into flour and everything. Rolled it out, doctored up the filling in a pan on the stove. Brown sugar, the works.”

His hand stops on the second block of cheese, eyes narrowing at you as he questions, “Really?”

A laugh leaves you from the tone of his suspicion as you slide the pan holding Robin’s dish into the oven. “You sound like my dad when my mom made it the first time.”

Steve doesn’t say anything and your lip tugs between your teeth as you remember the moment between your parents. Maybe it’s the holiday, maybe you’re just tired, maybe it’s the few sips of alcohol that let the story fall out of you so easily. 

“She was really awful at cooking,” you laugh, taking a sip of wine and waving your hand in the air, “I mean like, awful. She could serve you a grilled cheese that was somehow burnt but the cheese was cold? She got better, but anyways, I really don’t know why she thought she’d be any better at baking…”

Steve’s eyes meet yours briefly as he takes his own sip of wine and you look away, grabbing some of the cheese and deciding to help as you keep talking. 

“I don’t remember how she decided to do this, but my dad was out of town for work, and she wanted to make him something special, and to her that was a pie, I guess? But she was adamant that it be from scratch. Made and baked with love. And so we did. We went and got all of the ingredients, and we destroyed the kitchen, but it was the most fun I’ve ever had with her. We listened to Dolly Parton and drank wine all day, totally got flour and butter everywhere, I told her about classes, and the guy I was seeing…”

Your eyes drift off the counter, remembering it was right before you knew she was sick and your chin trembles as a watery laugh leaves you, “And then my dad got home. Oh my god, his face. He, he…” you blink away tears as you start laughing harder, “He just dropped his duffle bag on the ground and shook his head looking around in shock and my mom yelled ‘We made you a pie!’ and my dad just raised his eyebrows and said ‘Sure looks like you made somethin’.”

The last words come out shaky and it isn’t until you feel a pressure on top of one of your hands that you realize you had been grating the cheese down to almost nothing, stealing it from him. Glancing up through blurry vision, tears continue to fall down your cheeks as Steve quietly asks, “But it was good?”

You snort, more tears leaving you as you shake your head no. “It was inedible,” you laugh harder, “Like raw, but somehow dry and clumpy, so bad.”

Steve squeezes your hand, eyebrows furrowing together as his confusion settles deeper in his face and he starts cautiously, “So…you…made an inedible pie for us tonight?”

Your head shakes more and you take a deep breath, laughter and tears slowing. “No, after that, she, um…” closing your eyes, you take a deep breath and push out, “She needed to keep her hands working…” 

When you open your eyes again, Steve’s staring intently at you, waiting. You wonder why he can wait patiently for this story, look at you like he’d wait an eternity for you to tell him the ending, but he couldn’t wait for you. But, would you have wanted him to? When you’re certain that the potential of losing him, all of them, completely, isn’t worth the risk. Would he have waited forever for you to change your mind?

Your voice breaks as you finish, “Her chemo…she started to get neuropathy, and making the crust and keeping her hands and brain busy helped. So she kept practicing until it was perfect. And now it’s one of the last things I have from her. The dish too, we went and searched for the right one…” Fingers of your free hand form quotation marks as you roll your eyes with a laugh, remembering her ridiculous insistence on it and the day of estate sales and thrift stores.  

It’s silent as the unsaid ending washes over you both, the importance - the weight - of the dessert and the story. The immediate need to take it all back rises up in you hard, wishing you could put the entire thing back inside yourself and rewind the last few minutes. The vulnerability leaves you cracked open and exposed to him and you’re not sure you can handle his reaction. 

“I’m sorry,” your brows furrow, “I don’t know why I just…”

Steve’s fingers wrap around yours tighter and he squeezes. Your eyes meet the moss and honey you want to avoid because you’re sure they’re looking at you with that look. The pitying one, the one that everyone gets before they tell you a sorry that doesn’t help. 

But Steve’s eyes shine with something stronger - admiration and amusement as he winces, “So, see, that story tells me that your mom practiced and practiced to make a perfect pie not you and-”

Your hand smacks at his chest lightheartedly, laughing around a protest. Steve holds his hands up in surrender, “Hey, hey, okay!” 

Both of your laughter subsides and he smiles, a genuine smile, one side of his lips twisted up as he looks at the pie then you. “I’m sure it’s great. I’m excited to try it. Thank you for telling me that…I wish I could have met…”

As he trails off, your fingers brush against his on the counter, your bodies shift closer, letting the story and laughter pull you into each other’s gravity once more. Maybe it doesn’t have to be hard - there’s a reason you can fall so easily back into each other. A reason you can offer up a story you normally keep close if he’s the one listening, a reason you can forgive. There has to be a reason your body wants to be closer to his, a reason you want to feel his lips on yours again. Maybe there are cosmic connections, unexplainable phenomena of the universe, fate and destiny and invisible strings. 

Hope flourishes inside of you, it catches on every bounce of his eyes over your face, the way his finger nudges against yours just like they did in that car ride to a lake so many weeks ago. It sparks and drifts into the air, it floats around you like embers from an actual fire as he breathes your name out and your body takes one step closer, making you chest to chest. One easy tilt of your head, one bend from his and maybe it’d all be okay again.  

The doorbell rings, making both of you jump apart. The reality of the situation hits you, like someone dumped an entire bucket of water over the hope as Steve looks toward the door and frowns. You keep letting yourself end up in this position and eventually it’s going to hurt so much you’ll never be able to come back from it. 

You’re not his, he’s not yours, and it’s too late. Another girl calls him baby, he calls her honey, and they go on and have the life you were certain you never wanted - all because you can’t let him in the way he wanted you to. This isn’t a movie, there is no rewind, there is no pause, and it’s time to move on. 

“I’ll go get that, you have cheese to…uh…” 

“Y/N, wait-”

You’re already out of the kitchen, speed walking to the front door. Dreading the girl you’re certain is on the other side, you start to pull your shoes back on. Maybe you could slip out with an excuse and leave. Your destiny isn’t Steve, it’s to always run, to always be alone. 

The door swings open and you look up from your crouched position, one shoe on. Eddie is standing in the doorway, holding a bag of Hawaiian Rolls and looking at you, eyebrows raised in wait.  

He holds open the door and gestures outside as he asks, “Should I leave this open?”

Your stomach swoops, thinking of the chance he’s giving you, the opportunity to do what you want, no questions asked. But your heartbeat thuds loudly in your ears at the opposite side of the coin - the other chance he’s giving you. 

A deep breath is exhaled as you shakily ask, “That depends…are you still knocking?”

Eddie shrugs. “Maybe. Only one way to really find out right?”

Nodding once, you stand. A limped step over to the door with one shoe on, and you close it. Your palm rests flat against the wood as you take another calming breath. The sounds of the others in the kitchen are muffled as you turn around and look up at Eddie. You kick off the shoe, take a step forward, and mime opening a door.

Letting a tear slip past your lash line, you shrug, standing in the metaphorical open doorway and hold your breath. 

He smiles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Thank god, my arm was getting really tired.”

Another watery laugh starts to escape you and you wrap your arms around him in a hug. “I’m sorry. For everything, for dragging you into all of this and for leading you on and…and…”

He extends his fingers, counting his points as he sighs, “You forgot for being stubborn, for not asking me to be the Inigo to your Buttercup, for-”

“I’m sorry.” You force every ounce of meaning behind the words as you squeeze his waist tighter and he finally meets your hug, long arms wrapping around you. 

“We’re all good sweetheart, don’t sweat it.” He pats your shoulder and takes a step back, cocking his head, “But that’s not all…” he taps his finger to your forehead, “What else is going on up there? Why were you leaving?”

“Y/N, please don’t…” Steve trails off as he comes into the entryway. You duck your head and sniff quietly, hoping there’s no evidence of your tears that escaped and break away as Steve clears his throat. “So-sorry. I thought you were…nevermind.”

Steve turns quickly on his heel, back towards the kitchen where the sounds of Robin and Nancy arguing about something echo louder down the hall. Eddie sighs, rolling his eyes at Steve’s back, and gestures for you to go before him, quietly whispering, “We’ll chat later about that.”

“Why does it smell like that? What did you put in it?” Nancy is bent down, looking at the dish you placed in the oven. Her hair is damp, curls weighed down against her cheeks, but her sleek outfit is back on, sans coat, sleeves rolled up. 

Robin’s hair has a towel twirled on top of it, though she’s otherwise back in her jeans and sweater, her hands on her hips. “I don’t know! I did exactly what you said!”

“What’s going on?” Eddie asks, tossing the bread onto the counter. 

“You don’t smell that?” Nancy shakes her head, hand held out to the air in exasperation. 

Steve’s back is to you as he dumps cooked noodles into his pot of melted cheese and Eddie shakes his head no. Your nose starts to wrinkle though the longer you sit in the space. 

Your hands raise, “I swear I just put the marshmallows on.”

It takes Nancy gagging on a bite she tries to eat of the casserole and Steve going through his spices next to his pot to realize Robin used paprika instead of cinnamon. A lot of paprika. 

She throws her hands up in the air as she storms out to the deck, where you’ve all decided it’d be better to eat, bundled up from the cold, than inside trapped with the smell. “You know what, I never asked to cook anything so eat you’ll eat your paprika sweet potatoes and like it!”

As everyone sits at the table, Eddie looks around and asks, “Shouldn’t we wait for one more?”

“What?” Steve asks him, tone a little sharp, sitting down in the seat across from you.

“Your fiance? Isn’t she coming?” Eddie prods, meeting Steve’s cold attitude with an equal sting and rolled back shoulders. 

“I’m sure she was earlier,” Robin mumbles into her wine glass, “Ow.” She glares at Steve who kicks her under the table. 

Nancy rolls her eyes as Steve shakes his head no, clearing his throat, “She’s…we haven’t…she’s with her family already.”

Robin sighs from her spot next to you and your eyes meet Steve’s before jumping down to your plate. The pressure around your heart squeezes even tighter - maybe it was only easy with him because she’s not here, and that is not always going to be the case. Your fingers itch, neck rolling from the tension. You want to get up and walk away, but Eddie’s knee nudges yours and your shoulders relax slightly. 

Nancy raises her glass, changing the subject, “Okay, before we dig in, I want to say that I’m very grateful for you all, and here’s to many more years of Friendsgiving.” She smiles at Robin when she uses the name. 

Robin beams, holding her glass up too, “Here, here! Now everyone take two scoops of the potatoes.”

Glasses clink and laughter shared, it's easy for you to believe Nancy. Easy with Steve smiling across from you and Eddie and Robin bickering about the food next to you, with her not there, to believe that you’ll be a part of their stories. Maybe - 

“So, Dingus, it’s time to spill all the details about Leigh.” Robin leans forward on the table, her eyebrows raised as Steve’s glass pauses halfway to his mouth. “We don’t know anything and you’re getting married in like five months.”

Nancy and Eddie’s bites and glasses also freeze, not so discreet looks at you from both of them. Nancy finishes swallowing and shakes her head, “Robin, we know enough! Let Steve-”

“No we don’t! I don’t know how you met, or if she’s moved in, and how he proposed and why on earth he didn’t tell his best friend! I have him cornered finally and you’re all gonna help me. Don’t act like you guys don’t want to know either!”

“Robin,” Steve starts licking his lips as he looks at her then you, “Can we not do this right now?”

“Time’s up bub,” Robin frowns, shaking her head, “I promise we like her, she’s cool. But you’ve been dodging the questions and me for weeks now. Start with the easy one, how’d you meet?”

Steve looks at you like he’s in physical pain and you look down at the liquid in your wine glass, swirling the red wine around as you wait for the story that is sure to kill you. You wish he’d just rip the band-aid off, get it over with.  

“We, uh, met through my parents.” Steve swallows a large gulp of wine. 

Your head whips up at the comment and Steve stares at you, frowning before he looks up at the sky. 

Robin’s brows furrow as she asks, “Your parents?” Equally shocked as you are. It isn’t a secret that Steve and his parents aren’t always on the same page. 

Steve rubs at his forehead, closing his eyes before he sets the wine glass down. He straightens, rolling his shoulders back, “Okay, it’s all going to come out anyways so…our parents set us up. It’s been arranged for awhile, we didn’t really date or anything, we’re getting married because that’s what we do. She’s from a good family and I’m from a good family, it makes sense. For business and life and…that’s it.”

The table is silent as Steve’s lips twist, waiting for someone to say something.

Your heartbeat isn’t loud in your ears, your stomach doesn’t swoop - it’s like all noise has left the planet. It’s like someone actually hit pause as his explanation and the last few months catch up with each other in your brain until they meet in a loud explosion. It’s an actual glass shattering sound effect. Heartbreak and hope and disbelief and anger swell inside of you like a wave ready to devour anyone who was stupid enough to enter the unpredictable ocean. 

It’s surprising to everyone, including yourself, when you’re the one to break the silence. The question leaves you so quietly, you weren’t even certain you asked it out loud until he looked at you. 

“So you’re not in love with her?”

As Steve stares at you, the table floats away, it’s just you and him. His mouth parts, but no response falls from it. You stand abruptly, chair scraping against the wood deck harshly as you push back, muttering something about needing to put the dessert into the oven. Your stomach that’s been twisted into knots for months feels like someone pulled one loose thread and it’s unraveling inside of you. A box of bouncy balls released, an unpredictable canon of confetti, trapeze artists, butterflies, boulders, and a deep ocean swallowing you. All of it, finally coming together and creating catastrophe. 

It’s like every single moment you’ve been angry with him is turned up to eleven, but so is every look and touch. Every single one feels like a lie, a slap to your face - he was just using you because he was indecisive, scared, afraid to give up his single life. Steve Harrington was just like every other man. Your entire last few months swirl around inside your brain, replaying every moment, every emotion like a favorite movie. But it’s like someone took that film and told you every single thing wrong with it. Like they pointed out how everything you loved was just covering up the real and horrible plot - bright lights and pretty sets to convince everyone they had a good time, when in reality it was cheaply made and not worth it. 

Your hands shake as you start to rip at the foil covering the pie, and his voice calls out behind you, “Please let me answer that question. Please let me explain.”

A scoff leaves you, eyes closing as you bite back, “It’s fine Steve. Clearly I was just some placeholder for you the whole time.”

“Placeholder?”

You spin, hands in the air as you search for words to make him see how much this hurts you. “Yeah, yes. Some, I don’t know. Last hurrah!”

“What?” The word comes out sharp, like he truly doesn’t understand what you’re saying. His cheeks are pink, his hair blown from the wind outside, eyes wide and blinking at you like you’re crazy.

“You heard me! I was just some fun fuck before you sealed the deal on your spoiled brat fate.”

Steve’s mouth falls open, then quickly closes, taking a step closer, hands clenched into fists as his brows furrow. His jaw tightens with each word, “I’m not a spoiled brat!”

Another scoff, a cold laugh as you wave your hand again. “Oh please Steve! You used me to bide your time and prolong the inevitable! You were just avoiding looking at the contract you signed!”

Steve stands over you, both of your chests rising and falling in time, the air inside the kitchen warmer from the oven being on all day and your words shouted at each other - the sparks leaping from your bodies and engulfing each other. 

“I didn’t use you! You offered! It was all your idea! I’m so sick of this-”

You shove at his chest and he grabs your wrists, as you mock him, voice dripping with fake pity, “Oh, poor Steve Harrington. I have to get married and say goodbye to my single life, but let me use this girl-”

“This isn’t about me, I have to make decisions that affect my whole family, I can’t just say no! And what was I supposed to do? The person I want doesn’t want me!” HIs voice cracks as he drops your hands, fire cracking and sizzling between you both. His admission, the chance to tell him he’s wrong, that you do want him, makes your heart beat turn rapid, like it’s actually trying to punch its way out of your body. 

You shake your head, pushing down the flames of hope threatening to burn you alive, pushing him away. “You saw an opportunity to postpone but not fully deny. It’s fine Steve, I get it. It was the safe option.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Grabbing the pie, you sob, “Security. Money. You couldn’t say no to them. And then when I offered to fuck you no strings attached? Man,” you scoff out another laugh around your tears, “You probably thought you won the lottery, huh?”

Steve grabs for the pie, his eyes wet as he shakes his head. Voice hoarse as he argues, “You’re so unbelievably wrong. I couldn’t fucking wait for you to maybe, hopefully, open up one day! I have to move on! And it’s not like she’s a bad person, and I don’t know why we’re arguing about this again, because clearly you’re with Eddie.”

You tug harder on the dish but Steve doesn’t release as you cry out, “Oh! No! Don’t even try that! Eddie and I aren’t together and we never were! You’re using that as an excuse! Tell me Steve. Tell me you love her, that you want to marry her.”

“I-”

“Is that what your future looks like? Huh? Ten years down the road, it’s her? That’s what you imagined and not your parents?”

“Y/N, it’s not that simple!”

“It is! What do you want, Steve?”

You need him to tell you and he needs you to tell him and neither of you will - because you’re scared, stubborn. Two suns burning too hot and close together, and it was inevitable for it to end this way. You both stood on the edge of that cliff and saw the end you’d meet and you jumped anyway. Was it worth it? 

“I can’t believe you two.” 

This is the moment. 

It wasn’t when he showed up at the football game with her. It wasn’t the party. It wasn’t the engagement.

It’s the look Robin is giving you both from her spot in the doorway. It’s the pie and the glass dish hitting the floor in shards of sapphire blue and orange peaches. It’s Steve and you both turning to her, shaking your heads no, saying her name in the same pleading way.

Her bright blue eyes turn to glass as she chokes around a tearful laugh, “I knew, I knew you both were hiding something, I just…why? Why couldn’t you just tell me?”

Nancy reaches for Robin’s wrist, “Robin, they didn’t mean to…”

Robin recoils, swiping at her cheeks. She looks at Nancy, then at Steve whose head falls, his hands in his hair. Eddie looks down too when Robin turns to him and she steps back again. “Everyone knew, huh? You all have been lying to me this entire time? Why? I don’t…” She shakes her head again and runs past you both, down the hall and slams the door. 

Steve starts to go after her when a small frame stands in front of him like she’s twice his size, hand pressing to his chest. Fury burns in Nancy’s eyes as she blocks the hallway. Her voice low and far more angry than you’ve heard it be before. “I think you’ve done enough.”

“Nance, come on, that’s not fair,” Steve steps forward again and when she stops him with two hands now, his voice turns sharper, “Don’t act like you’re the only one who cares about her.”

“Yeah, well you’ve got a funny way of showing it Steve.” Nancy looks at you, “I think you should leave. All of you.”

Eddie grabs your elbow, speaking quietly, “I can drive you home.”

Steve laughs, “Oh, I’m sure you can.”

“Steve,” you start and he interrupts you, hands running down his face. 

“No. It’s fine. It’s all my fault right? I’m the only one in the wrong?” He pushes past you, shoulder hitting Eddie’s hard and the door slamming even more so behind him. Pictures rattle against the wall, Nancy and her family's smiling faces tilted in their frame. The world turned off its axis. 

It’s Nancy’s quiet knock from down the hall, Robin’s shouted ‘leave her alone’ and Eddie’s sigh of ‘fucking, christ’. It’s that there you stand, the door closed behind him, the mess you made, literally, surrounding you. 

This, the consequences of all of your actions - is the double tap. 

You let the mess build, you let the avoided truths take deeper roots and spread lies to cover them up. All because you wanted the hope to stay - you wanted it both ways - despite telling yourself different, despite lying to yourself for months.

Now, it’s too late. You’re just a girl who isn’t in a rom com with a happy ending. You’re alone, and the hope that maybe you wouldn’t be for once isn’t just gone, it’s ripped from your fingers. 

The book is closed. The knife drips in the killer’s hand as the victim’s chest stops heaving. The spacesuit floats through a noiseless and lifeless galaxy. The body doesn’t get up from the mats and a silence falls over the crowd. 

“Fuck!”

Your hands smack the steering wheel, a sob leaving you as your forehead falls against it. 

You’ve been driving around for hours, hopeless. Your heart hasn’t stopped its erratic and hard beats since you ran out of Nancy’s. Somehow your body still courses with adrenaline, fight or flight still at war inside of yourself. Every time you think about the look Robin had on her face, every time you think about how much you hurt her, or how you may not see her again, you feel real, visceral, pain and panic. Your hands start shaking, the crying starts its cycle over from scratch, and you have to pull over until the snot sobbing stage settles into a calm, sort of silent cry. 

This is a mess, and it’s your mess. Despite wanting to put all of the blame on Steve, you simply can’t run from this truth anymore. It was you who came up with the plan. Steve was hesitant immediately, bringing Robin’s thoughts up right away. It was you who came up with the Red Hot Ranch code, who kept going. It was you who called it off and started it up again despite knowing how it would all inevitably end. It feels like you pushed Steve off the cliff and thought it was okay because you were diving after him. 

As you stare out the windshield, you know you have to stop running. Eddie’s words ring through the air.

Open the fucking door. Nobody’s leaving you.

You have to at least try, right? You have to apologize to her, to tell her it was all your fault so if she at least doesn’t forgive you, maybe you can offer a crack in the door to her forgiveness for the others. The others who simply got caught up in your lies, tripping over the tangled knot of roots they took.  

You’re certain Robin and you met how and when you did not by chance, the universe gave you each other for a reason. You’re certain that there are soul mates, they’re just not in the form you always suspect. And you’re certain that if you don’t try to make things right, you’ll be miserable and truly alone for the rest of your life.

Robin once told you that she was there, and that she would be there when you were ready and you hope the offer still stands. Maybe you can’t make everything right, you can’t rewind, but you have to at least try to make the ending bearable. 

When you turn the key in the ignition though, your car sputters. Your face twists into an expression of disbelief, only deepening when it does it again and your mouth falls open in shock when it suddenly starts to rain, mixing with snow that melts immediately on the ground. You laugh, looking out the windshield at the bleak and miserable sky, washing out the city in a dull gray. 

“Of fucking course,” you mumble under your breath. Getting out of the car, you sigh as you lock it. You shield your eyes as you stare up at the sky and laugh, “You’re real funny. Great joke.”

Maybe it was a sign from the universe that you needed to really work for it, maybe it was bad karma, maybe you really deserved it, maybe it was even supposed to be a blessing - washing away the past to clear the slate for the future. 

Regardless of reason, you don’t take the train, and you make the slow and wet walk back to where you came from. 

The buzzer for her place rings with no answer. You know that she’s home because the light is on, and you intercepted her take out. 

“Buckley I’ll keep buzzing, your egg rolls are getting cold!”

When she doesn’t answer again, you sigh, pressing your wet forehead to the cold brick and hold it down again, pulling out the big guns. “Okay, Robin, I, listen. I am so sorry. And if you want to hate me and never see me again, that’s totally fine, I understand. Because honestly, I am…I am scum for lying to you. I am pond scum. I’m lower than pond scum. I am the fungus that feeds on the pond scum.”

You release the buzzer and when there still isn’t a click of her responding your chin trembles. Maybe you really did fuck it up that badly and there is no coming back from this. It was silly of you to think she’d ever forgive you, especially when she has Steve. You’re about to set the food down and buzz again to tell her you’ll leave when the front door opens. 

“You’re lower actually.” 

A sob leaves you as Robin stands in the doorway, arms crossed over her favorite Hawkins Band sweatshirt. The fuzzy lime green socks with banjos on them that you got her for her birthday on her feet.  

You nod, swiping at your tears with a free hand. “You’re right. Lower than the fungus. I’m the pus that infects the mucus that cruds up the fungus that feeds on the pond scum.”

Robin’s lips twitch, but she rolls her eyes before they look at the ground. “Quoting Julia Roberts is really unfair. You know how much of a sucker I am for her. Cheap shot.”

A crack in the tightness in your chest starts to pry open as you whisper, “I almost bought roses and had this plan to blare classical music from my car but it broke down and…well, here I am anyways, asking for forgiveness and a chance to explain.”

She raises her eyebrows, waiting, and your chin trembles as your voice shakes, “Robin I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to lie to you about it all for so long. And there were so many times I wanted to tell you. I was selfish and wrong and scared I would lose you - that you’d pick his side and shut me out - but I’m here trying now…please don’t hate me forever. And don’t hate Steve. He did nothing wrong. Or Nancy, or Eddie. It was all me and I’m so, so, so, sorry, please let me explain everything and give me another chance to be even half the amazing friend that you are.”

It’s silent, for what feels like forever, until her eyes meet yours. Shining from tears and her nose wiggles as she sniffles, “You were going to Pretty Woman me?”

You nod, tears roll down your cheeks and mingle with the rain that coats them. 

Robin sighs, choking on her own tears as she laughs, “You just get me.”

She engulfs you in a hug and both of you cry into each other’s shoulders as she says, “I’m still mad you all lied. You’re not off the hook. I think giving me limitless veto power for movie nights is extremely fair and nonnegotiable.” 

Your body feels lighter than it has in months as your arm tightens around her as you agree with a teary laugh, whispering another apology while silently vowing to never let her go. It doesn’t matter what happens next, because at least you have her, and you know you always will. 

Robin trips on a heel as she emerges from her closet. Tilting your head at the dress she holds up, your nose scrunches as you shake your head no. 

She sighs, throwing it on the no pile and groans, “Ugh! This is hopeless!”

As she flops onto her bed with a huff, you laugh and swap places with her, “No, no, come on. Tell me again.”

Robin sits up, staring at her dresser with a furrow forming under her bangs. “I want to look professional, put together, but not like it’s an interview, you know? I want them to take me seriously, but I want to look like me. Ergo, I am doomed.”

Your fingers trail over her clothes, eyes searching again after they roll. “Ergo, you’ve been facetiming Dustin too much.”

A black dress catches your eyes, velvet and cinched at the waist. Pulling it from her closet you hold it up. “What about this? I’ve never seen you wear it. Is it new?”

Her head tilts, “Huh. I forgot I bought that for…” she trails off and looks at you with a sad smile. “Right. Yeah, you don’t think it’s too low cut?”

You shake your head no, taking a deep breath at her change of subject, thoughts drifting to if she bought it for the wedding or something related to it. Maybe you could ask, but you’ve sort of had a non-verbal agreement to not discuss Steve the last month and it’s been working. After explaining everything to her, including how you felt about him getting married, your complicated feelings, it just felt easier to not discuss anything relating to him. 

“Throw a nice necklace on, you’ll be perfect babe,” you make an a-okay symbol with your fingers, “The Wheeler’s aren’t gonna know what hit em.” You smile and look at the clock on her nightstand, handing the dress out to her, “Get to it though, or you’ll be late.”

Robin makes no move to get up, holding the dress in her hands and staring at it. 

She shakes her head no. “I can’t do this.”

Sitting next to her, the bed bounces lightly and you grab her hand. “You absolutely can do this. It’s just meeting the parents and siblings, all of whom you’ve met already.”

“But not as her girlfriend. When I met them she wasn’t even out. What if they hate me? What if I spill something? What if I order the wrong wine?”

Laughing, you hold her panicking face in your hands, taking a deep breath to encourage her to do so too. “Robin. Breathe.”

She does, her exhale shaky and you smile, head tilting as you let her face go, fixing a curl you smooshed. “You really love her don’t you.”

It’s not a question, but Robin answers anyway. She nods vehemently, words tumbling out of her like she can’t help it. “God so much it’s scary. But also not? I want to spend every second with her. I want to tell her about every dumb little thought that pops into my head and I want to hear what she ate for lunch every day. I want to wake up and fall asleep next to her and that’s insane! How can you love a person like that so quickly? Like everything in your body is screaming for it? It’s…it’s that kind of love I’ve only heard about before? That kind of love…” she trails off, maroon polished fingers covering her smile before she keeps going, “It’s easier than breathing. It is breathing, you know?”

As she says the words that prick at something inside of you, prodding on thoughts you’d locked away, her skin pales, looking like she’s going to be sick. “Oh my god I really can’t do this. I can’t-”

“Robin. One step at a time. Change your outfit, you can do that right?”

She laughs, head falling to your shoulder, a sing-song lilt to her voice, “We’ve been here before.”

“Yeah and look at what happened.”

Robin sits up, biting her lip, nodding once and standing. “Right.”

As she changes, you assess her jewelry box. Your eyes roam over the mirror of her vanity, smiling at the pictures. You pause at the one of her and Steve that’s new to you. He has his tongue out, her arm around him and your fingers touch the corner, an ache in your chest wondering what they were doing and what stories they’ll have from the day. 

“Have you talked to him?”

Her question startles you and your shoulders lift. Clearing your throat, you hold the necklace out to her. “No, um, I haven’t. He’s good?”

Robin starts to hook the necklace as she hums, “I think so. It’s hard to tell some days.” She hesitates, her face pinched into a familiar look to you, the one that looks like she’s physically holding words in, a true test for her. She bends down to buckle her heels as she asks, “Is it always going to be this way? Avoiding talking about each other? Seeing each other?”

“No, I don’t think so. I just need some time. I’ll be okay.” Shrugging with a smile, you grab your purse and coat. 

Robin’s blue eyes sparkle under shimmering gold eyeshadow and she tilts her head, a smile forming on her lips as she nods, confident in her words, “You will be. One step at a time.”

“Cute,” you muse, and take a step back. You twirl your fingers for her to spin and she rolls her eyes but obliges. The black velvet dress cuts off at her calves, hugging her curves in a sexy but modest way and the gold pendant on her necklace matches the blocky old-fashioned heels. You yell out, “Ow-ow!” 

Robin laughs, waving you off and grabs her phone. “Okay picture!”

“Ew, Robin no! You look so good and I am literally in my sweatshirt with the mustard stain on it.” 

She shushes you, “Tough tater tots toots.”

She pulls you in as you laugh, both of you easily falling into a goofy pose as she snaps a selfie. She nods her approval and grabs her coat, “Oh yeah, that one’s definitely going on the board.” She clicks her phone closed and you both head towards the stairwell. 

As you step out of her apartment building, Nancy is getting out of an Uber, an emerald peacoat wrapped around her and she stops, eyes only on Robin. 

“Hi,” she whispers, smiling, “Wow. You’re so beautiful.”

Robin’s face turns as red as her nails and you duck your head. “Well, I think that’s my cue to leave. Have a good night,” you squeeze Nancy’s hand, “Tell your brother and El hey from me?”

She squeezes it back, confirming she will, and holds the door open for Robin, then jogs around to the other side and you have to smile at her lack of wanting to scoot across the seat or maybe it’s just her old fashioned, secret romantic side coming out. 

As you start to walk away, you hear your name and spin back around, Robin is leaning out of the window, smiling wide as she asks, “Benny’s tomorrow? 10?”

“I expect a full report!” You cross your arms over your chest, fore and middle fingers crossed in a good luck to her that she mirrors as the car drives away. 

The walk to the train from there is short, your car still out of commission, and you pop your airpods in, debating how your evening will go. Eddie is already home for Christmas with his uncle in Indiana, Robin and Nancy together tonight, and Steve…

Before them, an evening alone like this never would have bothered you. Eating what you wanted to eat, watching what you wanted to watch - you got good at being alone, enjoying it actually. Now, there’s a funny little feeling that pulls at a thread inside of you, trying to unravel the work you’ve done. 

As you wait for the train, pulling your winter hat tighter over your ears, you watch a couple come up the stairs. They have shopping bags in their hands, dressed in warm, wool coats. Giggly, pink cheeks, gloved hands clinging to each other. They sit just down from where you stand against the railing when you get on, huddled together as they look at a map on his phone, and you wonder what their story is - where they were, where they’re going, and if they love each other. It seems like they do, and you wonder if it’s the kind of love Robin explained.

How can anyone love like that aside from fictional people in the movies? How can you love someone so deeply and intensely, without fear of it being ripped away?

But maybe people do fear it being ripped away, and they love regardless. Fear doesn’t make love disappear, it makes it stronger. Because what if that person is gone one day? What if you never told them how you felt? What if you never even got the chance to see if you could love like that? Isn’t it better to try than never know?

As you look out the train doors, the sky is turning a soft pink and purple. The sun is setting over the city in one of those perfect nights, slow, like each color being revealed is a purposeful brushstroke, hand painted. A sign. 

Sunsets. Steve. A good song. Steve. Your friends. Steve. Your family. Steve. 

Easier than breathing. 

An undeniable, unavoidable, unforgiving wave of heartbreak rolls over you. But it’s not alone, it’s hope, it’s questions and answers, it’s relief and clarity and you know what you have to do. 

You unlock your phone, a desperation and need to get all of it out now, fueling each press of your thumbs to the screen. Maybe the story is wrong, but you’re the main character, narrator, and author and you can change it if you just put in the work to do so. Tears begin to fall down your cheeks, and you let them, unashamed, finally free of the place you’ve kept them locked away. Pressing send on the message, you hold your breath, hoping she’s not already too preoccupied with Nancy. 

The train doors open and you rush down the stairs. Each step slams against the sidewalk, sending shocks up your spine, cold air filling your lungs as each stride brings you closer to him, but not fast enough. You have to try to change the story, you have to tell him.  

But when his location is just out of your reach, when you see him, you slow down. 

Steve stands beneath the gold twinkling lightbulbs of the old brick theater, the white marquee sign displaying the title ‘When Harry Met Sally’. He has a black beanie on, hair sticking out and curling slightly. A dark gray peacoat flutters against the back of his thighs in the wind, open to reveal the yellow sweater he has on and your feet come to a skidding stop. His phone is pressed to his ear as he looks up from where he was scuffing his Nike against the sidewalk and makes eye contact with you. 

Your heart beat has thoroughly been replaced again as your hands start to shake, each slow step to him stretched out and lingering, lasting for what feels like minutes instead of seconds. 

What if. What if. What if.

The phone slips, hand falling to his side. His brows furrow just under his hat and you want to reach forward and brush the worry away with your thumb. His greeting leaves him quietly, a puff of his breath and the word floating in the air just a few feet from you.

 “Hi.”

Gesturing with a trembling hand to the sign above that you can no longer see, fully under the gold lights, you blurt out, “Did you know that it came out in 89’? So technically it’s a bad 80s rom com. I was wrong.”

Steve shakes his head, the twinkle of the lights highlighting the brown in his eyes, warm and sweet and deeply confused as he starts, “What are you-”

“I was wrong about a lot of things, Steve. And I know I’m late in saying that. I know I’m late for a lot more, but I think it’s better to say it late, to say it now, than to never tell you and wonder for the rest of my life.”

Steve’s lips part, your name a whisper on them, but you take a deep inhale and prepare to get it all out fast and without fear of needing a breath akin to the way Robin speaks, just so you can leave yourself open and vulnerable despite knowing that it could, and most likely will, hurt. 

“I’m sorry if Leigh is inside or she’s gonna be here soon, but I have to tell you. I…Steve I’m sorry. I wanted to be friends with benefits because I was selfish. You were right. I wanted it both ways. At first, you were just this guy who was hot and funny and knew what he was doing and I didn’t want to lose that. But then, then I got to know you and that’s when it got complicated, because I really didn’t want to lose you then.” You swallow as Steve freezes in front of you, no longer stepping towards you and his shoulders hunch like he’s holding his breath as you keep going.

“I wanted you, but I was scared to commit, scared that if I did commit, I’d lose you all anyways. And I still am scared. Terrified,” you laugh a little as tears start to roll down your cheeks, “But I think being scared is worth it if I’m doing it with you. Because…” Inhaling, you take a step closer as Steve blinks at you, willing the words to keep coming.

“Because I think we could be something special if we gave it a real chance. And I think that we can’t know what’s going to happen, maybe it all blows up in our faces, but at least we tried and we’ll know and we won’t spend our lives wondering what if.” Tears blur your vision as you leave it all out there, words that feel like they’ve wanted to tumble out of you forever just keep coming, faster and faster, your hands gesturing wildly with each one, stepping closer and closer to him.

“And I want to try so badly Steve. I want to hold your hand in public and go on dates and tease you and make memories with you and I think we could fall in love, I think I was already starting to. Like real love. Like that undeniable, scary, kind of love, and I’m sorry you’ll have to wait for me to get there to say it, but if you give it a chance…I think we’re worth the wait. I don’t care that I’m saying all of this too late, I don’t care that you’re getting married because at least I said it and if you wanna stand up there and say I do to her in May then that’s fine, I can move on, maybe, I think, because at least I’ll know I tried and-”

“Woah, woah, woah.” 

Steve grabs your shaking hands, interrupting you. Cedar and mint hit your nose as you inhale, his cologne lingering on his scarf. His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. One hand leaves yours, fingers curling under your chin as he murmurs, “I’m not getting married.”

“You’re…” you hiccup a laugh through your tears, “What?”

He tilts his head and clears his throat, repeating it as his thumb brushes a tear from your cheek, fingers squeezing your hand. “I’m not getting married.”

“You’re not getting married,” you repeat it again, quieter, letting the words sink in. 

Steve shakes his head no, the back of his knuckles brushing more tears from your cheek as he lets out a shaky breath. “I called it off the day after…after everything.”

“Oh,” you swallow, eyes blinking up at him under wet lashes as the reality of the extremely vulnerable words you practically just shouted at him sit unreciprocated still, unable to be taken back. 

Steve’s lips twitch on the right, like he’s fighting a smile, eyebrows furrowed deeper as he sighs, “Yeah. Quit my job too.”

“What? Steve, why, what-”

His fingers trace your jaw as he shakes his head again, rolling his eyes but the smile fighting on his lips wins. “This girl that drives me crazy basically quoted The Notebook scene at me and I decided I’d rather have the life I wanted, have her, or have nothing at all. But I didn’t think she felt the same way, and I wasn’t going to push her again.”

You smile, a laugh bubbling out of you as you shake your head, “You’re crazy about me?”

Steve laughs, his hat bumping yours as your foreheads touch. You drop his hand, both of yours pressing to the soft yellow material against his chest. His breath warm against your cheek as you ask, “So what happens now?”

He pulls away, forehead leaving yours and creating a small space between the two of you, you already want closed again. The lights make the green almost disappear from his eyes, golden, sunshine pulling you in and making you beg for more of it to light you up, a tether, your gravity, just like they’ve always been. 

Steve clears his throat, hands reaching up to cup your cheeks, thumbs brushing over the apples of them as he declares, “Well, rule number one, we tell Robin.”

“Deal,” you tilt your head, playing his game. Your hands slowly crawl up his chest, wrapping around his neck, playing with the collar of the coat as you throw out, “Pet names?”

Steve nods dramatically, pinching his eyes closed, “Oh yeah. So many.” He leans in, nose tracing up the line of yours slowly, foreheads knocking together as the tips of your shoes meet. “I’m gonna call you babe and honey loudly at the grocery store for no reason other than I can.”

“Yeah?” Your top lip hits his with the lift of your smile and question.

He nods. “Yeah.”

Steve’s hands cup the back of your head, tilting you open for him as he ducks down, mouth hovering above yours as he speaks like you’re the only two people in the world. 

“But right now? Right now I’m gonna kiss you.”

“Which bad 90s rom com you steal that one out of, Harrington?” You whisper against his lips. 

Steve smiles, gaze tracing the curve of your lips then meeting yours as he takes a deep breath. 

“You liked it.” 

And maybe the marquee lights twinkle above you a little brighter as you finally meet in a kiss. Maybe snowflakes start drifting down from the clouds lazily, covering everything in a fresh start right at the moment his hands wrap around your waist and pull you impossibly closer, your back arching from the passion of his kiss. Maybe a terrible top forty song blares out of someone’s car as it drives past, your foot popping off the pavement a little when he pulls away for a breath only to lean and kiss you deeper and slower. 

The universe can’t guarantee anything for you and Steve, but it is giving you a chance. There is nothing, not even love, that can keep away the inevitable struggle, heartbreak, or loss life will be sure to throw at you. Which is scary, but doing it together, his hand in yours, makes it less so. Yes, it won’t always be easy, but the hard work you’ll both put in when it isn’t, means it’s real. There is no one other than yourselves who can decide if your relationship could be like the movies. The two of you are the only ones that can calculate if there’s still time for a happy ending in your story. Only Steve and you can be certain that the fear of heartbreak or pain is worth taking the risk, because if you don’t, if you let the chance slip away, you’ll never know if one day you could have called it love. 

WCIL Taglist: @loveshotzz @myobmaya @sweetsweetjellybean @pastel-pillows @littlesubbyflower @johnricharddeacy @freezaz123 @selfdeprecatingnerd @big-ope-vibes @manda-panda-monium @hellkaisersangel @yogizzz @soulmatecashton @happytimeunicorns @mandyjo8719 @lunarxeclipse @buckleylips @beckkthewreck @differentdeputyfishpaper @supardupar @micheledawn1975 @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint @sagelittleplace @totally-bogus-timelady @steves-babysitter @fallinginlovewithqueue @aftermidnightwriting @omgshesinsane @pootcullen @definitionwanderlust @nostalgiafool @palmtreesx3 @scoopshxrrington @live-the-fangirl-life @eddiesguitarskills @mannstarkey @keepingitlokiii @silkholland @redbarn1995

#we'll call it love #modern!steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington series #steve harrinton fic #stranger things fanfic

[arcanarix]

accidentally seeing toji in all of his glory // toji x afab!reader

sometimes, it's hard to believe it. you're dating the man of your dreams. something a long time ago, believed only occurs in fairy tales because relationships never work out the way you want them to litrally ever. and you're no special case in that regard. either past partners cheat, lie, behave erractically and/or have visceral reactions to otherwise what may have been settled with ample communication, or something else that doesn't align with your values.

until you meet toji, you're tired of it. you swear yourself off the dating scene--dating apps, dating forums, dating sites, going to bars, going to clubs, blind dates set up by friends or family. you stop cold turky. but toji? toji changes your mind. and you're the stubborn hyper-independent type.

stopping at his doorstep, you take a minute to breathe. this is a big big step for you, going to his house for a night in. you're not even sure where it's going or if he'll make any advances (which you will happily welcome because god is he sexy as fuck), but you're taking the leap here.

and that leap of faith is through ringing that raggedy ass doorbell.

and he answers, clad in a towel and damp hair, clicking to his forehead and the sides and back of nis neck. even some water is still all over his chest, and it looks like steam's coming out of his restroom that's definitely close by. you're not that discreet when you swallow, your mouth void of moisture all of a sudden. and he definitely picks up on it and doesn't comment to spare you any embarrassment.

"early," he comments, before stepping aside to let you inside. "i'm sorry for not being ready."

"that's nothing to apologize for!" you assure him. wow you actually find words while stuck in your stupor. still a little dazed, you amble inside and put your things by the hallway console table. from the mirror you see toji adjusting his towel and your hands fly up to your mouth to conceal a gasp when you see just a little glimpse of his--

--"you weren't ready to see this much of me?" toji inquires with light amusement in his tone.

"oh stop teasing me, it's been a while for me. but for what it's worth, hot damn."

toji chuckles, "alright, beautiful, let me get dressed. take out's going to be here soon."

"great! i'm starved," and suddenly not for food and for this hot piece of ass you're lucky to call your boyfriend.

#toji x reader #toji zenin x reader #toji fushigro x reader #toji fushiguro #toji zenin #erix tales #mild spicy

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

good omens mascot here: why i relate to crowley

Okay I know I've only watched the first season and there's a lot I don't know about season two But. I have a lot of feelings about Crowley and I'm trying to figure out why and this is what I've got. I'm sure at least some of you relate to some of these. I'm using he/him for him this post.

One. He's so disillusioned with almost everything (I say almost on purpose). Heaven? He lost faith in heaven when he fell, maybe before he fell, maybe he fell because he lost faith in it. He's so frustrated with Aziraphale's belief in the goodness of heaven, but he still respects that belief and even admires Aziraphale for it, only really showing how upset he is when Aziraphale lets that blind faith guide decisions. Crowley always says things that imply being an angel is a good trait, but that facade breaks when Aziraphale is fucking up, because he doesn't want Aziraphale to get hurt or this world to end. As for hell? He certainly doesn't have faith in hell, and doesn't belong in it. Mankind? Nope, he frequently points out how flawed and cruel humans are. Himself? Crowley doesn't have faith in himself, really, either.

And I relate to that feeling of... losing faith in all the things that are supposed to be Right and Good, like society and family, parents and friends, lovers and yourself, government and laws.

Two. I said almost, and that's because Aziraphale. He has such relentless faith in the fact that they are friends, they are best friends, they are lovers. 6000 years, and he keeps reading beneath the lines, continues to stand by Azi even when Aziraphale reminds him that he is a demon, that they are on opposing sides, that Aziraphale does not like him, that they are not friends, that Aziraphale couldn't care less about him. Crowley knows Aziraphale doesn't mean it, just like we know. And we're so used to seeing romances where one character says something they don't mean and the rift goes on forever and we get frustrated because idiots, he didn't mean it. But Crowley knows Aziraphale doesn't mean it. He doesn't stop saying they are best friends. That they are more. He calls out Aziraphale on his bullshit and points out that Aziraphale does love him. And he does it without pushing, just lines dropped over millennia, a reminder to Aziraphale that Crowley feels the same, that he knows, he understands. It's such a relentless, powerful optimism from a demon who has lost faith in everything else.

And I know how that feels, to believe in a love so strongly that you can take blow after blow to that belief and have it remain unshattered. To give gentle reminders that you see through the lies, and that you are there and you know they didn't want to hurt you.

Three. Another caveat, though. How much can that belief withstand? Yes, Crowley knows that Aziraphale is his lover and best friend. But how many doubts have crept in over those thousands of years? When Aziraphale said he didn't like Crowley, and the demon replied with you do, how much of it was posturing? When Crowley has been cast out from heaven and persecuted by hell, found no friends in humankind, it must have shattered his sense of self-worth. He calls Aziraphale his only friend, his best friend. Imagine your only friend repeatedly insisting you aren't friends. Yes, you know it is because to be friends is to put both of you in danger, that Aziraphale does not mean it and has shown time and again that he loves Crowley and that's why he's lying to protect him, but still. It must hurt. It must chip away at logic and rationality, bit by bit.

And I know how that feels, too, to begin to doubt that you are loved, because that objective knowledge that yes, you are loved gets broken and eroded by so many instances of being hurt, dismissed, ignored, betrayed.

Four. No one seems to be putting Crowley first. Not heaven, certainly, heaven threw him out millennia ago. As for hell, Satan and the demons only tolerate him, willing to kill him as soon as he betrays the slightest hint of goodness. Humans are too fleeting, gone before you can blink, and they have never paid any regard to the individual over the 'greater good', certainly not to a lonely demon who can't get close to them because they die too soon. And Aziraphale chooses heaven, chooses being good over Crowley every single time. Some of the time, he is right. But imagine being Crowley. Given the choice between salvation and Aziraphale, happiness and Aziraphale, anything and Aziraphale, he would choose Aziraphale. And he has to watch, time and again, as Aziraphale chooses other things over him, finally pulling back from the kiss and choosing the heaven he doesn't even like over what Crowley offers him. Crowley, as far as he can see, is no one's first choice, no one's first priority. It may not be true. But it does feel like that.

And that feeling is so real, to know that the people you would die for would not do the same for you. The people you put first wouldn't put you first. That you are giving knowing that you cannot take. It may be real, or it may not be, but the fact is it often looks that way to me and Crowley and a lot of us, and that hurts.

These aren't all, of course, there's the relentless questioning, the needing to be good, the needing to be bad, the horrible urges and battling them, the kinder impulses and figuring out how to fit them into an awful world, the consequences for being good, whether they are worth it, just everything about Crowley. But the four above I wanted to elaborate on.

I'm fucked, I love a fictional character again. Again, I might be wrong about a lot of things, so there's that. Aren't we all.

#good omens #good omens mascot #good omens fandom #crowley #weirdly specific but ok #lgbtqia #aziraphale #asmi #neil gaiman #aziracrow #anthony j crowley #ineffable demon #ineffable fandom #demon #ineffable husbands #good ineffable omens #emotions #feelings #AAAA #disillusionment #loneliness #feeling unloved #poor fucking crowley #he's so flawed and amazing #crawly #crawley #antony j crowley #go s1

[nayatarot777]

✨ what does your inner bad bitch have to say? ✨

your inner bad bitch is the aspect of you that other people could see before you could. as a result of this, people have most likely been threatened by that aspect of you and tried to project all types of shit onto you to suppress that part of yourself. this helps you to step into your power as long as you know how to overcome the bitter bitches who love to project. or the situations in life that have made an imprint on your mind. choose your pile and listen to what your inner bad b has to say to you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

pile one ✨

how has your inner bad bitch been shamed?:

{7 of wands, 10 of coins, 7 of cups)

i feel like a lot of you in this pile have had people turn on you, resulting in you having to defend yourself and everything that you're worth. because of these betrayals, your boundaries are firmly rooted and you protect your abundance as much as you can. people have shamed you for your boundaries and they've shamed you for protecting + accumulating abundance too? some of you could have experienced people mistreating you out of jealousy, because they feel like you're wealthier than them or just because of what you own. your possessions. maybe even some family wealth that has been passed down to you for someone in particular. if not, then you could prioritise gaining wealth one day, and for some strange reason, people have made you feel bad about having that goal. people with poverty mindsets, i'm hearing. you may have grown up in poverty but you know that doesn't define your future. others around you who feel differently try to convince you otherwise. you might want to start your own business and you've been told (or you've picked up on the implications) that you're not capable of that. others of you have decided to not put so much focus on money because you understand that money isn't everything (i'm seeing that you'd much rather focus on self-improvement instead), and it's almost like people see you as 'dumb' or 'naive' because of this. you're not, you've just managed to detach yourself from materialism. now you don't know how you should feel about all of the different options that you have available to build either wealth or self confidence + a sense of self, and it's not hard to see why. anytime you feel good about yourself and you share your desires for the future, someone has to come through and put a dampener on your mood.

what does your inner bad bitch wanna say?:

{the star, queen of cups, the fool}

there's a very strong message of advice to have faith and be lead by faith and intuition. a lot of you are idealists, and your inner bad b is asking you to keep the idealism and protect it. the best way to protect this is to use discernment about who you share your dreams and goals with. i feel like a lot of you have such a pure energy that you get excited when you think of a new goal or idea and you just want to tell people. but obviously, some people will project their own insecurities onto you and others are just straight up evil witches who will put all types of evil eye and dark witchcraft onto your wishes. it's time to embark on a brand new journey of blind faith in your idealism though. whatever your biggest dreams are, you should know that they are possible. you could be feeling depleted and that's because you're disconnected from your faith. remember when you were a child and you dreamt without limitations? get a notebook and a pen and write down every desire that comes to mind. don't even think about whether or not it's "realistic", just get them down on paper. it's time to start dreaming again and understanding that the world is bigger and full of more possibilities than people have lead you to believe. 💛

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

pile two ✨

how has your inner bad bitch been shamed?:

{justice, 3 of wands, 6 of cups)

people really hate to hear you speak the truth. you could do this in the most caring, loving way possible in order to try to expand someone's mind and they'd still get triggered by your words. these people don't realise that you're trying to extend help. i'm hearing you guys speak to people about their shadow traits and toxic parts of their personality. it's almost like you've been shamed for being a guide for people when they literally put you in that role. and i'm seeing that you may be okay with this role - and so are others - until you say something that people don't expect to hear or don't like. you've been shamed for your want and need to self improve and heal. you're not someone who likes to stay stagnant in am situation that you could change in order to better your life. those who get triggered by you are the people with victim complexes. they don't actually want to improve themselves like you do but they'll keep themselves around you to look a certain way by association. that's until you become "too real" for them. then they want to behave like you're someone who was wrong for being fair and balanced in your judgement of someone that you care for. you're not someone who will support bs and fuckery just because that behaviour is coming from someone who you like or care about. the people who get triggered by you are people who secretly want you to kiss their ass and put them on a pedestal. why? because they put you on a pedestal. they might even aspire to be like you, speak like you, think like you, but they can't match up. you've been shamed for your honesty, your self improvement, and your self healing. also for standing your ground in your own truth.

what does your inner bad bitch wanna say?:

{the high priestess, temperance, 4 of wands}

your inner bad bitch would like to tell you that you find ultimate peace and tranquility in isolation. you're someone who's extremely receptive to energy and intuitive af, so when you're telling people about aspects of themselves that they can't even see from their own perspective, they get triggered. you scare people because you know how to read them. it's like you've shone a bright, white light into the darkest parts of themselves and they scare themselves tbh. but they'll get angry at you for that, instead of coming to terms with the fact that they have shadow traits that they don't want to admit to themselves. you guys will always be the scapegoat for people who don't want to take accountability for the shadow that they carry around. it's not your problem to expose themselves to them though. protect your peace and your energy by building a life that's primarily in solitude. i feel like you guys are naturally quite private people (you could have pisces/12th house placements) and you actually don't have a problem with being alone most of the time. it's other people's expectations who make you feel as though you should step out of your comfort zone and seek out others. now, there's nothing wrong with stepping out of your comfort zone, but i'm seeing that you're experiencing a pattern with the people who you meet. why? because they're not aligned with you. that's what happens when you force connections with people. it'll always be imbalanced with people like this. when you go into your shell and step out of your comfort zone in YOUR own time, you will meet people who can naturally meet you as deeply as you've met them. they may still get triggered by your truth speaking - and the same may apply to you with them - but you'll meet people who are connected to their higher perspective enough to still appreciate you despite being triggered by you. they won't scapegoat you. they won't victimise you. whatever you're searching for in others, you can give to yourself until these people on the same wavelength can come into your life. 💛

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

pile three ✨

how has your inner bad bitch been shamed?:

{death, 5 of wands, ace of coins}

most of you in this pile have prominent pluto/8th house/scorpio/lilith placements or aspects in your birth chart. you go down your own path in life. you transform drastically form year to year - whether that's physically or figuratively - but you've had to fight for your right to transform. when you were peeling back the mask that was placed onto you by other people and societal traditions, people attacked you for this. multiple people. and you had to defend your own right to live your life however tf you want to. you've been shamed for wanting to develop a life path of your own instead of sticking to what everyone else was doing. mainly by family i'm seeing. you may have also been shamed for exposing family secrets. you've even be shamed for defending yourself from these people's attacks. i'm hearing "whistleblower", so any group that you're in - whether it's a family, a friend group, a work group, doesn't matter - ends up having to face all of the shit that they sweep under the rug, thanks to you. and people don't like that. you disrupt corruption and cover-ups and force people to address the truth. even if that means you going up against a bunch of people by yourself. you've been shamed for finding value in areas of life that nobody would think to look into, and you've managed to go down your own route for the sake of your peace of mind. these people didn't like that you were able to find a way out of this toxic group and this unhealthy situation because they're too cowardly - or egotistical - to even find a way out for themselves. there are people who compete with you and your transformations in life. on some weird bitch behaviour. especially any seeds planted in the practical world (building a career, a home) and just how you use your creative energy to manifest certain things into the physical. i'm even seeing that some of you could have jobs/careers in the occult business (for example, a practitioner that people come to for spell-work services) and you've been attacked by non-believers or religious people. and you're deadass minding your damn business.

what does your inner bad bitch wanna say?:

{queen of swords, 8 of coins, the high priestess}

you've really perfected your craft, pile 3. you know exactly what you're doing on your life path because you're listening to your intuition more than anything else. these people's attacks have really done a number on how you view your abilities and maybe even your work ethic or talents. you need to differentiate between your thoughts and the residual words of others from the past. because i feel like you criticise yourself quite harshly but it's not actually coming from you. it's a voice or multiple voices from those who verbally berated you before. you might feel like your skills and abilities aren't as "perfected" as they were before (particularly when it comes to your intuition) but the pressure that these people added onto your shoulders is what's still currently weighing you down. it would benefit you to write down everything that you remember these people telling you in order to really observe the bs from a more detached perspective. this will allow you to really understand how illogical and vile these attacks and insults were, helping you to release them much easier. the path to success over these negative thoughts is listening to your intuition (how you truly feel at your core) over your fears and anxieties. and once you establish a clear viewpoint of yourself, set that as the standard mindset that you operate with. a mindset that encompasses acknowledgement towards your own hard work and skills/talent that doesn't easily budge at the opinions of others. 💛

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

pile four ✨

how has your inner bad bitch been shamed?:

{7 of swords, 6 of cups, 2 of cups}

i feel like you guys in this pile really don't fw anyone like that. you prefer to heal yourself behind closed doors in order to prioritise what you need to in order to give to yourself. the people who you do fw are very few in numbers and people may have implied that you were selfish because of this when you're not. this is self preservation in a healthy way. i feel like the people who have an issue with this are the people who are salty that they can't get into your energy too easily. and i'm seeing that they usually have negative intentions for you that would most likely lead to backstabbing. your instincts are on point though, and you know when you're being set up. unfortunately, this feeling is familiar to you so you're now hypersensitive to it. it's like people punish you for not falling for their shit??? they get mad that they tried to lure you into a situation, but you were too smart for them. you may have also been shamed for expecting reciprocity from people who you're in friendships or connections with, which is why i'm seeing that you guys give your energy to up to two main people in your life. you could have been shamed for trying to nurture people too which is some bs. people get triggered by your pure, genuine intentions because it makes them reflect on how grimy and sly they are with their own intentions. again, i'm feeling an energy of people shaming you for not folding under betrayal and pressure. you've been shamed for surviving, basically. you know how to juggle things in the way that you need to. i'm hearing someone ask "what do you even do all day?". "you can't be that busy". as if you're not amounting to shit and as if you're not doing shit when you reject spending time with people who you just don't connect with in the way that you'd like to. these people get offended almost and start to downplay what you have going on in your life. you're shamed for your exclusivity over your energy. some people could even think that you think that you're "too good" for people when that's not the case. that's them projecting their insecurities onto you.

what does your inner bad bitch wanna say?:

{7 of cups, 3 of cups, 2 of cups, ace of cups)

you may subconsciously feel like you'll forever have a lack of friendships and a lack of people who you can genuinely vibe with. there may be so many different scenarios that you think of when meeting people for the first time due to past experiences that you've accumulated in friendship groups in particular. your inner bad bitch is coming through to say that you shine best in one on one relationships. group friendships is something that overwhelms you and there are always too many energies clashing with each other in pre-made friendship groups. you might like one person but not like the other in a group, and now you feel stuck in a situation that you'd rather not be in, affecting the friendship that you have with the person who you genuinely get along well with. you're being told to stop forcing something unnatural to you, and accumulate one-on-one friendships to spend solo time with each person individually. it'll be a lot easier on your social battery and your energy field. you won't feel so drained and you'll be able to really dive deep into connections with people authentically and experience who they are in actuality - without being around others (because bitches be switching up around company sometimes 👀). individual friendships will make you feel much more emotionally fulfilled. this is a "two's a company, three's a crowd" type of deal. you can have a good time with only one other person. you don't need to surround yourself with a group that you're energetically not ready for. 💛

#divination #pick a card #pick a photo #pick a picture #psychic readings #spirituality #tarot #pac #tarot reading #pac reading #collective reading #astrology #astrology placements #intuitive #astro posts #12th house placements #astro community #astro placements #astroblr

[beauregardlionett]

m'kay in light of the most recent cr episode i got thinking about this post of mine again because it's relevant and i am SO excited for whatever happens this week with the hells. brief tl;dr for that post - it is so fascinating to me personally how the m9 and bh treat vulnerability and trust as two distinct concepts in complete opposite ways. the m9 trusted each other to an insane degree and were only vulnerable when held at metaphorical gun point. meanwhile bh trauma dumped on each other the majority of their shit before we were even 50 episodes in, but they have yet to display constant, true trust in one another.

and the trust exercise is the last to happen, and it involves two people being replaced with doppelgängers who intend to impede the group's progress. how much personal bias is going to bleed through? how much will recent events blind their choices? how well do they actually know each other? is this going to actually relieve tension or increase it?

fifty episodes into the campaign, orym asked fearne if she would help him stop imogen and then leave the group with him if it came down to it. laudna lost all faith in ashton and some faith in fearne after the shard stunt just two/three episodes ago. orym just admitted that he has planned out how to take down every single member of bell's hells. they did a poll once on who they thought would turn on the group. they still fumble their way through combat doing mostly solo attacks because they don't know half the shit everyone else is capable of. the m9 weren't perfect but they were further along on that front by this point in their campaign.

and maybe it's on account of the lack of downtime they've had thus far - but one would think that if they were vulnerable with each other and had been through several, consistent fires with each other facing a force that could end the world, trust would have developed somewhere along the way! but instead - we're here.

and personally, i think it's because these are all the people who were left behind. who cares about being vulnerable when you've already been broken? putting your broken pieces on display is a lot different than allowing someone to handle those pieces and try to put them back together. because then you run the risk of shattering again.

they have all been left behind by someone. trust doesn't come easy after that. chet and his family, laudna and her parents, f.c.g. and dancer and his whole life hundreds of years ago, fearne and her parents, imogen and her parents, orym and his husband, ashton and his parents and the nobodies.

chet put it perfectly - "i don't want to get attached again"

too bad. you're in this now and until you decide to back out, you have to learn how to trust at least these people. they've all decided to at least stick around and that's the first step. the rest of the process will be painful, but worth it.

i hope they never have to cut each other down.

#cr #critical role #c3e79 #beaureblogs #bell's hells #bh #chetney pock o'pea #orym of the air ashari #fearne calloway #imogen temult #laudna #f.c.g. #fresh cut grass #ashton greymoore

[gauloiseblue]

A Loyal Dog

Years of dealing with people, he too has developed some kind of intuition. Although it's more about who he can trust, and who is not

But in this case, he can sense a strange devotion from the gardener

He knew people who had blind faith in someone, just like him. And they're both the most submissive, and the most ruthless people he ever met. They're docile when it comes to the person they trust, but when it threatens the person's safety, they won't hesitate to bite

The boy's behavior might be normal for now, but he just feels it in his gut that it's more than that

He mentions the boy to Liv, and she immediately laughs

"Oh, that sweet boy." She chuckles, "He follows her around like a dog. He'd pick the loveliest flowers for her everyday, and she'd tell him to put it in the vase. It's a bit sad that they don't do that anymore, I guess she too keeps him at a distance now."

He learns that they both were close, before the words started to spread. Liv describes that she thought of him as a son, but he didn't seem to think of her as a mother figure

"I told this to her, and do you know what she said? She said, 'I'm glad then, it means he has a loving mother.' I mean, I get it, but he can take it in the wrong way, you know?" She groans, "Not to mention that he already took interest in her long he started working for her."

He raises his brow at her, "Really?"

"Yeah, well, I'm not sure when it started, but his uncle sells gardening tools. She's a frequent in his store before he took care of everything. You said that one day he suddenly knocked on her door right? Maybe he knew her from his uncle."

After his conversation with the baker, his perception of her changes slightly. There's a lot of people who prefers younger people, and it's possible that she's one of them. The distance that they put is just a facade, because behind all that, they do have a feeling for the person. If she's one of them, he won't know what to think of her

Perhaps the reason for it is just because he likes her, and he wants it to be yet another puzzle to solve. That the complexity of her feeling isn't about love, but something else entirely

Nevertheless, he keeps a good relation with her

Sometimes he dares himself to take her out, or simply hanging out in her place

She seems to enjoy his company as well, for a reason that he can match her witty remarks

Maybe it's a privilege to be in their late 40s, where they can be as free as they want, and not hiding anything from each other, knowing that they'll find it one way or the other

He doesn't hide his interest in her, and she doesn't shy away from it, so it's no surprise when they become close in relatively short time

"There'll be a festival next week," He told her one afternoon, "Do you wanna come?"

She pauses, idly traces the rim of her mug with her finger, "Sure, I want to. But Finn has asked me to come too, and I said no."

"Are you afraid that you'll run into him?"

"A little bit." She sighs, "He has a habit of dragging people along, I don't want to walk with him in the crowd."

"You can use me as an excuse." He smiles, "I won't let go of your hand."

She laughs, "You better hold it tight, then." She hums, placing her chin on her palm, "Let's just hope Bonnie sees him first, she won't let go of that boy's hand for sure."

"Bonnie? The carpenter's daughter?"

She nods, "She likes him, so she won't pass up a chance to explore the festival with him."

They both agree on the plan to wall together to the festival, and stay in the adult only place, which is an open bar with a poker table. They jokingly make a bet on whoever wins the most money, with the prize of whatever the winner wants

On the day the festival is held, they both meet up at her place, before heading to the town

It's a common festival, with food stalls and other items being sold at cheaper prices. She can't resist the discounted grapes, and ends up buying a basket's worth of it

Unfortunately, they both meet Finn before Bonnie could find him, and so they play the adult-only card

"I'm not a kid anymore, Mrs. (name), I can handle the alcohol."

"But you can't come with us, we're going to the gambling table."

"I'll stay at the bar—"

"No." She said sternly, "It's not your place to be in. I won't allow it. If I see you anywhere near the bar, I'll tell your parents."

It seems to have an effect on him, as he falls quiet. She keeps the stern expression on her, before she softens up and pats on his head

"Enjoy the festival with the other kids, Finn. I'm sure you'll have more fun with them."

His face shows a disagreement for a split second, but he nods afterwards

He pats on his arm to cheer him up, before they both leave him, all alone in the crowd. He does feel bad for the kid, but the feeling doesn't stay for too long

When they join the poker table, the people around them seem surprised, but excited to see a new face in the game. Though it's mostly aimed at the woman beside him

As they agreed on, they'll only play for 2 hours, with £20 as the start

The thing about him is that he always wins at every poker game, but only when his opponents are men. He manages to outplay the other players until they fold and out, except for her

Still, there's people who dares to challenge her. They'd put their money on the table, and play against them both. But little do they know, they're the fool one on the table

They end up playing for more than 2 hours, and he begins to get tipsy from the beer he's been drinking. It's when he blunders by putting all in

Turns out, she has a 4 of a kind, while he just has a full house king

That's when she grins at him, signaling that the game's over

"Alright gentlemen." She announced as she stood up, "Thank you for the game, it was fun. I know you probably want me to go all in and give it to whoever's the luckiest, but I'll treat you all to a glass of beer, yeah? Sounds good?"

Almost everyone around the table agrees, with a few cheers and claps

After going through the rowdy crowd, they both manage to make it out of the festival, giggling and waking fast on the road

At her home, he sinks into the sofa as the wearin begins to settle. She slips into the kitchen with the basket, and comes back with a whiskey and two glass shots

He groans, "I had enough, I can't drink anymore."

"I'm not forcing you to drink." She said as she sat down, "We're just gonna play a game."

"What game?"

"Truth or drink." She grins, "If you don't wanna get drunk, you should tell the truth."

He snorts, but straightens his back to join the game

"I'll go first." She said, "Do you have kids, John?"

He shook his head, "Didn't have the time for it, and we ended up splitting. Have you been married to someone?"

"No, I didn't have the time for it." She said, which made him chuckle, "Why did you move to this town?"

"A friend of mine once told me about this village, it sounded good, and the land's cheap as well, so," He shrugs, "Why did you come here?"

"To escape from the big city." She replied, "Where's your friend now, John?"

He doesn't want to answer it, so he takes a shot. "Are you an artist, name? A big time artist perhaps?"

Now it's her turn to drink her shot. "Do you plan to move again someday?"

"No, at least not yet. Liked it here." He answered, "What do you think of Finn? Do you know he likes you in a romantic way?"

"One question at a time." She said, "I think he's a good boy, a bit naive though. What have you been talking to Liv about me?"

"Nothing much, just the basic stuff." He clears his throat, "What were you like when you first moved, your entire history with Liv, and then Finn. Do you know he likes you in a romantic way?"

She sighs as she scratches her head, "I know… I wish he'd see me like a mother, or a generous aunt, I don't mind, but then again, we always search for something we can't have, aren't we?" She shook her head, "Do you dislike him, John?"

"Not at all." He smiles, "I have no reason to dislike him, he's a good kid." He then lifts his gaze to her, "What do you think of me, (name)?"

She fell quiet for a second, before she told him, "I think you're just like me. We've been running from the past, until we forgot how to stop running. What do you think of me?"

"I think you're lovely." He replied, "You're like a pretty puzzle that I'd like to solve over and over again, something that I'd like to keep in my pocket, so I could unravel you whenever I wanted."

The alcohol in his blood begins to work, as he gets enough courage to lean closer, reaching out to touch her cheek

She doesn't pull away, but doesn't move either, instead, she asks him, "Do you like me, John?"

"One question at a time." He retorted, "Would you allow me to kiss you?"

To his disappointment, she prefers to take a shot than giving him an answer

"Well, let me ask you again, John. Do you like me?"

"Do I look like someone who'd kiss anyone I didn't like?"

"No, you don't." She lets out a chuckle, "Say, if I were to go to Italy, would you come with me?"

He snaps his head towards her, not prepared for the question. "... What?"

"Do you wanna go to Italy with me, John?"

"I already heard that." He tilted his head, "What's the occasion?"

"I won the bet, didn't I?"

"Oh… that." He rubs his face to sober up, "You're telling me you want to go to Italy with me as the prize?"

She nods, "I always want to travel the world with a partner, and I'd like to know if you're qualified for it."

"All expenses paid?" He jests, but she nods nevertheless, "What if I end up disappointing you?"

"Then I'll stay here for the rest of my life."

He can't help but grin. "It's a big commitment, y'know."

"Didn't you say you want to keep me in your pocket?"

"Won't it be suffocating for you?"

"That's what I asked." She tugs her lips slightly, "Suffocate me, John."

Her hand reached up to touch his, it was cold, pleasantly cold against his skin. His face heated up, as if he's been kissed, but what she gave him was sweeter than a kiss. It was indeed sweeter….

《 Prev | Next 》

#cod #call of duty #cod mw2 #captain price #john price x reader #price x reader

[osaevsky]

hello!! congratulations on 100~ followers, i love your works sm ^o^

so, i wanted to request something for the 100 milestone event thingy. what about tachihara with prompt 11 + maybe heavy angst? i feel like it'd work out well ngl, considering his situation and stuff. and if you arent doing angst, you can choose if it'll be sfw or nsfw, thank you so much!

may i be 🦀 anon?

niko's 100 followers event.

i spoil it all by saying something stupid ⠀⠀⚝ after being blinded, tachihara spends some time at the hospital to recover for his wounds, and you decide to pay him a visit. included: tachihara michizou.⠀;    ♡

🥮⠀⠀·⠀⠀⚝⠀⠀⠀;  word count: 1.8k + warnings: not really proof read. gender neutral reader, unestablished relationship, somewhat angsty, talks of wounds & tachihara's own ideals / thoughts he has after the event, feelings of lonliness and assimilation of trauma, one mention of slashing, and a somewhat fluffy ending.

🥮⠀⠀·⠀⠀⚝⠀⠀⠀;  author's note: hi!! and thank you so much ♡ firstly, of course you may be 🦀 anon, and secondly, you've picked one of my favorite prompts from the event lol. i did my best with this, i couldn't really bring myself to do heavy angst since i'm not really capable of doing so (i'm even more afraid of doing tachihara ooc-) but anyway! hope this is to your liking!

Losing is not in anyone's plans, of course.

The idea of losing was far away from him, and although he noticed it got closer in dangerous situations, he still wanted to imagine that failure would never be part of his result. The idea of losing something, losing someone, losing an ability; It was all so unknown that he relied on the feeling of victory.

The comfort and security that it gives a human being to fully trust the idea of winning and cling to it as he stood in front of the greatest uncertainty, the greatest possible danger that someone could face at some point in life.

Taking that a leap of faith to grant oneself a single vote of confidence that others would not have even given. It was all child's play, just nonsense. A “maybe” so poorly pronounced whenever doubts plagued his mind, wondering if it was worth it. As if ‘’maybe’’ was really the last word he could murmur before smiling, boldly facing the danger of each mission.

Although clearly, no actual game resembles the work one had to undergo as a hunting dog, or as a port mafia member at that: not even the pressure of having to carry out something alone, nor the pain, nor the loneliness, nor the loss.

Tachihara stopped being aware due to the adrenaline, leaving behind all the constant flurry of doubts, of the “what ifs”. He was driven by pride, justice and urgency to do the right thing and put an end to a common evil. In exchange for nothing. Precisely for that: nothing. 

In exchange for helping others, perhaps. He liked to think that from time to time, to camouflage his true desire to find himself. Definitely, his greatest goal had always been to find himself.

Being able to overcome his own fears and achieve success with fervor. But now, did he have anything left? He doubted it, and the pain of doubt was greater than the physical pain, even after acknowledging that his wounds were permanent and would not be cured.

He had been in the hospital for days. Tedious days that did not leave him at any ease; not even in moments of absolute solitude, where he sought to get used to that feeling, and above all, assimilate the situation in which he found himself. 

Alone, in the hospital, receiving care without being able to actually believe that everything he had fought for now had been left behind a slash to his eyes. Well, he was able to, but he did not want to; it was different. 

He couldn't fool himself either: he wasn't alone... so to speak. It was not truly a deception, he had received visitors. His companions had given him the honor when speaking about what happened, saying he at least tried - he took on a particular hatred for the word after that - to fight on his behalf against a greater evil.

Tachihara received words, hugs, candid touches and some labored breaths, as if returning the favor of the visit, as was the case with Gin, one afternoon who decided to appear in his hospital room, subjected her to immense sadness. 

Doctors had informed him that he was going to leave sooner than later by that point. One day less before he could set foot on land that was not enclosed between four hospital walls, get rid of the smell of medications, the feel of bandages, and the effect of imprisonment that was nauseating as the count of days of care increased. 

Among the few moments of calm that he could find that afternoon, a sound made him move his head forward, unconsciously searching for the door, following the sound. Knock Knock knock.

He did not answer. He was waiting for confirmation, for the voice of any nurse or doctor asking for permission to enter, but none of that came. Knock Knock knock. He let out a simple “go ahead.”

The discomfort that was brought up during small moments of silence was something he was not used to, but now it was broken by the sound of footsteps that changed the aura that was being created in the room. 

Almost hesitant steps, and a second sound, as if some hands were shuffling an object covered in plastic or made of such. It was frustrating not being able to know what that thing or person was that had just entered.

“Hello, Tachi.” A murmur full of inconsistency in the tone, which almost made him second guess if it was the same person he had associated that voice with. ''Sorry for being so late, I stopped to buy something before coming.''

The footsteps were heard again when little by little you approached Tachihara's bed, your presence becoming more and more noticed by the other. Tachihara scrunched up the bridge of his nose as the thing between your hands made a new sound, making his ears hurt. He assumed it was a plastic bag, with several objects inside it. 

''Don't apologize, it's not necessary.'' His words came out weak, accompanying his state at that time.

Every second felt heavy, a pressure consuming him from inside every time he couldn't find a way to fill those moments of silence between the two of you.

A hand pulled him out of his thoughts. Noticing how you perched it on top of his, providing mere caresses on the back of his with your thumb. It was as if you had already noticed that something was preventing him from speaking, something was weighing him down among those thoughts that occupied his mind.

“You said you bought something, right?” He cocked his head to the side, guided by the feel of your hand. ''Tell me you bought something to eat. I’ve never liked hospital food and I am tired of always eating the same shit meals.''

He was caught off guard hearing your laugh. He didn't remember the last time he had heard it, but he could discern the feeling of yearning it gave him to hear it back once more.

''I have something, yes. It's really nothing but... I guess it will help. I have some fruit to leave you for later… and I hope you don't mind eating a sandwich and drinking soda for now.''

It was Tachihara's moment to laugh, making a small gesture with his free hand. He waited patiently for you to pick up the sandwiches from their containers, as well as listening to the metallic click of the tabs on the cans, before opening his hand and waiting for you to hand him something.

Upon receiving one of the sandwiches, he put it in his mouth without much preamble, the rest of the rustling and movement indicating to him that you were placing the cans on the table closest to his bed.

''Are they treating you well in the hospital?''

It was a question that, in another context, would have been ironic. Perhaps at another time he would have given the doctors a story to tell to their colleagues, but after the incident, there was little left for him to be able to rebel against anyone. He had no reason left.

Tachihara shrugged, a sigh exhaled through his nose.

''Yes, you could say so. I've already told you that the food is absolute shit, but otherwise... it's good.'' He didn't recognize himself, speaking in a tone so solemn that it even caused him to feel weird. “I want to get out of here and not have to think about this again.”

The last sentence denoted a particular rage, punctuating each word as if he were spitting them out instead of talking it with you. He took advantage of the newly established silence to continue eating, opening his hand in a gesture of request once he finished, showing that he wanted the can.

He felt a caress against his fingers as you brought the drink to him, a chuckle coming from you as Tachihara raised his eyebrows curiously. A certain heat filled his cheeks, and a clearing of his throat made it clear that he was readying himself to speak, moving his head to the other side.

“Can I be honest with you?” Before you could answer, Tachihara continued speaking. ''I didn't want you to see me like that. I guess you didn't have anything better to do, right?''

The bitterness was predictable in his tone of voice, even if he hid it behind a lopsided smile. He was upset, anxious. He felt bad about himself and he was aware of his situation, now more than ever having you by his side, having you to see him like this, and taking care of him as if he were capable of nothing.

And he wasn't, at least not for certain things anymore. He had to hide a fright when you placed one of your hands on his thigh.

''Nothing of that. Since what happened I wanted to see how... how you were doing, you know what I mean.'' An inexplicable sound cut off your sentence before being able to continue properly. ''Well, that... It's not what you thought I was here for, I just wanted to see you.''

Tachihara took a deep breath, the hand holding the can shaking for a second before he tightened his grip, bringing it to his mouth so he could spare himself any more stupid comments. What was he supposed to say? “I missed you too”? ''I need your company.''? “Why haven't you come before?”

He couldn't allow it. He couldn't afford to question you about anything. After drinking, he noticed another shake to the plastic bag where you had brought the food, and a smell permeated the room: something sweet, well known for him and his senses.

''Apart from the food, I brought you something else.'' Your voice was now a whisper, returning to the insecurity that had taken over the situation as when you set foot in the room for the first time. ''I bought you flowers.''

Tachihara was no longer going to hide his doubts from him, at least not given the confusion that statement made him. ''For what?''

''There has to be a reason?''

Tachihara unconsciously wanted to cross his fingers, hoping he wasn't the only one who began to notice another wave of heat crossing his body, invading his face for the second time; although the laughter that was heard was enough to give you away, and make it clear to him that he, in fact, was blushing again. And what came next only accentuated his blush.

''I missed you, Tachi.''

He did too. And perhaps the act of missing you was not so unthinkable when he noticed for the first time how his free hand was feeling the surface of the bed towards one of the sides, looking for you, and offering a sigh of relief when he noticed that you received without offering a complaint and providing a slight tug to his fingers, as if you wanted to pull him closer. 

It was a silent ‘’thank you’’, an ‘’I love you’’ without the need for more words exchanged. 

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #bungo stray dogs #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd fanfic #bsd fic #bsd angst #bsd tachihara #bsd tachihara michizou #bungo stray dogs tachihara #tachihara x reader #tachihara bsd #tachihara michizou x reader #tachihara michizou angst

[ettelenethelien]

ok, but how much did the numenoreans know about the fate of men? because...

the thing is, when you share Tolkien's Faith, the way it's always presented as such a huge mystery is almost funny. because you can so, so easily guess -- well, not even guess, you just know what he meant; it has to be the same as ours, whereas in-world it's always "well, mandos knows, and maybe manwë". kudos for being aware of something most of the valar aren't, then.

but how much do the numenoreans know or guess? they say "we must die and go we know not whither" and I used to pity them a bit for that uncertainty -- which, of course, would not excuse anything, but might be disquieting, especially when you're placed next to the immortal elves. we seem to be pointed towards the edain of the first age having no beliefs they were certain about in regards to this, going only on hope -- one of the closest things we get is when hurin has his moment of defiance to morgoth: "well, you cannot keep on tormenting us after we die! then we're out of your reach", but interestingly, as far as what concerns us here, he replies to an accusation that he's just repeating what the elves taught him (which is not a valid counterargument, but never mind), saying that no, it just came to him in that very moment. in general, we get the idea that they know very little, though some of them vaguely hope for something good (and I do wonder whether news of Beren shook things up at all, even if he did not, after all, meet the full fate of men that first time, just waited in the hallway).

so far, so good, if a bit bleak, but then we get to The Mariner's Wife, and Meneldur's dramatic monologue:

'May Eru call me before such a time comes!' he cried aloud.

and

'I am in too great doubt to rule. To prepare or to let be? To prepare for war, which is yet only guessed: train craftsmen and tillers in the midst of peace for bloodspilling and battle: put iron in the hands of greedy captains who will love only conquest, and count the slain as their glory? Will they say to Eru: At least your enemies were amongst them? Or to fold hands, while friends die unjustly: let men live in blind peace, until the ravisher is at the gate? What then will they do: match naked hands against iron and die in vain, or flee leaving the cries of women behind them? Will they say to Eru: At least I spilled no blood?

and you could read it differently; to be honest the polish translation gives less room for doubt, which may colour my interpretation, but it does seem that he knows, or guesses with seeming certitude, and that is such a different attitude from everything else I've mentioned.

what have I to say to this? nothing except that beliefs may have grown or changed. I am very far from an expert on this, but, within ancient Israel which might be the closest analogue, and was even mentioned in connection to Númenor by Tolkien, beliefs regarding the afterlife seem to have indeed evolved with time; compare, say, the Psalms with (2nd) Maccabees (*the latter is in the Catholic Bible, but not in the Protestant ones, if you're puzzled) or Wisdom?

yes, it's not much of a conclusion, l admit, but there isn't really anything else I might say, unless it were to add that third age gondor seems to be somewhere in between, with a vague and hopeful sense of something, aragorn's "and beyond [the circles of the world] there is more than memory" and faramir's "till that time, or till some other time, beyond the reach of the seeing stones of númenor" (italics mine) being the relevant quotes. (the rather dramatic, if you think about it, context for the latter, being that faramir is probably well aware neither he nor frodo are that likely to see the next month. also worth noting that the italicised phrase is in text paired with the image of an alternatively possible - though "beyond hope" - meeting where they could "laugh at old grief, in the sun")

(the rohirrim seem to have their own beliefs, but they also seem to come with their own traditions, which, while not on the most part incompatible, may at times have been different. on the other hand, what we have is not much less vague either, just cloaked in different terms, so there isn't much evidence either way.)

#my post #Númenor #edain #Tolkien meta #tolkien #Silmarillion #lotr #peoples of arda #mini essay

[indiaalphawhiskey]

Thank you for your answer to that anon about boundaries... I agree with everything you said. It's really hard sometimes, I was surprised at how hard this new Louis stunt hit me... But it is what it is I guess, and it's not always easy to be a fan of a closeted artist, let alone two... But I know why I'm here... sometimes stepping away is good, and definitely to concentrate on what brings you joy ❤️

I think we forget sometimes that it’s not our responsibility to protect the celebrities we love from reproach or misunderstanding.

People make mistakes and make bad choices and say the wrong things and do things for the sake of their career or their safety or their ambition that we won’t always agree with, but it’s not our job to validate the ethics of those choices, because we can’t. We can’t properly question the goodness or badness of intent (particularly with something as vague as closeting), if we don���t have access to context. And we don’t, and never will, have access to full context, not just in our relationship with celebrities but in any relationship with anyone.

When we love someone, we agree to allow space for their humanity. We agree to be generous in our thoughts of them, not because we choose to be blind, but because we have evidence that they’re worth our faith. And if, in certain circumstances, they cross a line to test that faith, we’re fully within our rights to reevaluate their access to our time and attention.

That’s how relationships go. You can move your goal posts, you can increase your standards, you can rethink a relationship that begins to feel harmful. But you can only do it from your end, based on what you know and how you personally feel.

The point, I guess, is use yourself as the sole barometer for how you feel and get comfortable with the reality that we will probably never be able to concretely justify some of the decisions Harry and Louis have made, just like we will never be able to concretely justify some decisions we’ve personally made. It’s just part of being human and forming human attachments.

The question is not “are they, as people, worthy of my time and attention?”, but rather “Is this where I want to put my energy?”.

Realizing that, at the end of the day, participation in fandom is and always will be a question of “Is this still fun?” is really liberating and I encourage everyone to ask themselves that, constantly, because there’s no other reason to be here, really.

#iaw ask #iaw anonymous

[frogoru]

Hey. Don’t know if this is overstepping and if it is I apologize, but. Saw your posts about religious stuff. Just want to say that I’ve been in a pretty similar place before, and you aren’t alone. I know this is really hard, and it’s scary. It’s so damned scary. But it gets better. It’s okay to question your religion; I’d even call it healthy. Blind faith is meaningless, you can’t be said to truly believe anything until you look at it closely, and critically, and Decide. This, Too, Shall Pass. You will find your answers, and you will find your peace. You won’t find *all* the answers but hey, no one does.

I don’t have all the answers (no one does; if anyone claims to they’re a liar) hell I don’t have most of them. But with regards to homosexuality: I learned to accept it before I realized I’m bi, so my experience is a bit different from you. But here was a thought that I found helpful: Gay people exist—folks who are exclusively or near exclusively attracted to the same gender. If homosexuality is wrong, then those folks are more tempted than others people; the deck’s stacked against them. And they have to choose between righteousness and love. If God is just, then this just won’t do. Being gay must be fine.

The Bible’s weird, and hard to navigate. I think of it as divine, inspired truth filtered through fallible humans. There’s lessons and truth there, but it ought not be taken too literally. That might be satisfactory, that might not.

Really, what I think is most important is that you believe in a loving God. If god is unjust, if god is cruel, if god is malicious, if god hates… then he ought not be worshipped. Believe in a God worth believing in. Believe in a good that loves you. A God that loves would make no hell. A God that loves would not hate who you are and you you love. A God that loves would not make you ashamed of the joys of life.

You can get through this, I know you can. You are not alone. You are not wicked. You are loved.

Again, sorry if this is an overstep. It’s just that I’ve been through something similar, and wanted to share what helped me.

Thank you so much. No worries, it isn't an overstep at all! Reading this made me feel a lot better about everything. Especially the thing you mentioned about believing in a loving God. That's something I've always wished was more emphasized when people are speaking about Christianity to others, which feels like such a silly want considering the fact that Jesus loving everyone is such a prevalent thing in it. It feels so ironic to know that a religion based around love has such a judgemental community 😭😭 hearing about how I'm loved and accepted by God from other people yet still have the chance of being sent to eternal damnation if I don't abide by everything as I'm supposed to is so like... I don't even know how to put my feelings about it into words anymore but you know what I mean!! So thank you very much for bringing that up.

The idea of interpreting scripture as something divinely inspired and filled with truth yet still affected by the way humans are and how they tend to change things up is also something I agree with and think makes a lot of sense as well. I remember a while ago I was in bible study and the topic of the Bible being God's word was brought up and the teacher's reasoning for why every single thing in it shouldn't be questioned and should be accepted as 100% literal was because the Bible itself says that and I remember being so confused because even if it is a holy text, that doesn't stop people from altering certain things on their own accord. 😭😭

OH!!! OH OH OH oh my gosh and the point you made about how the existence of gay people just existing as they are disproves it being a terrible sin was really nice to hear as well. The way you explained it made a lot of sense and I feel like hearing it put that way lifts a lot of the tension regarding it off my shoulders. I learned queer stuff existed and accepted it pretty quickly before realizing I'm bi (and mostly attracted to women) as well, and I forgot if I wrote this in the intial post but I've been really happy and unashamed with my identity up until I started really getting into religion and engaging with people who share a similar worldview, so that was kind of the turning point that led me to start worrying about it a lot </3 Thinking about it like this makes things fit together in my mind really well, so thank you a lot for mentioning that as well.

Just... thank you for taking the time to write all of this down in general. I keep bouncing back and forth between "I'm okay and don't need to change anything" and "my life is full of sin that I need to get rid of" and whenever I find that I'm starting to feel a lot better about it, I find something else/someone I know says something that makes me question myself again. It feels so comforting to know that I'm not alone in this and just... ahhh thank you thank you thank you!!

[superblysubpar]

Can wee have a sneak peak of wcil? Totally don’t want to rush you if it’s not finished 💕

You're not rushing me, I'm just slow and in my head and I don't know why and I'm very very very frustrated I can't just finish this for you guys. 💛

I appreciate the patience, and so, here's the first 2.9k of the chapter (it's basically final, but technically hasn't officially been sent over to my beta in like the final form of the chapter, so just be prepared things may be slightly different when the whole thing is posted. )

Why do we want to believe in things like fate or destiny - divine intervention? Why do some put their faith in religions with blind following? Why do we look to the stars in moments of despair, when we’re desperate for hope, when we’re lost? 

We seek out answers from something we can’t see but we want to believe in. Whether it’s a fortune cookie in your take out, a penny head’s up on the sidewalk, a community of like minded souls coming together for prayer or worship, or a horoscope you read on your morning Instagram scroll - the reasons have to be the same for choosing to believe, for the hope that starts to rise in you for the promise these things try to offer. 

We look for solutions to problems. We need reason. We need purpose. We need to feel like we’re not alone. We need confirmation that it’s all gonna work out even though nothing can really guarantee that. 

When you look up at the stars that work hard to shine through clouds and a full moon, your chest rises with air trying to fill your lungs and you wonder if they’re up there. Your eyes blink up at that indigo sky, searching. He sits next to you and Leigh waves, whispering their hellos. His hand rests next to yours on the plaid blanket, he clears his throat and straightens his shoulders. It’s all too stiff, too on edge and you hate it. That attempted deep breath is unsuccessful, lungs deflating as it catches in your throat, and your thoughts wander back to the stars again. They wander to him, and them, and seek answers. 

What if they are up there, watching, like it’s one of those movies your mom was always putting on and your dad and you boo’d at from your spot playing cards. When he walked in with her with that on her finger, your mom would have gasped, she would have paused the movie, she would have yelled at you and your dad about the plot. She would have thrown popcorn at the TV and declared there’s something going on, he couldn’t, no way - there was no way. She’d have calmed herself down, rationalized there was still time left, gone to the pantry for more chocolate, kissed the top of your head and your dad’s cheek as she passed. By the end of the film, her prediction would have been right, she’d be crying and sighing at the couple who got their happy ending.

So could Steve declare his feelings for you here in a dramatic scene? Tell you it was all a big misunderstanding - that he’s sorry, that it was a rocky road but being together is worth fighting for? Could you leave here, hand in hand, as a top forty song plays and the credits roll? 

Of course not. 

Because this isn’t a rom com your mom would have loved. Life is not a movie full of soul-mates and cosmic connections. People like your parents are the exception to the rule. The couples who make it work - the ones who don’t let the trials of life take their love away like Allie and Noah, Kate and Sam, or Westley and Buttercup, are fictional characters. They’re stories to escape into when the despairing reality of yours is too much to read or write anymore. It’s exactly why you don’t like most movies or stories like theirs. Because eventually, the movies end, the credits do roll, and you have to face real life once again. Love like that doesn’t exist off the big screen, and you’re just kidding yourself when you fall into their traps. 

Knowing this simple fact of reality doesn’t stop the hope though. 

That painful, aching hope that clings to your skin like honey when you can feel the heat from his arm even through the sleeve of your sweater - like your bodies burn hotter when close together - too close to the sun. It feeds the hope that your brain tries to squash away but your heart thuds harder for. The what if, what if, what if replacing each beat of it. Hope that makes you want to cry out ‘please let this just be a bad dream’ to the universe. Hope that tries, but can’t escape the gnawing pit in your stomach that’s growing wider, threatening to swallow you whole. Hope that makes you wonder why this can’t be a story - why can’t you just be the grandson, yelling at his grandfather that he can’t be telling it properly. Someone is getting the story wrong. He can’t be marrying her, you’re just sure of it. Screaming at him, at someone, to please, just get it right. 

You wonder if someone were watching, would they be feeling the despair you are? Is this the moment? That scene in the movies is always the gut punch - for the audience and the character. It’s meant to hurt, make you hold your breath. Made to be dramatic - yell at the screen, break your heart, make the character in the action get back up and fight. They’re moments made to ignite that hope - but really, it’s the double tap - coming right after the feeling catches flame, that’s made to shatter you completely. 

The moment that extinguishes the what if for all it’s worth. When your heart is already breaking for the grandson, only for the grandfather to ask who says life is fair? Where is that written? When the knife is entering your chest, but the mask falls and the killer turns out to be someone you thought you could trust. When you’re untethered in space only for your last moment of consciousness to be seeing a friend cutting the cord. The person who sucker punched you kicking you when you’re down, taking it one step too far, leaving you crumpled on the mat. It’s all enough to make that fight, that urge to be angry instead of scared or hurt, disappear. It’s enough to knock you down so hard, you can’t possibly get back up - the hope is extinguished, and the story seemingly over. 

Robin squeals quietly, pulling Leigh’s hand across you to admire the ring, knocking Steve on the shoulder and saying something about the Dingus doing good. Your gaze flits down to the brown sugar and apple donuts in your lap, convinced you’re about to get sick right on top of them. Not because he’s marrying her, but because instead of being angry with him, you feel like you’ve been squashed, you feel hurt, you feel betrayed. Despite your better judgment, despite the past several years, you’ve let a man make you some pathetic, sad, heartbroken, and weak version of yourself. 

When Leigh’s hand retreats from Robin’s, lifting and curling a piece of hair behind her ear, diamond sparkling in the moonlight as she smiles over at Steve, your story’s end is written, and you need to accept it if you ever want some semblance of normalcy to return. You can’t lose him and them. But when Steve’s pinky brushes yours and you look over, his eyes resemble the broken beer bottle from the football game all those weeks ago. Shattered emerald and amber, cutting you to shreds with each shard of glass as he murmurs, “Can I tal-“

“I’ll be right back!” You whisper-shout, cutting him off and squeezing Robin’s shoulder as you get up. 

She yanks on your wrist, halting your attempt at an exit. Her eyes narrow as she interrogates, “Where are you going?”

Swallowing harshly as her blue eyes peer directly into your soul. She can probably smell the desire to run on you. Remembering your vow that Steve won’t take them away from you, a not quite a lie falls from your lips as you gesture to the concession food trucks, “You don’t have those cinnamon roasted almonds. They were my mom’s favorite and the smell is driving me crazy. Promise that’s all.”

“I swear to god, if you don’t come back, I will literally come stand outside your window on the sidewalk and scream-sing Monster Mash until someone calls the cops and I’ll drag you down with me.”

Her eyes blink, features incredibly serious despite the amusing threat. Your laugh mixes with Leigh’s and you ignore the shared moment, tugging your wrist free. “Would expect nothing less Robin.”

She motions she’s watching you, fingers to her eyes then yours, lips twitching in the corners before she turns back to the screen. 

Your feet feel heavy as they drag through the damp grass, and wait in line. It shouldn’t be a surprise after ordering when you hear his voice behind you. It floats through the air, soft, barely audible over the popping kettle corn, “I really didn’t know you’d be here. I wouldn’t have…” he sighs, settling on restating, “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Your shoulders fall and your eyes stay focused on the truck. You’ve had time, since that night on the sidewalk, but your hurt still sits fresh under your layer of armor - tender like an open wound you need to keep protected. Your palms slide further under the sleeves of your sweater, clinging to the garment like the shield you’re willing it to be - you don’t want to fight with him anymore, no matter how hurt and angry you are with him. 

So the tone you respond with aches to sound indifferent, if not a tad harsh, reminding him you’re mad and pretending there isn’t any spark of hope within you still. It’s over, it has to be over, and all it ever was to him was something to kill time - fun and no strings exactly what you wanted. So your words are really just a reminder to yourself, another layer of the wall you need to keep up around him, “It’s fine Steve. Would have been nice to get a head’s up,” your shoulders shrug, “But, well, that’s probably too generous for the girl you were just fucking while waiting for the one, right?”

The people next to you clear their throats and you can’t find it in yourself to care, to be embarrassed. 

Steve moves in front of you, his face filling your vision. He shaved - no more scruff you like. His jeans are dark again, with fresh, new creases, and a light blue sweater pulls across his chest and shoulders. He’s picture perfect, his polished uniform in place.

He shakes his head, eyes bouncing between yours as he asks, “Is that really all it was?”

Your shoulders shrug again, because it’s easier. It’s easier to try to deny, to ignore the flutter the question causes in your stomach. Easier to bite back the words that try to form on your tongue. Because of course that’s not all it was, at least not to you. You wouldn’t feel the way you do right now if that were true. But what’s the point in telling him that though? What happens? Can you forgive each other for the words said, that, no matter how true, can’t be taken back? Things like this only end in heartbreak - because what happens if you tell him how you were starting to feel - does that change anything for him? And even if it did, that means a broken engagement, it means complicated truths coming out, it means attempts at forgiveness. And even after all of that, life won’t give you a guarantee. There is no promise of zero fights, of nothing bad ever happening. There is no happily ever after where the possibility of a break up, of losing everyone you’ve grown to care for deeply, doesn’t exist. 

So yes, it’s easier, to not say any of that, because you know. This isn’t how life works. This isn’t a movie. No one is immune to life’s misfortunes. These sorts of open-ended questions and complicated emotions that come from his simple ask are unmeasurable and unreliable. Wondering and giving into those feelings only open you up to be used as a target for someone else’s shooting practice. You’ve known this, but you allowed yourself to forget, hating it was Steve who had to remind you. 

Which is why you look away from his eyes as you say, “I believe that is what was established a few weeks ago at that party Steve. You were there, remember? You were dressed as a pirate.” 

His head drops, hands running through his perfectly styled hair as he laughs, breath shaky, like the laugh is covering up any feeling in his voice. “So, that’s it? We’re just gonna act like none of it happened? You don’t wanna talk. You run away every time we get a chance to do so, a beer in my face and-“

Your hand rising in the air cuts him off, his mouth clamping shut as you make eye contact with him. “You deserved that and I’m not apologizing for it.”

He takes a step closer to you, his hand reaching towards you, then back into his hair like he second guesses himself. “I’m not asking you to, and I’m not apologizing for what I said either.” Steve swallows, hands on his hips as he looks at the ground then back up at you, “What I said wasn’t a lie.” 

He breathes out the next words, both of you staring at each other with the weight of what he says hanging in the air between you.

“You couldn’t tell me.”

Your hands shake from the confrontation, from his request you left unanswered that night. The emotions that still want to bubble over, the time apart did nothing to cool either of you down. That what if, what if, what if that replaced your heartbeat grows louder, but your brain only shuts it down harder. If you hurt now, how will it feel if you keep feeding the flame only for him to extinguish it again?

The beat of your heart and those hopeful words thud in your ears as your head shakes and your voice tries not to, barely audible as the words leave your lips, “I don’t want to do this anymore Steve. We’re just going in circles. You’re getting married. You didn’t tell me. Can you look me in the eye and tell me you were really my friend while you were clearly getting engaged this whole time?”

Blue light flashes from the screen, catching the corner of your eye and illuminating his, their gaze bouncing over your face. Your bodies move closer like they can’t help it, like they know they won’t be this way again. Steve’s tongue darts over his bottom lip before his breath blows out, your name a whisper on it. The way he says your name with that look in his eyes, chests almost touching, it’s easy for your head to tilt with familiarity. Your breath out is his breath in, and it’s even easier to forget the last time you were this close. Sounds other than his harsh swallow and your heartbeat fade away. Time freezes, just a little, and the air pulses with tangible possibility of hope. 

A shrill classic horror movie scream shatters the bubble. Your name is called, you blink, and take a step away. Guilt washes over you as you see your friends staring intently at the movie you’d practically forgotten you were there for. Leigh and Robin talk quietly and your eyelids flutter as you will whatever wants to escape down your cheeks away. Him showing up with Leigh and a ring on her finger wasn’t the double tap, this is. That hope was still there despite the fight against it, and it’s ripped from your fingers. The book is closed. The knife drips in the killer’s hand as the victim’s chest stops heaving. The spacesuit floats through a noiseless and lifeless galaxy. The body doesn’t get up from the mats and a silence falls over the crowd. 

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore Steve. I just want to go hang out with my friends. I need this to be over. Can it please be over?” You stare intently at the ground, one single tear slipping past your lashes. It feels like it rolls down your cheek for an hour before Steve finally answers. 

“Okay,” he quietly agrees. 

Your head nods once and you brush past him, barely choking out a whispered ‘by the way congratulations’ as you grab your snack. Hand swiping at the stray tear as you make your way back to the blanket slowly. 

When you sit back down, Leigh’s typing on her phone. She squeezes Robin’s hand before whispering a goodbye to everyone. She jogs over to Steve, cocking her head at him. He pushes his hands through his hair again, giving her a short smile. He runs his thumb and forefinger down the bridge of his nose, swiping under it with the back of his hand. His other extends towards her as she reaches him, fingers lacing together as they walk out. 

Robin’s shoulder nudges yours and your head turns to find her with eyebrows pinching together. She leans in and quietly asks, “Is he okay? Did he say something about leaving to you?”

Your head shakes, and you extend the bag to her with a tight smile. You will just keep lying to her. Steve and you will move on, and maybe, one day in the distant future, you’ll be able to tell her. It’ll all work out.

She mirrors your sad smile, the wrinkles in her forehead deepening as she takes a small handful and turns her attention back to the movie. Or she tries, but you watch as her eyes glance down to her phone every few minutes, until it lights up with his name and she quickly starts typing a response. 

It’ll all be fine. 

#taylor's asks 💋 #we'll call it love

[highpriestess13]

Love Reading 💋

911 is your confirmation for this reading. There’s communication coming in but from someone from your past, you could’ve manifested this person back or this is what they’re doing, make sure you guys are protecting your energy and doing protection work/ spells because I feel like this person is pulling on your energy. You or them could be wanting to compromise and work things out but honestly I see someone moving forward and moving on with their life, and allowing themselves to open up to new possibilities, changes and people. Could be dealing with a fire sign or could be hearing a lot of sirens… that’s your confirmation. There may have been some exchanging of words that may have caused this separation. Some of you are going to be meeting an Earth sign but I’m also hearing “fire” or this person has fire or earth in their chart. I see a lot of deception too and third party energy, 919 is significant someone could be a Virgo and I’m hearing Cancer. You’re coming up as the Queen of Pentacles. You’re very resourceful, humble, nurturing and when you invest into people you really do invest in them but this person could’ve token advantage of that but that’s okay, continue working and focusing on yourself and your own needs at this time. This person could’ve been very cold hearted and disconnected emotionally, or this person wasn’t emotionally fulfilling you in some way. The words they say can cut really deep, they may have their guard up or they did in the past. When you wanted to pour into this person’s cup they rejected it, this person could be experiencing a tower or heart break at this time. What they’ve done and said to you, they’re going through it with someone else. This person is in pain, they’re hearting… you could be feeling their energy too. You’ve filled too many of their cups now it’s time to fill your own. For some, they could’ve used you for “passion” and may have thought that that’s all you need to be “fulfilled” and this caused you to walk away from them. This person may have felt like you were the one who got away. They could also be sleeping with someone else and their karma is going to hit, they may even be with someone else already but whoever they’re with now, is going to betray them in some way. This person is going to try to make their way back to you, they could also be watching you too, if this person was flighty in the past ain't nothing change and its not going to change, they're going to want to work/ collaborate with you but i feel like you need to meditate on it first because will be expecting you to take a blind leap of faith… yet again. There's a King of Pentacles coming towards you that's going to want to give you all that you deserve, they see and know your worth and they’re VERY stable, could also be wealthy too. I see pregnancy in the near future or just you being with them is going to really put you in this 9 of pentacles & Empress energy. Could be a Taurus or Aries, could be a cusp or they have these placements… this person is your true twin flame 933 and 33 is your confirmation, there may also be an age gap too! The person from your past could’ve been a false flame or a karmic. Not going to lie..: this King of pentacles is FIIINE!! Lmao very strong features and pretty built or they keep themselves in good shape. They could be into herbs or herbalism… this person is just into natural things could also be a shaman or you are. This is something that’s divine but also powerful too! You may be a little confused on whether or not you should date this person but I think you should give it a try but do take your time, this person doesn’t like to rush things anyway. Your inner child is really going to shine with this person, you’re also going to find out that the both of you are similar in so many ways… talk about mirroring each other lol

**DONATION READINGS ARE OPEN! MESSAGE ME FOR MORE DETAILS!***

#fypシ #tarotcommunity #tarot cards #tarot reading #tarot #fypage #tumblr fyp #divination #tarot reader #abundance #trendingnow #tarot witch #free tarot #tarot spread #daily tarot #tarot deck #tarot spreads #tarot of the day #oracle #witches of tumblr #oracle cards #pick a pile #pick a deck #gemini placements #pick a card reading #pick a picture #pick a photo #pick a card #tarot tumblr #tarotblr

[kindnessinmonsters]

what does having faith mean in a decentralized religion?

i was raised in a very high demand form of christianity. i had to relearn what 'having faith' even means.

i was raised to believe that having faith meant having blind obedience. kneeling, bowing, scraping, bending my head to a god who, at the end of the day, didn't know me. I was miserable. i obeyed my elders, i believed in their morality, i absorbed their stories and did my best to apply them to my life, and i was an anxious terrified mess of a child with a stick so far up my ass i could taste it in the back of my tongue. i was so scared of screwing up and ending up outcasted into outer darkness that i would have given the christian god everything i had in me.

never mind that my very skin was literally a curse, according to my church. never mind that my heart was capable of love they could never understand. never mind that i couldn't be daughter and wife and mother.

...until i couldn't ignore it any more. i looked the god of my youth and told him to his face that i deserved better than him. i could be more than what he planned for me.

when i left my church, i had to rebuild the ruins of myself from scratch. i had to dig down deep and ask myself what i wanted out of life. who was i without the church?

turns out, i'm a guy that talks to the moon when he can't sleep. turns out, i dream of devils and gods and lightning in the dark. turns out, i can search deep in my history and find gods lurking there.

i invited the gods to sit at the table of my life. i share my stories with them and they share theirs with me. my offerings are given like meals between friends. they proved themselves to me a long time ago, in dreams and in the world, but i think even without that i am a better person for being a pagan. understanding loki especially has made me braver, kinder, and so much more determined to chase what i want in life. i am so much more willing to embrace change (it's still not easy for me, but i put in the work)! would it be the same for you?

there's such a huge emphasis on having the gods prove themselves in pagan circles, and i get it! i did the work to do that too! but maybe the more important question is who are you with them in your life?

who do you want them to be to you?

for me, doubt was never a question of 'is god real' or 'is there a higher power?' i would pose a more relevant question: what would it mean for you if the gods weren't real? or wasn't there?

would you still feel like including them in your life was worth the time and effort and faith? who are you with them? who are you without them?

even if it turned out that none of it was real, even if there's nothing in death but darkness, i would still think it was worth it. i am better for having faith in my life. i can stand in the middle of a storm and call it by its name. i sit in the middle of a crowd of my friends and swap stories with the people i love and gods, those moments are holy.

Religion, spirituality, having faith, it's all living poetry and you are the subject. what themes are you going to explore?

#myth loki #loki #lokean #norse #pagan #heathen #heathenry #norse polytheism #the diaries of an ex mormon #kind speaks #i originally wrote this as the answer to someone else's post #about battling doubt #and as much as i was inspired to write this #i realized i wasn't answering the original question #and probably derailing the conversation #so! new post! #fuck...i almost never shout into the void #but i guess i needed to get this off my chest #... i didn't realize i had so much to say #hmm #it's 2am on a friday night and i'm waxing poetic about gods and men #that's pretty on brand for me tbh

[ravenpureforever]

So I know we all joke about Porchay living his best Wattpad life, myself included, but I think we all kind of ignore how Kim just never dissuaded him from that notion and how we find that genre dissonance between Porsche & Kim’s view (and often our audience view) of Chay and how he actually acts, and we’re all sleeping on the mini character arc he’s gotten over the course of the series.

Porsche and Kim don’t want Chay to get caught up in the mafia world, and they both seem to view him in the same lense: he’s innoncent, sweet, incorruptible.

But Chay has fucking balls man, and he’s a lot more resilient than people give him credit for. He also ignores red flags like he’s color blind. We don’t get to see much of him, but the glimpses we do get show there is so much more beneath the surface.

First:

Man grew up with Porsche & a dead beat Uncle, you telling me he didn’t see some shit growing up? No matter how well Porsche protected him, Chay is the one dressing his wounds when he comes back from fighting, Chay still hears the loan sharks coming for his Uncle, he’s growing up watching his older brother as really the only source of income for his household. And he can’t do anything about it. Watching episode 1, when Chay asks Porsche to let him get a job and help out, it feels like they’ve had this conversation before, it feels resigned, it feels like a final quiet plea of “we’ve talked about this before, but please, please, please just consider it.” But Porsche says no, I’m going to take care of it and I can’t help but think of the impact that has, of watching the person he loves most get beat down again and again and not being able to do anything about it. I feel like Chay probably grew up being the peacekeeper, the one trying to keep the waters calm. Its clear he knows he’s his brother’s world, that his brother has done so much to keep him sheltered and happy, and I can think of Porsche teaching Chay manners, teaching him ideals of being kind to others and Chay just internalizing it and deciding “ah yes, so this is my role in the family, this is how I can help my brother.” Chay probably felt a lot of pressure, no matter how unintentionally and how unconditionally Porsche loves him, to be a reason why his brother is doing all of this, he’s probably hyper aware of how he’s Porsche’s motivation, that everything his brother does is for him. That does things to your self-worth, to how you view yourself. I get the feeling hasn’t had any agency over his own life before, he’s always been the princess locked in the tower, aware of the war but not allowed to participate. His happily ever has been chosen and now he just has to see it through.

Then literally overnight, he wakes up and his Uncle has vanished, and his brother has left with just a fairly suspicious note about pursuing his dream that’ll completely be able to fully support Chay. His entire way of living has transformed, and now he’s completely alone. He went from princess locked in a tower as a war rages on to a Queen of a decimated kingdom. He can not grieve, he can only have faith and move forward.

This is also how I realized Chay has practically been designed to ignore all red flags and interpret them as something else.

Enter Kim, stage right. Enter Chay’s wattpad fantasy come to life, also stage right.

When Chay meets Kim, he is someone who has literally nothing to lose throwing himself out there. My boy literally just recites an encyclopedia knowledge of “Wik, sir, you are my hyper fixation” all in the hopes of getting that T-shirt. And it works! His idol signs his T-shirt, he gets to talk to his idol, he has been rewarded for putting himself out there!

So go big or go home right? He might as well try asking for a tutor when asked if there’s anything he wants. And he’s shot down. No big deal, he moves on and has merch thats going to be the envy of the Wik fandom.

But then his idol calls him, and says he’ll tutor him. Wik remembered him, remembered his request, and then proceeded to hunt down a way to get Chay’s phone number and call him personally in order to tell him he’s decided to he’s going to help him get into the his dream department that he himself is apart of.

Its easy to view Chay from Kim’s perspective, as an excitable fanboy with a crush, but we forget how Kim looks from Chay’s perspective. So lets look on how everything seems from Chay’s perspective.

Chay put himself out there, made a decision solely for himself and what he wants and now his idol wants to tutor him. He’s been actively rewarded twice now, by the same person, for asserting what he wants and trying to get it. He’s gotten his cake and is eating it too. He has a celebrity crush like most people get, only his celebrity crush is now making the effort to genuinely get to know him. 

Wik tells Chay his name is Kim, he’s being open and vulnerable to Chay, and he’s trusting him with his identity. Kim asks about his brother, even though Chay didn’t tell him, red flag to any normal person citing he saw Chay’s screensaver and made an assumption. Kim is taking an interest in his life, he notices little details about him, and is asking to here more about the coolest person in the world, his brother and even noticed how much Chay loves Porsche that he wants Chay to write a song about it! He even trusts Chay enough to ask for his phone when Kim’s phone has died, even though that’ll mean there’s important numbers in Chay’s call history, and he trusts that Chay won’t take advantage of them!

And maybe Chay starts to fall a bit in love with Kim. Not Wik, but Kim, who’s a little bit insecure, a little bit awkward, but is making all this effort for Chay.

For Chay, it isn’t anything manipulative or suspicious, he’s becoming friends Kim, they’re sharing information about themselves, they’re bonding now, and he’s been shown that if he pushes, Kim will stay. Chay is all alone now, he has to take care of himself, but if he makes an effort and keeps putting himself out there, if he makes his wants known, Kim comes to him. Kim trusts him, and as long as Chay takes the initiative, he also makes the effort to bond with Chay.

Then Porsche comes back! Chay isn’t alone anymore, and they’re happy and safe and Porsche isn’t getting beat up! And then Porsche once again immediately leaves without a word and few days later you get the first call you’ve gotten from him since he left the first time and now he’s back at work and doesn’t know when he’ll be back again. He’s all alone, and his brother has seem to get a new life that once again Chay’s not allowed to be apart of.

But then Kim shows up at his house! And Chay immediately throws his brother under the bus in a desperate bid to keep Kim’s good opinion of him, once again, gotta admire the sheer balls and audacity of that move. Then Kim gifts him one of his guitars! Porsche do you understand how easily your brother could be taken advantage of do you? Sure he almost gets the heart attack of Kim discovering his shrine, but what teenager doesn’t have posters on the wall of his favorite singer? Maybe it’s weird that he wants Chay to go get the food for them both, but he could have an important phone call to make, he could be nervous going out in public where people could recognize him! Then when he gets back Kim asks him about his love life! Kim ruffles his hair! Kim tells him to write a love song!

Kim is checking off all the boxes of my crush likes me back.

So when Kim ghosts him a little, Chay makes the obvious conclusion. Show up at his house and sing him the love song he wrote! He’s been shown time, and time again that if he reaches out to Kim, Kim will eventually grab his hand. Kim has shown to be awkward and a little of unsure of himself around Chay, but relaxes when Chay takes the initiative. So Chay does what’s always worked. With literally no fear or anxiety whatsoever.

And with episode 13, we see how close they were getting. We see how they went out to places together, romantically or platonically, and they took pictures together! They were friends, they were close, they had a level of trust and bonding and vulnerability for Chay to take photos with Kim and leave them around his house for Kim to find!

So Chay once again has nothing left to lose, and shoots his final shot and confesses to Kim. And Kim kisses him! They hug! Kim may or may not have come home with him that night but at some point in they’re relationship post confession, they fall asleep cuddling on the couch.

And Chay and Porsche are very similar. They fall in love quickly, they become very devoted and loyal to that love, and they are honest about it. Chay and Porsche are both the first ones to say I love you, but while Porsche doesn’t ask for a reply, Chay does. Because Kim has shown time and time again that Chay needs to take the initiative. So he asks Kim: I love you, do you love me?

But he stops at that and lets Kim take his time. Because that’s the song and dance their courtship has been taking, Chay flirts, Chay pushes forward and then Kim comes to meet him the rest of the way.

Chay is living in a Wattpad fantasy: he meets his idol crush, his idol crush becomes fascinated with him, he sees the real human behind his idol crush’s persona and falls in love with the awkward, sweet person underneath, he confesses his love and the feeling is mutual! And all of this seems to be fate, like this perfect love story and the happy ending he actually wants. He’s practically gotten into his dream department with the boy of his dreams who loves him back.

He’s confirming it is all real, and letting Kim know that it’s all real on his end.

And then he gets fucking kidnapped. And then he gets indisputable proof that his brother has been lying to him this entire time, and he was kidnapped because of that secret life his brother was lying about it.

The ultimatum may seem harsh, but it makes sense when you see it from Chay’s perspective. He probably feels essentially abandoned by his brother for the past two months, and he’s understandably pissed about everything thats happened in the last 48 hours or so. His brother can be part of his life and they can go back to the way things were, but Chay can’t be a part of his life if his brother is in the mafia, and its true. Porsche has spent all this time telling Chay he wants him to get into a good school and get a good job and be surrounded by good people with a good social life. You can’t have that in the mafia, and Chay knows that. So from Chay’s perspective, his brother has basically just been a complete hypocrite to everything his brother taught him.

And while Porsche has been shown the type of person to be willing to throw away his morals and beliefs when it comes to the people he loves, Chay isn’t. His entire life has been surrounded on those ideals of being a good, kind person who lives a good life. And he’s understandably terrified of the thought of losing his brother and truly being on his own. He’s basically lost his only emotional support system for two months, and if his brother dies, he loses him for good.

So Chay says him or me, because in his mind either way he could lose his brother, but this is Chay making his own decision, this is Chay fighting back and reminding Porsche that see you hurt makes me hurt too. This ultimatum reminds Porsche that his actions have conquenses on Chay too, and it shows how Chay has grown up in his absence. Chay in episode one was willing to just bow his head and listen to what his brother, but Chay in episode 10 is willing to speak out, he’s no longer willing to be simply passive in his brother’s plans for him.

In the end, he and Porsche communicate, and we get a taste of how Chay is, like Porsche, willing to throw away his ideals because he loves someone. But now he’s been dragged into a completely unfamiliar world, he’s truly been into a different kingdom where he doesn’t have any of the power or agency he’s gotten used to having in Porsche’s absence.

And then its revealed the love of his life is part of the mafia, and he’s just gotta sit there and pretend like nothings wrong.

Side note: while it’s absolutely hilarious that absolutely nobody learned about the KimChay romance, it also makes a lot of sense. Rule number one of Wattpad romance: You NEVER tell your overprotective brother your in love or dating or got dumped. You NEVER let your big brother know about your love life. Rule number two of Wattpad romance: When dating a celebrity, you NEVER leave a hint that any fans could pick up on. You ALWAYS need to keep the relationship a secret for as long as humanly possible. Chay thinks he knows what genre he’s in, and he’s being smart about it.

So Chay goes to confront him. Like doesn’t even hesitate, just shows up like bitch you better explain yourself. Because that’s what he does, only this time he does it out of anger, not out of love.

And Kim tells him that his entire reality was a lie. When Chay breaks down crying, it’s not just because Kim dumped him, though that had to hurt, its because that means their entire friendship, all the kindness and effort Kim showed him, all the time they spent together, all the moments Chay thought were sweet, thought they were bonding and falling mutually in love was a complete and utter lie. He’s just been made a fool, and his entire life has been completely transformed and he has no control over any of it.

So he spirals and self destructs. Him ditching the interview may seem dumb and like he’s throwing everything Porsche worked for away, but think about it. Everything about this interview is going to reminder of Kim and how he betrayed Chay’s love and trust. This interview is a reminder of how his brother threw away his own life for Chay to have a future their parents would be proud of, despite his protests. This interview is an embodiment of Chay’s own lack of control in his own life, it has become a symbol of his pain.

Everything in Chay’s life has fallen apart and now he has to pick up the pieces and find his place in the new world he’s in.

So he tries to take back that lost control and ditches the interview. He does the stereotypical new haircut new me era. He goes out drinking with friends. Chay can’t talk to Porsche about any of this, he can’t be honest with friends about any of this. He doesn’t have any real support system in his life right now, and he’s falling apart. For the past two months he’s been in charge of his life for the first time, only for it to be yanked away and everything he knows to disappear. He wants to get that control back, but he has no clue how, and he has no one to help him. So he makes some dumbass decisions, but its not just because of Kim, it’s because desperately grappling for a sense of agency in a world that keeps stripping him of it.

And then Kim comes back into his life, and in Chay’s perspective, tries to take away his agency again and toy with his emotions. “You said you don’t care about me, but here you are caring about me,” and it makes him angry. So in episode 13, he tries to cut Kim off, he ignores his calls and blocks his number to assert his control of their relationship.

And then his agency and control is once again taken when Porsche wakes him up and (presumably) drops him off at Yok’s and (probably) doesn’t tell about anything that happens.

His Wattpad dream life romance has fallen apart, he’s had to leave his old life completely behind, and now he’s left in the ashes trying to figure put who he is and where he stands in this situation, trying to be his own person without anyone there to help him.

Conclusion: I think Chay is someone who strives to be kind and polite, and like Porsche wants to see the best in people, but he’s also incredibly brave and put into the position where he’s really making his own decisions for the first time in his life. He’s frustrated, he’s unsure, he’s making mistakes and fumbling around, but he’s a young adult finally trying to take control of his life after everything has been ripped out underneath him, and I think that side of him could be explored to.

I think Chay is the type of person who’s sweet and respectful, but when push comes to shove, he’s shown to be a no nonsense kind of person who isn’t afraid to backdown. He’ll listen, he’ll comprise, but Chay has a lot more of a spine and a no fear attitude than people give him credit for, but right now he’s desperately trying to assert his agency in a narrative that keeps taking it from him, and its causing him to self destruct.

I’m genuinely excited to see where his arc from passive princess in tower to living a self-insert life to currently self destructive extensional crisis ends up. We’ve only gotten a few scenes with him, but they’ve shown so much of a character arc that I feel people are sleeping on.

#kinnporsche the series #kinnporsche #kimchay #vegaspete #sorry I just want people to stop sleeping on Chay #kinnporsche meta #kinnporsche episode 13 #kinnporsche episode 12 #they we’re supposed to be the sweet ones admist the mafia drama #they’re all unhinged disasters #i’m obsessed #porsche my beloved #kinnporsche analysis #kimchay analysis #I’ve got a lot of feelings and thoughts about Chay okay #he’s got so much going on and such an interesting characterization #or maybe im just overthinking #but still