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openheartthot · 4 years

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Whipped

Pairings: Ethan Ramsey x f!MC (Camille Prescott), Ethan Ramsey x Harper Emery (friendship)

Word Count: 1,687

Warnings: None :)

Summary: Harper attends Camille’s baby shower and realizes that Ethan is well and truly whipped.

Just a li’l something sweet to celebrate the fact that we finally know that OH is coming back...even if it isn’t until September 🙃

***

“Harper, welcome.” Ethan steps aside to allow his colleague and former girlfriend to enter the apartment. Harper offers him a professionally-wrapped gift with an enormous pink bow on it. She shifts her purse on her shoulder as she walks in, feeling somewhat out-of-place.

“Thank you for the invitation.” Harper says. “I wasn’t sure I would be invited, to be honest.” She casts a glance around the flat as she steps inside.

It’s a completely different space than she remembers from back when she and Ethan used to date. While it’s the same building, the minimalist decor has been replaced with bright throw pillows and clusters of knick-knacks and picture frames-- not to mention the cheerful welcome mat at the door where there’d used to be only a utilitarian black doormat.

“Of course you’re invited, we’re colleagues and old friends.” Ethan responds. “Besides, Camille and her friends all look up to you. She personally asked me to make sure you were on the guest list.” Ethan adds. He smiles at Harper, and she notes that he looks not only happier, but younger, too. Just being around that young resident of his always seems to rejuvenate him in a dozen different ways.

Harper allows herself a pleased smile. “Oh, did she? That was nice of her.” She glances around the apartment as Ethan leads her further inside towards the rest of the guests.

She hesitates slightly as they enter the living room. Thanks to the open floor plan, Harper can see there are maybe two or three dozen people filtering around the large space. She recognizes quite a few residents from Edenbrook, although the crowd is studded with unfamiliar faces.

Harper’s gaze travels around the room, pausing on Camille, where she stands by the dining table, which is serving as the craft center for the baby shower activities. Ethan’s wife is like a ray of sunshine, wearing a yellow sundress and holding up a hand-decorated bib made by one of her friends. Ethan follows Harper’s eyes around the room.

“Can I get you some punch? Dr. Trinh made it.” he offers, as if sensing Harper’s discomfort.

“Quite the role reversal, Ramsey.” Harper says dryly, and he chuckles, leading the way to the kitchen.

Usually it’s Ethan who needs his hand held at social functions. Harper has covered for him at conventions and galas more times than she can count. She’s glad he knows her well enough to understand that socializing with her subordinates at her ex-boyfriend’s new wife’s baby shower is a little out of her wheelhouse, no matter how unflappable she usually is.

Ethan pours them each a glass of pink punch that tastes of strawberry. They lapse into a comfortable silence as they sip the admittedly delicious drink. “Dr. Trinh made this?” Harper asks, pleasantly surprised. She can’t say she knows much about the tiny resident besides the fact that she can occasionally be found crying in supply closets.

“She made pretty much everything.” Ethan grunts, gesturing vaguely at the desserts and appetizers spread out on the kitchen island. “I think Dr. Varma and that arrogant scalpel jockey helped out by opening the cheese puffs.”

The thought of the residents swarming around the infamous Ethan Ramsey’s kitchen makes Harper laugh. “I have to say, Ethan, it’s good to see you like this. Happy, I mean. I never expected you to be married or have children, but it suits you.”

“I am happy.” Ethan agrees. He swirls his glass of punch. “Wishing this was scotch, maybe, but happy seems...appropriate.” He leans on the counter casually, and although he clearly thinks he’s being surreptitious, it’s obvious he’s only doing it to get a better view of Camille. “And you? How have you been?”

Harper can hear the real question that he’s asking. “I’m single-- but I’m content.” she assures him, quickly. “Being at the top of my field is hard enough without managing a relationship on top of it.” Harper knows it sounds like a line, but it’s the truth. She’s dated plenty, but she’s at her most relaxed when she’s not in a relationship.

She and Ethan seemed perfectly suited to one another on paper, but neither one of them had delusions about the longevity of their relationship. Now that Ethan is happily settled down, Harper can see that she’s perfectly fine on her own. It feels good to finally be around Ethan as friends, without having to worry about where they stand with one another.

“You’re right about that.” Ethan says, drawing Harper back to the conversation. “I’ve been toying with the idea of taking some time off after the baby comes. So Camille can get back to work on her own timetable, and we can spend some time together as a family. It’s not like we need to worry about income.” Ethan says wryly, casting a glance around the high ceilings and breathtaking views of his apartment. Despite the homey revamp of the interior, it’s still the same luxury real estate.

Harper blinks, taken aback. “You’d become a stay-at-home father? You’re more whipped than I thought.” Harper lets out a shocked laugh, and Ethan glances at her, his brow furrowing.

“I am certainly not whipped, Harper.” But even as the words come out, his gaze slides away from Harper and back over to where Camille admires a tiny pair of crocheted scrubs, cradling her stomach with one hand. A smile quirks his lips, and once again, he seems to have forgotten Harper altogether.

“If you aren’t whipped, then why have you been staring at her throughout our entire conversation?” Harper asks, arching an eyebrow. She isn’t upset at him, in fact it’s kind of adorable to see The Ethan Ramsey gazing longingly at Camille from across the room.

“She’s my wife. I’m just trying to make sure she has a good time at her baby shower.” Ethan says with an indignant scowl. “I suppose that makes me some sort of spineless worm in your eyes.”

Then Camille appears behind him, resting one of her dainty hands on his arm. “Who’s a spineless worm?” she asks with a smile, and all of Ethan’s agitation visibly fades away. He gives her a dopey smile and covers her hand with his own.

“Dr. Emery, thanks so much for coming!” Camille says in greeting as she notices Harper, oblivious to the knowing look that Harper shoots Ethan. She offers Harper a wide smile, and it’s becoming quite obvious to Harper why Camille and Ethan are so good for each other. Between the blonde’s sunny disposition and Ethan’s brooding cynicism, they balance each other out perfectly.

“It’s my pleasure, and congratulations on your little one.” Harper says, nodding at Camille’s stomach. “If you’ll excuse me, I see Naveen over by the scrapbooking station. I think I’ll go say hello.”

***

As soon as Harper has turned away, Ethan loops one arm around Camille’s waist, pulling her as close to him as her baby bump will allow. He presses one palm firmly against her back and uses his other hand to tilt her chin up and press a quick kiss to her lips.

“Hey, you.” Camille says lovingly as she pulls away. “Are you having fun?”

“I’ll confess I am having more fun now that you’re here.” he says, tenderly stroking her cheek. “I’m glad you made your way to the kitchen.”

“I’m mostly here for the food.” Camille says in a mock whisper. “The lunch you made me was total garbage. You can’t call something risotto if it uses cauliflower instead of rice.”

“Pardon me for wanting my wife and child to live a long healthy life.” Ethan grumbles, though his lips are threatening to betray him by twitching into a smile.

“Whatever, at least Sienna has my back.” Camille reaches over and plucks a pink-frosted cupcake off a nearby platter. She holds it up to Ethan. “Want to share?”

Ethan rolls his eyes as he stares at the sugary treat. “I still hate frosting, Rookie. No matter how many times you try to force me to ingest it.”

“Well, your daughter loves it.” Camille says, scooping some frosting onto her finger and licking it off. Ethan shifts his hands to rest on the curve of her stomach, and this time he can’t stop the smile from breaking through. It broadens as he feels a fluttering kick against his palm.

“I can tell,” he says. Camille raises the cupcake again, but instead of taking a bite, she playfully scoops up some more frosting with her index finger and smears it on Ethan’s cheek.

If someone had told him two years ago that he’d be married to a resident, expecting a child with her, and laughing while she spread pink buttercream on his face, he would’ve thought they were out of their mind. But here he is, and he couldn’t be happier.

He brushes a lock of blonde hair out of Camille’s face and smiles down at her. As usual, when Ethan looks at her, everything else in the room fades away. He forgets about the apartment full of their friends and family, and all that exists is him and her, and their unborn daughter in between them.

Camille smiles back mischievously at him, and pushes herself onto her tiptoes to kiss away the frosting on his cheek. Her lips linger, trailing down to his jaw and letting her tongue swipe teasingly along his skin.

Ethan’s breath hitches in his throat. “Camille,” he says warningly, tightening his hold on her body. “I will send everyone home right now.” He leans over to whisper his words, finishing his sentence with a sharp nip to her ear. He smirks at her sharp gasp and the way her hands fist in his sweater.

Then she shakes her head and wiggles out of his arms with a bright laugh. “Not so fast, Ethan. You haven’t even decorated a bib yet.”

Ethan groans, but lets her take his hand and lead him across the apartment towards the craft table. “Only for you, love.”

Yeah, Ethan Ramsey is totally whipped, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

***

#open heart #oph #open heart fanfiction #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan x mc #playchoices

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shellyscribbles · 5 years

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About Losing Faith

Recently there have been at least two Christian leaders, Joshua Harris and Marty Sampson who have expressed either doubt in or a departure from their faith. It reminded me of a note I wrote on facebook about this time in 2013. I had read a post that the band Emery had made about ex-Christians that had struck me and brought up thoughts and memories similar to things brought to mind by these recent stories.

One of the biggest things that come to mind is the mention of Mr. Harris and Mr. Sampson having peace in either walking away from faith or the path away from it. This struck me because one of the most painful times in my life was a period where I nearly walked away from my faith. I remember it so vividly because all the light and peace vanished from my life. It was like something cracked and let out all the air.

I was a worship leader for the youth group while I was going through this and I remember leading worship and looking at everyone, with all the fears and doubts I was feeling and thinking: “I will never tell them. I will just leave quietly. I can’t do this to any of them.” I was simultaneously crying out to God for proof and planning a way to walk away from my church without leaving any doubt with them. I wanted them left in the peace of their faith.

I remember back when I first became a Christian, I was on a message board and someone told me about how they used to believe and then they realized how foolish it was and that they were happier now.

I honestly don’t understand. How does the fracturing of a way of life bring peace?

When I wrote my note six years ago, I came to the conclusion that they must have never truly encountered God because in my experience, I could not go back. I cannot. All my doubts and fear come against the first time I felt God. I knew in that moment that I would never go back to not believing in Him, and I never have. I have metaphorically strained against that moment and that memory, but I haven’t got past it. Maybe I am more unique in this than I used to believe.

I was listening to the Matt Walsh podcast and he discussed these stories and one thing he said struck me. He mentioned how the response that believers have had to this is not constructive. Especially in the case of Sampson because he specifically said he was in the process of losing his faith, not that it was gone.

It reminds me of the days I used to spend hours on facebook talking to Oh, Sleeper fans and following everything the band said and did. There was a point where the guitarist was being criticized by the fans because of his expression that he did not believe in God. Their vocalist and main lyricist is a strong Christian and as a result, their fans include a lot of Christians. These Christians acted in a way toward him that, in all likelihood, closed the pathway to God in his face. To this day he doesn’t believe though he greatly respects Christians and has said he wishes he could believe. He discussed it in a recent interview and it has come up on the lyrics of their songs as well.

What if someone is hurting and searching and the body of Christ chastises them for their efforts? Does that not portray Christ as other than He is? Is showing anger and disappointment in people a way to demonstrate Christ? Do we think we can explain God?

That was what got me into trouble all those years ago, I was debating a group of atheists. I thought I could teach them that God was real. What happened instead (and I could see later how God was trying to warn me of what I was doing) was I began trying to build a neat box to put God in. If I could just get Him in this box, maybe I could give Him to people. But that isn’t how it works.

I met Christians when I was young. They didn’t convince me of God’s existence. I thought Christians were silly for believing in a sky man. Even as I began going to a youth group and meeting Christians who tried to teach God to me, I didn’t believe. I wanted to be around a guy I liked. That was all.

It wasn’t until I sat in the sanctuary and felt my Creator come beside me that I changed. Even that was a slow process. Once I came to the conclusion that there was a God that made me, I didn’t immediately want anything to do with Him. I had picked up all of these different notions about who He was. Many of them were good, but some of them didn’t sound great to me. I was a rather dark person and there were things that sprang to mind immediately as offensive to this God and I didn’t want to give them up.

I felt judged by Christians and so I felt that this God would surely put me through the ringer if He would tolerate me at all. I felt that I was in for an overhaul.

I was not entirely wrong on these fears, but I have learned over the years that the God I feared in that moment does not resemble the God I know now. I still fall into those fears sometimes. I begin to think I have become unworthy overtime. Surely now that I have professed to believe for so many years, my weaknesses warrant being cast out. It’s not. He never has rejected me despite my questions and fears and even the time I tried to make Him leave me.

I don’t know if people who walk away from the faith have encountered God. It is entirely possible they have. They are different people than I am. They have different experiences.

What I do know is that people who act as a representative of Christ have an impact on how others see God. Are we reflecting Him well?

One of the problems I think is that we are not very good mirrors. God is something outside of ourselves and our world and trying to explain Him with the tools we have here is not easy. Like John trying to convey his revelation. He didn’t have words for it, so he compared it to things he knew. It had to be largely figurative because it was something other than here. We do the best we can, but we are trying to convey something beyond ourselves.

The amazing thing about all of it is that God lets this work rest in our hands. Our imperfect hands.

I have come to accept over the years that I will never have all the answers. I don’t think I want them. The day I have all the answers would be the day I realize there isn’t really a God. God doesn’t fit in a box. He isn’t clean and neat. We should have grace with one another for our doubts. And maybe strive to make peace with the knowledge that some answers aren’t ours to have.

“All that I have are questions, so much is veiled in mystery. but You are Yourself the answer. The only answer that I need.” -Answered by Thrice

#Christian #faith #doubt #Marty Sampson #Joshua Harris #leaving the faith #conversion story #belief #believers #God #Worship leaders #faith in Crisis #Thrice #answered #questions #Michelle writes on faith

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pellucidthings · 7 years

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Doctor Blake Fic: Let These Words Answer

Hello, shiny new fandom! I wasn’t sure I’d have time to write here just now, but then I had a LOT of Jean feelings after 5.05 (didn’t we all…), so here we go! Rated T, 1900 words, canon compliant. Beta thanks to @gabolange, who never fails to make me a better writer. Remaining mistakes, superfluous commas, and stubbornly-held errant sentence constructions are all my own.

Summary: She lets everything else drop away, and it’s only the two of them, alone in this quiet room, with their physical wounds that will heal. She holds his hand, the two of them together, scarred and healing.

On AO3 and beneath the cut.

The room is quiet. She watches Lucien’s chest rise and fall steadily, and she feels his pulse thrum under the warm skin of his wrist. She lets herself breathe again, matching her breath to his, lets her own heart start beating once more. Her mind is processing only single words. Alive. Here. Mine.

She always half expected this, deep in her subconscious. As long as she’s know him he has barreled around heedlessly, and she has worried and told herself not to, and tried not to remember what it feels like to be left behind. She feared the worst from the moment Charlie came in the door tonight, his face ashen. He called her Jean and took her arm like he thought she might stumble, then gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white, as he drove too fast to the hospital.

No one questions her presence there. The trauma doctor reported to her immediately, and the ward sister waived aside the rules about visiting hours. If all the gossip made them know she belongs here, she will manage to be grateful for it.

Lucien wakes, jokes about his injury, sleeps, wakes again. Their friends hover, though by now it is deep into the night. Charlie and Matthew try to take her home again, but they don’t actually expect her to come.

She watches him sleep. Her burned wrist is throbbing, and she holds onto that pain. It is simple, contained. She lets everything else drop away, and it’s only the two of them, alone in this quiet room, with their physical wounds that will heal. She holds his hand, the two of them together, scarred and healing.

On the third day they let her bring him home. They were both getting restless in the hospital, and though she’s been grateful for the nursing staff’s help in keeping him contained, she’s also weary of the accompanying furtive glances and whispers. Charlie, Rose, Matthew, and Alice have loitered each day in the hospital corridor. Other friends—Bill and Ned, Cec, even Patrick Tyneman—have visited. Surely most of Ballarat knows by now that Lucien was attacked. No one from the church has come at all.

Charlie, Matthew, and Rose have been cooking, she discovers. Not just for themselves but to stock the freezer, to save her having to do it for a few days. She tries to be grateful, but for the most part it just reminds her who isn’t checking in or bringing food.

The church has always been the backdrop to her life. Not always a comfort but certainly always a force of stable continuity. The ritual of the liturgy, the smell of incense and bread, the familiar creak and thump of the kneelers, the low din of restless children whispering over the mass. And ever-present, the community: visiting, baking, gossiping, helping. She knows, of course, that people she has known all her life are now uncomfortable around her. She has seen the looks during mass, has heard the conversations that go silent as she approaches, has understood the meaning behind even her closest friends’ excuses to avoid her. But she never quite expected this palpable, sudden absence.

Sometimes you bend to the church, and sometimes you want it to bend to you, she said the other day. You want it to bend, but it doesn’t.

She moves into Lucien’s room after they come home from the hospital. It isn’t entirely deliberate. The first evening she sits with him, and when she starts nodding off in her chair he shifts in the bed, raising the covers on his uninjured side. She toes off her shoes and climbs in with her clothes on, burrowing into his warmth, careful to avoid his bandages.

“Stay,” he whispers into her hair as he wraps her hand in his and holds it over his heart.

“All right,” she whispers back.

The next evening she dresses for bed and goes to his room instead of her own. The day after, her dressing gown and slippers find a new home in his closet. They’re not exactly advertising this to Charlie and Matthew, but neither does she feel like she wants to hide it.

Lucien has been pushing his limits all day, before turning petulant in his exhaustion. He has made a mess in the kitchen, nearly pulled his stitches out, and twice she had to pour out the whiskey he knows he shouldn’t drink. She’s exhausted, annoyed with him, and so very tired of holding everything together behind the bravest face she can muster.

The events of the past week play back in her head. The untenable options for the divorce. Rose’s pregnancy fears and then palpable relief. Lucien in the hospital bed. Father Emery telling her to make a choice. Every time she thinks she is approaching her breaking point, she finds a new reserve to take on the next challenge, but it can’t last much longer.

When Lucien starts banging on the piano while Matthew is trying to watch the television, she puts him to bed. It’s early yet, but she convinces him with the promise of joining him. He settles to his book, and she curls into his side, pretending to read her own. All of the frustrated energy that has been coming off him all day is gone; instead, she is the restless one. Lucien can tell how bothered she is, she realizes, now that they’re here together, quiet.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, finally. He is still, waiting for her.

She does and she doesn’t want to talk about it. They’ve promised each other honesty, and he deserves hers. She also has no idea how to explain what she is feeling, the layers and the contradictions. She closes her book and his, takes his hand and traces the veins. His other arm holds her close, and she thinks about how long and how much she has wanted him.

“I was pregnant when I got married,” she says, not entirely sure why this, of all the things weighing on her, is what comes out first. She feels his slow intake of breath, imagines him thinking, calculating dates between her marriage and young Christopher’s birth. “We lost the baby,” she explains before he can ask. “We were nineteen, pushed into the whole thing before we were ready, and then there wasn’t even a baby after all.”

She imagines what he might say if he were a different man. Why did you never tell me? Why did you sleep with Christopher before you married him but you won’t sleep with me? How can I fix this?

“Jean,” he says. Just her name. No questions and no pity, and she loves him for it.

“I’ve been thinking about all of that lately.” She won’t betray Rose’s secret to explain why, but she suspects this all would have come back to the surface regardless. “We moved on from it, of course. The boys came along quickly, and we grew into the promises we’d made to each other. The happy times mostly outweighed the unhappy ones, especially in those years before the war. But sometimes I still felt so guilty.”

When she was still a girl, God took her daughter from her. Of course, she didn’t really believe it was a punishment, not in the sober light of day. Her God is loving, not vindictive. Yet the guilt weighed upon her, and the years added more. Christopher’s death. Her failures with Jack. Her different failures with Christopher, Jr. For a long time, she spent her sleepless nights fearing that she would have been a better wife and a better mother if only she had started out with more care. When she was still a girl, she was reckless, and in various ways they all suffered for it.

Lucien kisses her hairline and pulls her tighter to him. This time, she thinks, she is not being reckless. She’s walking straight into this sin, knowing and committed. She brings his hand to her lips, kisses his fingers. The fear has been there for days, a bitter taste at the back of her mouth that she keeps trying to push back. She almost lost him, and that, too, could be a punishment.

“You know it wasn’t your fault, Jean,” he says.

“Mmm,” she responds, searching for the words. “Of course it wasn’t my fault. My baby girl. Christopher’s death. Even this.” She gestures with their joined hands to his injury. “But we still look for meaning when things happen. And the church is very good at cause and effect. ‘The wages of sin is death’ and all that.”

“But surely it isn’t the only option for understanding the world?” he suggests. His lips against her temple quirk into a smile. “Cause: you are brilliant and beautiful and the most extraordinary woman in the world. Effect: I am therefore madly in love with you and awestruck every day that this is real.”

She laughs then, a little, and cranes her neck around to kiss his jaw, then his mouth. “It is real,” she marvels.

Cause: she will marry Lucien Blake, and she also can’t see her resolve not to sleep with him until they are married outlasting this endless purgatory of an engagement. Effect: she will be—she is—happier than she has been for so many, many years. Also effect: she will live for the rest of her life, unrepentant, in a state of sin. Both prospects make her feel what she can scarcely put into words. It is breathtaking, agonizing, freeing, glorious, terrifying.

Lucien walked away from the church when he was a boy; of all the things that haunt him, this, at least, does not. She thinks of Eve Neville, defiant even in the face of death. Of Audrey Young, trading a church that no longer suited her for another that did, as though God changes with the season, like a dress or a hat. She doesn’t know if they’re brave or foolhardy. Did their decisions also feel like this?

Real: the warmth of this man by her side, the beat of his heart, the taste of his lips. Also real: the body of Christ dissolving on her tongue, the echo of her prayers, the comfort of the sacraments.

“’Therefore shall a man leave his father and mother, and shall cleave unto his wife: and they shall be one flesh,’” she quotes, mostly to herself.

“Hmm?” Lucien asks. His voice is drowsy.

“Cleave,” she repeats. “To cling together, but also to break apart. I always thought it was such an odd word.”

“I love you,” he says, as though it’s an answer to some question she doesn’t know how to ask. Maybe it is.

She has made her choice; she knows that. He holds her, and she is split apart and made whole.

#tdbm fic #tdbm #jean beazley #lucien blake #lucien x jean #the doctor blake mysteries #my fic #jean beazley and her feelings #post-ep 5.05

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star-nova · 5 years

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The Lives of the RiffRaff: Ellia Rambeau-The Sound of Secrets

We Are the RiffRaff Rickie Johnson-The Art of War Vera Sherwood-Little Sister Kali Muburu-Hair Tracy Kwan-Vergil Franz Fawke-Hecklers James Weaver-The Preacher Mamoru Hayagawa-Three Weddings Charmain Dekker-Frankfort Talia Santiago-Queen of the City Sophia Bolshevik-Elsie’s Boyfriend Elsie Bolshevik-Blood

The quiet solitude of our little town welcomed us back with open arms. Everything was exactly as we had left it, and there was no grand fanfare to celebrate our return. The town had been free to forget we existed in the two weeks we had been away, and now that we're back three days before our planned return, it could decide for itself whether or not it wanted to remember us again.

But there was our bretheren, the fellow RiffRaff. The first ones we passed were Aaron and Jager, who must've been on their break from work and were carrying wrapped sandwiches from the deli. They waved at us, and Aaron called out, “Hey! Hey, you're back!” Talia didn't stop for them, nor did she stop for Paige when she climbed up onto her fence to watch us pass by, nor did she even stop for her good friend Arthur when he darted off down the road after us, shouting, “He-ey, Talia! Talia's back! She's back, y'all!”

The hours-long drive back to Tanager was eerily silent. Even Talia, who normally never shut up, hardly spoke a word. She, and we, had too many secrets to lock up, and the sound of secrets is a dead, spooky silence. The city had changed us all in the worst possible way, and left us with these heavy new burdens that nobody asked for.

Talia pulled up into her driveway, where her birthday motorcycle dutifully waited for her, and said, “Show's over. Get out.” I didn't think I'd be too willing to take a trip with Talia again, which I'm sure was just fine with her. I opened Sophia's door for her, but she made it clear that she wanted to be the last one out of the van. We allowed her that.

Charmain said, “Thank you for taking us all out, Talia. Even on account of...” She stopped herself. “Well...I'd like to try to think of it all in terms of how much fun we all had before...”

“Fuck it, Char,” Talia said. “There's no other way to think about it, so we just won't think about it at all.” She held all of the bitterness that came with being prematurely forced out of your element. Talia owned the city. She was the city. She would have liked more time in her home, with her family, where she was the queen. Now, she was back in Tanager where she would be RiffRaff again. I never felt sorry for Talia Santiago until now.

“We'd better get going, then,” I said. “Home missed us.” I looked to Sophia, who was holding onto her suitcase like it was a shield. Now, everything had to be a shield. I motioned for her to follow us back to the rental house we both shared. It was at that moment that Arthur came vaulting over the fence. “There she is!” he cried out, flinging his arms around Talia. “Welcome back, you fucking queen, you! Welcome the hell back!”

She socked him in the gut. It meant she was glad to see him.

Our first night back in town, Ramona invited us over to McEvoy's to share our vacation stories. Sophia declined to go, as I expected her to. When we got there, we found a small party of RiffRaff there waiting for us, providing all of the welcome we didn't get from the Others. There was Ramona and Paige, Bex, Aaron, and Jager, Leon and Vera, Kali, Zatch, and Rickie, and Franz and Emery. My heart swelled with sudden warmth and love for our neighbors, and I realized just how much I'd missed them all while we were in the city.

The first thing Ramona asked us was, “Where's Sophia?”

“She isn't feeling well,” I told her.

“Aw, that sucks to hear,” Ramona said. “But how was your trip? Tell us everything!”

Oh, Ramona, we can't tell you everything. I looked at the others, who were all locked up inside themselves with everything to hide. Finally, Charmain was the first to speak: “Well, we met Talia's family.”

You could have heard a pin drop. I don't think any of them had even thought of Talia having a family. To be honest, they weren't at all what I had expected either. Vera asked, “What were they like?”

“I can talk about my own family, thank you, Charmain,” Talia spoke up. But instead of the truth, she said, “They rest seven feet beneath an old graveyard, deep in the heart of the city. On the night of a full moon, they come out when summoned by an incantation spoken by the bearer of a cursed artifact...”

“Oh, Talia.” Charmain rolled her eyes.

Talia shrugged. “They're a typical big-ass Portuguese family. There isn't much else to them.” She was holding back. There was nothing at all typical about the Santiago family, but I suspected she'd rather let the others' imaginations run wild.

Zatch asked, “Did you do anything awesome? See any cool sights?”

Charmain passed around her phone full of the pictures we'd taken in happier times. There was a picture of me, Sophia, and Elsie hanging upside-down from a jungle gym in the park. Our faces were red from the blood rushing to them, Elsie's tongue was hanging out, and Sophia had the goofiest grin on her face. I wondered if I'd ever see her smile like that again.

Out of nowhere, Paige asked us, “Did you pick up any guys?”

Some of the others chuckled. RiffRaff only picked up other RiffRaff. I wanted to tell them all about how the city broke that rule, how we'd been waved at by guys on the road and how guys at the club had asked for our numbers, and how Talia's brother Monty kept coming around the flat just to see Charmain, under the pretense of “checking up on us.” In Tanager we were RiffRaff and in the city we were beauties. But to bring any of it up would eventually lead to the monster Elsie found at the arcade...

“No,” Elsie told them, “we didn't.”

I washed down the secrets with my draft of ale.

By Monday, life settled back into place. Charmain returned to her flower shop, sending Melinda off with two weeks' pay in her pocket. I went back to work at the library, and that's where I discovered that Sophia had quit her job there.

I knew nothing would ever really be the same again.

That afternoon after work, I found Sophia sitting on the couch and staring into nothingness, as she tended to do these days. I sat down beside her. “So,” I said, “you quit your job?”

Sophia looked at me as if she was afraid I might be mad. I put my arm around her to reassure her. “What happened, Soph?”

She was silent for a good fifty seconds. Then finally, she said, “I j...I j...I j-just c-can't handle it right now.”

She just couldn't face the world, not anymore. The world was too sinister and uncertain and full of dark secrets. I gave her a hug. “It's okay, Soph,” I said. “Just do what you need to do, all right?” I patted her on the back. “We'll get by.” Secretly, I had no idea how we'd be able to keep up with the rent and bills with only my check. Elsie had her own apartment to worry about and I didn't want to burden her by asking her for help. But now was not the time to worry Sophia. I could worry about it all on my own. “We'll be okay,” I said, more to myself than to her.

“I'm...I'm so s-sorry,” Sophia said.

“I'll figure something out,” I assured her, squeezing her hand. “I just want you to focus on you right now.”

“Ellia?” Sophia looked at me like she had been concealing secrets all day, and none of them were any good. I nodded to her; after all that had happened and then finding out I'd have to keep a flat afloat on my own, I figured I could handle anything else. I was wrong.

“Elsie...us...we....we might h-have to...to go b-back to our parents...”

Crash. My entire world toppled like a giant game of Jenga that Sophia and I had both lost. That awful Kyle had moved the one block that would send the tower falling down. Too many thoughts spoke all at once: No! Not without Sophia! Sophia can't leave! I can't live here without Sophia! We had lived together since our college days, when we had been eachother's only friend. We'd graduated together, got jobs together, moved to Tanager together “just to see what it would be like,” became RiffRaff together, and now we had to carry eachother's pain. At the same time, I wanted to slap myself for being so damn selfish. My best friend in the world had been so violated and devastated that her entire world had to change, all in the space of one horrible moment, and I was only thinking about how I'd go on without her. In the space of that one horrible moment, everything that made her Sophia Bolshevik had been taken away from her. I thought about the big goofy grin on the jungle gym. I thought about jumping rope in the park and racing eachother across the community pool. I thought about her pretty caroling voice at Florence's Christmas party and our sparklers last 4th of July—would the 4th of July even be allowed to come this year? All of it was a thing of the past, and it was all because of that one awful, awful moment.

I didn't know what to say. There didn't seem to be a damn thing I had any right to say. I pushed aside the overwhelming sound of secrets in my head, secrets that the two of us now had to carry together. I wrapped my best friend up in my arms and I held her and held her and held her.

#Fiction by Me #The Lives of the RiffRaff #writing #work in progress

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inkedstarlight · 3 years

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Bittersweet: Chapter Nine

Summary: Cassian and Nesta finally meet. Officially, this time. Let the romance commence. Notes: Read it here on AO3! Warnings: very brief/non-explicit mention of sexual assault Bittersweet Masterlist

“Earth to Nesta?”

Nesta snapped from her trance to see Emerie waving a hand in front of her face.

“You’ve been cleaning the same spot for a good ten minutes,” Emerie gestured to where Nesta was scrubbing the counter with a towel. It was squeaky clean.

Nesta let go of the towel and cleared her throat. “My bad.”

Emerie pulled out the chair on the other side of the counter and sat down. It was eleven in the evening on a Monday, and they had just closed. The only other person in Rita’s was Lucien, and he was doing dishes in the back.

“You’ve been acting weird for the past two weeks,” Emerie stated blatantly. Her stare was unwavering. “And you’ve lost at least ten pounds.”

The incidence with Tomas happened two weeks ago. Nesta was doing a pretty good job of moving on with her life all things considered. She felt like shit, but she hadn’t missed a single shift at work. That had to count for something.

But she should’ve known Emerie would notice. She was like a fucking hawk, that girl. She saw everything.

When Nesta didn’t say anything, Emerie shrugged and got up from the stool. “At least try a little harder,” she said, referring to the coworkers’ challenge to get the most tips. She shot Nesta a sad look. “Thesan is beating you. Thesan.”

Nesta mustered a laugh. Thesan wasn’t great with customers, that was common knowledge. Neither Emerie nor Nesta were people persons, but they knew how to turn it on for customers. Thesan, on the other hand, didn’t make much of an effort. It wasn’t that he was intentionally rude, the guy was just quiet in nature. In fact, he was quite a sweetheart.

Which was why it was quite entertaining to watch Thesan and Helion interact. Where Thesan was an introvert, Helion was loud as hell. Not to mention it was clear that Thesan was crushing on him. But unfortunately, Helion flirted with every living, breathing thing and was thus completely oblivious. During Nesta’s first week at Rita’s, Emerie had spilled all the tea about their coworkers. Thesan was head over heels in love with Helion, Helion had never been in a monogamous relationship, and Viviane… well, Viviane had her own little love story. A complicated one at that.

His name was Kallias. They grew up together, from scheming little kids to rebellious teenagers to young adults. Best friends since they could remember.

Because Emerie grew up in the same small town as them, she knew everything. They all went to school together. She knew that Kallias had been in love with Viviane since freshman year of high school. She knew that Viviane felt the same way, but she would never admit it thanks to the hell she was put through during her childhood. Nesta didn’t know the specifics, and she never asked.

It also didn’t help that Viviane was in a relationship with someone else. They’d been together for almost two years. Emerie thought Viviane deserved better, that he wasn’t a very good person.

Anyway, Kallias visited Rita’s nearly every weekend after his shift at the fire station to grab a drink and more importantly, see Viviane.

Nesta thought it was ridiculous. She’d told Emerie as much when she’d brought Nesta up to date on their coworkers’ lives. Why wouldn’t they just admit they loved each other and get on with it already? It was pretty fucking simple; they were just making it complicated for themselves. Emerie wholeheartedly agreed and the pair then went on an hour long rant on the idiocy of romantic relationships.

And if she was being honest, Nesta didn’t care much about these people. Sure, they were respectable but they were a temporary fixture in her life. Once she secured a job in her career field, she was going to leave them all behind.

“We should get a drink sometime. Outside of work,” Emerie clarified with a look of disgust. “I’m sick of it here.”

Nesta knew that was a lie based on the relationship Emerie had with Rita and her wife. But she didn’t say that.

“Maybe,” Nesta responded distractedly, desperate to think of an excuse. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Emerie; no, Nesta liked her coworker. She just couldn’t muster the energy to go out with friends or socialize like that. “I’m pretty busy right now though.”

Emerie narrowed her eyes and scrutinized her.

“Stop analyzing me.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

Emerie sighed and receded. She hesitated before saying quietly, “Is… is this the part when I ask if you’re okay and we get all deep and explore a new level of our friendship?”

Nesta slowly met her friend’s gaze. They stared at one another for several moments.

Then, they burst out laughing.

-------------------------

The next morning, Nesta was brewing her third cup of coffee when Elain padded into the kitchen.

“Good morning,” Elain yawned as a greeting. She wore bunny slippers and an oversized hoodie. Elain only had one evening class on Tuesdays, so today was her only day - save for the weekend - to sleep in.

“Hey, kiddo.”

“How long have you been up?”

Nesta glanced at the clock. It was nine-thirty. She’d woken up at six after a sleepless night of tossing and turning.

But she simply shrugged instead. “Not long.”

Nesta poured the coffee into her mug, sitting back down at the counter. She watched as Elain bustled around the kitchen, scrambling eggs and slicing fruit. The morning light spilled through the dusty kitchen sink window, bars of sunshine reflecting off the tiled floors. Iroh basked in the sunspots, his black fur glistening as his chartreuse eyes blinked closed.

Elain and Nesta hadn’t spent much time together in the past couple weeks. It was Nesta’s doing, of course. She was actively avoiding her sister and everyone else. After Elain had tried to talk to Nesta after the whole thing with Tomas, she stopped asking Nesta if she was okay. Nesta assumed that Elain realized she wasn’t going to get an answer, that there wasn't really a point in trying.

But Gods, Nesta fucking missed her. And even though she wanted nothing more than to retreat to her bedroom as she sat there in the kitchen, she didn’t move from the chair.

You need them as much as they need you, her father’s voice echoed in her head.

Guilt stabbed at her chest.

“How’re classes going?” Nesta asked quietly. Elain looked at her over her shoulder with a surprised yet pleasant smile.

“Great! I’m so grateful to be at such a great college, but…” Elain bit her lip, hesitating. “My bio lab is going to be the death of me."

“You know you’re allowed to complain, right?”

Elain just gave her a smile. “Yeah, I know. It's just, considering where I was a year ago, I couldn't be happier to finally be enrolled in such a prestigious program. Even if that means the classes are brutal."

I wish I was like you. I take everything for granted.

“And have you made any friends?”

Elain had started school at Pryth U months ago and yet Nesta had no idea if she even had friends yet.

Selfish bitch.

A fond smile broke out on Elain’s face. “Yes, I have this really great group of friends: Lucien, Ressina, and Varian. It's just the four of us, but we've gotten really close.”

Nesta asked Elain more questions before excusing herself back to her room, claiming she was going to try to write today, to which Elain squealed and wished her luck.

Nesta hadn't written since their dad died. Prior to his death, she would write nearly every day. She'd been working on a novel for years. The plot had came to her in middle school, and it just grew from there. She'd never told anyone about it. Everyone knows how fucking hard it is to get your writing published, much less get high ratings. Nesta wasn't even sure if she was going to finish it. This was the longest she'd gone without writing or editing it. And she had a feeling that she wouldn't ever go back to it.

Dread filled her stomach as she thought of that prospect. What the fuck was she doing with her life?

Nesta’s phone buzzed, and she fished it out of her back pocket.

Incoming call from Feyre Archeron.

It kept buzzing, Nesta merely stared at her sister's name on her screen. She couldn't think of a single reason why Feyre would be calling. But she pressed "Accept" before it could go to voicemail.

“Hello?”

“Hey.”

Silence.

“Uh, what’s up?” Nesta asked. She collapsed onto her unmade bed. Iroh scampered past the door and jumped on the bed with her. He didn't waste a minute curling himself around her head.

"I was calling to see… maybe, I don’t know… uh, would you want to come to dinner tonight?”

I was not expecting that. And Nesta was about 95% sure this was Elain’s doing.

“Why?”

“I want you there," Feyre told her as if it were obvious.

“Why?” Nesta asked again. She hadn't seen Feyre since Thanksgiving despite her sister living just on the outskirts of the city.

That had been weeks ago.

“It's complicated," Feyre responded quietly. She seemed to pause before finding the words. "I've been so worried about Cassian, we all have. He'd never been deployed for that long - five months. It was scary. I guess I took that out on you. I don't know why..."

She drifted off. Nesta held her breath.

"I'm sure Elain told you, but he's home now. I've been more myself since he returned, and I want you to come to dinner. I… miss you.”

She rubbed her temple. “I don’t know, Feyre.”

I don't know if I can pretend to be okay for an entire night. I don't know if you even fucking want me there or if you just feel obligated. I don't know if I can be in the same room as your douchebag boyfriend. I don't know if I can be surrounded by your friends, most of whom seem to dislike me. I don't know if I can behave like a normal fucking person.

I don't know.

“Please?” The plea was soft, quiet. It was like she was almost desperate. But for what?

Nesta looked out the window where a blue jay - their dad's favorite bird - was perched on a bare tree branch. The leaves had long ago fallen, leaving the world naked and vulnerable. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

-------------------------

Feyre embraced her with an awkward hug when Nesta and Elain walked into the house. Nesta patted her on the back lightly, uncomfortable with the physical touch. Luckily, no one else seemed incline to embrace her. Rhys actually seemed to make sure he was as far away as possible.

Elain, on the other hand, gave everyone a hug. Mor gave a laugh as she squeezed Elain back, Aurra watching them with a smile. Interestingly enough, when Elain greeted Azriel with a hug, his tanned cheeks glowed red. It was almost imperceptible, but Nesta noticed.

Feyre took a step back to assess her. Nesta could see the judgement in her sister's eyes as she took in Nesta's noticeably thinner body. Luckily, however, she wasn't given the chance to comment on it when Elain piped up, "Where's Cassian? Nesta still hasn't met him yet."

"He's running a bit late," Rhys answered, glancing down at his phone. "Should be here in about ten minutes."

Everyone began to make their way into the dining room and Nesta followed. However, she was quickly tugged to the side when Amren swooped in out of nowhere and basically dragged Nesta into the privacy of the hallway. She stopped, crossed her arms over her chest, and glared at Nesta.

“Where have you been?” Amren demanded.

"What do you mean?" Nesta asked, playing dumb.

She hadn't spoken to Amren in a long time, even though they had each others' numbers. Even though Amren had repeatedly texted her, asking to get coffee or go for a walk or something else of the sorts. All of which went unanswered.

Amren rolled her eyes, and Nesta was convinced they went to the back of her head for a good minute. "Don't play dumb with me, Nesta."

“I don’t know, working?"

"Is that a question?" Amren rose a deadly brow.

Nesta huffed and mirrored Amren's angry stance. "Why are you interrogating me?"

“Because you've been radio silent for weeks. I had to ask Elain if you were still fucking alive," Amren explained. Then, she leaned in close like she didn't want anyone to hear. "I was worried about you, you bitch."

Nesta let out a sigh. "I'm sorry, okay? I've been busy. I do want to hang out, it's just that..." she trailed off.

"What? It's just that what?"

Nesta stared at the floor, unable to form words.

"Nesta, are you okay?" Amren asked, her voice softer.

Just tell her. Fucking tell her.

I was almost raped.

Just the thought was enough to make Nesta want to puke. She couldn't, it was too much and she wouldn't even be able to fucking say it and it's her fault, all her fault.

She breathed in through her nose and looked back up at Amren. She shot her the most fake smile she'd ever given. "I'm good. Seriously, I just got busy. It won't happen again."

Nesta saw the skepticism in Amren's eyes. But she conceded with a small sigh. "Well, don't do it again, okay? I seriously thought you were fucking murdered or some shit."

Nesta just nodded. Amren looked at her once more before gesturing with her chin back to the dining room. Nesta followed her.

When they rounded the corner, she stopped dead in her tracks.

Because sitting next to Feyre was the man who had tried to break into her apartment.

“Nesta!" Feyre exclaimed, calling her over from where she sat. "This is Cassian. Cassian, this is my sister, Nesta.”

Nesta simply stared at him like a deer in headlights and he stared at her, his lips parted in surprise. He was wearing a grey sweater, his long hair hanging down, no longer in a bun like it was the last time. He tucked it behind one ear.

"Are you stalking me or something?" Nesta said incredulously.

"I could ask you the same," Cassian retorted cheekily.

Feyre looked between them, a confused expression written on her face. "Do you guys know each other or something?"

"Something like that," Nesta mumbled.

Everyone's eyes were on them as they waited for an answer.

"Well as everyone knows, I live in the same building as Nesta and Elain," Cassian explained, waving a hand to the two sisters. "The other night, I got stupid drunk with a friend. He drove me back to my place and me, drunk off my fucking ass, tried to get into their apartment thinking it was mine."

The entire room erupted into laughter, Rhys choking on his food and Azriel looking up as if reasoning with the Gods.

"So when Nesta opened the door," Cassian continued, "she nearly beat me to death with a baseball bat."

Another round of laughter.

"Overreact much?"

Everyone's eyes flew to where Nesta sat. They seemed shocked. Nesta was too.

She didn't know why she said it, why she let it bother her. He was just so fucking frustrating, even his mere presence.

Cassian stuck his tongue out at her.

Feyre interrupted, her jaw agape. "You guys are acting like children."

Nesta got quiet after that. The conversation continued, thankfully taking the attention off her. As everyone laughed and conversed, Cassian looked over at her. His smile disappeared when he met Nesta's gaze. She just stared back at him, lips in a thin line. He seemed to try to gauge her reaction carefully, but her face was blank.

And so the night went on. Nesta didn't say another word after what happened. She avoided eye contact with Cassian. Avoided conversation with everyone.

It was half past eight when they all began clearing their dishes. Mor, Aurra, Azriel, and Cassian were all gathered in the kitchen cleaning up. Feyre and Rhys had excused themselves. It was just Nesta and Elain who remained in the dining room.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” Nesta leaned over to whisper to Elain.

Elain nodded. "We'll head out right after, yeah?" She must've noticed the exhaustion in Nesta's face.

Nesta agreed, excusing herself from the table.

She walked down the hallway, peeking through every door to find the bathroom. She was about to push through a door on the left that was slightly cracked open when she heard voices coming from within.

“I’m worried about him. He’s not the same.” It was Feyre.

“He never is when he comes home, Feyre," Rhys said dejectedly. "It’s happened before. Cass just needs time.”

Cass.

Nesta tiptoed closer to the door, just enough for her to listen.

“No, what he needs is to see someone!”

“I’ve tried. He doesn’t want to go.”

“Try harder, Rhys!” Feyre cried, her tone frustrated.

“We can’t just force him to go, okay?”

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing? Do you even notice how lost your own fucking brother is? Do you even care?!”

Silence.

“Rhysand, I’m sorry. Gods, I’m so sorry. I know you care. More than anyone. I just… I don’t want to lose him.”

She heard them both breathing deeply.

“C’mere,” Rhys murmured. Nesta heard Feyre's footsteps as she presumably walked toward him.

“We’ll figure it out, okay?”

“Together.”

“Always, Feyre darling.”

They got quiet, probably embracing each other. Nesta crept away from their bedroom door and into the bathroom before they could find her.

------------------------------------

Elain and Nesta had just unlocked their apartment door when Nesta groaned. “Oh, shit, I forgot my wallet in the car." She fished around in her bag to make sure it wasn't in there. "I’ll be right back.”

"I'll leave the door unlocked," Elain called behind her as Nesta made her way to the elevator.

She stepped between the doors, hitting the button for the parking garage. Gods, she just wanted to go to sleep. The night had been exhausting.

After a minute or so, she was approaching her car. She unlocked her door and grabbed her wallet that was in the middle console when a pair of headlights flashed past her, a car pulling into the spot next to her.

Before panic could set in, Nesta recognized who was driver the car through the window.

Cassian.

His car turned off and he emerged from the driver's door just a moment later. He looked over where Nesta was clutching her wallet to her chest staring at him. He gave her a tight-lipped smile before turning away and walking towards the elevator. Nesta had no choice to follow.

She walked just a few feet behind him as they made their way to the elevator.

"I'm sorry," Cassian told her, his voice sincere. He cast a concerned glance her way. "For embarrassing you at dinner. And if I scared you that night."

"You didn't embarrass me," Nesta snapped at him. "You were just being annoying as hell."

His entire body seemed to relax at her insult. Cassian tried to hide his smirk but failed. "I'm glad to see you're still your normal, hotheaded self. You got me worried at dinner with your stoic behavior."

Now she really glared at him. "Don't talk like you know me. You don't."

"Oh, sweetheart," he teased. "I think we're more similar than you think."

She scoffed. "I think that hubris of yours will be your downfall."

"You know, it's quite sexy when you use literary devices to insult me," he joked.

Nesta froze.

Was he coming onto her? Chills ran down her spine when she thought of the last time a man expressed interest in her.

It's not the same, she tried to convince yourself. He's not Tomas.

Cassian must've expected a heated response to his comment because he looked surprised when Nesta simply stared straight ahead. She seemed to be in a world of her own, oblivious to everything around her. Any trace of anger was gone, replaced by a cool indifference.

Cassian's face fell. "Nesta, I didn't mean to - "

He was cut off as the elevator door dinged opened and Nesta swiftly walked out.

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