#( like i do wanna flesh her out. to think of her daily habits. ) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

valeskakingdom · 3 years

Note

since we were talking about candy in the groupchat, what about jerome and reader being at the circus or a festival and reader insisting on trying every candies and snacks? or maybe that would be jerome? haha (of course, ignore if you want to! :))

No it's alright! I think I do it before Jerome became crazy tho. Still I think I mention the abusive relationship and the big hatred Jerome feels for her. Get ready for a little surprise ahaha!

This time it's a very short one tho (my opinion)

Credit: @daily-joker

Jerome x Reader

Warnings: short mention of violence and abuse, otherwise none

Word count: 2139

It was 4ish in the afternoon.

You were excited - finally you see your lover again: the ginger circus boy Jerome Valeska. He meant everything to you, you couldn't without him. In your opinion you and him had almost the perfect relationship. You've never argued, you supported each other, helped each other... It was magical. Both of you, Jeromeor you, could never think it. You and arguing? About what? There was nothing to argue about. You know he would never cheat on you, nor would you. Your feelings for each other were way to strong.

But yes, as you've heard - your relationship was almost perfect.

The crux of the matter were your habits. You lived in a small apartment near the Narrows with a non exciting view to the outside - you just saw damaged houses, trash filled the streets, and just a few people walked outside.

And Jerome - he lived at the circus. Always travelling, always far away from you. Just at the beginning of spring you were able to see him, otherwise you were required to send letters - and you did it, day by day until you both knew everything about each other. You knew, he didn't like the circus - mainly because of his mother Lila Valeska, the snake dancer. In your opinion, she was a whore who abused his own flesh and blood. She was beating Jerome, yelling and punishing him for nothing. It made you cry, thinking your love of your life was living in such horrible conditions. Several times you offered him to live with him but he always declined. He said if he left his mum would find him and kill him. Then you offered him to move to the circus but even that he declined. He said he couldn't forgive himself if his mother laid a finger on you - kind of understandable.

***

You made your way quick to the circus. You didn't want to waste your time, you couldn't wait any longer to see you. You wanted to hug him, kiss the shit outta him, wanted to smell on his cologne that smelled like a mix of candies and the classy men perfume. It satisfied all your senses, you were literally addicted to it.

After you quickly parked in front of the circus, you made your way fast to enter it. You didn't even need to buy a ticket, every artist knew you as Jerome pretty little doll. That was the nickname he usually gave you when he was non stop talking about you.

On the entrance, you saw the Ringmaster seemingly looking for something. His head permanently moved from one side to another and he had a questioning look on his face. It changed though as he saw you. A little smile went over his face and waved at you, he had some empathy for you which was not natural.

"Great to see you (Y/n)."

"Thank you," you gave him a warm smile "Was just looking for Jerome."

"Might be in his trailer. Probably arguing with his mother again. I heard them yelling." He shrugged clueless.

You just sighed in response, you knew what that meant. You'd find Jerome being beaten up in his room, his pretty face was covered in bruises and he'd try to overplay everything although he'd love to cry into your shoulder.

Immediately, you made your way to his trailer, almost running. You hoped he was fine and nothing that bad has happened yet.

Your feeling was wrong.

You saw him sitting in front of the trailer. He was crawled into himself like a little girl that was scared of getting punched but one of its parents again - what a cliche.

You couldn't see whether he was crying yet or not - you just hoped he didn't.

You hope was all gone as you came nearer, you heard him sobbing and sniffing. Fuck, you thought. Your felt sorry for him, you couldn't stand him being so sad. It made you sad, you just wanted to cry. You couldn't see him like that. Your heart felt heavy, breathing became a burden, pins and needles were all over your skin, tears were built up in your eyes at you were trying to hold back.

"Jerome-" Your breathe hitched as he looked up at you - his eyes were puffy and red from crying and his face...oh lord. He had a black eye, a red swollen lip with a bloody cut You almost didn't date to ask. You knew he didn't like taking about it "Wha-what has happened?"

"Had a little argument with my mum and her one off bozo." He shrugged sniffing and looked at the ground.

You couldn't understand Lila, you couldn't understand anybody who ever abused someone like that. Did they have fun destroying someone's life?! Did she love seeing her son hurt?

Saying nothing you took a seat next to him. You took his hand tangling your fingers in your and rubbed circles with your thumb slowly as you rested your head on his shoulder. You tried to calm him down with that. You knew words were useless. You could start this typical encouragement like everything's gonna be better bla bla. You and he knew it was not true and making him falso hope wouldn't help at all.

You both said nothing for a while. You gave him time to clear his head that he could calm down. You didn't want to annoy him with any stupid words or thoughts as well.

"I wanna kill her." Jerome said all of a sudden "She should feel the pain she causes me."

You gulped in surprise. You've never heard him saying like this before, he sounded so serious about it what kinda scared you. Was he serious about it? No he wasn't, right? Jerome was too adorable to be a criminal. He was surely just upset about the stuff his mother does to him and he doesn't know what he's sayinh.

"I just can offer you to stay with me, Jerome. You'd be save, no mother, no violent bozos. There'd be just you and me."

"Soon I will. I promise." He wiped his tears from his cheeks.

"Just say a word and I help you packing." You just kissed his cheek give him a little smile. It was the first time he said this. Now you were assured he really wanted to do all these things you've planned once: Living together, a wedding, kids.

Jerome looked at you now. His gaze met yours, a small smile was built up in his actually face. He was relieved. He was thankful you offered him a place to say although the he permanently denied it. He was thankful to have you by his side. You were his only supporter, and the most intense one.

"I love you," Jerome grabbed your cheeks softly and pulled you into a deep kiss. You couldn't help but smile as your lips touched softly.

"I love you, too." You said against his lips with a smile making him smile, too. You were thinking now. What could you do to make him feel better? Sex was no option for you - well, not right now. You wanted to give him the feeling of freedom, that he could do what he wanted or that he could be a normal teenager like you. You wanted to do something stupid with him. Something like buying tons of food like trying to win the biggest soft animal or taking silly photos of each other. You just wanted to see him happy again.

Then you had an idea.

You grabbed his hand and pulled him after you while you both stood up. Probably that was gonna be one of your most stupid ideas but it was fun. It was childish. Maybe he would even call you dumb but you didn't care. You just wanted to make him love and letting him forget all his problems.

"What are you doing?" Jerome frowned as he wiped the last few tears out of his face.

"I wanna cheer you up, silly." You giggled and kept walking "Have you ever eaten every sort of candies here Or every snack you can buy here?"

"What?"

"Yes or no?"

"Uhm...no? What are you-..."

"Time for changes." You smirked "We now go buy every single candy and every kind of fast food they offer here. Then we go out anywhere and eat them all up and vote what's the best and the worst one."

"Are you serious?" Jerome asked on disbelief.

"I'm anything but joking." You stopped walking giving him a stern look "So you're in?"

"I don't know," Jerome shrugged with a sigh "I'm just not in the mood for anything."

Instead of saying something, you pulled him into a tight hug and buried your face into the crook of his neck. At first, he didn't hug you back, just stood there; sad, unmotivated, pissed. You didn't mind about it. You could understand how he felt. Being beaten up and insulted almost every day had to be horrible. It was a living hell.

After a few minutes though, you felt Jerome slowly wrapping his arms around. His head was leaned against yours, one of his hands was placed on the back of your head and his fingers were tangled in your hair. You felt how he pulled you more against him. He needed you, more than before - more than anything right now.

"I hate seeing you like that, Jerome." You mumbled "I just want you to be happy or at least forget all these bad things for a moment. I know it's hard, but I just wanna help you, okay?"

"I know...thank you for that." Jerome kissed your head, then looked at you giving you a little smile making you smile, too.

"Anytime for you," You pecked his lips "So...does that mean you're in?"

"Do we really have to eat all candies?"

"Yes! That's the fun on it," You chuckled "How about we rate the candies? Criteria are taste and consistence. C'mon that'll be fun!"

"Fineee." He rolled his eyes with a slight laughter. You were glad. You were glad seeing him smiling, hearing him laughing a little. His eyes weren't full of tears anymore, he didn't look sad not like he was about to have a nervous break down. He looked like the funny and happy Jerome you got to know.

***

"What about Twinkies?" You ask as you and Jerome took a bite in it as you both sat n the back seats of your car. You really did it. You bought every candy that existed at the circus. Pop tarts, Nerds, Sour Patch, Twizzlers...everything.

In your eyes it was a good idea doing that. Not because you were obsessed with candies, you just wanted to distract Jerome - and it worked. He was laughing more, he was making jokes, making you smile. Exactly how you wanted it.

"I would say...hm...taste is 7 out of 10, consistence 8." Jerome said thinking "Makes 7.5"

"I agree," You said giving him the cotton candy "Now let's try this." You both took a bite in it.

"Taste is 8 out of 10, consistence is...6."

"Really? Just a 6? It's an 8 as a minimum." You frowned in disbelief. He can't be serious, can he?

"It's too fibrous."

"Well, that's the sense of cotton candy." You rolled your eyes "You aren't a cotton candy type, are you?"

"I just don't like this one. Its just made bad," He grabbed the pop tarts opening them "Now let's try these." And again you both took a bite in it.

"Fight me but 10 out of 10! Both criteria!" You insisted instantly.

"Agreed." Jerome nodded "I think they are my favorites."

"Hm," You pursed your lips thinking "I can't decide between Twizzlers and Pop Tarts." You really couldn't. You loved the frosted chocolate in Pop Tarts, and oh the cookie! The cookie was amazing. But Twizzlers... You loved the strawberry flavor. It was perfect! Not too sour, not too sweet, not bitter. Both were your favorite flavors.

"Let's try them again." Jerome eagerly grabbed the Twizzlers pack and ate some "Definitely Pop Tarts."

"Are you sure? They are both so... delicious and-..."

"I'm more than sure," Jerome interrupted me with a slight chuckle "Trust me, Pop Tarts are the best."

"Okay fine, Pop Tarts are the winner." You smirked eating up the rest of Pop Tarts. You admitted, he was right. Pop Tarts ARE the best.

"By the way," Jerome started scratching his head "Thank you."

"Anytime." you smiled kissing his soft and red lips. You accomplished what you wanted - he was happy again because of your silly idea "And next time we rate fast food."

"I'm in."

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youwerenevermeanttofeelalone · 3 years

Text

More Important | Bucky Barnes

✦ pairing — Bucky Barnes x female!Plus Size Reader with ADHD

✦ word count — 1.2k

✦ request — Can i ask you pretty please just whenever you're available to and have some free time do like. Bucky has a soft spot for reader and she has ADHD but isnt on meds and so one day is really bad and she cant seem to do anything right and she gets frustrated with herself and really upset and then Tony or Bruce snap at her and it just upsets her more and so Bucky defends her and takes her out of the situation by either going to her place or out to a dinner or something?

✦ warnings — some angst, Tony snaps at reader, fluff that can be interpreted as either romantic or platonic.

✦ author's note — this is the first time I’ve depicted a neurodivergency in my writing so I would really appreciate some feedback.

════════════════════════

Bucky smiled at you through the glass wall, greeting you as he always did. You waved at him, eyes widening when you saw Sam walking beside him. The sight made you remember you were supposed to fix Sam’s wings.

Shit, why couldn’t you just use the reminders app on your phone? Palming your pocket, you groaned — of course you had forgotten your phone too.

As Bucky and Sam made their way to the lounge, you hurried to the other side. You hoped Steve wouldn’t need Sam for a mission soon, at least not until night.

About to reach the elevator, you crashed against someone. Gasping, you gripped Natasha’s shirt to keep yourself from falling.

She held you by the waist, frowning as she looked at you. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m great! Never been better.”

Not believing you, she tugged on the hem of your top. “Your blouse is backwards.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you hummed. Yeah, sure, that had to happen to you the same day you ruined your favorite blouse with coffee. You forgot that you had stored your clothes the right way for once.

“I’ll fix it,” you mumbled, fluttering your eyes open. You let go of her shirt, yet Natasha didn’t let go of you immediately.

“If you need anything…”

You nodded. “I know, Nat, thank you.”

The bathroom was empty, floors still wet from cleaning. You washed your hands, happy to know Tony had bought coconut soap again. Finally looking at yourself in the mirror, you fixed your blouse. Happy with the outcome, you breathed out in relief.

The tiles around you made the outfit look nice even. You were tempted to stay there, admiring the way the colors complimented each other. It was a pretty sight, calming, startlingly different yet mundane.

Pumping the soap dispenser, you inhaled the coconut scent of the liquid soap and rubbed it over your wet hands, lathering it up. The bubbles lightly tickled their way between your fingers, barely popping as you rubbed your right digits between the left ones.

After washing the remaining bubbles, you dried your hands against your pants and left the bathroom.

An empty laboratory greeted you. The sight was too rare, you were used to being welcomed by Tony — usually with a sarcastic comment and a warm smile.

Approaching your workspace, you heard the code being punched in.

Bruce stuck his head inside the lab, asking, “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I was about to start working on Sam’s wings,” you explained, pointing to the wings on the table.

“Everybody is in the meeting room. We’ve been waiting for you.”

You walked toward him, hesitating to come out of the lab before following him. Bruce’s steps were hurried which meant the meeting was serious.

Natasha followed you with her eyes as you took your seat next to Tony who tightly smiled at you.

You placed your hands on your lap, joining your fingers. Rolling your thumbs over each other, you fixed your eyes on Steve.

Steve uncrossed his arms and started talking, looking at every single one of you as he did so. His words stopped making sense rather quickly, the topic changed drastically and you weren’t able to follow up — not today.

Tony snapped his fingers in front of your face. “Can you pay attention for two minutes?”

“W— yeah, sorry.”

“I was telling you that I will need you and Bruce to clear your schedules.”

You nodded. What schedule? He surely had faith on you using the planner he gave you, and your reminders app, and the daily email he made FRIDAY send you.

A loud sigh slid past Tony’s lips and he exploded, “I need you focused for this project! Can you do it or not?”

You jumped at the shift in his tone.

"Tony," Bucky warned harshly.

Tony rubbed his hand over his face, growing more and more frustrated. "I know you have a soft spot for her, but this project is important. You just heard Steve, everything depends on that antidote."

"Then get somebody else to help too, it’s not more important than her. She's about to explode!"

“I’m fine,” you croaked, too embarrassed and frustrated to put up with people talking about you as though you weren’t in the room.

Not able to bring yourself to stand up, you made yourself small on the chair and waited for them to continue talking about the mission.

Tony's gaze softened as it fell on your form. “You need a day off?” he asked, ashamed by his outburst. He should’ve known better than anyone how hard some days were.

You shrugged. Bucky answered for you, “Yes, she does.”

Bucky stood up, rounding the table and walking toward you. "Come with me," he told you in a soft voice, offering his hand to you.

“Go,” Tony mumbled.

Knowing that was the closest to an apology you would get from Tony, you dropped your palm on top of Bucky’s.

Bucky helped you stand up even though you didn’t need him to and then opened the door for you to walk out of the room first.

The sun had already set when you left the building. Bucky didn’t let go of your hand yet his grip wasn’t too tight — thankfully because the hustle and bustle in the streets was ringing in your ears.

You wanted to crawl into your own skin and never get out of your flesh cocoon.

“Do you wanna go anywhere in particular?”

“Home,” you managed to say.

He looked at you for a short moment, nodding as he assessed the situation.

════════════════════════

You fiddled with the loops of your jeans as you waited for the brown door to open. The building was quiet in contrast to the busy streets yet the ringing in your ears lingered.

The small door in front of you opened. The old man in front of you smiled in greeting. “Keys?”

You tiredly nodded. “Again,” you said with frustration.

“It’s alright,” the man said, walking past you and leading the way toward your apartment.

Bucky trailed behind you, eyes scanning the area out of habit. He thanked the man at the same time you did for unlocking your door and softly rested his hand on your back to lead you in.

Closing the door, he asked, “Lights on or off?”

“On, but dimmed.”

“Why don’t you change into some—“

You interrupted him, “Sam will need his wings, won’t he?”

“Don’t worry about that now. Tony can fix them.” He then added, “Sam isn’t stupid either, he can fix them on his own. You’re just better at it than him.”

“But Tony is busy already and Sam probably has other stuff to do that isn’t fixing his wings which is my job.”

Bucky draped his now discarded jacket on the arm of the couch. “You had a bad day, okay? That happens to all of us, you think Sam won’t understand?” Before you could answer, he said what you didn’t let him finish earlier, “Change into something comfortable and I’ll order us some food.”

“You don’t have to make me company if you don’t want to.”

“I want to,” he assured you. “Tony was right when he said I have a soft spot for you. Now go.” He nodded upward at the door he knew to be your bedroom’s. “Take your time.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x plus size reader #bucky barnes

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hansolmates · 3 years

Note

Ok wait cauz I'm so curious about this what would happen if a heros' journey yn and jk met jisoo again somewhere like what would go down 😳😶

pairing; ahj!jk x reader (f) genre/warnings; sad, fluffy at the end, it’s a holiday drabble! w/c; 1k a/n; im sorry this is sooooo late but i hope u like it!

“Ohmygod—it’s Jisoo,” you hiss between the racks of the department store. Your eyes dart around the hallways of the drab Macy’s, wondering if you’re seeing things. This definitely isn’t Saks or Bergdorf Goodman, the floor isn’t decked in marble and there’s no ceiling mirrors.

Nope, this is a boring Macy’s and you’re surrounded by a tasteful choice of Boring Beige. It’s why it’s so surprising, seeing Jisoo listlessly go through rack after rack. She looks out of place, sticking out like a Christmas light in her silvery tinsel jacket as she thumbs through various sweatsuits. It’s been so long since you’ve seen her in the flesh, you wondered if she moved out of town all this time.

“Really, where?” a hand on your shoulder reminds you that you’re not alone, and you crane your head slightly to look at your bug-eyed boyfriend.

“Jungkook—” you step back to survey the damage, his arms filled to the brim. Three pairs of Fila sweats, an Ultraboost box perched on his arm, and a heather grey Patagonia sweatshirt, “you do not need more workout gear. You have all of these things at home!”

“Baby, you never have too many sweats. Just in case I need to prepare for the Zombie apocalypse—”

“Let’s go say hi to her,” you’re running from thought-to-thought, darting between Jungkook’s distracting shopping habits and the fact that Jisoo is currently leaving the athletic department and further away from the two of you.

After Jungkook took the liberty of Insta-blocking Jisoo in Boracay, you promptly unblocked her when you returned home. You figured that after that silly comment, you’d be able to follow each other mutually, like old friends. After that, it’s mostly been static, and while Jisoo comes to your mind from time to time, you never felt an inclination to reach out to her until now—when she’s within arm’s reach.

“Do you really think that’s the best idea?” you and Jungkook are hunched (actually, you’re just hunched. Jungkook doesn’t bother to bend, he’s already gone through leg day this week) by the rack closest to the register, so he dumps his purchases on the counter.

“It’s been a year,” you huff, “maybe she’s here for the holiday with her mom or something. I don’t think she’d willingly go to Macy’s on her own.”

“Exactly, she’s already gonna be in a bad mood. She’s in a Macy’s.”

The two of you wait for the cashier to pack Jungkook’s bags, and he even has the audacity to ask for a gift receipt and some present boxes. “You always talk about self-care, babe,” Jungkook sing-songs, and you have a feeling that the both of you are going to be wrapping up sweatpants under the tree tonight.

It isn’t until an hour later do you run into Jisoo again. This time it’s in the food court—well, the food court’s bathroom.

“I need to pee,” you’re blocking her from entering the stalls, afraid you’d lose her again. Jisoo says the phrase again, wholly annoyed at your insistence. She talks as if no time has passed, attitude and all.

“How have you been?” you give a tentative smile, lowering your arms slightly.

“Alright,” Jisoo leans back on her clicking heels, looking down at the ground, “bladder’s a little bloated.”

“Me too,” you reply. Actually, more than alright. “I mean uh, not the bladder part. Did you have lunch yet?”

“I don’t wanna have lunch with you.” Ouch, but expected.

“Oh, well that’s okay,” It worries you considerably, knowing it’s been a year and Jisoo still insists to be cold with you. “It’s just so nice to see you.”

“Can’t say the same,” you deflate, and the palm of your hand slides against the doorhenge, falling against your thighs. Jisoo looks more like a mini-mother chastising you for your naïveté than an old college friend you spent years with rooming together, “what’s the point? I hurt you, and yet you still want to talk like we’re still best friends? It’s pathetic—”

“Don’t talk to her like that.”

Jungkook is right behind Jisoo, your bags in hand. It’s then you see Jisoo’s face crumple, the silhouette of her pretty tweed jacket looking not-so sophisticated as she looks up at his flaring eyes.

You wonder briefly if this is what Jungkook and Jisoo looked like when they fought. When they were together, their fights were concealed, in favor of pushing out a perfect narrative of a happy relationship. Jungkook’s expression of that’s enough, the steely gaze penetrating through Jisoo’s equally cold exterior.

And for the briefest of moments, you know Jisoo now feels out of place when she sees the two of you together. She’s engulfed in Jungkook’s presence, and you see traces of love, dull sparks in Jisoo’s gaze.

Finally, you move over, giving Jisoo an out. “Happy holidays,” you say, giving one more tight smile.

It isn’t until you’re out of the hallway and back into the food court that Jungkook comforts you.

“She’s just confused,” Jungkook wraps his arms around you, and you’re swaddled in that signature soft hoodie material that your boyfriend wears on the daily, “it would be so much easier if you just hated her.”

“But I don’t hate her,” you mumble, “at least, not anymore.”

“And that’s what I love about you,” Jungkook thumbs the apple of your cheek, smiling warmly, “let’s order to-go and go home.”

“Mmkay,” you thread your fingers together, walking to your favorite food stall, “by the way, where did you go?”

The small, square velvet box that sits at the bottom of Jungkook’s sweats urges him to answer, but he tamps it down and replies that he was merely looking around.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #for: anon #ask #a hero's journey #cami's 7k share #this is the mature jk #swoonies

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fanfoolishness · 4 years

Text

until the rain (SUF)

One week after the events of I Am My Monster. Steven is impatient to get back to normal, but the rain reminds him it’s not that easy. Connverse, angst, a tiny smidgen of hope. 2800 words.

***

It had been a week. The longest week he’d ever lived, and yet it’d slipped by in a flash, the days so brief and hazy he could barely remember them. A week since he’d transformed. A week since his sickness finally reared its head and roared its name.

He sat in his room at eleven AM, blinking sticky eyelashes and trying to convince himself to get out of bed. If he could just get out of bed instead of staying here all day, he could tell himself he was getting better. And that was what everyone wanted, right?

He was doing better, Steven thought stubbornly, rubbing his eyes. He’d realized this morning, with a hint of pride, that he hadn’t glowed pink at all since the incident. That had to count for something, didn’t it? Maybe everything’s better now everything’s out in the open, he thought, remembering what he’d sung to Pearl once. He could almost believe it if it wasn’t for the way he still felt so wrong.

It didn’t help that his body felt alien to him in a way it never had before. His clothes fit, but they didn’t. Shirts stretched weirdly over his shoulders. His jeans felt too tight, but some days too loose. He tripped over the bottoms more than once. But when he undressed at night and looked at them closely, they seemed just the same as ever. Maybe he was just getting used to being human-shaped and Steven-sized again.

Adding to his disorientation, he found that his internal clock was off. Time had gotten smudged somehow. Mornings bled into afternoons, faded into evenings and the middle of the night. He slept long parts of the day away and lay awake at three in the morning. Meals broke up the hours somewhat, but he wasn’t up to cooking anything more complicated than a protein shake yet, and sometimes the Gems would make him breakfast at noon or Greg would swing by with takeout at nine PM. He couldn’t make sense of it. Not yet.

Maybe it was just the time difference from traveling to Homeworld. Or maybe he was still wiped out from transforming. Yeah. That was probably it.

Connie told him a schedule would help, that she would sit with him and make one up with him together when he felt ready. Greg tried to rouse him for a daily jam session. The psychologist that Dr. Maheswaran had referred him to, Dr. B., had also talked with him about starting a routine, but if Steven was honest, he barely remembered their first session the other day. He’d talked a little, and the doctor had talked some, and mostly he had sat there in silence: it was all a staticky blur in his head. He wasn’t sure if it was really going to help.

Especially since his memory was just as fractured as his sense of time. He’d already lost track of how many times he’d wandered into a room just to forget what he was doing, or trailed off in the middle of a conversation, leaving Amethyst or Pearl looking at him in concern. Part of him hated those looks.

But part of him was grateful. At least they can see how messed up I am. He felt a twisted sense of relief. This had to be better than bottling everything up, forcing it to explode when the pressure got too much. If they already knew how monstrous he could be, then he wouldn’t have to convince them --

Yeah. This was better. His family knew he wasn’t okay, and that was most of the problem, wasn’t it? Now that they knew, things were sure to get better. He felt another flash of pride, looking down at his peach-toned hands, no hint of pink in them at all.

Despite his weird sleeping habits, and the way the days felt stretched too long and over too quickly, and the way his skin didn’t fit him… he was happy about that. It was proof that things could get back to normal, even if they still felt strange now.

Maybe he was going to get better after all, sooner than everyone thought. He’d always bounced back from stuff before. Maybe he’d just go to the therapist for a few weeks, and get everything figured out. Heck, maybe he could do one better, maybe he could figure this out mostly on his own. Dad and the Gems and Connie knew, and they all wanted to help, and maybe that would be fine.

Maybe that was a lot of maybes, but he tried not to think about that.

***

Late afternoon found Steven laying back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, idly petting Lion curled up on the floor beside him. He hadn’t managed to get up out of bed after all.

Beside him Lion purred. It was a low rumble vibrating in Steven’s chest, drowning out the sensation of his own heartbeat. It was comforting.

Distantly he became aware of the sound of rain against his window. For a moment, it lulled him. He’d always liked the sound of rain, the feel of the cold droplets against his skin, what the weather meant for the grass and trees and flowers. He adjusted his head against the pillow, getting drowsy, and the rain battered the side of the house --

Running in the rain, her shards jagged in his palm, his chest burning, what did he do what did he do --

He jerked out of his drowsiness, sitting bolt upright. “It’s fine,” he choked. “I’m fine --” Beside him, Lion stopped purring and raised his head, letting out a whuff sound.

Steven wavered, staring at Lion. He could ask Lion to find Connie. Maybe -- maybe he should -- but she was studying right now, wasn’t she -- wasn’t she busy --

He took a deep breath. Remembered her voice, far away and so, so close at the same time -- Steven, you must have been so scared to show us this side of yourself. Remembered her holding him later, just the two of them, when she whispered against his cheek to please stop hiding.

Okay. Okay. He could do this. Needed to do this.

“Lion?” he mumbled. “Can you see if --”

He hadn’t even finished the sentence before Lion roared and disappeared in a flash of light. Steven slumped down belly first onto the bed, staring out the rain-smeared window. He should have texted first. Or even called. She would probably send Lion straight back with a kind and apologetic text, telling him another time, telling him to talk to somebody else -- why would she want to talk to him when he was still so messed up --

“Steven?”

He blinked. Somehow he’d failed to notice Lion’s return, lost in his own thoughts. Connie sat down on the bed beside him, rubbing his back. He shivered at her touch.

“I’m sorry --” he started. Connie’s eyes flashed with sudden anger, and she leaned close to him, her eyes bright.

“Stop apologizing, Steven,” said Connie, and she looked so fierce and so worried he knew he couldn’t argue. “You needed me, right? You don’t have to be sorry about that.”

He gave her a quavering smile. “I guess I’d better listen to you, huh?”

“That’s more like it,” she said, and the fierceness slipped away, replaced with a gentle look that made his stomach flip. She swung her legs around, kicking off her shoes, and stretched out beside him, their shoulders and hips touching. She rested her chin on her fist and gazed at him, only a few inches away. “How are you today?”

He shrugged. The rain blatted against the window.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Steven closed his eyes. Garnet, Amethyst and Pearl staring as he burst into the house -- where have you been when they should have been asking what have you done --

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “It’s just… the rain… I didn’t want to be alone.”

Connie was quiet for a moment. “I thought you liked the rain.”

“It was raining when I --” His mouth stumbled, forgetting how to make familiar sounds. He was tempted not to say anything at all. But Connie met his eyes, and he felt a pang. She at least deserved to know why he’d interrupted her studying and asked her to come all the way out here.

He swallowed. “When I fought Jasper.” He didn’t say the other word.

She stiffened, just a little, and laid her head on his shoulder. “And the rain made you think of that?”

“Yeah. It was raining when I --” He took a deep breath, a question aching in his chest. “Do you want to know how it happened?”

“I do, but -- only if you’re ready to talk about it. It’s okay if you’re not.” She stretched one arm out over his back, letting it rest against him, a small but comforting weight.

“I ran away,” said Steven, burying his face in his blanket. He spoke in a rush, his voice muffled by the thick fabric. “I thought no one would look for me out in the woods where Jasper lived. I mean, why would they, right? But I thought maybe she could help me, and maybe if I could just control these Diamond powers, then everything would be better, everything would be fine.” He tensed, his hands digging into the blankets. The words tumbled out of him. “And if I couldn’t control them, then at least the only person I might hurt would be -- would be --”

Shards glinting in the rubble beneath the stormy sky -- his stomach convulsing, vomiting fish in the dirt on his hands and knees -- shrinking back to himself again, the fantasy over -- running home -- running --

“Steven?” Connie asked, worry in her voice. “You’re glowing again.”

“No!” He jerked away from her, nearly rolling off the bed in his haste. He leaped to his feet, backing away. “I -- I thought I stopped!” he gasped, staring at his luminously pink hands. “I thought it was over, I thought I was done after that day on the beach, I haven’t turned pink since then --”

Connie reached out to him and he recoiled. “You shouldn’t be around me when I’m like this -- what if I -- what if I turn into that thing again --”

“Then we’ll help you again. All of us!”

“But I don’t want to do that! I don’t want to be that!” he cried shrilly, his fingers knotting themselves into his hair. He bent over, trying not to be sick. His flesh prickled -- it crawled --

Connie’s hand was light but firm on his shoulder. He heard her words tinnily, as if from a great distance. “If you don’t want to be… then you won’t, right?”

“I -- huh?” It was so hard to concentrate, his heart was trying to explode out of his chest, his face swelled and shrank like a balloon -- no, no, he thought he was getting better --

“Listen to me,” she said, and her voice cut through the sound of his blood rushing in his ears. “Before. You said you were a monster,” she said softly. “And then that’s what happened. But if you don’t want to be one -- if you remember you’re Steven -- then you’ll be Steven, right?”

“I -- I guess --”

She reached up and took his hands by the wrists, slowly bringing them down to waist level. She cradled his hands in hers as he breathed heavily, in and out, in and out, blinking back tears.

“You’re Steven,” said Connie firmly. Her thumbs traced little circles on the back of his hands, and he focused on the feeling, soft aimless patterns against his skin. His breathing slowed, a little bit, a little bit more.

“I -- I know, but -- I just wanna be okay, Connie, but I’m not --” He faltered, his protests dying in his throat. What was he trying to say? Did he even know?

Warily he remembered how he’d declared himself fine and shattered the glass in his door, and he kept his mouth closed, his lips pressed firmly together. Don’t break anything, don’t mess up, not again --

“You’re Steven,” Connie repeated. “And you’re not okay right now. But you’re going to get better. And if it takes time, it takes time, you know? It’s hard… I’m not saying it won’t be hard.” She frowned, searching for words, and he strained to listen, to understand her.

“Like, graduating from high school takes time. Even when you cram. And it’s hard and some days just don’t feel worth it and sometimes you just feel like you’re going crazy with all the stress and the expectations and --” She managed a smile, blinking back tears. “But I know I’m gonna get there if I put in the time. So maybe think of this part of your life as… helping Steven school. You’re gonna go to therapy and you’re gonna cram and sometimes it’s really gonna suck… but you’ll learn stuff. And you’ll get closer to getting better, all the time. Okay?”

He looked down at their hands. His were still pink against her brown skin. But they were the normal size, and they were steady, no longer trembling.

“That makes sense,” he mumbled. He blinked back tears, glancing away and hoping Connie didn’t notice. A memory from a few days ago flashed into his head. “It sounds kind of like what the therapist said.”

“Did you like him? Mom said she made sure to brief him on Gem stuff,” said Connie. She led him back to the bed, and they sat down on the edge, still holding hands. Steven laced his fingers into Connie’s.

“He was all right. I’m supposed to talk to him again the day after tomorrow.”

“What did he say?”

“He said…” Steven bit his lip. “He said it’s gonna take time. To get better.” He hung his head. “I just… I hoped he meant like two weeks, or a month… I could do that. But if I’m still glowing and freaking out at things now… Connie, what if this takes months? Or years? What if I never get better?”

He started sobbing then, as the pink glow faded, as Connie swept him into a bonecrushing hug. He cried into her shoulder until her shirt was damp, his chest heaving, his arms clinging around her waist. He cried like he did seven days ago, beneath a sunny sky, the sound of waves in his ears.

He didn’t know how long it was until he settled down. Connie was rubbing his back with one hand, brushing his hair away from his forehead with the other. The rain pounded on the window, drumming louder than ever.

“Thank you,” he murmured, lifting his head and scrubbing at his face with one hand.

“For what?” Connie asked, smirking. “You did all the work.”

He snorted. “If you call crying my eyes out work.”

“Well, it’s not easy, that’s for sure.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Huh.

She was right. It wasn’t easy at all.

“How do you feel?”

“Better, I guess,” Steven said truthfully. He gazed out the window at the rain and the gray-black clouds, remembering what had turned him pink. He folded his hands in his lap. “I -- I don’t think I can talk about Jasper yet,” he admitted. “I thought maybe if I just tried to talk through it, it wouldn’t be so bad… but I can’t.”

“Maybe it just takes time,” Connie said. “You don’t have to deal with everything overnight.”

“But it’s already been a week,” Steven began.

Connie raised her eyebrows at him. “Steven? How long have I known you?”

He thought back, doing the math. “Uh…. four years? Almost five?”

“And how long has messed up stuff been happening to you?”

“If you count gem stuff… about five years. If you count living in a van as a baby after my mom died giving birth to me….”

Her brow arched even higher, and he had to laugh at himself.

“... okay, yeah, seven days might not be that much time to get better from all of that.”

“You see my point then,” she said matter-of-factly. “So.” She turned and looked out at the window, watching the rain. “What do you want to do now? ”

He hugged her again. “I know I already interrupted your studying, but…. could you stay a little while? Just -- just until the rain stops?”

“Yeah,” said Connie. “I can do that.” She kissed him on the cheek, her lips warm. And he wanted to kiss her in a different way, but part of him knew he wasn’t ready, knew he wanted to get better for her before he tried.

The thought struck him, warmer and more comforting than the fact he’d avoided turning pink for a few days. It was a good thought. A brave thought. One that he held onto for a long, long time.

I want to get better.

They lay back against the blanket holding hands, glow in the dark stars on the ceiling twinkling in the dim light, the storm outside fiercer than ever. And he remembered, just a little, how he’d always liked the rain.

#steven universe future #suf #steven universe #connverse #connie maheswaran #steven x connie #connie x steven #i am my monster #fanfoolishness' steven universe fic #fanfoolishness steven universe fic #man this took forever #really struggling with some writer's block #i blame covid grrr

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anasticklefics · 4 years

Text

Tickle Cheating

Fandom: Star Trek

Characters: Jim Kirk, Leonard McCoy

Summary: Jim tickles Bones. It’s what he DOES. So how does one react when you see someone else tickle your usual victim? Like a mess if you’re Jim Kirk apparently!

A/N: I blame @fickle-tiction (are you HAPPY?). Also I don’t know how hospitals work don’t yell at me. Might rewrite this idea with lee!Jim because he has my heart.

Also does this whole fic and my author’s note have a general chaotic air about it or am I going crazy haha?

Words: 3 124

The first time Jim noticed it was when he dropped by the hospital to deliver Bones’ lunch that he’d left at the kitchen counter of their shared dorm room. Entering a space that was oddly both chaotic and completely still at the same time, the general air so suffocating that it was no wonder Bones was exhausted each time he returned from a shift. Jim grinned at the receptionist, unsure of where the med students where and if he was even allowed past a certain point and if so, “would you or someone give this to Leonard McCoy?”

But the woman, hair framing her heart shaped, incredibly kind face, met his grin with a smile and told him he could go right in.

“If someone stops you or you can’t find him, simply ask if someone can leave the box in the kitchen.”

Her words sounded scripted in a way that told him this probably happened more often than not, and he thanked her and left. Up three stories with the elevator to the floor she’d directed him toward, footsteps echoing around the empty corridors, until he eventually found a more chaotic environment in the form of the emergency room.

How many times had he been here just that semester?

“Kirk!” someone Jim recognized from the Academy called out, glancing up from a clipboard. “What have you done now?”

Jim rolled his eyes. “It’s been months since… whatever. Do you know where Bones is? McCoy. Whatever you call him.”

“I tend to call him Leo.”

“That’s weird. Do you know where he is? He left his lunch.”

The guy, unnamed for now and the rest of eternity, pointed his thumb in the direction of yet another corridor. “Third door to the right.”

“Should I just go in?”

“They don’t have any patients in there right now.”

So Jim went, wondering if he was breaking any rules but feeling extremely ready to get out of there.

He saw it then. The small room - do they perform surgeries in there? - with a bed and a table and four windows and five people, all on top of each other with Bones in the middle. All talking, simultaneously grave and cracking jokes. Familiar, whether they wanted to or not. A job where you couldn’t be timid of bodily contact; eating and sleeping almost in each other’s laps. Jim looked at Bones, saw how easily he moved with elbows in his guts and people breathing down his neck.

He also saw his face light up when he caught sight of Jim.

“I brought your lunch,” he said meekly, holding it up, and if Bones was the type to profess his undying love for his friends, Jim was sure he would be going down on one knee right now.

“I’m only gonna say this once,” he said later, having entered their dorm as Jim had been nearly falling asleep over his homework. “You bringing me food literally saved my day and I will grant you one wish as a reward.”

And Jim, exhausted, lonely and closer to the verge of tears than he would’ve liked, demanded cuddles.

In their years of living together Jim had never asked for cuddles. He always wanted to, but whatever physical affection he had a tendency to hand out to his friends like a way too common gift, he always stopped before they could get mad, and therefore always stopped before he felt satisfied.

“I just want a good fucking cuddle,” he was saying now, his tone too desperate for it to sound like a joke. Bones, bless him, didn’t comment on it.

“Let me take a shower and change,” he only said. “Trust me, you don’t want whatever my clothes have.”

Jim nodded, suddenly feeling too vulnerable, too exposed, so he ducked his head back down, eyes on his books. Listening to every sound Bones was making, thinking he was being both too quick and too slow, and when he finally returned Jim was fully aware of it, but pretending to be too engrossed in his work to notice.

“You wanna cuddle now or later?” Bones asked, so casual about it that Jim knew he’d never manage to get a single thing done for the rest of the night.

“Now,” he said, standing abruptly enough to nearly knock his chair down.

Bones grabbed it, his face a mix of amusement and concern. “Right then. The couch? Movie night?”

“Sure.”

“Want to pick the movie?”

“You go ahead.”

“Okay.”

Jim tried to shake the sudden awkwardness out of his limbs as he followed his friend into the living room area of their tiny dorm, realizing this was probably a bad idea. They hadn’t even touched yet and he was acting like a total fool.

“We don’t have to do this,” he blurted out, causing Bones to stop in his tracks. “I don’t know why I asked for it. I’m over it. I was just tired. We really don’t have to.”

“Jim.” Reaching out to grab Jim’s arms, Bones gave his flesh a squeeze. “Breathe. It’s fine that you asked for it and we don’t have to do it if you’ve changed your mind, but if I really didn’t want to myself I would’ve said so.”

Jim deflated. “Promise?”

“Jesus, you must be exhausted. Yes, promise.”

“It’s just that-” Jim wasn’t sure why he was trying to explain when Bones hadn’t asked for an explanation in the first place. “-I saw you at the hospital and you seemed so okay with being physically close to people and I feel like I might die if nobody holds me for, like, half an hour-”

“Jim.”

“-and I know it’s part of your job so I don’t want to overstep-”

“Please shut up for a sec.”

Jim did, but only because Bones had said please.

“I don’t necessarily enjoy having my personal space so violated,” he continued. “But of course I don’t mind you doing it. You’re my-”

“I know,” Jim said when Bones trailed off. They had no words to describe what they were. “So I shouldn’t be jealous?”

“Absolutely not, but mostly because you act like an idiot when you want something you think you can’t have.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You act like a petulant child.”

“Oho, is that so?”

Bones ruffled his hair. “Go back to being timid. It was cuter.”

So maybe Jim didn’t pay attention to anything that happened in the movie and fell asleep in Bones’ arms ten minutes later, Bones’ fingers squeezing at various places on his body to get him to “relax for fuck’s sake”. Maybe he couldn’t picture himself falling asleep in an empty bed again for weeks. Maybe Bones was really fucking good at cuddling.

Waking up sweaty with Bones’ knee pressed to the small of his back later was a whole other thing. “Hhng. Get off.”

“You’re nearly on top of me.”

“Feels like I was hit by a truck.”

“You snore like a goddamn-”

Jim somehow managed to roll over and press his face into Bones’ neck. “Shh. Too loud.”

A spasm went through Bones’ body, convincing Jim he was trying to throw him off the couch and making him resort to clinging onto his torso for dear life. “N-no.”

“What was that?”

Bones was, miraculously, laughing.

Jim tried to crane his neck to get a glimpse of his face, but he only succeeded in pressing the top of his head beneath Bones’ chin. “Okay, what is happening right now?”

Bones said something incoherent, his words slurred with sleep and higher in pitch with laughter. His hands were clawing at Jim’s back, unable to get a good grip of his shirt and therefore only managing to lightly tickle him, which was kinda nice actually.

Wait.

“Oh, this is tickling you,” Jim said, laughing into Bones’ skin as if this was a group activity. “Hey, I didn’t even know you were ticklish.”

“I’m not,” came the strangled denial.

“Hmm, I think you are. Otherwise this wouldn’t bother you.” He spidered his fingers up Bones’ side, noticing the squirming getting a notch more desperate the closer he came to his friend’s ribs. He paused just beneath them. “I’ll make you a deal. If you don’t react to this I’ll believe you’re not ticklish. Okay?”

“Jim, you fucking-”

Jim jabbed him in the ribs and nearly lost his hearing from the shriek that left Bones’ mouth.

“Ah, so you’re ridiculously ticklish, then?”

Bones cursed and managed to slip his arm out from beneath him, placing it against Jim’s chest, but not pushing him off.

“And you don’t mind this? I see.”

“I’m gonna kill you, James Tiberius-”

“Don’t you middle name me, Leo.”

Years passed. They graduated. Jim somehow became a captain and got a ship. Bones for some reason decided to work on said ship, bestowing Jim with his constantly shifting moods for the next five years. Not that he complained. Was literally doing the exact opposite. And, all the while their lives changed and kept changing, Jim kept tickling him nearly daily.

“Don’t fucking tickle me in front of others,” had been Bones’ one demand disguised as a request.

So Jim didn’t, but kept it behind closed doors as they always had. The image of Bones being physically close to others always prompting him to demand cuddles, now that he wasn’t ashamed of this dire need anymore. And, more often than not, he would slip his hands beneath Bones’ shirt and make him laugh uncontrollably for a few minutes. He wasn’t sure how it had become a part of their routine, but he felt that if he didn’t get these intimate yet playful moments as often as he could he would shrivel up and die.

“You’re a drama queen,” Bones had said more than once when Jim had complained about them not having gotten any alone time.

“You literally beg me to stop when I’m barely even touching you,” Jim countered each time. “Don’t call me a drama queen when you’re just as bad.”

Bones would only wave a hand at him, having gotten out of the habit of blushing over his sensitivity years ago.

Something else that had become more common than they probably realized was how often Jim brought him food into medbay. Sometimes it was breakfast, snacks, his forgotten lunch or dinner. Other times it was just a drink, just as an excuse to stop by. Sometimes he came empty handed.

That day Bones truly had forgotten to eat, his empty seat painfully loud in the cafeteria. Jim knew his habits more than anyone and knew he wouldn’t eat unless food was visibly presented before him, and so he filled a tupperware with everything he knew Bones liked and skipped through the corridors, suddenly feeling like he was back at the Academy again.

Bones wasn’t alone, but he rarely was. The crowded hospital rooms had been replaced with him and Chapel dancing around each other, sometimes with more than one crew member present; arms and legs and chests and heads laid out for Bones’ magical fingers to heal, or so they hoped. Jim had lied there more times than he could count, so he was highly familiar with the nooks of this part of the ship.

Bones was standing on a stool, which made Jim stop in his tracks before he announced his presence, greeting dying on his lips and being replaced with a grin. Whatever Bones was trying to reach, it seemed to be just out of reach and he was grumbling as he kept stretching.

“Do you need a hand there?” Chapel asked, her tone playful while Bones let out an unprofessional curse.

“Can I borrow some heels?” he muttered, and she laughed, all familiarity due to working together in such close proximity for years. It wasn’t elbows in guts or naps in laps, but Jim recognized it from his crew on the Bridge. It was impossible to not grow close.

“It might help if I make you jump,” she continued.

“How the hell will you do that?”

Jim was almost proud of the fact that he didn’t let out any sound as he watched her reach out and poke at Bones’ ribs, just at the spot that could make him scream with laughter. It was a coincidence, it had to be a coincidence, how the hell could she know.

Bones didn’t squeal, but he didn’t pretend as if nothing was happening as he had learnt to do back in school, partly because back then people never meant to tickle you if they tried to get past you quickly and had to grab your waist. Chapel did indeed mean to make him squirm.

Jim watched his arms shoot down, swatting at her with a laugh so relaxed this really truly couldn’t have been the first time she tickled him. It really truly couldn’t.

Other people tickled Bones. Bones let other people tickle him.

He started backing away, lunch box forgotten when he literally bumped into Uhura who was coming from the opposite direction. The tupperware flew out of his hands as he let out a gasp in surprise, the food littering the floor only a second later. Things were a bit chaotic after that, but maybe because everything was overpowered by his frantically beating heart, that really had no business freaking out but there they were.

“I’m so sorry!” he heard Uhura say over his own incoherent babbling, the two of them crouching down to clean up the mess while Chapel and Bones kept repeating that “it’s fine, we have a broom, please get off the floor” that Uhura eventually listened to while Jim had to be pulled upright by Bones who was laughing, only to start frowning when he realized just how truly stressed out Jim was by the whole situation.

It wasn’t even about the food, but.

“I’ll go get you some more before they close the cafeteria,” he said, heart in his throat, threatening to spill out among the food on the ground, and who knew what that treacherous heart would reveal. “Really, it’s fine,” he said, leaving them be and rushing to the first restroom he could find, finally allowing himself to calm the fuck down and breathe.

What a stupid thing to get upset by, but.

He heard someone enter the room, causing him to press his body against the stall like a coward, but Bones’ voice rang clear anyway. “Jim?”

He didn’t reply.

“Come on, I know you’re in here.”

“I’m peeing.”

“Right, well, I’ll wait until you’ve finished.”

“Okay, I’m not peeing.”

“I know.” A beat, and, “Come out. Please.”

It was always the please that got him.

“Before you ask,” Jim said, exiting the stall. “I was gonna go get your food just after this stop.”

Bones rolled his eyes. “I don’t care about the food. I mean I do, and it was really nice that you brought me some, but it’s a slow day and I’ll be fine.”

“Oh.”

“I wanted to see what was up with you.”

“With me?”

“You seem… I don’t know. Freaked out? Like something is wrong?”

“I see.”

“Jim.”

He shook his head, ran a hand through his hair, looked anywhere but on Bones. “I don’t know. The whole situation sort of shook me and now I feel weird.”

“You spilling the food?”

“No. Jesus, no. Just-” He waved his hand in Bones’ general direction. “You being tickled by someone else. It was weird being an onlooker.”

“You’re acting like a disaster because of that?”

“Look, you know I’ve acted worse about tamer things.”

“You’re so stupid.”

Jim snorted, finally meeting his friend’s eye. “I’d love to have this conversation-”

“Stop lying.”

“-but I have to head back. Got a ship to run and all.”

Bones rolled his eyes. “Fine, but I’m bringing this up tonight.”

Jim patted his shoulder as he passed. “I’m counting on it.”

It didn’t mean that he was looking forward to it, however.

“Ugh, just get it over with,” he groaned when Bones entered his quarters, looking rather alert, pointing to a calm rest of the day.

“Don’t sound so excited about it,” Bones deadpanned. “We’re gonna talk about my sensitive spots, after all.”

“I love your sensitive spots.”

“Focus.”

“I just thought it was something only I did to you, that’s all.”

“You got jealous?”

“Maybe a little?”

Bones relented. “You’re being-”

“Ridiculous, I know.”

“And kind of endearing, but I’ll only say that once.”

“You say many things once. Doesn’t mean I’ll forget them.”

“Oho, you’re kind of asking for it yourself, you know.”

Jim threw up his hands. “Tickle me, then. This whole day’s weird and backwards anyway.”

“You know I would never take your job.”

“Chapel did.”

“Oh, come on. As if you’ve never tickled anyone else before.”

Jim huffed, crossing his arms. “I never said my reaction was logical.”

“You gonna tickle me or not?”

“Are you asking me to?”

Bones did flush then, so rare nowadays. So wonderful. “Shut up. Just shut up.”

Jim barked out a laugh, already approaching him. “Stay still.”

“You know damn well I won’t.”

“I do, but it’s fun watching you struggle.”

“You sadist- wahait!”

Jim cornered him and pushed him down onto the couch, fingers already working over his hips, a spot he was certain no one else knew of. A spot that could make Bones scream so loud Jim had to stop out of fear of accidentally killing him.

Usually he was gentle, starting slow to make him giggle, but Bones had technically tickle cheated on him and that just wouldn’t do. Pinning him beneath his thighs, Jim dug into the sensitive spots, Bones’ clothes doing nothing to help him whatsoever.

Oh, how he laughed. Not a quick little inconvenienced laugh as he squirmed away, but a proper, desperate belly laugh. This was theirs and only theirs. Jim the only one Bones trusted to know this intimately. He was grabbing at Jim’s wrists now, but despite his strength he wasn’t pushing Jim away. Merely steadying himself.

Whatever they were and whatever they had, it always had and always would include this.

“I should tie you up and torture you,” Jim teased, even though he’d never immobilized him during this and only tickled him for a couple of minutes at a time, but Bones had once become a stuttering mess when Jim had threatened this and he did love a flustered Bones, after all.

He was laughing too hard to stutter, but the way he was shaking his head told Jim all he needed to know. His words had left a mark and whatever he did now, wherever he touched, would be more ticklish than usual.

He got to work.

#tickling #ticklish!bones #ticklish!mccoy #mckirk fic #mckirk #star trek fic #star trek #mine #tickle cheating #ana's fics #tickle fic

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werkwerkelizaaa · 5 years

Text

Empire, part 1

Words: 4182 in its entirety.

Not even fifteen and she was already the king of Brooklyn. Spot played by the rules, but she did it her own way.

If you're a man and you get angry and violent, you're tough and no one except the very brave or the very foolish dares messing with you. If you're a woman, you're emotional and can't control yourself.

Even growing up, when people would talk about what a fine young lady Spot's younger sister was becoming, they always seemed at a loss for words when they looked at her.

Spot had never considered herself better or different than the other girls.

She could see the resigned sadness behind her friends' eyes whenever they tried to act excited about getting married to someone they'd never met for the betterment of their family name, as was their duty. She noticed the way they looked wistfully at the horizon, imagining what it would be like to just let go and give in to the suppressed urge of running, running to nowhere as fast as they could until they were out of breath, skirts torn to shreds and hair wild and free.

The world was changing, but not nearly fast enough.

The only difference between them? Spot did something about it. She asked herself almost daily if it was worth it.

Most times she told herself yes, but there were others where she wondered if the life she left behind really was as terrible as she had made it out to be. Still, she made her decision long ago, and she was going to stick with it if it killed her.

She wasn't stupid, she knew class differences were as much as, if not more, a factor in how people were treated, and she wasn't going to be able to do much social climbing the way she was made.

Maybe 'society' would never accept Spot for who she was, but she never resented them for it. She had bigger problems to worry about.

One of them in the form of a human disaster with golden curls and piercing blue eyes.

Spot had beat herself up for letting it slip for days afterwards. Really, by his reaction she almost thought he hadn't noticed. Of course, she wasn't that lucky.

•••

Race had skedaddled into their territory, as he was in the habit of doing at the most inconvenient times. "Tell me I'm pretty."

Spot rolled her eyes and didn't bother looking up from what she was doing. "You're pretty fricking annoying, Higgins."

Race shrugged and leaned against the wall. "You know what? I'll take it. Hey, what do you call a fake noodle?"

He didn't give Spot a chance to answer before gleefully delivering the punchline. "An impasta!"

Spot gave him a blank stare.

Race rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks flushed. "Albert thought it was funny."

Spot shook her head. "I'm sure he did."

She huffed and turned to face Race head-on. "Don't you have some girl to go bother?

Race smirked, removing the cigar from his lips and pointing it at her. "Hey, you don't know which way I swing! Maybe I'd rather spend time with you."

Spot crossed her arms. "Well, that's ironic, 'cause—" She scowled, but the damage had already been done.

The only sign that Race had even heard her was the way his eyes widened slightly in realization, frozen on the spot.

Spot squared her shoulders and resisted the very tempting urge to start slamming her head against the brick wall, putting her out of her misery.

Race shifted his weight, sizing her up. "I'm assuming you still want me to refer to you with masculine pronouns?"

Spot took a step forward, eyes narrowed. "What are you trying to pull—"

Race put a hand up to stop her. "Hey, I get it. We do what it takes to survive."

Spot exhaled slowly, nails digging into the flesh of her arms. "You're not gonna tell anyone, right?"

"Maybe I will, maybe I won't. Depends on my mood. Later, potater!" He pointed at her with his index fingers and stuck his thumbs up simultaneously, then turned and skipped away.

Spot groaned and collapsed onto a crate, head in her hands.

Her only saving grace was the hope that if Race let anything slip, accidentally or otherwise, the rest of the Manhattan pretty paperboys would just take it as another one of his weird jokes.

•••

Spot didn't know what kind of angle Race was playing at, but she stayed on guard, even more than usual. There's no telling what would happen if he opened his big mouth.

She wasn't even sure if she could count on her own to back her up. In all probability, they'd throw her out and support a new leader.

If not for being a girl in and of itself, then for keeping it from them all this time.

•••

Race ran down the docks, screeching "Semi-Conlon!" at the top of his lungs.

Spot pulled herself out of the water and rolled her eyes. "What do you want, Higgins?"

Race plopped down, smiling from ear to ear. "I want attention."

Spot resisted the urge to smack him across the face right then and there. That would instigate a slap fight, and the King of Brooklyn did not engage in slap fights.

"Is that all?"

Race reached over and squeezed her shoulder quickly before folding his hands in his lap. "Yeah."

Luckily, what would've been an awkward silence was interrupted by Graves shouting and running after something that rolled by too fast for Spot to identify, Hot Shot not far behind him.

"After that cart!"

Graves skidded to a stop and waved excitedly, grinning. "Hi, Spot!"

Hot Shot groaned and grabbed the back of Graves's undershirt as he ran past, dragging him along.

Graves kept waving even as he was being pulled.

"Bye, Spot!"

Race looked past her shoulder, gazing into the water below. "What were you doing down there, anyway? Hunting for ersters?"

Spot blinked. She was used to Race saying dumb things, but was a whole 'nother level of idiocy entirely. "For... for what now?"

Race gestured around with his hands. "Ersters. The fancy clams with the poirls inside—"

Spot dragged a hand down her face in exasperation. "Freaking oysters, Higgins? Really?"

Race let out some sort of sound to indicate he was offended by that. "Well–"

Spot shrugged and ran a hand through her hair. "Gotta deal with the heat somehow."

Race nodded slowly. "I can't swim, so that's not really an option for me."

"You can't swim?" Spot grinned mischievously and grabbed his hand.

"Well, there's no time like the present to learn!"

Race blinked dumbly. "Th wha?"

Spot took a deep breath and let out a loud whoop as she jumped off the dock, taking Race with her.

The gears in Race's head clicked just in time for him to open his mouth to scream right as his head hit the water.

Spot surfaced and treaded water, watching Race flail about with an amused smile on her face.

Race was keeping his head above the water well enough, but he wasn't using his energy efficiently, tiring himself out more than anything else.

"This is it, Dottie. This is how I die. Tell—"

Spot resisted the urge to facepalm and did her best to be patient. "Use your legs."

"I'm trying, but mine were made for showing off, not swimming!" He wailed pathetically.

Spot sighed and pushed against the ground with her feet, water coming up to about her shoulders. "No, I mean it's shallow for both of us to stand here."

Race stood up, face beet red from equal parts embarrassment and exhaustion. "This is cruel and unusual punishment."

•••

Spot was cautiously relieved Race hadn't said anything already, but maybe he was just biding his time until it would be most entertaining for him.

Unfortunately for her, as the days went by she found it harder and harder to not like him.

How could she not, with his stupid fluffy hair that resembled finely spun gold in the twilight, and his stupid shiny eyes that held the intensity of the entire sky, and his stupid laugh that could light up the whole state of New York.

•••

Normally they played cards on the Brooklyn Bridge in near silence, using as few words as possible.

Spot had been fiddling with the hem of her sleeveless shirt and arguing with herself before finally deciding on just going for it.

"What do you think is out there? You know, across the horizon."

Race looked out at the water. "Albert says his family comes from somewhere called Middle Oireland or Middle Zealind or something like that. They grow a lot of potatoes and have red hair."

Spot tucked her cards into her shirt so Race wouldn't be able to take a peek and watched the waves dance. "Someday I wanna sail across the sea."

Race grinned and did the pointing/thumbs-up at her again. "To sea what you can sea?"

Spot rolled her eyes at him. "I'm gonna travel the world once I'm gray and old, play matchmaker for the young'uns on the boat and come back here when I'm done."

Race shook his head. "That's if you survive the sea monsters."

Spot took her cards back out and grinned. "Please. Monsters have butts, and butts can be kicked."

Race ran a hand through his hair as he examined his cards. "Interesting philosophy."

Spot tucked her foot underneath herself. "It's worked for me so far."

"Hey, if you do end up slaying a sea monster, you better bring back the corpse."

Spot sighed and shuffled her hand. "Sure. How do you explain your absence?"

Race looked up, startled. "They all think I'm hooking up with you and know better than to ask me for details, because I wouldn't hold back. Jack gave me a whole 'remember where you came from' speech."

He grimaced and pulled his legs closer to himself, suddenly looking very uncomfortable.

"Then I think he was going to give me some weird version of the talk, but Albert distracted him long enough for me to make my exit."

Spot raised an eyebrow. "You and me? Isn't that a wild thought."

Race snorted, unconsciously mirroring the way her arms were positioned. "Right? Absolutely ridiculous..."

Spot leaned in before she realized she was doing it, quickly forcing herself back once she noticed. "I mean, I have standards."

Race cocked his head at her. "Why you gotta be so cynical? I might surprise you."

Spot threw her cards down and ran a hand through her hair. "Just kiss me, bro."

Race licked his lips and scooted forward on his knees, hands moving to rest on Spot's hips.

Spot threw her arms around his neck and took a deep breath, losing herself in sheer bliss as his mouth met hers.

She didn't realize how much she held her breath around Race until she could finally breathe again. And then he had to open his mouth.

"Heh, gay." He winked at Spot and nudged her with his shoulder.

Spot sighed, leaning her head against his chest. "You're impossible."

Race stuck his tongue out at her. "Even that word says 'I'm possible'."

Spot blinked and looked up at him. "There's no way you came up with that on your own..."

Race shook his head and clicked his tongue.

"Les to Davey, having about the same conversation. You could instantly see the look of regret in Davey's eyes for teaching Les the perfect retort."

Spot nodded and grinned. "That kid is going places."

•••

Maybe they were inevitable.

But the brightest sparks fade the fastest.

•••

It had started out well enough, Race sneaking out under the cover of darkness claiming 'he slept better since there weren't any fire stations near the Brooklyn Lodging House' and dancing back and forth over the line between charming and annoying her boys.

Normally he would talk about random things or make up stories off the top of his head, but for the past two nights it was 'Strike Strike Strike' and Spot was more than sick of it.

"If the fearless Jack Kelly, leader of the Manhattan newsies can't convince me, what makes you think you can?"

Race's only reply was to smile and waggle his eyebrows at her.

Spot rolled her eyes. "Uh-huh. Look, I get where you're coming from, but are you sure you know what you're doing? How do we know you won't run at the first sign of trouble?"

Race leaned back and folded his arms behind his head. "You don't. All you have is our word."

Spot furrowed her brows and shifted her weight from one side to the other. "That's not good enough."

Race shrugged, palms held upward. "Well, you know I'm not."

Spot cocked her head and snorted in disbelief. "You're going to fight everyone all by yourself?"

Race nodded determinedly, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. "If that's what it takes. Jack believes in us, and so do I."

Spot raised her head and looked pointedly at him. "Then what are you doing here? Remember where your loyalties lie, because the lines are getting blurred."

Race got up in her face, causing her to inhale sharply.

"So that's how it is. I'll always be your second priority. And you expect me to be the same way?"

Spot pinched the bridge of her nose. "I'm saying I don't want you to needlessly get hurt."

Race threw his arms out to the side. "I don't need you to protect me!"

Spot did her best to draw herself up to her full height, staring at him without blinking. "I don't need you!"

Race swallowed, hurt evident in his expression. "I should go."

Spot watched him silently compose himself, hands running through his mussed-up hair.

Race paused and looked back one last time once he reached the door, almost as if he was expecting her to apologize, but she didn't and then he was gone.

•••

@funnyihope

#okay so we’re doing this #graves makes an appearance #its small but #he’ll be back #oop i did a thing #shut up eliza #notchoices #not choices #newsies #newsies fic #fanfiction #spot conlon #newsies au

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ronyxfic · 5 years

Text

Educating the Victim - Act VI, Intermission III

Pairing: -

Rating: Mature

Warnings/Tags: alcohol, dubious consent, vomiting.

INTERMISSION 3: Aftermath

The days and months following Claire’s death were odd. Marigold had been under the assumption that she was aware Claire had passed on. It had, after all been the discussion of a myriad of meetings and appointments even prior to her actual death.

And yet, Marigold still found herself tucking away anecdotes to tell her, only to come to the sobering realisation that they’d never fall to any ears. She woke up in the mornings, fingers digging into the space Claire had occupied only moons ago. She still caught the odd smell of her in forgotten clothes, in her now unused perfumes.

Marigold refused to cry. Feelings never boiled to surface. Claire wouldn’t have wanted her to think about it. Claire wouldn’t have wanted her to weep. Claire would have wanted her to move on.

And move on she tried. She took the job Roxy had managed to sweet talk her management into offering her only a week or so after the funeral. Clearing parts of the house and managing the following affairs had been put on hold as the long daily grind of teacher training began.

And in only three months, Marigold found herself burnt out. Her social life was utterly in disarray; she’d barely spoken to anyone but her peers and trainer, and passed by Roxy in the training centre halls. Even Azure’s calls, once so desperate to reach her, had waned.

Marigold refused to cry.

The winter had began to creep in, following the delayed summer that year. Marigold wore a white jacket from Claire’s closet, with a muted yellow scarf, her breath visible in the crisp morning.

She would have screamed when Roxy slapped her back in a friendly gesture, appearing from seemingly nowhere, but found herself turning around silently, eyes wide. She felt numb. Roxy’s grin was wide. “Is that an apparition or Marigold Diamond herself in the flesh? How’s it shakin’? Barely seen you around these days. Jeeze, you’re sure bundled up there, ain’t ya? Wait, that’s Claire’s...” She then frowned. “Oi. You alright?”

“Oh.” Marigold tugged at the jacket. “I suppose I must have picked it up by accident. I’m fine, yeah.” She couldn’t quite meet Roxy’s eyes. “How are you?”

Roxy blinked in surprise and tilted her head. “I’m... I’m alright, yeah. Honestly I’m just in the process of planning my weekend. You know what it’s like, grind through the week and get wild in the downtime. Otherwise we’d go mad, eh?”

“Yeah, sure,” Marigold said, unable to admit that she’d failed to do anything on her weekends. “What are you doing, then?” she asked, more out of habit and politeness than anything else.

“Oh. Well, I don’t really fancy the old club anymore now that... the old girl aint with us, you know. Me and my girls and Harry are trying to find a new hangout, a watering hole to socialise now that it’s easier to pick up girls on a scene.” She gave wee finger pistols but then straightened up, a more empathetic glimmer in her eyes. “What about you? It feels like... we’ve barely really had a catchup since... oh yeah, the funeral.”

“Yeah, I’ve just, uh. Been keeping to myself, mostly,” Marigold said, “but I suppose it might be nice to get out again. Have you had much luck finding a new place?”

“Honestly? Nah. The past couple of places have really not been my kinda location. I like to just get hammered and let loose these days; blowing off steam is the only way I’ve managed to really feel alive since our little group’s kinda fallen apart.” Roxy gave a little sigh, enough to tug at Marigold. She then slapped a hand on her shoulder, and lightly pinched into the coat. “Hey, listen, why don’t you and I hit the town, huh? You look like you could use a glass.”

Marigold hesitated for a long moment.

“That... might be nice,” she then said. “I haven’t really been out at all. Are you sure you want to lug me around?”

Roxy slapped her back again, a little harder. “Are you kidding? Of course I wanna! We would attract so much attention, hoo boy!” She then blinked and gave a smile that suggested there was something a little more to this invitation. “Oh, I know just the joint, too. Been wanting to check it out for ages, kind of like the old Bridge club- they’ve got incredibly private booths where you can get up to all sorts of business. And I heard the bartender that’s there on Thursday nights serves you for free if you zip his fly or flash him.”

Marigold blushed and seemed to shrink a little bit. “I... don’t know if I want to do that,” she said, “but I’m happy to come along. Is anyone else coming? What about Azure?”

“Azure doesn’t drink these days, and she hasn’t gone on a night out since Claire.... yeah. She gets all choked up and sad.” Roxy rolled her eyes. “Total bummer if you want to have a good time. I mean, it’s been like three months! Get over it!”

Marigold felt her heart clench. “Y-yeah,” she said, her voice faltering a little. “She... wouldn’t want us to be sad.”

She shot a glance at Roxy. Either Roxy was very good at hiding it, or she was well and truly over Claire’s death.

“Exactly!” Roxy exclaimed, before glancing at her watch and starting to walk towards the training centre. “Ugh, this whole ‘mourning’ schtick is so goddamn old already. I hate it when people pretend to be sad and like death actually matters. I mean, like, people die all the fucking time. It’s just how this planet works.”

Marigold was silent for a long moment.

“Are you... not sad at all, then?” she asked quietly. “You were close to her, weren’t you?”

“No.” Roxy paused, her expression shifting. Her face was practically unreadable until she exhaled and pulled a confident little smirk. “I mean, maybe at the funeral or whatever but... not anymore. I party and drink until I don’t think about it. It’s the way I’ve done it since we... fell out a while back.”

“Oh. I didn’t... realise.” Marigold’s expression was equally unreadable. “I’m sorry to hear. Though surely you won’t let it taint your good memory of her.”

Roxy’s smile looked very forced for a second. “Hm. Well.” She didn’t really respond to Marigold’s words. “I’d be happy to meet up tomorrow night if you’re free. We could meet up at Trafalgar Square after work?”

“Sounds good. When are you finishing?”

“Five, though it’ll take me about an hour to get going and make it there. Are you in tomorrow.” Roxy opened the door for her. “It’ll be nice to... spend some time with you, Marigold. It’s strange but... it’s almost as if we’ve never hung out together properly despite all these years.”

“I’ll be in,” Marigold said, “We could go together? I could wait for you.”

A small, reluctant warmth took hold of her heart at Roxy’s words. “You’re right, it does feel like that. It’ll be nice.”

The following evening, Roxy stood waiting at Trafalgar square, the bustling crowds of London's evening rush busying past her. She stood out, hair still pink, in a neat white suit. Passers by that stared were treated to a warm smile, which came off as oddly intimidating. She gave a holler as she spotted Marigold. "Hey, dark chocolate! Over here."

Marigold gave a patient smile at the nickname. Years of bridge club meant she was very much used to Roxy’s casual racism. “Hey there,” she said, coming over to Roxy. “How are you?”

"Yeah, not too shabby. Ready to party hard, so you'd better be prepared to keep up!" She began walking. "You had something to eat?"

“Yeah.” Not much, and probably not enough to soak up all the alcohol Marigold was about to drink, but she didn’t really care. “Let’s go. Where is this place you found?”

"Just a few blocks down, mate." There was something ingenuine in the smile Roxy gave her, but her tone seemed excited. "You sure you're gonna be alright nursing a hangover tomorrow? You can sleep over at mine, it's closer."

“Oh! That would actually be appreciated.” Marigold gave her a smile. It reminded her of that first night she’d gone to bridge club, and going home with Claire after. The thought made her heart ache.

“It won’t be my first hangover. I think I’ll be okay.”

"If you say so. I've got all the provisions for a decent hangover cure." Roxy gave a delicate little smirk and without asking, took Marigold's hand. "It'll be just like old times, yeah?"

Marigold found her throat tightening a little, but she didn’t pull her hand away. “Yeah,” she said, “that would be nice.”

The pair made it to the club after. Unlike Bridge Club, there was no discretion. The music pumped loudly from inside, causing Roxy to grin. "Oh, now this looks rad!" The lights, strobing, were visible from the interior.

A flashy sign read 'A Pale Rose'.

Marigold followed her inside. The club was dark, lights obscured by a smoky haze, and Marigold instantly noticed one thing that was very different from bridge club: There were men, and plenty of them, dancing and drinking with the women.

She pushed aside her discomfort. She wasn’t supposed to feel uncomfortable around men. She was straight, after all.

“Shall we get drinks?” she asked Roxy, having to nearly yell in order for her voice to be heard over the loud music.

"Hell yeah! I'm up for a round of shots!" Roxy yelled back, before getting distracted. Her eyes trailed the bum of a girl passing by. "Well hello! This place is already cool!"

Marigold made her way towards the bar. They were passed by people, men and women alike, and to her dismay, Marigold found that none of the men were even remotely attractive.

One day I’ll find a man I’ll like...

“I’ll get this round,” she shouted over the music, turning around to see if Roxy had heard her.

Roxy appeared a little distracted, but perked at the notion of free drinks. "Not gonna turn that down! Can you get me a fireball or two?"

“Yeah, sounds good!” Marigold turned back to the bar to order. The temptation to get wine was strong. But no, tonight was not a night for wine, so she got herself a fireball as well.

"Ooh, I think that hot girl is out with her friends..." Roxy smirked as she settled down at a table by the side of the bar, next to Mari. "Remind me to order her a drink when we're done with this round. Oo, I'm into floral print. It just screams the kind of gal who says 'I'm looking for guys but can probably convert for the evening'."

Is that a thing straight girls can do?

Marigold swallowed, then gave Roxy an awkward smile. “Wonder if there’s any good-looking guys around,” she said. Her heart gave an odd twist, and for a moment, she found herself looking at the girls in the room, wondering –

But no. That wasn’t an option, not ever. Not even for an evening.

Not for her.

"Does such a thing even exist?" Roxy rolled her eyes. "Men have such low standards to follow. It's frustrating."

Marigold felt a bit reassured. If Roxy felt similarly about men...

But then, Roxy also liked women. Which made Marigold feel insecure again.

“Oh! Our drinks,” she said, welcoming the distraction. “Here you go.”

"Oh, hell yes!" Roxy rubbed her hands eagerly. "You remember how to do these, yeah?"

“Of course I do,” Marigold said. “Here’s to old times.” She kicked back the shot, feeling the burn in the back of her throat.

Roxy downed hers and gave a visible, violent shudder. "Gah! That feels so wicked!" She took the second glass. "Number two!"

Marigold showed no visible reaction, relishing the burn. At least I can still feel something.

“Are you getting the next round?”

"Sure, dearie. Let's not get too ahead of ourselves, though." Roxy's smile seemed more genuine than before. She raised the shotglass to her lips.

Marigold knocked back another shot, then another. After the third, she couldn’t help coughing, and pulled a face. “Those are pretty good.”

She was starting to feel a little dizzy already, and remembered she hadn’t eaten much. No matter. Maybe if she was drunk, she’d actually enjoy this more than just on a superficial level.

Roxy swayed a little in her chair by the time the first round was done, mostly to the incredibly loud music. "Man... feels so good to let go. Work's been so stressful and been reminding me so much of how much I miss having a hangout."

“Yeah, me too,” Marigold reluctantly agreed. “I’ve not been out much. This... is nice. Do you want to go and dance? Or get more drinks first?”

"Oooh! Marigold Diamond asking to dance! Now that's one I haven't heard in a while..." Roxy giggled. "Go on then, didn't think this would be your sort of bop."

Marigold gave a grin – Roxy’s laugh was infectious. “I’m full of surprises, I guess,” she said and got up, holding her hand out to Roxy.

Roxy looked at the hand with a raised brow before grabbing it. Her touch was warm, a little damp in the cramped warmth of the club. "Say, Mari, that's a little gay."

Marigold blushed and pulled her hand away. “Don’t say that,” she said, annoyed. “You know I’m straight.”

"Just a comment." Roxy seemed to have gotten what she wanted judging by her smirk. "Though, with enough alcohol... Hm. Let's boogie!"

“Surely alcohol can’t turn someone’s sexuality,” Marigold said. “Anyway, being gay is against my religion.”

Roxy didn't reply as she began to sway her hips to the music, seemingly now doing her own thing without needing Marigold's approval.

She wouldn't validate Marigold's heterosexuality. She didn't need to.

Marigold suddenly felt quite alone in the crowded club. She found herself missing Claire with a vengeance, wanting to dance with her more than anything.

She closed her eyes and started to move to the music. She could at least try to have fun.

By the time Roxy was done, beads of sweat slicked the sides of her face, cheeks rosy. "Whoo! Awh, dearie, you look like you need another drink. Don't worry, it'll get more fun the more drunk you get."

Marigold looked at her, a vague smile on her face. “Sure,” she said, making her way towards the bar.

A bunch of people were there now, and Marigold would have to wait a little to order her drink.

She was being watched.

And not just by Roxy.

A man, perhaps a few years older than Marigold, stood in line. His hair, red and long, strobed under the lights. Though he wore a suit jacket, he appeared to be shirtless underneath.

"Isn't it sad to be alone together?" he asked as Marigold joined the queue.

Marigold looked at him. She was tall, and he was about her height, and she found herself mesmerised by his hair.

“I’m... here with my friend,” she said.

"Are you now?" His voice was smooth, low. It melted like butter. "And yet it looked like you were dancing alone. She seems just fine without you."

He gestured to Roxy, who was indeed, breaking it down on the dance floor.

Marigold held his gaze. “Well, we are both independent women. She can do what she wants.”

"I wasn't saying you weren't. It's in the nature of a prince to rescue girls from danger, however." They approached the front of the queue. "You looked like you were in danger of loneliness. Can I perhaps assist you?"

It was rather obvious flirtation. Marigold took a long moment to look at him.

His hair was gorgeous. His face, slightly better than mediocre. And he seemed interested in her.

Why not, then.

“Oh, well, if someone as handsome as you is asking,” she said, stumbling a little over her words.

His smile was gentle. He pressed a hand against Marigold's back. Dominant. They stepped to order. "And what would you like?"

Marigold leaned a little closer. This is what I’m supposed to do, right?

“That depends,” she said. “What are you having?”

"Asahi, please." He said. "I suppose beer isn't suitable for a girl."

Marigold swallowed. “Wine, then,” she said. “Pinot Grigio.”

A low whistle, his hands moved lower, one around her hip. "Seems about right." He purred.

Marigold instantly wanted to step away. She held herself firmly in place, though. It was fine, this was how it was supposed to be.

She looked up at him, wide-eyed and innocent.

He grabbed his drink and pressed Marigold's into her hand. "Cheers, darling."

He pressed her back again. "Let's go find somewhere to sit. I'd appreciate somewhere less... noisy."

Marigold nodded, smiled at him, her throat strangely tight. She had a sip of her drink. “Sure,” she said.

He led her away from the loud bar and dancefloor, Roxy had disappeared from sight and no one else even knew who Marigold was.

They settled at a booth, where he took a sip of his bottle. "Settle down here."

It’s fine, this is fine.

Marigold sat next to him. It was dark, the noises from the dancefloor sounding far more distant.

“What do you want to do?” she asked softly.

She was met with his lips. Hands wrapping them closer, the booth felt sticky.

She kissed him back. Let him pull her closer. She closed her eyes, trying to feel something, trying to enjoy this. The kiss was sloppy and tasted of alcohol, his tongue invading her mouth. Marigold let it happen.

He took his time, hands suddenly trailing their way up her shirt. He pressed at her breasts, firm. "Lovely." A smirk as he pulled back.

Marigold gasped, blushed. “W...what are you doing?”

"Exploring. You don't like it?"

“I... I’m not sure.” She looked away.

"I can explore elsewhere." His hands drew dangerously lower.

It was at this time Roxy came into the quieter passageway where the dim booths were located. "Oi! Mari, where'd you scamper off to?" Her eyes widened as she spotted her out of the corner of her eye and ducked. "Getting some, eh?"

Marigold wasn't the type to go so energetically off at anyone, at least in Roxy's mind. She spied them, trying to gauge the dynamic.

Marigold fought the urge to withdraw. “Please... I’m Christian, I’m celibate,” she said softly. She didn’t even notice Roxy.

"And yet you follow a stranger out of a bar." He chuckled into her hair, giving a deep sniff before kissing her neck. "Are you sure you can't be persuaded otherwise?"

“I thought your intentions were more innocent.” Marigold let him, feeling oddly numb.

"Take it as a lesson, pure one. Within these spaces lurk only sinful intentions," he replied quietly before sucking with enough force to give her a hickey.

Marigold gave an audible gasp. “You’re hurting me!”

Roxy sure heard that part, and got up to her feet in an instant. "Calm down, cowboy. She's a dyke." Her voice sliced through the muted air like a sabre. "She isn't interested."

“I –“

Marigold shot up, away from him. “Sorry, sorry,” she mumbled. It’s not true, I’m not a dyke, but I can’t say that or he will –

"And yet she chose to come with me, and let me touch her."

Roxy snarled. "That's because my girlfriend is a pushover and likes drinks from anyone. Isn't that right, Mari?" She shot her a look, eyes begging for Marigold to play along.

Marigold was frozen, like a deer in headlights. “Y...yeah,” she finally managed to stammer. Her throat was tight. She came over to Roxy – Roxy would at least protect her.

"Well. For future reference, men like me don't enjoy being lead on."

"And women like her don't like being preyed on by long haired, sissy fags like you, so keep your gross mitts off!" Roxy hung a possessive hand around Marigold and pecked her on the cheek.

He raised a brow at this, before giving a small chuckle. "Hmm, well. You've made yourself clear." He gathered himself, as if their encounter had stayed at room temperature. As he passed by, he caught Marigold's eye. "Enjoy being a gay Christian, Mari. Sounds tough."

The words hit hard. Marigold turned and clung to Roxy, avoiding his eyes. “Can we leave,” she whispered.

Roxy watched him leave and then dropped her arm. "Yeah. The girl slapped me anyway. Sorry about the fag stuff, I know you don't like it but boys you don't like tend to stay away if they think you've got a scary butch with you."

Marigold was still frozen. “Thanks,“ she whispered, her voice quivering. Unbidden, her eyes filled with tears.

Roxy read the mood. "Hey, let's get a round to go before the road and forget about all this, eh? I'll get us a whole bottle of Jack's and it'll be like this never happened."

Marigold didn’t trust her own voice so she just nodded. She tried to hold back tears, because damn it, she didn’t want to cry now.

It proved futile.

"Hey, listen. You can chill in this booth here, okay?" Roxy gave a little frown. "I'll be back with the bottle, and you can just stay and calm down. We'll drink up and then head to mine, maybe watch a film? I've got a few good VHS tapes. Or just go to bed?"

“Don’t mind.” Marigold’s voice sounded thick. She let go of Roxy. Part of her wanted Roxy to stay – she didn’t want to be alone. But she was also dreading Roxy, or anyone, seeing her weakness.

"Here. At least have a hanky. You don't want anyone to see you with your eyeliner dripping."

Marigold took the handkerchief, used it to hide her face. Roxy left her on her own, and Marigold, now not being observed by anyone, silently cried. Silently chastised herself for crying, which made her cry harder. She couldn’t recall how long Roxy was gone.

Roxy came back with not one, but two bottles of Jack Daniels, and with two glasses. The clear ice clinking with every step. "I brought extraaa!!" She tried to sing out before falling quiet. "Oh man, that bad, huh?"

Marigold looked at her, briefly. She didn’t reply, just gave a choked sob and reached for one of the bottles. She didn’t bother with the glass.

"Oof, take the whole thing, sweetie. Drink up as much as you need to. Forget about that gross dude." Roxy sat beside her and reached to touch Marigold's neck, giving a low whistle. "I don't get guys. He was doing pretty good at wooing before getting all weird."

"...yeah," Marigold said. She gulped down half the bottle in one go, and then leaned in to Roxy, crying harder yet again. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be crying, it's so dumb."

Roxy didn't pull away. Her face crumpled a little, too, and before she knew it, she was crying too. "It'll be okay. I promise it'll be okay."

Marigold sobbed into Roxy's shoulder, breaking down fully for the first time in months. She barely registered that Roxy was crying too.

Roxy let her, filling up her own glass and lifting it to her lips. "You can cry here. You can cry when you're drunk."

"But I should be stronger than this..." Marigold mumbled. The bottle she'd been holding tumbled to the ground, empty. "I should be stronger..."

The entire world seemed to fade out in a haze.

"Have a sip." Roxy's voice turned low, so very tempting. "Keep drinking. It'll numb it."

So Marigold did. Her eyes fluttered shut as she leaned in to Roxy.

When she opened her eyes again, she was in an entirely different place with no memory of how she got there.

"And then, she actually jumped on me. I mean, it's totally like Claire to do that... Or was, I guess, but it's like everyone I tell it to, nobody believes me." Roxy seemed heated, her arm still around Marigold. The music thundered. "You're such a good listener, though. Maybe that's a black thing."

Marigold blinked. None of what Roxy had said really registered with her, but hearing Claire’s name made her break down again.

“Sorry,” she whispered through sobs, “sorry...”

The space around them was different. It seemed to be an utterly different bar. Two margarita sunrises sat on the white table in front of them. Roxy noticed Marigold's sudden, shuddery breaths and gave her hair a ruffle. "I know. I know, it hurts me too. But there's nothing we can do but drink to it. Wanna do another line?"

Marigold didn’t answer. The room was spinning, and she felt sick. “Where are we?”

"...You picked this place, honey." Roxy gave a snort. "Jesus, I'm so fucking plastered...Woo!"

“Did I?” Marigold didn’t remember a thing. “What time is it?”

"'Bout eleven." Roxy looked around. "I didn't want to go home yet, remember? We moved to a different place, this one is really out there in terms of decor so I figured it would distract you. Maybe it distracted you a little too much..."

“Eleven?” Marigold groaned. She usually only felt this bad a lot later on in the night. She reached for the drink in front of her and, being fully aware that it was most likely a very bad idea, downed it.

“Where are the toilets?”

"To your left." Roxy grabbed her own and sucked the straw with a dirty grin. She had dark lipstick on the corner of her cheek."Want any company?”

Marigold didn't catch the innuendo. "If you want," she said, "but I'm feeling quite sick."

"Oh dear, must be the booze catching up the second time. Let's not leave a number in these toilets, alright?"

Marigold didn't answer. She got up, found herself significantly less stable than expected, and fell over.

Everything went black once again.

"And then, and then Azure actually said yeah! I'd not really used a phone before... Her voice sounded hot on the other end of the line."

The sky before them had few stars, but was very dark. A slight gale blew at them.

They were in a park, the ground a little steep. Grass damp beneath them. Roxy had a half open six pack at her side.

Marigold’s entire body felt heavy, the sky vast and endless above her. She felt dizzy.

What... why can’t I remember anything? How did we get here?

She didn’t dare ask Roxy.

"Yeesh, I'm getting chilly. It's been good hanging out, though. I'll have to get some eggs for the hangover cure tomorrow morning." Even Roxy sounded woozy, and it was suddenly apparent she was swaying a little.

Marigold cast her a glance. “Are we going home soon? To yours?”

"Yep, yep, y....yep...." Roxy gave a giggle. "You've been awful quiet, everything alright?"

Marigold contemplated for a long moment.

“I don’t know,” she said. “How much did I drink?”

"Oh god, what didn't you drink? Uh..." Roxy paused, lazily dusting herself. "The jacks.... shots somewhere.... then we had those great cocktails... Then... uh, more cocktails... And then these bad boys!" She patted the beers.

Marigold stared at her. Blinked.

“I’m going to regret my entire life tomorrow, aren’t I,” she said. The breeze felt cool on her face.

"Eh. You'll get used to it."

Marigold stared into the distance. Her knees felt weak, and before she knew it, she found herself on the ground yet again.

“Can we... go home...”

The world disappeared in a haze.

Step. Step.

Heels on pavement.

Clink. Clink.

The beer cans hit one another.

The world seemed to rock and sway more than usual.

Marigold found herself being carried, her head on Roxy’s shoulder.

She started. “Roxy -!!”

She tried to grab on, but her muscles wouldn’t obey her commands. “What... why... how...?”

"Shh.. . Welcome... back... to the land of the living..." Roxy mumbled back, cradling Marigold close. "You passed out so I'm taking you home..."

Marigold wanted to protest, but words failed her. She clung on to Roxy, trying not to panic. “You... you can’t carry me all the way!”

And bridal style, nonetheless. Marigold found herself blushing. She hid her face in Roxy’s shoulder.

"Done this... thousands of times. Don't you worry... All part of being a butch."

Marigold found no strength in her to reply. All she could do was sigh, trust Roxy, and pass out again.

A sizzle. The house smelt of breakfast, accompanied by a clattering of spatulas on pans. The fat of bacon, the smoky smell of garlic and tomato.

"I want to be free, free."

Roxy was singing as she cooked.

Marigold woke up slowly. Her head was in agony, her stomach queasy.

It seemed Roxy had prepared for this. There was a bucket next to the bed, and Marigold reached out and retched into it for what felt like an eternity.

I’m never drinking again. Never ever.

It was only after she stopped vomiting, and started looking for some water, that she realised that she was stark naked – not even wearing underwear.

"Free... Free from here..."

Roxy stood in the doorway with two mugs. "Why, good morning, sleepyhead! I'll get that for you." She didn't seem at all adverse to the vomit. "You might need another one, though. Quite a night!"

A groan. Marigold blinked at Roxy. “I’m never drinking again. Do you have water? And why am I naked?”

"You vomited all over yourself when we got home!" Roxy gave a little beam. "Had to clean you up and then you refused to put on clothes, you little nudist. I made us tea, breakfast is nearly done."

Marigold took some time to process this. She groaned again.

“How in the name of... everything that is holy,” she said, “are you in such a good mood. I’m dying.”

She sat up and immediately regretted it. “Bathroom.”

"Two doors to your left! I call it increased tolerance." Roxy put the mugs down. "I also started having glasses of water between drinks when we having the Jack's."

Marigold didn’t reply. She only just made it to the bathroom, door slamming shut behind her as she vomited once more.

This is the worst. The worst. I’m never drinking again.

Afterwards, she spent a few minutes just lying on the bathroom floor. Her entire body hurt, everything was sore, and she had to work herself up to it before being able to get up again.

She drank water from the tap and washed her face. The face looking back at her from the mirror appeared as a mask of smeared makeup and hungover tiredness. She noticed the mark that the guy she’d kissed had left on her neck.

Curiously, it was not the only one.

Marigold groaned. What happened. I can’t remember anything.

"Maarigold!!" A voice came from the other room. "Ketchup or brown sauce?"

Marigold sighed. It was okay. Roxy had brought her home safe. It was okay, it didn’t matter.

She put on a smile before opening the bathroom door.

#steven universe #su fanfic #su yellow diamond #su pink diamond #su human au #educating the victim #etv act 6 #illustrated #animated #sfw

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dailyaudiobible · 6 years

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05/08/2018 DAB Transcript

1 Samuel 2:22-4:22, John 5:24-47, Psalms 106:1-12, Proverbs 14:30-31

Today is the 8th of May. Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I am Brian. It's great to be here with you today and gather around the global campfire and prepare to take the next step forward on our journey, which will lead us cover to cover through the Bible. And we're well on our way in this journey. We began a new era in the scriptures as we began the book of 1 Samuel yesterday and we talked about Samuel. And we're getting to know him in the scriptures. And so we'll dive back in and pick up where we left off yesterday. We're reading from the New International Version this week. 1 Samuel chapter 2 verse 22 through the end of chapter 4 today.

Commentary:

Okay. So, quite a bit of drama happening in 1 Samuel. The Ark of the Covenant is lost in battle, the high priest Eli dies as well as his sons. Let's remember we're still in the time of the judges, so a lot of anarchy. Samuel is growing up to be the last judge and he will definitely shift the culture through his leadership and through his life. I mean, culture doesn't charge overnight. Like, for example, in our lifetimes, culture has shifted many times because culture is constantly shifting. But this doesn't happen overnight, right? You have some who are wanting to move progressively into a brave new world and you have others who are wanting to move back to a place of safety that is known. And so, you know, you have people moving in opposite directions and then you have those who are kind of just exploiting the fears in all of it. And culture just moves and shifts like a wave on the sea. And so we've been seeing some of those downturns as we've moved through the book of Judges over those generations and we're still in that time. So, we have the high priest Eli and we've got his sons who are exploiting the people in a lot of different ways and have no reverence for the fact that they stand in the Lord's presence representing God to God's people. But that has not worked out so well for them and now Samuel will rise to prominence as a leader.

When we get to the book of Proverbs today we are left with some things to think about. A heart at peace gives life to the body. So, let's try to understand what we're talking about here. What is a heart at peace? This is a heart that is free from disturbance. What we would these days call drama. It's a heart that has found a place of tranquility. In fact, some translations use that word. A tranquil heart. A heart that is at ease, that is calmed, that is quieted. This, according to the Proverbs, gives life to the body. So, we can stop there. We're only halfway through this verse but we can stop there and we can ask those questions. Is that true of me? Is my heart at peace? Or am I riddled with anxiety and being pulled in every sort of direction and find myself in drama no matter where I step? Well then that's not a heart at peace. Which would explain maybe why we're not...we don't have a body at peace either. A heart at peace gives life to the body. And then the Proverb goes on because it's a complete sentence. We've only read half the sentence. So, it completes itself, giving us some clues at what disrupts a heart at peace. Envy rots the bones. Now envy is a pretty big and ancient word, being a deadly sin and all, but it's not a word that we use commonly now. So, exactly what is it that rots our bones? Envy is a feeling of being discontented inside that comes from a longing for something that's missing that you think or see that someone else has. And so that longing turns into resentment because they have something that you long for and you're discontented about it. And so it arouses this unease that spawns jealousy and coveting. Which boils down to one way that we as people try to achieve an identity that will never ever work. Comparison. And those of you ladies that were at the More Gathering this year, you know that Jill and the team spoke extensively about this exact thing, comparison. Obviously, I'm not a lady. But as it turns out, this is something very, very common among women. Comparing yourself to other women constantly, wherever you go. Like walking into a room and being able to spot the most beautiful put-together woman and disliking her outright, right off the bat. I mean, it's not a woman...it's not a gender thing. I mean, this is throughout humanity. Comparing ourselves to one another. Looking at how much better we're doing than someone else or how someone is doing so much better than we are and longing for that is envy. It's a way of trying to achieve an identity that is false from the get go. Your life is not her life. His life is not your life. What they have achieved is not your story, right? So, you can get on social media or whatever and start flipping through the pages and find yourself deep in envy. Because all of those people you used to know twenty years ago or whatever seem to be doing better than you are. But what we're looking at is the curated life that's the best version of that person's life and then we're envying it. And it's them on their best day and it's not even real. And we just see how quickly we can slip into envy. And if we'll observe ourselves, literally if we'll step away and try to catch ourselves every time that we move toward envy, we'll see that we're doing it more than we think. The problem is, envy leads us into disturbance inside of ourselves, right? It destroys the tranquility and quiet and peace of our own story. So, it doesn't give life to the body. It actually works against it. It rots the bones. So, if jealousy and comparison are a constant companion in your life, then this is working against you. If those are issues, well then there's envy and it is rotting you. And this boils down to the fact that you are trying to bolster or get, achieve an identity that is someone else's. So, you're saying, my life, this gift, these breaths, this awareness, this consciousness, this me that I've been given as a gift from God is not what I want. It's not enough. I want someone else's life. And so rather than changing our own lives to aim in a direction that feels more true to who we are, we just sit and take pot shots at people who we think have what we want. There is no life in that. It's a complete non-starter. It rots the bones. And, so, let's try to step outside of ourselves and watch ourselves when we move toward envy. Find those places, those triggers that are constantly pulling us into comparison and consider that that is rotting our bones. And may we remember we're here as a gift for a reason. We have our own story to tell. No one else can tell it. And we're telling it everyday through our choices, our motives, our heart. And if our heart is full of envy, than we're not telling the story we wanna be telling. We're just rotting our bones. But a heart at peace, one that is tranquil, gives life to the body.

Prayer:

So, Holy Spirit, we invite into that. We invite You into things everyday because Your Word brings up things we need to think about and gives us clarity. And there's significant clarity in this one sentence. A heart at peace gives life to the body, but envy rots the bones. And so we ask, Holy Spirit, that You would show us the places that we are rotting away in envy and we reject that. We reject it in the name of Jesus. The only way we will ever have an identity is that it be bestowed upon us by You. And the fact that we are here is proof that You have given us an identity. And so we seek our identity in You and You alone and ask Your Holy Spirit to give us a heart at peace and life to our bodies. Come Holy Spirit we pray. In Jesus name. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is the website. It's home base. It is certainly where you find out what's going on in the community, so be sure to check it out.

Pray for people at the prayer wall. Check out the resources that are available.

And if you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, that can be done at dailyaudiobible.com as well. There's a link on the homepage. Thank you. Thank you for your partnership. This is how we continue day by day as a community, so thank you. If you're using the Daily Audio Bible app, you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner or, if you prefer, the mailing address is P.O. Box 1996, Spring Hill, Tennessee, 37174.

And as always, if you have a prayer request or comment, 877-942-4253 is the number to dial.

And that's it for today. Let's think about our identity. Let's think about envy and the rot that it is. And allow the Holy Spirit to move us in a direction that will lead to life. I'm Brian. I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

This message is for Terry the truck driver. Terry, this is Bob from Michigan and I just want you to know that you don’t have to worry about the assurance of your salvation because if you have given your life to Christ He hasn’t forgotten. You’re in. Terry, you are not a truck driver. You are not an addict. You are a child of God. He loves you. You are made in His image and likeness and He loves you to pieces. We have all fallen short Terry. We’re all, once we’re saved, on that road to sanctification, where we’re desperately trying to be more Christlike every day but we slip, we fall, we fall back. I’m reminded of second Corinthians chapter 1 verse 9. It says, indeed, we felt we had received the sentence of death but this happened that we might not rely on ourselves but on God who raises the dead. So, Terry, the only way out of this pit is with God’s power. You need to start every day with what I call ‘kill and fill’. Dear God, kill the sinful desires of my flesh and fill me with Your Holy Spirit, with Your healing Holy Spirit. Terry you’ve been trying for 30 years to stop these habits on your own and it hasn’t worked has it? God is the only one that can pull you out of the pit that you’re in and put your feet on a rock. Just read Psalm 40. Put your trust in Him and He will pull you through. You are not riding as a Lone Ranger out there. There are many of us who sin and have fallen back.

My name is Jeanette. I’m from Tulsa Oklahoma and back in March, Deborah in Michigan called in requesting…actually she didn’t request prayer…she wanted to call in and just tell Brian and Jill how grateful she was. And I just wanted to echo that. When I first started listening to the Daily Audio Bible the first year, the end of that first year, it was like somebody stood up on the inside of me. And that second year when I listened, it was like there were bones that now had muscle on them. And there was a year or two ago when Brian, you were going to, you wanted to change the end greeting, what is it, the salutation. And I think everybody called in and said, ‘don’t change it…when you’re saying at the end that you love us and that you’ll be waiting for us here tomorrow’, just, when you hear that, I can’t even explain what that does to someone who is dry and wary. So, I just wanted to thank you Brian and Jill. We just want to speak blessings over your family, peace and prosperity. We just want to honor you for what you’re doing. Honor and glory and power to the one who has brought you to this place, to provide this podcast. Thank you. Thank you so much. God bless you. Bye.

Hi Daily Audio Bible family. I’ve been a listener for about two years now. You can call me Hopeful. And I’m calling because, it’s hard for me to call. I always pray with everyone who calls in. And thank you so much for what you do Brian and all the regulars. It just, it feels like a family. It’s such an amazing experience. I never feel like I should call in because, I know that I’m praying with everyone, I don’t feel like I need to say it, but I’m calling for, I don’t know of his selfish, but it’s for myself and my family, my husband. We just haven’t been able to have children. It’s been a really long hard struggle. I had one miscarriage…and…just…we both want children so bad. And I’ll be 40 this year. So, I still pray and ask the Lord that He would bless us, but I’m just kind of losing hope now. The doctors pretty much have told me it’s almost impossible. So…I just…but I know nothing can stop the will of Christ. And, so, I would love your prayers and just to stay hopeful and I’m not giving up and I know a lot of people have kind of nicely tried to let me know that it’s probably too late but I’m not giving up. And I’m praying for all of you and with you and I just thank you so much for your encouragement, your encouraging words and prayers. Please keep me in your prayers as well. Thank you.

Hi family. My name is Diana. Call me Fearless in Love. Today is May 5th and we heard the story of Ruth and Naomi begin today. I named my daughter Naomi and it means sweet. She is so sweet and kind. And I would like you to pray for her. She’s 4 years old and I want her to grow in love. And that was my mantra. There is no fear in love but perfect love casts out all fear. I had a lot of fear but God helped me get rid of it and make it into love because He is love and I want that for her and all the children. Let’s pray. Dear God, thank You for Your perfect love. Thank You for this story of two women, a mother and a daughter who loved each other even though they weren’t blood. Help us to love like that every day. Amen. Family thank you for all your prayers for me even though I haven’t called before and know that I pray for all of you. I want to pray for Diana D. who I heard previously. Sister, you are in my prayers and I love you. In Jesus name. Amen.

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eccacia · 6 years

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wonderful you came by [part 15]

Summary: Caitlin’s a no-nonsense science major. Barry’s the quintessential charming star athlete. When they’re paired off and forced to interact in class, Caitlin’s determined to resist his charms, but Barry’s also pretty determined to get under her skin… It all boils down to a battle between head and heart, and Caitlin’s not one to give in to her heart so easily. [College AU]

Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, or read on ff.net

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I don’t own The Flash. The article that Barry cites here is called “What Is Nothing?” by Fraser Cain from phys.org.

One of the most important things that Caitlin’s father had taught her was the discipline of getting rid of a bad habit. He’d taught her that it wasn’t enough to drop the habit cold turkey: if change was to be sustainable and permanent, the old habit had to be dropped and be immediately replaced by a better habit. For instance, if she wanted to stop watching TV, she couldn’t just spend the rest of the hour avoiding the TV—she had to do something else, like read the encyclopedia.

It was with this logic that Caitlin resolved to excise Barry Allen from her mental life. It did not do to merely stop thinking about him, because it was impossible to stop thinking about him by sheer willpower; so instead, she filled her day with work—with outlining and practicing for the orals, with summarizing journal articles for her thesis, with drafting the next post-lab report—which successfully crowded her mind, so that there was no room for Barry Allen at all.

She had come to this course of action the next morning, after a good night’s rest and after the alcohol had been flushed out of her system. She hadn’t been in a state of mind to think things through the night before—she was too confused and distraught, and her mind was muddled with emotion—but in the light of day, with some distance from Barry, she was finally able to evaluate the recent events with startling clarity.

It seemed that her null hypothesis regarding Barry Allen—that he did not harbor romantic feelings for her—was disproven by that kiss, as a kiss was the pinnacle of romantic feeling. But upon reevaluation of her hypothesis, she realized that a fatal error had occurred in her reasoning. She realized that it didn’t matter if her hypothesis was proven or disproven, because the underlying rationale of her investigation was faulty. It was similar to testing a hypothesis like “There is a significant positive relationship between the width of one’s hand span and the age of one’s maternal grandmother.” The numbers could indeed show that those with wider hand spans also had older maternal grandmothers, but the study itself was irrelevant. Similarly, her hypothesis assumed that it was important to be considered Barry Allen’s object of affection, which implied that romance was a worthwhile endeavor, when, in fact, it was not.

And the reason why it wasn’t worthwhile was simple: Love was temporary insanity. That was by far the most logical explanation for why she—she who was logical, clear-headed, intolerant of frivolity, unseduced by narratives of romantic love—had suddenly fallen for Barry in a span of two weeks, and why she’d found herself doing things that she would never have done, such as spending three hours on the phone, or singing onstage, or dancing with abandon in the midst of a sweaty throng, or leaning in to kiss someone that she barely knew.

In line with that, she realized that Saturday night contained all the necessary conditions to short-circuit reasoning. The context of a party simultaneously created an atmosphere of wild abandon and disabled the tools for rational thought: one is unable to see clearly when one’s vision is assaulted by the bright, blinking lights; one can hardly hear oneself think above the aggressive beat of the music; and, once inebriated, one is unable to wield logic at all.

And, during the party, when Barry had called her onstage to sing with him, she was placed in a context in which it was impossible for her to say no without dire social consequences—rather than to step off the stage, be booed by the crowd, and be labelled a killjoy, she was inclined to take the path of least resistance, which was to simply join him. Their dancing together had also been a function of context: after the sing-off, people were pulling friends and significant others onto the dance floor, and they, conforming to the crowd, had also moved to the dance floor. It was part of the script of a party to dance; it was not part of the script of a party to have a clear-headed discussion on the implications of him naming her as his partner for the sing-off.

That kiss was similarly manufactured by the demands of context. The open balcony under the starry night sky was a favorite setting of the romantic imagination, and with good reason: she suspected that standing under the vast night sky made people feel small and insignificant, and, faced with the overwhelming threat of their insignificance, they naturally gravitated to others, fiercely wanting the other to affirm their significance, wanting to be loved and known in order to save themselves from the reality that they were adrift and alone, a speck of dust on a piece of rock suspended in empty space. In fact, two of her most ill-informed decisions—deciding that she liked Barry, and leaning in to kiss him—were made under the night sky. Had they been around people in the light of day, in a sober setting like the library, such things would never have happened.

In any case, she would allow no more of this nonsense in her life. It was absurd to believe that this new self, this Caitlin-with-Barry self that had been forged in a mere two weeks, could overshadow the self she’d been for over twenty years; it then followed that the new self was a falsehood that had to be discarded, and the self she’d always been—the logical, clear-headed, impervious-to-romance self—was her true self, the self she had to maintain and protect. And, in order to do that, she had to cut Barry Allen off. It was regrettable, but it was necessary. Sometimes, to halt the progress of a disease, it wasn’t enough to scrape away the infected flesh; sometimes, it was necessary to amputate the entire limb.

She resolved to stand by her decision until his persistence waned and until he realized, as she had, that his energies were better directed elsewhere. She, for one, could focus on her career, as she had always intended, and he could focus on his transition into Forensic Science.

It was the most logical decision, and one that would benefit them both. It was, she truly believed, for the best.

Monday, 7:07 PM

Hi Caitlin, it’s me again. I don’t want to sound like a stalker or anything by spamming you with voicemail, so… just tell me to stop if you really want me to stop, okay? I swear I will. But if you won’t say anything, I’m just going to assume that your silence means, Yes, Barry, you can be as annoying as you possibly can. —Why, Caitlin, it’s my pleasure to serve up my specialty. In fact, this is your first daily dose of annoyingness, served fresh from the kissable mouth of CCU Cutie Barry Allen—ah, crap, Wally just heard me saying that. Crap. Now he’s laughing his butt off. Can you hear him? Here, I’ll move closer. He laughs like a hyena. It’s hideous. I don’t think you’ve ever met him, but I hope you will sometime… Anywaaay, uh, I called to let you know that I’m sorry, and I’m not giving up. That’s all for now. I’m going to dig myself a hole if I keep going while Wally’s listening, so call me if you want to talk, I guess. Bye.

Swipe. Delete.

. . .

Tuesday, 10:51 AM

Hi Caitlin. So, uh, welcome to day two of being annoyed by your local cutie. Heh, I can already imagine you wrinkling your brow and trying not to smile but failing not to smile, so you end up biting your lip instead, and you’d say, “Who’re the idiots that put you on the CCU Cutie list”—I’m number eight out of fifty, in case you’re wondering, not to toot my own horn—okay, fine, totally tooting it—“and don’t those idiots know that they’re just ratcheting up your insufferability index?!” Do you remember saying that, insufferability index? I know I should be insulted, but I usually end up flattered instead, knowing that you tailor your insults to me. I like to think of it as you showing your love. Although I’d still prefer compliments... ahem, ahem. Anyway, um… wow, I’ve spent half of this voicemail talking about what you might say. It’s… not as fun talking to imaginary Caitlin than it is talking to real Caitlin. So… give me a call? Or leave a message. Whenever you’re ready. Bye.

Swipe. Delete.

Tuesday, 8:23 PM

Hey, so I just got your e-mail. I’m… kind of bummed that you wanna study separately for the orals, but… if that’s what you want, I guess. Don’t worry, I’ll do my part. It’ll be harder to study without you slave-driving me, but I won’t let you down. I can’t believe I miss you slave-driving me, heh. Anyway, um… what else… Oh yeah, I’m free next Saturday for the make-up class and the STAR Labs tour. It’s so cool that we’re having our make-up class at STAR Labs. I’m almost glad he cancelled class on Monday. Dr. Wells is the best, isn’t he? …Anyway, uh, look, I know I could’ve just e-mailed you back, but… I don’t know, e-mail’s just not our thing, you know? If that makes any sense. Yeah… that’s all for now. You know the drill. See you Thursday for the orals.

Swipe. Delete.

. . .

Wednesday, 1:34 PM

Happy third-day-sary of being annoyed by me! Er, I wasn’t sure if it’s a cause for celebration, but I guess I’m feeling pretty optimistic. I mean, at least you haven’t told me to stop talking yet, right? …Anyway, awhile ago, just for kicks, I typed “Is nothing really nothing?” in Google. Not sure if you remember, but you told me the last time we talked that whatever happened between us was nothing, and nothing is nothing so it’s smart of me to pin my hopes on it. So I thought, Is nothing really nothing? and I figured it’d be fun to ask Google. Anyway, Google has this to say about nothing: “There are physicists like Lawrence Krauss that argue the ‘universe from nothing’, really means ‘the universe from a potentiality’. Which comes down to if you add all the mass and energy in the universe, all the gravitational curvature, everything… it looks like it all sums up to zero. So it is possible that the universe really did come from nothing. And if that’s the case, then ‘nothing’ is everything we see around us, and ‘everything’ is nothing.” Neat, huh? Nothing is everything. I know you super disapprove of me typing the whole question into the search bar instead of just typing the keywords, but I swear I didn’t get it from Yahoo Answers. It’s from a site called phys.org, which sounds pretty legit to me. Anyway, see you tomorrow for orals. I studied like hell for it, and you study enough for the both of us, so we should do great. I… I’m actually looking forward to it. Not the orals, but seeing you. So… see you tomorrow. Bye.

Swipe. Delete.

“Cait? Cait.”

Caitlin startled when she felt a hand on her wrist, gently lifting it from the keyboard of her laptop. She turned to see Felicity giving her a worried look.

“You’ve been pressing the spacebar,” she said.

“Oh.” Caitlin glanced at her screen. She had begun the post-lab document at page 1. She was now on page 15, and all the pages in between were blank.

“Are you okay?” Felicity ventured. “Did something happen between you and Barry?”

“No.” She highlighted the blank pages and pressed delete.

Felicity sighed. “Cait, you haven’t been talking to us since Sunday, so something obviously happened on Saturday night. Did he hurt you? Because if he did, I swear I’ll—”

“No.” She reread the paragraph she’d written so far. “We’re fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Felicity pursed her lips. “Cait, please. Talk to me. You’re overworking, you haven’t been sleeping, and you have lapses like this, when you don’t even realize that you’re spacing out.”

“I’m fine.”

“Cait—”

“Felicity! God, stop!” she snapped. “I’m fine, okay? I just, I have a lot of deadlines coming up, alright?”

Felicity recoiled.

“Okay,” she said, with barely concealed hurt. “Okay. Fine. Whatever.”

She turned away and slinked back to her desk.

Caitlin concentrated on her screen, trying to ignore the pain in her chest.

The next day Caitlin woke with a start. She blinked a few times at the light streaming in through her windows, peeled away a piece of paper that had stuck to her cheek, and shot out of her chair to get ready for the orals.

Or, rather, she stumbled out of her chair, felt around for the reviewers on her desk, and shuffled around the room to gather her other things—towel, clothes, shoes, backpack—as if blind, hitting the corners of tables and countertops as she went. Despite her astounding stamina for studying, Caitlin was not immune to the effects of sleep deprivation, and after totaling only six hours of sleep for the past three days, her mind was foggy, her eyes were dry, and her stomach (also owing to an overdose of caffeine and a diet of crackers and instant noodles) roiled with acid. She felt like either wanting to vomit or wanting to die.

But she was fine. This was fine. This was familiar. At the very least, her physical unease consumed such a significant portion of her attention that she was unable to obsessively rehearse all the worst-case scenarios in her mind, as she usually did.

She took the long route to the science and engineering complex, which ensured that she would meet less people along the way, and silently recited reagent names and reaction mechanisms as she went. Benedict’s Test. Positive results: orange to brick red. Indicates the presence of sugar. Negative results: no change in color. Indicates the absence of sugar. She paused at a vendo machine for some coffee and downed it in one gulp, grimacing when it scalded her tongue. Molisch’s Test. Positive results: purple appearing at the junction of the two layers of liquids. Indicates the presence of carbohydrates. Negative results: no purple at the junction of the liquids. Indicates the absence of carbohydrates. She took the stairs to the fourth floor, and then turned to the row of rooms that professors used for consultations and oral exams. They were usually occupied towards the end of the semester, but right now there was only one occupied room with the light on and the door ajar.

Caitlin crushed her coffee cup, tossed it into a nearby trash bin, and took a deep breath. Fifteen minutes, she told herself. She only had to endure fifteen minutes of this—and of Barry Allen—and she was free. She could do this.

When she entered the room, she immediately recognized the outline of Barry’s back, seated in front of Dr. Wells’s wide wooden desk, and Dr. Wells himself sat across him with his arms folded. They seemed to be in the middle of a conversation, but when she slipped inside, Barry turned around quickly and shot her a grin.

She ignored him. She put on her deadpan mask and hoped that it wouldn’t crack.

Dr. Wells smiled at her. “Ms. Snow, nice of you to join us,” he said, as she took a seat across him and beside Barry. “Well, since you’re both here now, why don’t we start?”

“Ready when you are, Dr. Wells,” Barry said.

Caitlin merely nodded. Her anxiety was building now; her palms were beginning to sweat and her throat felt dry. She absolutely hated oral exams and anything that resembled it—presentations, panel interviews, defenses, anything at all that required her to speak, to be judged for each word she spoke, and to witness the judgment passed on her through the facial expressions (or lack thereof) of the professor or the panel even as she was still speaking. It was an absolute nightmare. The only time when she didn’t feel that way was when she was drunk—her drunk alter ego enjoyed being the center of attention, for reasons she didn’t want to contemplate—but she couldn’t very well show up drunk during an oral exam or a panel interview. Of course, she’d gotten better at hiding her fear as she went through college, but the beginning was still the worst part.

“Alright, let’s start with something easy,” Dr. Wells said. “Ms. Snow, enumerate the tests for carbohydrates and their indicators for positive results.”

This was easy. She knew this. She’d rehearsed for it just a few moments ago, and she also distinctly remembered summarizing the tests in table format for their post-laboratory report. She remembered inputting each entry and polishing the format of the table—bolding the headings, alternating the row colors, affixing the caption—and the memory remained so vivid in her mind that she could recite the answer as if she were reading directly from that table. She had this. She had this.

But when she opened her mouth to speak, no sound came. She was paralyzed. The table was still etched in her mind’s eye, but fear constricted her throat and scrambled the words she’d intended to say. Oh God, she thought, her hands fisting in the fabric of her jeans, not now not now not now—

A second passed. Then two. When three seconds crawled by, the silence became tense, and Caitlin felt all the more the crushing pressure of having to say something, if only to fill the silence; but anxiety and humiliation collapsed her airways, bound her mouth in a steel trap. She felt like she literally could not speak.

Beside her, Barry cleared his throat.

“Mind if I go first, Dr. Wells?” he said, careful not to look at her. He continued lightly, “I’d like to volunteer to answer all the easy questions before they run out.”

Dr. Wells shifted his piercing blue gaze from her to Barry, and he leaned back against his chair with a slight smile. “I can’t guarantee you any more ‘easy questions,’ Mr. Allen, but go ahead.”

Barry grinned and launched into his answer, completely at ease as he talked—so much so, in fact, that he even made a joke while he was at it. When he finished, he pretended to bow to an imaginary audience, and Dr. Wells was shaking his head in barely disguised amusement.

He paused to write something on a sheaf of stapled papers, and then looked up at Caitlin again.

“Ms. Snow?” he said expectantly. “Ready for the next question?”

Her breath caught in her throat. No, she wasn’t. She felt like fading away from the scene. It was one of her defense mechanisms—during stress, she shut down. She disengaged. She was there-not-there. Each passing second with her fear felt like a knife-tip grating down the notched bones of her spine—

She was so caught up in her internal struggle that she startled when she felt something warm cover her hand.

What the—

Her eyes flickered down, and she saw that Barry was holding her hand.

During an oral exam.

In front of Dr. Wells.

She was so livid that she couldn’t move. What was he thinking? Scratch that—was he even thinking? She was going to kill him—

But, no, wait—he wasn’t really holding her hand, per se—he was only running his fingers over her clenched fists, cautiously coaxing them to open. She hadn’t realized she’d been clenching them so tightly that the muscles were strained from the tension. When she finally unclenched them, he quickly withdrew his hand, and continued rambling to Dr. Wells—he’d been managing a conversation this whole time—as if nothing had happened.

She blinked and took a slow, deep breath. She felt like she was coming out of her stupor, as if unclenching her fists had also uncoiled the anxiety that had gripped her body.

“Mr. Allen,” she dimly registered Dr. Wells saying, “most people answer after they’ve been asked a question, not before.”

“Just wanna show off how much I studied,” Barry said, grinning.

Dr. Wells shook his head and turned to her. “I have to apologize for pairing you off with him, Ms. Snow.”

“Hey! I resent that,” Barry protested. “I’m a pretty decent lab partner.”

“Perhaps ‘highly distractible’ is more appropriate.”

“But I can’t help it, Dr. Wells,” he said. “It’s just how I am. I get really excited about anything science.”

“Ah, Mr. Allen,” Dr. Wells said, his eyes shifting briefly to her, “I don’t think science is the only thing you get excited about.”

Oh my God, does he mean—she didn’t even want to continue that train of thought, but when she saw that Barry, for once, had been struck speechless, she supposed the implication was clear. Oh, God. This was embarrassing. Had he seen Barry reach for her hand? But it was a wide, high desk—he couldn’t have seen it—and Barry had been so discreet that she hadn’t even seen him move—

“Dr. Wells,” she blurted out, just to end the humiliation, “I believe it’s my turn…”

“So it is.” His usually stern features softened into a reassuring look. “Don’t be nervous, Ms. Snow. This isn’t so different from reciting in class or conversing with the panel in open forums.”

Caitlin swallowed and nodded.

“Ms. Snow, can you tell me why Molisch’s test for carbohydrates yields a purple color? An explanation of the reaction mechanism will do.”

She took a discreet breath. She could do this. From the corner of her eye she could see Barry glancing at her out of concern, no doubt readying another excuse to answer for her if she blanked out, and somehow the thought that he had her back quelled the anxiety rising in her throat.

“Molisch’s test determines the presence of carbohydrates by dehydrating them in the presence of sulfuric acid,” she began. She spoke with some hesitance at first, but as she continued speaking, her confidence rose, and she forgot her fear.

When she finished, there was a faint smile on Dr. Wells’s face.

“Good,” he said. “Very thoroughly explained. Now, Mr. Allen, the third question…”

While he briefly consulted his notes, Barry turned to her and smiled with a mixture of pride and relief, but she quickly turned away. She turned away because guilt had crept into the void that anxiety had carved, and this guilt—the origin of which she could not yet name—made her unable to look at him for the rest of the exam.

. . .

The rest of the orals was a breeze. Caitlin told herself that she could have gotten over her fear without Barry’s help—she’d always managed (to her own surprise) to pull through those first few minutes—but there was another part of her that said that wasn’t exactly true. When before, anxiety seized her afresh each time a new question was asked, this time, right after that first question, she felt like she’d entered a state of flow, like the question-answer sequences had already been programmed in her mind and all she had to do was to produce the answer when prompted by the question. That thoughtful gesture of his had played no small part in helping her get over her fear.

She felt, then, that the situation obliged her to thank him—if not the situation, then common courtesy, at the very least, required her to reciprocate his act of kindness with gratitude. Yet, when he’d beamed at her after they’d stepped out of the room, she’d brushed past him as if he didn’t exist; and to add insult to injury, she’d even kept her eyes trained on a spot in the distance to avoid seeing the naked hurt on his face.

Caitlin knew, objectively, that a curt “thank you” would have been no big deal in any other scenario. But this scenario was not any other scenario, and in this case a “thank you” wouldn’t be a mere expression of gratitude: a “thank you” would also be the first crack in her silence, and if she allowed that crack, she would render herself helpless against his efforts to worm his way back into her affections. A “thank you” in this case was also thus an implicit “I’m sorry for ignoring you” and “I want to talk to you again”—both of which she could not allow herself to say, because if her campaign to dissuade Barry from ever speaking to her again her was to be successful, she could allow no exceptions.

But driving him away with silence wasn’t without its consequences—she felt guilty for repaying his kindness so coldly. Normally, one could assuage one’s guilt by approaching the wronged party to make amends, but she already established that she could not approach him, so she felt doubly worse—from being unable to thank him, and from being unable to apologize to him for not thanking him.

With this guilt, too, came shame at the person she had to be in order to reject him so completely. She’d been afraid of the person she was becoming when she was with him, but now she was appalled at who she was becoming in order to drive him away. It seemed that Barry’s kindness only magnified her heartlessness; his gentle persistence, her haste in cutting him off; his unwavering thoughtfulness, her ruthless excision of him from her mental life.

She sighed. Why did he have to be so nice, anyway? She would have welcomed his anger and his resentment, because those would have made sense; but instead he was kind, and she was completely disarmed by his kindness. It was a sincere, pure-hearted kindness at that, without any undercurrent of manipulating her into guilt. But then again, that wasn’t Barry’s style, and come to think of it, she couldn’t imagine him angry and resentful… If she were to become the cause such ugly, blistering emotions in someone as good-natured as he, she was going to feel like a monster.

The least she could hope for, she thought as she settled down in her next class, was for him to give up soon. That way she didn’t have to keep hurting him—or rather, she didn’t have to keep hurting them both.

. . .

Still, that night, as she lay alone in her dark room—Felicity had been avoiding her for the past few days, and she knew she deserved it but she was yet too ashamed to apologize—she placed her phone on her pillow, beside her head. As usual, he’d left a voicemail, half an hour after the orals.

She allowed it to play.

Hey. Are you okay? I knew you told me you didn’t like orals, but I didn’t know you were that terrified of them. I hope you’re okay now. Sorry for holding your hand, I know you’re still iffy with the whole touch thing, but I didn’t know how else to comfort you. I’m really glad you got over it, though. Actually, everything turned out great in the end, don’t you think? We made quite the pair, with me slaying all the easy questions and you slaying all the hard ones, heh. Well, anyway, that’s all for now, I have to meet up with Coach. He’s been really hard on all of us lately since tomorrow’s the finals. It’ll be great if you could come watch, or even if you could drop by to say hi. I really miss you. Call me or message me or something, you know the drill. Bye.

His voice dissolved into the silence.

Caitlin swiped left, and her finger hovered above the bright red Delete button. But, right before she pressed it, the memory of his hand over hers during the orals flitted through her mind, and she shut her eyes and took a shaky breath.

She was just… so tired of this. She was so tired of resisting him, of constructing all these elaborate denials and rationalizations and justifications. She knew that there were to be absolutely no exceptions, but…

She drew her phone close.

She played the voicemail again.

Hey. Are you okay? I knew you told me you didn’t like orals, but I didn’t know you were that terrified of them. I hope you’re okay now…

He lost by 0.91 seconds.

To make up for her momentary lapse in resolve the night before, she’d adamantly avoided his meet, but she might as well have been there with the way she obsessively refreshed her Twitter feed; and, when she saw the headline “KCU’s Hunter Zolomon Bags First Place, Dethrones CCU’s Reigning Champ Barry Allen” an hour or so after the meet, she could hardly believe it.

He lost, she repeated, the thought sinking in. She could only imagine what he was feeling right now. He’d told her, during one of their phone calls, that he wanted to finish this season strong before quitting. “My heart’s not in it anymore,” he’d said, “but my ego is. Does that make sense? I mean, everyone was so proud of me when I won my first national meet. It was unbelievable. My mom and dad couldn’t stop telling their friends about it. For the first time in decades the track team finally got support from the school. Stores wanted to sponsor us. People were flocking to our meets. My teammates were so psyched, and Coach hadn’t smiled so much since his wife gave birth. It was… a pretty great feeling, I guess.” “You just like the attention,” she’d said, and he’d laughed. “Not denying that. But it’s really nice, you know, having started all that, making people proud. It makes me feel like I matter.”

But, she wondered now, if winning made him feel like he mattered, what did losing make him feel?

Disturbed by her own question, she put her phone aside and stared at the articles open on her laptop, willing her focus to return, but she couldn’t bring herself to get back to work. Guilt nagged at her conscience even more insistently now. He’d held her hand when she’d frozen up in fear during the orals, and now that he was the one who needed comfort, she was refusing to be there for him.

She knew that she couldn’t afford to make any more exceptions, but…

She dug the heels of her hand into her eyes and sighed in frustration. Sure, she could ignore a happy, cheery Barry, the Barry who sent her all those chipper voicemails, but can she really just ignore a sad, hurting Barry…?

The thought of him like that had her rising from her desk. Vaguely, she cursed herself for making that first exception last night, because now she’d set herself on the slippery slope of exception-making; but that sentiment wasn’t strong enough to stop her from heading out her door. She didn’t even think to message him to ask him where he was—it seemed her feet moved on their own accord, following the invisible trail that led to him. She knew, without knowing how she knew, where he was going to be.

. . .

She did find him there, at the Observatory.

It was sunset, like the last time they were here, and the soft light cast a warm glow on his skin. He was sitting on the ground, leaning back on his hands, silent and unmoving as a statue.

She watched him from a distance. She watched the wind tug at his hair, watched him turn his face to the dying sun and stare blankly at the smattering of stores, at the specks of people moving mutely below.

Minutes passed. Still, she remained behind a copse of trees, standing on a patch of flat ground in the midst of gnarled roots, too afraid to approach. She didn’t know what to say. She’d never been good with words, and she’d never been good at filling silences, and she didn’t know what to offer as solace. Should she begin with the bland reassurance, as most people did, that everything was going to be okay? Should she ask him how he was feeling? Should she make him laugh, offer him a hug…?

Lost as she was in her thoughts, she only dimly registered the crunch of leaves underfoot. Barry looked to his right, and, more out of instinct than curiosity, she mimicked his movement and turned to look.

At first, Caitlin couldn’t make out the person’s features, as her profile was cast against the light; but as she neared, she caught sight of a head of blond hair and a flash of straight, white teeth.

“Hey,” she said. “Thought you’d be here.”

“Patty, hey,” Barry said, and Caitlin’s world stilled.

Patty. Patty, the girl with the dimpled smile who went to all his meets, the one everyone believed he was with. How did Patty know that he’d be here? Had he brought her here, too? But how could he bring her here? Wasn’t the Observatory their place—?

Wait—why did she even think of the Observatory as theirs? In the first place, there was no ‘they’ to speak of; they weren’t even together! And wasn’t this place Barry’s safe haven? Since he was the one who’d discovered it, didn’t he have the right to share it with whomever he chose?

Caitlin took a deep breath, trying to stamp down the unfamiliar burn of jealousy in her chest.

“Can I sit here?” Patty said.

He shrugged. “Sure.”

Patty folded into a sitting position, the movement supple and fluid. “So, how’re you feeling?”

The question echoed numbly in Caitlin’s mind. It was the same question she’d thought of asking him when she’d first seen the headline, the question she would have asked him had she approached him first.

“Pretty bummed, I guess,” Barry said after a lengthy pause. He exhaled. “I knew I was going to quit anyway, but I didn’t know how badly I wanted to quit a winner… Does that make sense?”

Caitlin swallowed the rising bitterness in her throat. Does that make sense—he’d always asked her that whenever he shared something serious and personal about himself, and it had always seemed an intimate phrase to Caitlin: in that question he was allowing himself to be vulnerable, to lay bare his need to be wholly understood. It had never occurred to her that he also used it while speaking to other people.

While speaking to Patty.

She felt doubly betrayed—Patty also knew about this place, and she was also privy to this more vulnerable side of him, as she was—but what, exactly, had been betrayed? Why was she the one who felt betrayed, when she’d cut him off first?

Patty nodded and touched his shoulder. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

Her eyes lingered on that touch. Another small intimacy.

Her fingers curled and scraped the bark of the tree, and she had the sudden, violent urge to tear it apart—and then she caught herself in horror. What was jealousy turning her into? She did not recognize herself in these feelings, these thoughts; jealousy was making her illogical, melodramatic, and it was extremely unlike her.

She closed her eyes and willed herself to calm down, and when she did she continued to watch them. She knew she shouldn’t be eavesdropping on this conversation—the second time it was happening, it seemed—but she found herself unable to leave. She just… had to know. She had to know what everyone else saw in them. She would leave, of course, when things became too private, and while she didn’t want to imagine how private things could get, a part of her also wanted to see whatever intimacy might unfold between them. It would hurt, of course, but at least the hurt would be allayed by the grim triumph of knowing that if he had such intimate moments with Patty, then he didn’t really like her, which rendered her decision to cut him off all the more justified.

“But you know,” Patty was saying, “I don’t think people will remember you as the guy who broke CCU’s winning streak. They’ll remember you for putting CCU on the map.”

He scoffed, but Patty insisted, “No, really. We’ve never been known for sports, but since you joined the track team, everyone’s suddenly crazy about track. School spirit’s the strongest during your meets. That’s really something to be proud of, you know?”

“…I guess.”

“Hey, cheer up,” she said, bumping shoulders with him. “Look, I’m not supposed to tell you this, but the whole block’s waiting for you at Jitters. We’re throwing you a party, and it’d be nice if you could show up, being the guest of honor and all.”

“I don’t know,” he said, reluctant. “I’m not really hungry.”

“No way. Is that really you, Mr. ‘I Never Say No to Food’ Allen?”

He cracked a smile, and she continued, “Come on. You can have a whole tray of lasagna to yourself.”

He was grinning now. “Are you bribing me to attend my own party, Spivot?”

“Bribing? Who said we were paying for your lasagna?”

He laughed, and Patty smiled and stood, mockingly offering him a hand after she did.

Caitlin felt faint. She couldn’t bear to watch this. It had been a mistake to assume that she would only be hurt by a dramatic show of intimacy, because watching them during those few ordinary moments hurt like hell, too. They just made so much sense together—they had the same sunny good-naturedness, and they carried themselves with the same ease around people. She could never be like that. She couldn’t have comforted him the way Patty had, and it would never have occurred to her that, for someone who loved people as much as he did, he would have been cheered by a party, by being with good friends…

She whirled around, hurt and confused and keen to leave; but she’d forgotten she was standing on the only patch of flat ground in the middle of thick, gnarled roots, so when her toe snagged under one, she tripped and fell with a barely contained yelp.

Barry and Patty fell silent.

“What was that?” Patty said.

“Don’t know,” Barry said. “Must’ve been the wind…”

Caitlin winced, hoping they wouldn’t see her. Great. Just great. Why did she have to be cursed with such terrible bodily coordination? And what was it with this bleeding tree root? Couldn’t it have at least allowed her to walk away with dignity? She knew it was wrong to take her frustration out on it, but she viciously tore it away from her foot anyway.

“No, really, I think there’s someone—”

Caitlin froze at how close their voices suddenly were. Shit, now she couldn’t move until they passed by. It was getting dark—she had that on her side, at least—and she just hoped to God that they wouldn’t look too closely between the trees.

“Nah,” Barry said, turning to face Patty, “no one else really knows about this pla—”

And then he froze, his gaze landing right on her.

Oh shit.

He quickly placed his hands on Patty’s shoulders, steering her so that her back was turned to Caitlin, and said, “Look, why don’t you go ahead to Jitters?”

“What? Why?” Patty said.

Caitlin quickly got to her feet—wincing slightly when she put weight on the foot that had caught in the root—and turned to the opposite direction. He’d already seen her, anyway, so it was best to get the hell out while he was still talking to Patty.

“…need a little more time alone before I face everyone…” he was saying, his voice growing faint. She moved as quietly as she could, like she did when she first made her way up, and she was thankful for the night breeze that rustled the leaves and disguised the sound of her footsteps.

She glanced back to assess her progress. She saw Patty heading down the more well-worn path, and Barry… heading right towards her.

She cursed inwardly, unable to believe her terrible luck. She had the urge to break into a run, but it was already dark and she didn’t want to trip again… And besides, if she broke into a run, he would, too, and he could catch up to her in no time.

Damn it. She was trapped.

“Cait,” he said, his voice a lot nearer now, “wait, don’t go—”

She exhaled and turned to face him. A maelstrom of emotions roiled inside her, more violently now that she’d come face to face with its cause; but she held them under tight rein, and she willed her face into a blank mask.

He slowed when she turned, looking windswept and bewildered. “It really is you,” he murmured. “What’re you doing here?”

For a brief moment, she considered telling a lie, but she knew how easily he would see through it; there was simply no other believable excuse for her being here. She had no choice, then, but to tell the truth, and an irrational resentment welled inside her at this choicelessness, one that flattened her tone and blunted her words.

“I saw the tweets,” she said. “I’m sorry you lost.”

“Oh,” he said. “Uh… thanks.”

“Look, I have to go—”

“What time did you get here?” he said. They had spoken at the same time, but he chose to ignore what she just said, looking determined to steer the conversation. “How long have you been standing there?”

Caitlin’s face burned with humiliation. So he’d realized that she was eavesdropping. Another lie waited on the tip of her tongue—Just now, actually—but she couldn’t bring herself to say it, not when he was looking at her like that. “Long enough,” she said. And then, before she could stop it: “I overheard some parts of your conversation. I’m sorry.”

She thought he would have been mad, or at the very least annoyed, but instead he softened and took a cautious step towards her.

“I never brought her here,” he said.

Her breath caught in her throat; the maelstrom inside her surged, strained from the leash of her composure. He wasn’t supposed to say that. He was supposed to be annoyed or angry; he was supposed to throw his hands up in frustration; he was supposed to give up and walk away. Those reactions she could deal with, could categorize. But this? This was leading her into unknown territory, and she was afraid that if she stepped into it, she would find no solid ground beneath.

He continued, “I did mention it to her, because she once asked what my favorite place in campus was, but I never—”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, willing her voice to remain even. “You’re free to bring whomever you want.”

“I know,” he said softly. “That’s why I brought you.”

The leash snapped. A flood of emotions assaulted her—first relief and hope, so strong that she wanted to move towards him, touch him, hold him and be held by him; but, only moments later, panic overpowered that—panic that she was no longer in control of the situation, that she was no longer in control of even herself; panic that she was standing on the precipice, on the verge of hurtling into something she would later regret. She could not allow herself this, she could not allow any emotional excess; she should not feel, else she could not think.

“Look,” she told him, gathering the remaining threads of her frayed resolve, “it was a mistake for me to come—”

“No, Cait, don’t do that—don’t shut me out again.” He sidestepped just as she turned away, so that she came face-to-face with him again, but she stubbornly refused to meet his gaze. “Please, can we talk?”

“We just did.”

“You know what I mean.”

“And you already know what I have to say,” she gritted out. “I’ve already said everything that needs to be said.”

“Then,” he said, “why are you here?”

Her airways constricted. Even if he’d said it so gently, she felt like she’d been disarmed and trapped. Because that was the real question, wasn’t it? Why, after all her efforts to push him away, did she still seek him out? Why did the idea of him hurting sadden her? Why was she so compelled to cheer him up, to be there for him? She knew she’d had an answer to that, one that contained unthreatening truths, but she couldn’t summon it to mind now. Instead the answer that flashed into her mind—that flashed and then branded itself there, so searing that she couldn’t unthink it—was the truth she was too afraid to face, let alone say aloud.

So instead she lashed out.

“I don’t know, okay?” she snapped. “I. Don’t. Know. I feel like I’m always fumbling around in the dark when it comes to you—I don’t have answers ninety percent of the time, and the ten percent of answers I do have, I’m not completely convinced of. So, please. Don’t. Ask.”

His gaze softened, and he drew closer to her, but she remained rigid, her spine cast in steel. “Is that so bad?” he said. “Not having all the answers?”

“Of course it is,” she said vehemently. “Nothing is ever complicated for you, so of course you wouldn’t understand—”

“I wouldn’t understand?” he said, incredulous. “Cait, I don’t have all the answers either, but you don’t see me running away—”

“I’m not running away,” she said, hands balling into fists, “I’m solving the problem once and for all!”

“How?” he said, raking his hair in frustration. “By completely ignoring me?”

“Yes!” she seethed. “But you don’t seem to be taking the hint—”

“No, you’re right, that part I don’t understand,” he said, his voice rising, his features contorting in confusion and anguish. “Tell me, Cait, what exactly does that solve?”

She opened her mouth, but suddenly all words fled her, withered under the fire in his eyes.

“Well? Enlighten me,” he said, the word twisting his mouth in bitter irony, and it was such an unfamiliar expression on him that her gut wrenched in horror. Had she really been the one to put that expression on his face? She thought she’d be able to handle his anger, but it seemed that it only weighed her down with the guilt of being its cause. But couldn’t dwell on that now—not when she had to take control of the situation, not when she had a fight to win. “Maybe then we can be on the same page.”

“I’d be wasting my breath,” she said tightly. “You wouldn’t understand.”

He stared at her in disbelief. “Then make me,” he said, his voice strained. “Make me understand your problem, Cait! I’m not a mind-reader!”

“My problem?” she bristled at the accusation in his tone; the blood rushed to her face, and the confusion, jealousy, and barely-leashed longing that she’d bottled and sealed finally burst and boiled over. “My problem is you! My problem is that you came along and threw my entire life off-course!” All rationality had fled her now, and she was running on the adrenaline of her anger. “Like I said, you wouldn’t understand. You’ve had crushes and girlfriends since middle school. I haven’t. It’s just not who I am. And I was perfectly fine with that.” Barry looked as if he were about to interject, but she couldn’t stop talking; the words rushed out of her in a raging torrent. “Actually, I was grateful for it, because it meant my work would never suffer from the unnecessary angst of romantic entanglements. My life was uncomplicated. All my efforts revolved around school and internships and scholarship programs, anything that could bring me closer to becoming a bioengineer. And for the most part, I was in control of everything in that world.”

She took a shaky breath. “But then you come along,” she accused with renewed vehemence, “and suddenly I’m not in control of anything. Everything’s incomprehensible. Every time you talk to me, it’s like you’re speaking in code. Every time a conundrum is solved, ten new ones appear.” The words burned like acid on her tongue. “My own feelings are incomprehensible to me. I’ve always been able to analyze them to death, but this time, the more I analyze, the more confused I get, and the stronger they become.”

His lips parted in surprise. “What do you—”

“So, Barry, tell me,” she said bitterly, her throat closing. “Tell me, how is it possible that in a span of two weeks, I’ve gone from being single-mindedly focused on building a career in bioengineering, to thinking of you every single moment of the day? How is it possible that I’ve gone from not being attracted to anyone, to liking you so much that I feel I’m going out of my mind?”

He stared at her, stunned.

The instant that last sentence fell from her lips, the invigorating haze of her anger cleared and left in its wake a cold dread that coiled in her stomach. Fuck, what did she just say? And why the hell did she have to go out and say it? She felt like she had just torn down her own defenses, and now she was standing in front of him, stripped of all her armor. Fuck, she hated this. She hated feeling so vulnerable.

“You like me,” he said in disbelief. And then, his lips stretched into a slow smile. “You like me.”

“Oh my God,” she breathed, wanting nothing more than to find a hole in the ground to bury her head in. If she could, she would have already raced back in time to take back everything she said, but instead she had to suffer the humiliating crush of the present. “That’s not the point—”

“No, Cait, I think that’s exactly the point,” he said. “Everything else is beside it.”

“You can’t call everything I’ve just said beside the point—”

“Okay, okay, you’re right, they’re not,” he quickly amended, holding both hands out in surrender to appease her. “What I meant was, can we start from this point?” He took a step closer, his eyes luminescent with hope. “Can we start from the fact that we both like each other and then figure out what happens from here?”

“I’ll tell you what happens from here,” she said through gritted teeth, trying to hold on to the last shreds of control that had so rapidly slipped from her hands. “We’ll go out on a few dates. You’ll find out that we’re not suited for each other. I’m too serious and uptight, and you’re too sunny and carefree. Everything that occurred over the past two weeks was exciting because of the novelty, but once the novelty wears off you’ll lose interest—”

“I’ll lose interest?” he said, drawing back in hurt. “Do you really think so little of me?”

“—and you’ll move on to someone else more suited to your personality.”

There was a beat of silence, and then comprehension dawned on his features.

“Like Patty, you mean?” he said.

“I’m not implying—”

His tone turned teasing. “Is that jealousy I’m hearing, Caitlin?”

She glared at him. “I’m just making a realistic assessment of the situation,” she said.

“Well, let me give you my realistic assessment of the situation,” he said. He was looking at her now with such tenderness that the steel in her spine had begun to melt; and before she could move away, he took her hands in his, just like he had during the orals; and he ran his fingers over hers, his touch warm and light and reassuring.

That was it, she was a goner. The last drop of resistance drained from her body. Deep down she knew that she had already lost—and she knew, even deeper down, that just maybe, she was glad to lose.

He slowly threaded his fingers through hers, his eyes trained on her, bright in the moonlight. “You have nothing to be jealous about,” he said, bringing up her hand and pressing a quick kiss onto her knuckles. The gesture struck her as so sweet and innocent that, even if she still had half her mind about her, she didn’t protest or pull away. He tugged on their joined hands to pull her even closer, and again she let him. She would never admit it to him—she would hardly even admit it to herself—but she was relieved to be so close to him again, after trying so hard to push him away.

His lips now ghosted the shell of her ear. “No one,” he said, with quiet resolution, “comes close to you.” He leaned his forehead against hers, and he was gazing at her through half-lidded eyes; his breath was warm on her skin, and it seemed that her world had narrowed to just him, in this moment, in the moonlit forest. “Look, I don’t have all the answers either,” he said softly. “Two weeks is a crazy-short amount time, but I’m already so in love with you I can barely breathe. I can’t explain it; all I know is that it is.”

A blush crept up her face. Her eyes fluttered close, and she swallowed, unable to speak; an unfamiliar happiness thrummed through her body, about to burst from her skin. She had never been schmaltzy or sentimental, but right now, she supposed she could make this exception for him.

“We don’t have to think about what’ll happen to us in a few months, or even after a few dates,” he said. “We can take it one day at a time, one moment at a time. At whatever pace you’d like.”

A few dates… She bit her lip, feeling her old apprehension return. There was a reason she avoided him so assiduously, and she’d disguised that reason in so many other layers of peripheral truths that she’d almost lost sight of it; but now that he’d brought it up, it emerged from the debris of her logic, demanding to be noticed.

Caitlin took a deep breath. If anything was to happen between them, she had to tell him this.

“I think—”

“Oh, that can’t be good,” he teased.

She wrinkled her nose at him and continued slowly, “I think I need some time alone to let this all sink in. No, wait, let me finish.” She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze to ease his alarm. “Barry, I’m terrified. That was the problem—I’m completely terrified of this. Of going out with you and being with you.” She swallowed. “I was avoiding you because I like you enough to know you could hurt me, and I don’t want to get hurt. I figured that if I cut you off first, you wouldn’t be able to hurt me.”

His expression mellowed. “I wish I could say something like ‘I’ll never hurt you,’” he said, “but that’d be a lie. I think the more you let someone in, the more power you give them to hurt you. So I get what you’re saying.” His grip on her hand tightened. “But I think it’ll all be worth it in the end.”

“You don’t know that,” she said.

“But we never know anything for sure, anyway,” he said. “Even the most thoroughly researched predictions turn out wrong, and even the most improbable events come to happen, against all odds.” He flashed her a boyish smile. “As for me, I’m willing to take a chance on this”—he gestured between them—“improbable event.”

She shook her head and huffed a laugh. “For once, I don’t think I can argue with that logic.” He beamed, but she continued, “But I still need to let this all sink in. I just came to terms with everything, and it’s still extremely confusing…”

“Okay,” he said softly. “Okay. I understand. But promise me you won’t shut me out again,” he pleaded. “I don’t think I can bear any more of that. And besides, I’m running out of ideas for voicemails…”

She smiled, amused. “Alright,” she said. “I promise I won’t.”

“So… when’ll you talk to me again?” he grinned.

She pursed her lips. “Maybe after a week?”

“A week?!” he said, and then he cleared his throat and amended, “I mean, alright, sure, a week. I think I can do a week.”

She rolled her eyes fondly. “Thank you,” she said, and, on impulse, she tilted her head to press a kiss on his jaw.

He looked surprised, but he recovered quickly with a mischievous smile. “Can I have more of those to get me through the week?” he said. “Like, one for each day—”

“Don’t push your luck,” she said, and he laughed.

“I’m kidding,” he said. “Really, take your time. Just, you know, not too much time. Okay, to be honest, I can’t wait for next week to come…”

“You really have no patience, do you?”

“Absolutely none,” he chirped. “But when it comes to you, I guess I have a little bit more than my baseline patience.”

“How romantic,” she said dryly, and he grinned.

“Now that I have a ton of,” he said.

“Well, I don’t have a romantic bone in my body,” she said, with a teasing smile, “but when it comes to you, I guess I have a bit more than a scaphoid to spare.”

He laughed. “I’ll take it,” he said, brushing his lips on the inside of her wrist, right where her scaphoid was. When he looked up at her again, his eyes were shining with mirth. “We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?”

“Yes we are,” she said quietly. “We definitely are.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, surrounded by the soft rustling of leaves, the glow of streetlamps along the well-worn path, and the smell of the earth.

After a few moments, Caitlin ventured to speak.

“By the way, how’re you feeling?” she asked. “After that meet…”

“Oh… I’m still upset about it,” he said. “But it was partly my fault—Hunter was a new contender so I might’ve underestimated him—but you win some, you lose some, I guess.” He pulled away briefly to give her a pout. “I’m really hurt you didn’t come, though.”

“You’ll get over it,” she said dryly.

“The least you could do is kiss the hurt better,” he said, and she swatted his arm. “Ow, ow—fine, fine, I’ll stop soliciting kisses… But can I at least have a hug?”

He grinned, and she sighed.

“Fine. One second.”

“…Are you seriously giving me a hug time limit?”

“No such thing as free lunch, as they say.”

“But hugs are supposed to be free!”

“Not in my currency,” she returned.

“Well, how about two seconds?” he wheedled, giving her the smile that she couldn’t resist. “I mean, I was second place and all…”

She pretended to consider it. “I suppose that’s fair.”

“Yesss!” he cheered, disentangling his hands from hers to spread his arms open for the hug, but she pushed him back lightly at the shoulders.

“Wait, don’t you have a party to go to?”

“A par—oh, that. That can wait,” he said. “Not fair. You’re doing that on purpose.”

She tilted her head to the side innocently. “Doing what on purpose?”

“Cait, seriously, this is the worst time to make me wait,” he said, petulant. “I would really like to avail of my hug now, please.”

She smiled. Oh, she missed him. She really missed him. “Well, since you asked so nicely…”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he quickly pulled her flush against him, his arms strong around her waist. He let out a contented sigh and buried his face in the crook of her neck, and she closed her eyes and melted into his embrace.

They stayed like that for far longer than two seconds, but neither of them were counting.

#snowbarry #snowbarry fic #barry x caitlin #barry allen #caitlin snow #felicity smoak #harrison wells #patty spivot #wonderful you came by

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atlaswriting · 5 years

Text

There are two feelings that follow the breaking of a heart.

Then, anger—red clouds my vision and as Abram extends a hand toward me, trying to unclench my fingers from around my leg, I bat him away. “Don’t you touch me,” I seethe, through a jaw clenched so tightly it’s a wonder my palms weren’t filled with teeth.

My skin aches with every touch he has tortured me with the last week—every inch that came in contact with his lips begin to burn and I jump away from him, from the bed that was now an altar I no longer wanted to pray to.

“I’m never going to be good enough for you,” incredulous, the words fall from my mouth—tears I will myself not to cry stay trapped behind anger. Hope has a nasty way of feeling like a knife—and vulnerability has always been sharp. “There’s always going to be some excuse as to why you can’t love me—why you won’t.”

Abram tries to speak again but I start pulling off his shirt, wishing I could strip away all the parts of me he touched with it. I change back into my dress, “You can’t love me? Fine. Don’t. But I won’t be waiting around for the day you finally decide you made a mistake,” I look back at him, tears streaking his cheeks like war paint in a battle he’s grown wary of. “I’m ripping you out of my heart, Abram Kempe. I’m burning you away.”

Sadness takes root, deep and thick between the spaces of my ribs—pushing away the anger, “I don’t want to say goodbye.”

Abram is standing now, fingers knotting through his hair. We share a look, a long breath of mutual heartbreak, “Me either, but—,”

Holding up my hand, I’m afraid that as the seconds tick by the more pathetic I’ll become. Instead, I reach toward the door, ignoring the soft whisper of my name—ignoring his quiet plead of closure.

If my heart was going to leave this battle ground covered in bruises and scars, so wasn’t his.

♡ ♡ ♡

I wake up the next morning knotted to my sheets—I can feel a body wrapped around mine and for a brief moment, a tiny second I think last night was a nightmare. But the more awake I feel, the more I realize that the body is much too feminine, too soft to belong to Abram.

Turning, I squint through the brightly colored room and am met with Sophie.

Sighing softly, I slip from the bed trying to get to the coffee maker in enough time to replace the need to cry with caffeine. With my flight leaving in less than two hours, I’m hopeful that I won’t have to see Simon or Anais before I go—that I won’t have to explain why I called from an Uber, hyperventilating at three o’clock in the morning, but as I round the corner to the kitchen hope once again becomes a loaded gun pressed to my temple.

“We were just going to wake you guys,” Anais gives me a look, face softening as she moves toward me with extended arms. I slip through them, grabbing the cup of coffee Simon holds out toward me. “How are you feeling?”

I knew the question was coming, but still I could feel the ricochet of shrapnel bounce off the inside of my chest. Taking a breath, I fill my mouth with coffee and nod, looking away from my aunt so she knows to leave well enough alone.

“You don’t have to leave,” Simon says once we’re alone, “Don’t you want to stay out here? LA is a big city—you’d never have to see Abram.” Both he and I flinch at the mention of his name and Simon begins to stammer, tongue moving much quicker than his mind can work this early.

“I’ll see him everywhere.”

♡ ♡ ♡

“We don’t have to go home,” Sophie looks over at Jason who hasn’t met my eyes since Gigi dropped him off at the airport. “We can go somewhere else. London, maybe? Or Paris, Elise, that’s your second home.”

“If we miss anymore school we’ll all be staying back. Isn’t that right, Jason?” I look over at him—how similar he and Abram look hitting me for the first time. He mumbles a response and watches Sophie as she runs toward the restroom. “Things don’t have to be weird between us, Jay,” I say, “Just because Ab—he and I are—we can still be…”

“I know, Elise.” I don’t know if it’s how pathetic I look or because he feels bad but Jason takes Sophie’s seat and wraps one arm around my shoulders, bringing me awkwardly into his chest. “You’re gonna be okay, you know that? You and Abram, you’re going to both be happy some day.”

Immediately tears start streaming down my face—unashamed heartbreak cracks apart what was left of my heart, after the vultures have pecked it clean. This only makes Jason hug me tighter, turning so he can squeeze me with both arms.

“I leave to get snacks and suddenly you’re having a full mental breakdown in an airport? Talk about lifetime movie moment.” Sophie holds out a bottle of water to me and Jason moves back to his seat, “It’s not tequila but it’ll do until we can drink away your heartbreak back at home.”

Home, I want to tell her, doesn’t exist anymore. Home was skin and bones, it was a heartbeat and a promise—home was staying in a city I couldn’t get out of fast enough.

♡ ♡ ♡

I let the melancholy in my chest fester into disease. I let the beasts eat away at the sharp of me and when they’ve had their fill I cut away pieces of me until the girl I was is no longer the woman I am.

Ellie calls daily, refusing to take my cold shoulder for the finale it should have been, I’m surprised when I see Sophie leading her to my dorm shortly before Christmas break.

“What are you doing here?” Vermont in the winter is its own animal, but the moment I see her smile I feel warm.

“You weren’t answering my calls so I had to be dramatic.” She notices me checking behind her, “He isn’t with me.”

I can’t tell if the clenching inside my chest is relief or grief.

“I found these texts in Brody’s phone—I couldn’t spend Christmas with him.”

“What did you find?”

Ellie falls in between the layer of blankets on my bed as she starts swiping through her phone. When she finds the pictures she means to, she holds out her phone toward me, “Those are from Natasha. They were going on a date.”

“Maybe it wasn’t a date,” I take her phone and lay beside her—through the texts are incriminating, I still hoped it wasn’t true. “Maybe they were just hanging out.”

Her eyes fill with tears and she shakes her head, “They kissed, Elise. And not the kiss I knew about—there was a kiss right after we came back from Thanksgiving.”

“Ellie… I don’t think—,”

“He makes me sick. God, he makes me so angry. I couldn’t spend one more minute looking at his lying, cheating face.” Her fingers start furiously tapping at the screen before she tilts it toward me again, “Here’s a picture she posted on her Instagram—he never told me about going to meet her.”

“Because he thought it would make you jealous.”

“I’m not jealous, Elise. I’m mad. I’m sad I’m so fucking heartbroken.”

“Have you asked Abram?” His name feels weighty in my mouth—haunted, haunting in the cruelest way. “He knows Brody.”

She shakes her head, wiping at her tears with the back of her hand, “No, because then Brody will know I looked through his texts. I just know its true, Elise. I have a gut feeling.”

“Then you should listen to it,” I finally say, after letting the silence sit heavy between our breathing, “Listen to your gut, El. I wish I had.”

It’s been a month and a half since I blocked his social media—trying to exorcise Abram from my bones, but there wasn’t enough sage in the world that would cleanse me.

It’s habit to type his name in every search bar—the need to see what he was doing, if he was happy clawed at the inside of my chest—I’ve grown familiar with the coppery taste of blood.

♡ ♡ ♡

March 2018.

“Have you finished your applications yet?” Ellie is surrounded by piles of paper on her end of the computer and Sophie and I are drowning in ours.

“She hasn’t sent anything in yet,” Sophie answers for me.

“I’m working on it!”

Sophie and Ellie share a look through the webcam and I suddenly want to jab my pen in my eye.

“Is that a laugh? Sophie, did Elise just laugh?”

“It shocked me to the first time I saw it, I thought her mouth forgot what to do.”

I roll my eyes slamming my pen down, “You know if you guys wanna continue being assholes, you can do it on your time. No I haven’t sent it in yet—I’m waiting on my last recommendation letter from Mrs. Pierce. Besides, I don’t know if I even want to go to UCLA. I think it might be a little too soon.” I pause, “How did you final paper go in your journalism class? What did you write about anyway?

There’s a long quiet—long enough to alarm Sophie and I because we both stop what we’re doing to stare at the image of Ellie on my computer.

“I’ll send it to you.”

There’s a soft chime and I quickly go to check my e-mail, pulling up her final article.

“Ellie, you didn’t…”

“I didn’t.” She says. The picture of Brody with a bong between his thighs was too large not to notice followed by the thickly fonted headline. Hockey Prospect aims high. “I swear, I didn’t send it in.”

“Why would you write something like this?” my eyes glance over the words black and white and painfully raw, “Ellie this could destroy his career.”

She throws her hands up and I click back onto Skype, “I just told you, I didn’t do it. I wrote it, I’m not saying I didn’t write it—but I wrote it months ago, after Brody and I split up because of Natasha. I didn’t send it in, though. She must have found it in my bag when we got back together.” There’s a long silence, “Tell me you believe me, Elise.”

Sophie and I glance at each other before I nod, “I believe you, El. But it doesn’t look good.”

“He hasn’t talked to me in weeks—and I’m sorry for mentioning this, but Abram won’t return my calls either.”

♡ ♡ ♡

“I’m not at all surprised you’re not slumming it with us FAFSA kids,” Ellie says, helping me carry the last of my boxes into my new apartment, “Did your mom freak when you told her no to Oxford?”

“Why do you think my dad’s paying for my apartment?”

Ellie drops my box, “I can’t believe you declined their acceptance to go here. Like, are you insane?”

“I like LA better than London, it’s sunnier.”

“Yeah, but its Oxford, Elise, Jesus Christ.” She hops up on the counter and finishes a bottle of water before talking again, “I have a plus one for your house warming this weekend. I hope you don’t mind?”

I shake my head as I rip open the boxes, “I don’t mind at all. Are you finally dating again? My dad’s bringing some of his teammates, but I don’t think that includes the B-word.”

Ellie shrugs, “No, he’s just a friend.”

♡ ♡ ♡

It wasn’t my idea to have people over the day after I settled in to my new apartment—but Simon, with gentle nudging from Anais suggested it would be a good idea.

It’s your last chance before school starts. He said.

It will be fun. He said.

My apartment is small but with the amount of bodies floated between each room makes it look even tinier.

“Where is Ellie?” I look around the room—half expecting to see Sophie and then remembering she chose at the last minute to go to Boston College so she could be close by when Jason needed her. He’s a hockey player now Elise, she told me, I’ll have to claw other girl’s eyes out

Despite Ellie being a no-show by ten o’clock I’m grateful when familiar faces walk through the door—grateful that they weren’t friends of Simon or Anais. I clutch the wine glass in my hands—because they were more red than tequila drinkers, as anxiety crawls up my throat.

“You’re here!” I hear my dad’s voice over the music though everything falls silent the moment I lay my eyes on him—chiseled chin, muscles hardly contained by his gray t-shirt, arm covered in more tattoos than I saw him last.

“Ellie you said you were bringing a date.” I snatch her arm and pull her away.

“No, you said I was bringing a date—I said I was bringing a plus one,” she beams happily up at me, “besides, I wasn’t the one who actually invited him. Simon—,”

“Dad.” I say, but he ducks between players and pulls Anais to the side. I try and move around the bodies but the closed space makes it impossible.

Ellie looks over at me, “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your fancy new friends?”

I roll my eyes, “This,” I point toward Ellie, “is Ellie. She’s the most awful person you’ll ever meet in your life,” slowly I move my hand toward Abram, “this is her friend Abram.” My jaw clenches, “Jolie, Knox and Justin,” I point toward the three people to my right, “I met them at a writing seminar this summer in Paris.” I feel Justin’s hand at the small of my back and I take a mouthful of wine.

“Anybody need a drink? I need something a little stronger.”

The world around me falls away and only when a devastatingly familiar voice breaks through do I look up, “I’m sorry Ellie and Simon tricked you into coming,” I look up at Abram, not letting my eyes linger for too long—it’s been nearly a year and a half since I’ve seen a picture of him, six months since I last cried over him and two days since I wrote out unsent text messages. “You can leave at anytime. You’re not being kidnapped.” My fingers linger over the open bottles of wine, opting for something stronger, something clearer. I pour a few knuckles worth into my semi-filled wine glass and chug until the burning inside my body matches the burning outside.

#thread: ablise #thread: all

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