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#I just want someone to push a little instead of letting myself isolate because fuck if I'll ever willingly talk about my feelings
lover-of-dusk · 5 months
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Does anyone else feel this way, or is it just me? Venting post.
(WARNING: might be triggering for some people. Discussion of depression and S*****dal thoughts, among other things.)
In the world I live in, it seems like there’s no escape. There’s no help or hope. There’s only misunderstanding, judgment and isolation. No matter how much these people insist otherwise, it feels as though I will never be loved. I will never be understood, or find my tribe. Do I give up hope, or keep pushing? I’m so tired. I wish that socializing would come freely for me. I’m so sick of being “other”, but that’s the only way to describe me. The outcast, the one with too many boxes checked. Too many thoughts and interests to be part of one group. That should be a good thing, right? Not really. On one hand, some people admire me, think I’m super smart. On the other hand, I do too much. I’m too all over the place, my head firmly cemented in the clouds. They lock me up because I’m not like everyone else. I wasn’t the goody-two-shoes, God-fearing, keep-in-line-and-be-quiet little girl I was supposed to be. I’m not even the good, charitable Christian woman who will marry a man, bear his children and bend to their every need. Instead, I’m the free-thinking, easily emotional, mentally fucked-up, genderfluid sapphic freakshow I am. I’m not even welcome in parts of the LGBTQ+ community, or the black community, or any community for that matter. But I think that’s everyone.
But why should I be ashamed of who I am? Why does everyone say I need help, but no one does? Why do they just foister me off to someone else, or smother me to the point that I can’t even tell who I am until I leave them?
It does nothing to explain my struggles to someone else because I can’t seem to do it right. I’m either wound up in self-pity or self-loathing. There’s nothing in between. My brain doesn’t let me feel the pain, the embarrassment or any other negative feeling when it’s not happening in that moment. Only in the dark hours of the night am I allowed to feel those things. They come at me like huge waves of water rushing over a tiny defenseless lifeboat on the sea. And no matter how hard I want to, no matter how much I need to, I can’t sob, I can’t scream, I can’t move. I’m paralyzed in those moments of pain and agony.
Why do I need to be fixed? Why do I have to go through therapy for something I can’t control, much less change? Why can’t I just be?
I don’t think I’ve ever truly sobbed, even when someone dear to me dies, or I’ve been so frustrated with everything that I wanted to join them. I’ve come so close to it though. I’ve hurt myself, I’ve wanted to die, I’ve ridden the waves of pain and euphoria, constantly changing from day to day, moment to moment. Never have I truly, gut-wrenchingly sobbed before. I’ve wanted to sob, at first, to prove that my feelings were valid enough to take heed of. So, my family would stop blaming me for the pain and embarrassment I’ve caused them in the past, so my teachers would help me when I couldn’t help myself. So anyone would take me seriously. Now, I want to sob because it may let me rest for once. To get all of the anger, the depression, the anxiety, the numbness, all of it out of me. Just to let me breathe. The silent tears do nothing for me anymore, because the feelings are stronger than them. Numbness kills those tears just like they were ants and it was a giant’s foot. Effortlessly. I want, no. I need something strong enough to kill those feelings, so I can finally rest easy. So I can get up every morning and move forward. What an amazing feeling it would be, to get up every morning, do everything that I needed to do, without effort or fail. Would I be loved more, be accepted more if I could do this? I’m not sure, but I feel that it may make my life a little bit easier if not a lot.
You, reader, may look through this and say, “This person definitely needs therapy.” However, you don’t know that I’ve been in therapy for 13 years at this point. I’ve been through psychiatric wards to residential facilities, and no one seems to be able to fix me. No one has cracked the code to my crazy brain yet, not fully. I’m exhausted from the necessity of explaining myself, of telling my therapists and the staff at psych wards and residential facilities how I feel. I don’t want to be patronized. I don’t want to be less than, or humiliated, or to be considered incapable of being an adult, because I’m not. I just want to be able to be considered a functioning individual worthy of other people’s time. Not just some patient of a therapist or mental hospital, or someone with mental illnesses. It hurts me when people say that it makes sense that I’m autistic, I have bipolar, or anxiety or ADHD or any other illness that I’ve been formally and informally diagnosed with, because they put me in a box and automatically shove me in with people who can’t function, who need supervision 25/8 just to make sure they don’t hurt themselves. I’m sick of being the only one in a room who understands what it’s like to be someone like me. I’m tired of being alone. I’m tired of having too many questions and not enough answers.
 Why is it so hard for me to explain things to my mom? Why is it so hard for her to understand? Why is it so hard for anyone to understand? Why do I have to be around people constantly, telling them all of my trauma and struggles just for them to label me as mentally ill and, by extention, untrustworthy of opinion, or too mentally unstable to be taken seriously?
On the flip side, why am I expected to be an outgoing, completely perfect carbon cutout of a “model citizen”? Why do I have to be just like the curated images on social media? Why can’t I make mistakes? Why can’t I be imperfect, with differing or ambiguous opinions? Why do I have to know everything about other people’s struggles and hardships when no one shares them with me? Just because I didn’t know about Stonewall for the first 16 or 17 years of my life, or about certain microaggressions (I’d been dealing with microaggressions my whole life, by the way) doesn’t make me a shitty person who deserves to die a horrible death. 
Please tell me I’m not the only one who feels this way. I just want to know if anyone else knows what this feels like, or can at least understand where I’m coming from. Sorry for the vent, but I'm really needing someone else who's not a therapist to tell me I'm valid in this.
EDIT: I'm also sick of people telling me to "suck it up" and move on, too. Tell me how, then. Tell me how to suck up my literal shitshow of a brain and be a perfect human being when I have so much shit in my brain. Sorry, this seems like it's going on too long, but that should be it in terms of ranting for now.
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homiro · 1 year
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I absolutely am hated lmao like why were people even following this damn account? Now I have 442 followers I know it was 480+ just a couple of days ago because I was trying to create new sideblogs on mobile so I saw it lmao maybe I'm just being nEgAtiVe and this this is why people don't like me as usual but fuck it you know I'm tired as hell of this bullshit life of all the bad luck of just idk being too autistic or something for anyone to want hang out with me for real lol oh you don't put yourself out there lmaooo yeah for what? To be shut down and get mad and just cut off the relationship? I guess I'm meant to be alone and that self-isolation really is the way about it not matter what the lazlos and other such American (from ANY of the countries in the AmericaS PLURAL) say. Honestly fuck ableist fuckers and fuck covert transphobes literally go to hell.
By the way I'm not self diagnosed I had to go through a fucking insane battery of questions lol great thing. I gained nothing from it except an #actuallyautistic. And I'm tired of having to mask so that the motherfuckers who pretend to care about mentally ill people and act like they're ND but ick when they see someone with an actual condition that isn't uwu palatable uwu smol bean who's shyyy fuck outta here.
Rant over lol they want me to be the villain, I'll be their fucking villain I just won't willingly interact with these cunts anymore. I'll be the cunt who copped out when he was lied about and misgendered and the little uwu smol beans villanised me. And yes, no i HAVEN'T FORGOTTEN. AND I HAVEN'T LET GO. Because abusers and harassers want you to forget and let go to be exonerated of their own shittu behaviour. I apologised for my meltdowns and was met with nothing but condescending remarks and holier than thou attitudes and treated like shit by literally all of these clout chasing twats. I'm not upset I left that was a blessing in disguise but they robbed me of the only thing I had which was writing. I barely wrote this hear and when I did I had to push myself. And not because I had some block it was literally because I didn't want more harassment and to be told I suck by the fans of dubcon shit. And fuck every single MOTHERFUCKER who says it isn't. I'm an SA SURVIVOR I KNOW WHAT IS AND WHAT ISN'T SA. But you know, it's hot apparently lol so it's okay /s rant over unfollow away I guess lol some cunt on here said I was negative and shit as well before unfollowing instead of just doing it. Like just say you don't understand cptsd and fucking go.
I'm done.
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underscorespider · 3 years
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fellas I am straight up not having a good time
(vent in tags, do not reblog)
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Continued from here
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At first, Hero doesn’t notice the slight changes around them.
They wake up, and the pain wakes as well, flooding them with its burn and stealing away their breath for the few instants they take to accept and relax into it before opening their eyes. Villain’s curled-up figure, snoring softly from the armchair next to the bed, is the first thing they see.
Hero lays their head back down and sighs when last night comes back to them. They wish they couldn’t, but they remember it all too well – every kind word, every worried touch and whispered confession.
Embarrassment burns their cheeks at the thought of Villain seeing their scars, the horror written across their face when they did. They were never supposed to see those – no one was, not when all of them were results of Hero’s fails, of Superhero’s discipline. They were a shame Hero carried for not being good enough, and one Villain should never have seen.
They give Villain a side-glance, sighing again at how uncomfortable their position looks, their body too big for the tight space of the armchair.
It’s only then that something clicks into place.
Hero doesn’t own an armchair.
They jerk upright, and immediately fold forward, holding their stomach when pain shoots through them. Hero catches the anguished whimper before it escapes, and only a huff of air leaves in its place. It’s still enough for Villain to open their eyes and sit up too.
“You’re awake,” they state with a yawn, giving Hero a once-over that stops at the clean bandages and makes their stomach churn.
“Where am I?”
Villain’s smirk sends waves of fire through Hero’s blood. How the fuck were they so stupid to trust Villain when they were at their most vulnerable?
“Welcome to my place. Do you like it?”
Hero bares their teeth in indignation and grips the sheets with the hand that isn’t holding their injury. “Take me the fuck back.”
“Oh, no can do, sweetheart. I gave you the nice guest room, though, I think you’ll like it,” Villain says, already standing up and calmly walking around the bed. Hero doesn’t move from their spot under the duvet, not when they can barely move without grunting, let alone get up and follow the bastard. “What do you say about breakfast? I’ll be right back with it.”
Hero can only watch as they leave the room, and the lock clicks behind them.
They fall back on the pillows, staring at the ceiling hopelessly.
Villain locked the door. Hero’s hands tremble at the thought, at how the room suddenly seems so much smaller. They had said they’d be back with breakfast, hadn’t they? But how can Hero trust Villain after they kidnapped them?
The feeling isn’t unknown, though. Hero is way too familiar with the helplessness of being locked away from the world, isolated until they were desperate enough to comply. So forlorn they were the perfect vessel for learning, as Superhero would say. It hadn’t happened in a long time, not since they started obeying the orders without question, but the terror of being alone for hours that turned into days that turned into weeks never truly left them.
You are too unruly, Hero, Superhero always said, scowling at them after they refused an order or made a mistake, if I don’t discipline you, you’ll be just like any villain. It’s for your own good, and one day you’ll see it.
And then the door would be locked, and they’d be alone. Alone until they forgot what it was like to talk and be answered, alone until they gave up on any form of pride and just screamed at the walls that they were sorry, please, I’ll do anything, alone until–
“…hope you like toast, we didn’t have pancakes, but I do know how to make really go– hey, Hero?”
They look up to see Villain walking inside, carrying a tray filled with food. Hero doesn’t cry – you don’t show weakness, Hero, ever, or will I have to teach you how to control yourself too? –, but a sob gets caught in their throat.
They aren’t alone. They are not alone. Hero shakes their head to push away the memories and glares at Villain, carefully pulling themself into a sitting position.
“Why am I here, Villain? Am I your hostage? Your prisoner?”
A shiver runs up their spine at the thought, at the punishment they’d earn for being caught by Villain of all people – being caught without putting up a fight, of all things.
“You are hurt,” they say as if that’s enough of an answer, and sit down in the armchair again, placing the tray in the bed between the two of them and pointing at the piles of food there.
Hero crosses their arms and waits.
“Just eat, Hero, we’ll talk about it after breakfast, okay?”
“How did you even bring me here?” Something vicious is curling around Hero’s heart, something unwelcome, something painful, something they aren’t ready to admit feels like betrayal. Villain doesn’t owe them anything, Hero has no right to feel it, and yet, there it is. “Did you drug me while I bled out?”
Villain averts their gaze and sets their jaw. “They hurt you,” they seethe, the rage only barely contained in their voice.
“I didn’t even tell you why or how I got hurt, you can’t–“
“I’m not stupid. You said enough for me to guess it.” Villain looks up with such unrestrained hatred, that even though they know it isn’t directed at them, Hero can’t contain a flinch.
They straighten up as best as they can to hide it, though, keeping all of the pain carefully hidden away from their features. “Superhero helped me become the hero I am today. Each of these scars is a mark of shame, of my failure. So if you want to blame someone for them, blame me.”
But instead of appeasing Villain, the words seem to have the opposite effect. They clench their fists, nostrils flaring, pupils swallowing their irises whole. “Keep talking and I won’t be able to contain myself next time I see that sad excuse for a person.”
Hero pales, trembles. And Villain, of course, notices.
“Superhero has abused and gaslighted you, and you still blanch at the idea they might be hurt,” Villain sighs, looking up to the ceiling as if searching for an explanation there. “Scars aren’t shames, Hero. Scars are traumas, and there’s absolutely no context in which they’d be a form of discipline. That’s blatant abuse.”
“Don’t talk about them like that,” Hero says rigidly, staring down at their hands. Somewhere deep inside them, hidden so far away they barely remember it’s even there, there’s a young Hero nodding and crying along with Villain’s every word. But Superhero’s words sound louder than any old, forgotten, version of Hero ever could. We don’t speak ill of our people, Hero. And if you do, you’ll have to face the consequences, they’d say between each crack of the whip.
“Just eat,” Villain sighs, hiding their face behind their hands and rubbing their eyes.
There’s so much worry mingled with ancient fear inside of Hero, they don’t even question how fast they answer to the command. They are hurting and confused and betrayed, and their mind can’t help but fit in its usual mode of complying with each and every order. Just like all good heroes do, Hero, you must obey your superiors, and therefore help the people. Show me you can obey and I won’t need to hurt you anymore.
They eat breakfast in silence, and although Hero’s mind keeps bouncing around the argument and their future, something that went unanswered keeps bothering them until they can’t help but spill it out.
“Did you drug me to bring me here?”
Villain looks them dead in the eye, lets them see the guilt lurking there – but also the truth. “Yes. You are hurt and I wouldn’t leave you like this to be even more battered by your beloved Superhero.”
“You had no right,” Hero whispers. Tears well up in their eyes, and the air gets caught in their throat, turning into gasping breaths that are not enough. Suddenly, they can’t breathe. They can’t think. Villain drugged them after Hero trusted them and let them see it all, they drugged them and took them away and they had no way to stop and they still have no way to stop it–
“Hero!” Villain shouts, holding their shoulders and giving them a little shake. It hurts their wound and makes them gasp, but it isn’t enough for Hero to stop quivering.
“You drugged me–“ is all they can rasp out, fighting to regain control of their swirling emotions.
“I gave you a mild sedative and brought you here, that’s all I did,” Villain says hurriedly, “you didn’t wake up because you were really tired, not because I knocked you out. I’d never take your will away like that.”
“But you did!”
Their stomach hurts and their chest echoes and Hero feels like they’re falling and falling and the fall never ends.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d be this upset about it,” Villain exclaims, holding their hands.
Hero snaps before even they realize what they’re doing – one moment Villain is holding their hand, the next said hand is flying through the air and connecting with Villain’s jaw with a dull thud and a sharp pain in their abdomen. Two gasps of pain sound at the same time, and both Villain and Hero curl forward, holding their respective injuries.
“You punched me?” Villain says, unbelieving. For one moment, one fleeting instant, Hero freezes and waits for the blow to be returned, only twice as bad, or maybe for them to be left alone as punishment. And then the moment passes, and Villain’s stunned eyes come back to focus. Hero pants and glares at them, but even though they’re still mad and scared, there is also guilt overlaying it all now.
“You drugged me!”
“I also kidnapped you. And it was a mild sedative, you could’ve woken up– why are you so hung up on the drugging?”
As if in answer, Hero’s heart starts to pound. It screams from their chest, thrums inside their ears. Their tongue doesn’t voice any of the truths laying there, though. Not when they can still feel the bitter taste of betrayal – what would Villain do with the knowledge of how many times they were drugged as a punishment? As a ‘calming technique’, according to Superhero? As a ‘teaching mechanism’?
“Does it matter?” they bite out, shifting their weight and holding in a moan when the wound shifts as well. “I never should have trusted you.”
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
But that doesn’t mean anything, not really. Superhero’s said it before, and they ended up hurt either way.
“You can’t keep me here against my will. Unless you plan on tying me down and locking me up, I’m going to leave whether you want it or not.”
Villain takes a sharp breath and grits their teeth. Although goosebumps spread across Hero’s skin, they don’t back down.
“Why would you go back to them?” Villain sags on the chair, and even though their face is somber, there is something in their eyes that looks so much like pleading that Hero holds their breath. “I can protect you. You can even ‘save the city’ or whatever, I won’t stop you. But why go back to the person who hurt you? I see the fear you’re hiding, Hero. You and I both know that the only thing waiting for your return is more pain.”
“What do you want me to do? Stay here? Become a villain myself?” they scoff.
Something flashes in Villain’s eyes, something so weirdly close to pain Hero find themself at a loss for words. And then it’s gone, as fast as it appeared, and Hero chooses to believe it was only their imagination.
“Do as you wish, but I won’t be responsible for your being hurt again,” Villain says in a final tone. “And if I have to tie you down and lock you up until you’re healed and able to defend yourself, then so be it.”
“So the ‘playing hero’ part is over, huh?”
There’s so much hurt, so many places. In their belly, in their contained tears, in their heart. Hero grips the sheets and glares at Villain’s narrowed eyes.
“I never said I was playing hero,” they respond coldly, “I’d rather be damned than be anything like Superhero.”
Villain gets up after that, but stops at the door and turns around to look at Hero. They stare at each other, and in their gazes, something builds and something breaks, and as words form and die in the tip of Hero’s tongue, they seem to do the same in Villain’s, for they simply sigh and turn their back, leaving the room without another glance and locking the door behind them.
(part 3)
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monodipita · 2 years
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an icy stroll with the cavalry captain
words: 1,600
warning(s): general dark themes ahead, yandere themes
A/N: part 1/?? --do send in requests for content if you have any, my request box is open.
"Disobeying curfew, are we, [Y/N]? Naughty, naughty!"
His snooty, heartless tone produced shivers to roll down your spine. You swallowed thickly and turned your head to view none other than Kaeya, which caused you to freeze in place--to be expected of the cryo user. What a devilishly handsome man!
"How did you know?" You asked. And here you thought you disguised your tracks so well...
"Every night for the past twelve nights, you leave your home and stroll leisurely through this area before you take a right around the shrub and head in that direction. What's it mean to you?" He dodged your question with another one, making you bite the inside of your cheek nervously. "Is it that partner of yours?" He pressed, "not enough time to see them in the day? It must be nice to be with the one you love, it's not something I get to experience often." He chuckled, "lucky you."
"You can relax around me, you know. It's only my duty as a Knight to watch over the citizens of Mondstadt," He purred at you to possibly ease your mind, but you felt uncomfortable with the situation. Kaeya was a shady man, no questions asked. . .who knew what he was thinking at any given time? The only predictable thing about him was his drinking habits.
"I-I should go home." You spoke quietly, barely above the lull of an inside voice. How amusing, given the hurt in your heart. You wanted to see your partner so badly. Tonight was a special night for you both, and you didn't want to miss it for anything in Teyvat.
"Mm, now, where's the fun in that? I'm not opposed to the idea of you meeting up with your partner, if that's what you're thinking," Kaeya responded coolly, walking up to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulder. You immediately tensed, causing him to chuckle and lean in close to you. He smelled faintly of alcohol, a scent he could've worn naturally by this point. "If it's because you want to see your beloved, by all means, I wouldn't want to be a buzzkill. I'll keep you company while you walk, aye?"
...could you really say no?
"Sure, I guess," you flash a nervous smile at him. "Ah!" He exclaimed with a grin formed on his handsome lips, "then let's not waste time! I know you want to get to your partner's home."
And so, the two of you shared the cobblestone-paved road while he "escorted" you to your destination. The silence between you created a tension so thick that it could've been pierced with a weapon. In your mind, you were trying to make sense of things, but nothing seemed to come up. Just why would Kaeya be out so late at night? You just couldn't think of anything.
"You know, your partner has a pretty sharp eye in the Knights. How do you feel about them becoming an outrider?" Kaeya casually asked. Again, about your partner. You were beginning to notice a pattern, but to keep up appearances, you played along. "I had a feeling they were going to excel. I'm very proud of them, they're usually way too hard on themselves."
"It's because you were training them, weren't you?"
...
Again on the reminder that you could've gone into the knights yourself. He must've been scarred by that day. "Kaeya," you sighed exasperatedly and eyed him with a vexed expression, "please. I'm not, and won't be ready to enter into the knights. You know this, and yet you still find the heart to guilt trip me every time you bring it up?" You jabbed at him. "Have you any way of considering me at all?"
"I am considering you. By pressuring you, of course. Tough love never hurt anyone. Diluc and I practice that type of behavior all the time." If holding weapons at each other's throats was considered "tough love", then you didn't know what to think. "As long as I can pressure you enough to join the knights, then I know you'll thank me later."
"Why?!" You suddenly snapped, bringing your "leisurely" (if stepping so aggressively you could shake little baby teeny pebbles was leisurely, then sure) pace to a complete stop. You turned to face him and glared into his one, piercing azure eye. "I've told you time and time again that I don't want to be in the knights!"
"You don't mean that." Kaeya's eyes hooded, his tone eerily casual. "You wouldn't possibly spend out on spending time with some of the best-skilled people in Mondstadt, would you? I don't think you've even considered the opportunity that's been given to you. Constantly, mind you. I've practically gifted it to you on a silver platter. Are you proud that your...partner..." he seemed to hold back from saying anything rude, "has assumed your position?"
"..." you glared at him.
"Because I'm not," he purred. Even when things were so heated, he didn't even seem to break a sweat. He gently gripped your chin with minimal resistance on your end, and his chilled fingers braced your throat. Your body tensed, while your eyes narrowed. "What the hell are you doing?"
"It should've been you as my partner, not them. They're nowhere near you, who you are, and what you could be. In fact, your partner is holding you back. I don't think we have to see eye-to-eye to see such an obvious fact, yes?" Kaeya's voice dropped lower, to that of a mumble. "If only you accepted just how skilled you are, then we wouldn't be in this situation. I wouldn't have to see them every day, I could see you instead. I could be--" he stopped, while you remained silent. The duality of him saying 'partner' started to really fuck with your head. The air was so thin, coupled with no one being around to see or hear what was going on, that he was even able to get away with this.
"But alas, you want to continue wasting your breath on an unfortunate human being. I'm certainly not the one to meddle in other people's business, so I'll escort you to your partner's home, and I'll be well on my way..." He trailed off then, putting a pause in his unsettling dialogue. You furrowed your brows as he dropped his hold on your chin, releasing it from the icy grip he maintained on it. How utterly terrifying.
"...I don't want to walk with you anymore." It was all you could muster. Your lip trembled, possibly from a mix of the encroaching cold, Kaeya's words, and a blend of anger and fear. "I want you to get away from me."
"Let's relax," Kaeya hummed as he draped his hands over your shoulders. He turned you into the direction of your partner's home and gave you the gentle push to resume walking. "I'm harmless. Please? Just this one night. I can take you there, and we don't have to say a single word to anyone. We'll just keep my drunken ramblings between us, yes?" He drank so much that his breath permeated alcohol, no matter what time of the day. You must've gotten used to smelling it on him.
And foolishly, you believed his words. You took a deep breath and channeled your anger into a deep exhale, which expelled some of the negative feeling out of your body. He wanted to remain friendly, right? That was totally fine. Sure. Friendly.
As the two of you continued on your venture, the setting of Mondstadt began to rapidly change. The two of you ventured away from the live atmosphere that carried on, even this late at night, despite the curfew arranged for this city of freedom. These homes and buildings that surrounded you weren't lit up at all, and to tell the truth, it didn't seem like anyone was in them. The post lamps served as the only light to guide your way through the wide streets. It was very creepy...
But as you realized that you'd been walking for far too long to have reached your partner's home, your footsteps came to a stop. This was their street, right? "Why... why did we walk all the way out here? Kaeya, where the hell did you take me?" You worriedly looked over at Kaeya, but noticed that he was missing.
"The only way I could make you mine was if I isolated you, of course. I was so moved by your performance that I felt the need to act. I feel bad for lying to you, but not enough to apologize." Kaeya hovered over your half-conscious body. "I've waited far too long for this opportunity. Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. Someone in their right mind would've stopped... no, someone in their right mind wouldn't have even done what I've done in the first place, but I'm a patient man, and I'll do whatever it takes to get what I want done."
"What... what do... you..." You couldn't even speak, he must've hit you too hard. Oops.
"What do I want? I want you, silly. I wouldn't go through all this trouble if I didn't. You're so special to me that I'd resort to committing unspeakable acts,"
He lifted your half-conscious body up into his arms. "I'm so excited! I've been waiting for this opportunity ever since you got with your partner! And now I can have you to myself. Don't ever question my method of doing things; just know that I get them done." His voice carried into the air.
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thevanillerose · 3 years
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DELICACY | YANDERE!IGNIS x READER | FFXV
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You ran a hand past your slightly sweaty brow, and brushed back the [H/C] hair that had fallen across it. This was just proof of your hard work, really. Boy, it really had been tough, and you had Gladio to thank for that. He pushed you and pushed you, but you were flattered by it at least. It seemed he only did so because he saw the potential for greatness in you.
Whether you were going to end up looking like a protein addict by the end of his training was...debatable, but perhaps best avoided. After all, Ignis was the one you were really seeking to impress, and you in turn felt like it wouldn't be wise to become muscle-bound.
Ignis...you didn't know why but there was something so frankly appealing about him. Well actually, you did know why. He was tall, suave and handsome. He pulled off glasses and shades like they were second nature to him, and the gloves were an added bonus. Even just his posture screamed 'gentleman'. All that being said though, his strongest appeal no doubt lay in his cooking abilities. The man could whip up a gourmet dish over nothing but a campfire. He was a talent in the kitchen.
Perhaps a talent in other ways too, but your flustered self would never discover the truth to that notion unless you actually managed to...well...seduce him, so to speak. That didn't mean you were always flouncing around in Cindy-esque garb, but you did figure that strengthening yourself for him would hold some good appeal.
You wanted to be a valuable party member. Someone they could all count on, all four of them, whenever demonic creatures sprang up during the night and threatened to trash the Regalia. The Regalia, which as an added bonus, could now fly? Who'd have thought?
Nonetheless, you spent that particular day absolutely beasting yourself in the Cleigne countryside. The monsters you chose as targets were turned to tatters in mere seconds, and it felt all too easy. You really were getting more and more powerful, but you also landed yourself further and further away from Noctis, Prompto and Gladio, to the point where you might as well have set out alone.
The forest didn't scare you, but the dark did somewhat when you were isolated, and when you couldn't find them easily again you resolved to just trek your way back to the glowing amber light of the camping site.
Ignis had smartly set it up on top of a large rock, somewhere that monsters would be even further deterred from despite the wilderness surrounding you. As you trekked back and ascended up the uneven side of it, you eventually reached the top and were greeted by a delectable smell.
“Mm...what is that?” you had to ask, as you rounded the top and came trudging over towards where Ignis was stirring the pot, practically drooling. Your weary body flopped down into one of the canvas camp chairs and he looked up at you. His hand pushed his glasses a little further up his nose, just by the center of them, and he smiled charmingly as ever.
“It's a new recipe I'm trying. Something that I concocted myself.” You giggled slightly, not hiding how smitten you were right there and then. “'Concocted'...sounds like you're making a witch's brew.”
Perhaps that wasn't too far off... Ignis only kept smiling and stirring, before eventually spooning up some of the meat-filled soup. These kinds of stews rarely looked so delicious, but he had a knack for making even the plainest toast look irresistible. Swallowing as he handed you over a bowl and took a seat of his own, you felt like you could already taste the salt.
“Careful now, it's hot.” Ignis warned you gently, getting comfortable before picking up his own bowl and blowing gently onto the liquid. Eyeing him sheepishly, you figured you'd try something. “Ah-!” the soup was as scalding as you might have expected. Boldly, you tried sipping some early, and almost made your lip blister. Ignis' eyes instantly shot over to you, and he tutted.
“I told you, did I not? You need to be careful...” Your hands around the bowl were replaced with his, and he picked up the spoon instead, hauling his chair closer just so he could easily raise a portion up to your slightly stinging mouth. He blew on it first, then held it out to you.
This was what you had, admittedly, been aiming for. It was kind of romantic, right? To be taken care of like this, especially after such a long and grueling day of monster battles. You gazed at him shyly for another moment, before just parting your lips and trying the food.
Instantly, your eyes lit up. Forget the context, the taste alone was just phenomenal! Why, this was like the best home cooking you could possibly imagine!
“Gods that's...that's amazing Ignis!” you gasped and touched your lips in awe. Some might have called it an overreaction on your part, but they clearly weren't familiar with just how good this dish was. Ignis had really stunned you with it, it was probably the best you'd ever had from him, or even just period.
“I'm glad you approve.” he smirked, and handed the meal back to you so you could continue eating yourself. You dug in quickly, in a hurry because you just couldn't resist. Oblivious, you just kept up, only breaking the silence so you could ask: “What kind of meat is this? If this is a local monster then I need to make sure I kill some tomorrow, stat!”
“Haha...you really are eager, aren't you?” Ignis was amused by your almost childish reactions. He clasped his hands in his lap and leaned back smugly, having finished his own. “There won't be any need to hunt, there's plenty more in the cold boxes.”
Your eyes cast over to where they were sitting, just by the edge of the campfire. True enough, they'd all been filled up with something, and sealed. “Right, but I still wanna know what this actually is. I don't think you've cooked with this before.” you didn't know how to describe it, but the meat was just perfection.
Ignis took off his glasses for a moment, just so he could huff onto the lenses and wipe them with the cloth from his pocket. “It's not meat from any monster, I can tell you that.”
Pausing, you lowered your spoon down to your near empty bowl and hummed. “But it's not some kind of fish, is it? Doesn't seem like it.” “No, you're right.” “Is it from one of the local animals?” you tried to think about which one it could be. Yet you were surprised to see Ignis simply shaking his head again, returning his glasses to their rightful place while he did so.
“That's...weird.” you completely set the spoon down. Then you looked over at the three empty chairs, and into the woods beyond. “...Where are the other guys anyway? Shouldn't they be here by now...?” “They should be.” Ignis cryptically spoke, and your gaze swiveled back to him. Somehow, all the pleasure had vanished. Now you had a pit forming in your stomach.
“...Did they already come back earlier?” “Ah.” Ignis finally set his empty bowl aside and met your eyes. “...Now you're catching on.”
Your grip loosened, and you were pretty sure you dropped your spoon in the process, but you weren't even paying attention to that. No, your focus was solely fixed on the boxes arranged at the edge of the campsite, stacked up there were so many of them. Each was maybe big enough to hold a few big fish. Or something else in great volume...
Could three cut up corpses fit neatly into those cold boxes?
“You see I'd grown quite sick of them myself.” Ignis stood up, speaking in a relaxed tone while he watched you drop the rest of your dinner too. The soup scattered, as did the red meat inside, and he eyed the remains of his comrades with disdain. “They were a constant irritation, so when I had them alone back here and you were still gone, I couldn't help myself. Getting rid of them was necessary, after all.”
His eyes cast up to your pale and frightened face. “It means that I can finally get you all to myself.”
“F...FUCK!” A series of expletives and cries left you as you sprang up from your chair, knocking it back, staggering away from him. Your skin had broken out in a sweat, your heart pounding relentlessly as Ignis started pacing calmly in your direction. You turned quickly to where your sword was resting at the side, and tried to lunge for it.
Ignis was quicker, one hand seizing your arm and pulling it behind your back. As you hit his chest, his other snaked up to your chin, leather gripping your jaw from one side to the other and squeezing. His voice was like a snake in your ear: “Over time you'll learn not to miss them, [Y/N].” His tongue flicked against your ear, and you let out a pent up and desperate whimper. “I'll make you forget they ever existed...”
Your eyes shut tight, forehead furrowing as you cringed and tried to cope with this. Trembling in his hold, you had never felt weaker, as if all your training had been for naught. Your knees buckled, legs turning to gelatin. Ignis' twisted confession had pushed you to the breaking point, and your vision was already blurring.
You might have fainted entirely had you not heard a startlingly chirpy voice suddenly speak up: “Woah! Looks like somebody made a mess!”
His cruel hands had already slipped away, leaving you standing there like a shaking idiot as your eyes flashed open and set upon the shocking sight before you.
Prompto came jogging up towards the camp, tutting as he saw the spillage you'd unwillingly made. Ignis was already busy clearing it up, acting as if nothing had happened while he chatted with the freckled boy and his two companions. Yes...Gladiolus and Noctis were there too. They came strolling up with dirt and the odd cut or bruise embellished upon them, but otherwise unharmed.
“Hard day's work, sorry we took so long!” Prompto apologized while he took a seat and grabbed some soup for himself. “Yummy, looks great!” “...Huh...?” “[Y/N]?” Gladio's presence beside you startled you, and you quickly looked at him with widened eyes. He just frowned, then laughed. “Hah! What's the matter, did you see a ghost when you wandered off alone? I told you it's better to stick together when it's getting dark.”
“I'm bushed...” Noctis moaned, yawning as he sat down too, and soon enough Gladiolus was encouraging you over like you were some sort of black sheep among them. Everything in this situation had taken such a drastic 180 that you were genuinely shell-shocked.
“We've already eaten, but you all enjoy. [Y/N] seemed to approve, and I think we all know we can trust her sense of taste.” Ignis spoke in an almost jovial manner. It was disgusting. After what he had just done...you could only stare at him in bewilderment. The other guys just remained none the wiser.
“So what kind of meat is this?” When Noctis asked that, Ignis took a pause, before smiling simply again. “Human.”
For a stretch, there was silence. Then, it was broken by Gladio's sudden and hearty laughter, followed by Prompto's too. Noctis didn't exactly laugh, but he at least smiled a little. “Hahaha, well it's damn good if that's true!” Gladio joked, “Maybe we should be the bad guys!” “Hehehe!...For real though, where'd you get this?” Prompto asked once he'd calmed down from his giggles.
Ignis answered straight away: “Altissia. A special shipment came in from there to one of the local stores. It was more expensive than I'd like to say, but I figured it might be alright to treat ourselves for once.”
Nobody objected to that. Nobody batted any eyes about eating it. Nobody knew what had really happened.
When they all went to their beds inside the tent, you remained lingering outside where Ignis was cleaning up. You weren't there to help him. Just to stare at him pointedly, to try and get inside his head somehow. Try and figure out exactly why the hell he'd tried to trick you like that.
“...If you don't believe me, you can check inside those ice boxes over there.” Ignis uttered, not looking at you while he finished packing up. “...I believe you. I just don't know why you did it...and why you...”
“...” Ignis suddenly stood up straight, and approached you then. From the tent you could hear distant snores, but besides that the night was eerily silent. He walked right up to you, urging you to take a step back out of instinct. The way the moon was positioned, it sometimes reflected against his glasses and hid his unfeeling eyes from sight. “You are not just strong, [Y/N]. You are also intelligent, and perfect in many other ways.” In other circumstances, you would have been falling on your knees from those words, “-But to assume that I would ever kill the very person I've been tasked to protect, and my fellows, is foolish. I won't deny that it's a dream of mine, but it will have to stay that way if I don't want to become a fugitive for the rest of my days.”
His words shook you to your core. How could he so easily admit that he wanted them dead?
Ignis seemed to read your mind: “I've a desire for you, [Y/N]. That's why. For so long I've wanted nothing more than to have you all to myself, but alas that can't be for now. I have my duties to fulfil, after all. It's as I said...and so I simply decided to play a little game. It was for my own amusement...”
Amusement!?
“And you believed me, possibly because you love me in return. You'd rather assume I was really a murderer than call me a liar. I'd call you naïve...but perhaps it truly is better to be cautious...” His gloved hand reached out again, cold touch gracing against your jaw and tilting your chin up. His steely eyes gazed back at you heartlessly...his lips pulling into a wry, victorious smirk, upon seeing how you looked at him so petrified, feeling how you quivered.
The lips that met yours were like poison, and his heated tongue pushing through and exploring your mouth even more so. But even if his hand hadn't curled around the back of your head, you were rigid regardless, unable to move as Ignis forced that kiss upon you by the flickering flames. He only pulled away once he'd had his fill, and his hand moved to cup your cheek, his own breath short.
Still, he managed to speak, as much as you wished otherwise. “...Indeed it is, [Y/N]...” Leaning in, he let his lips hover right beside your ear, delivering that penultimate line he'd just been dying to say.
“Because one day, it might be a reality...”
~ WRITING COMMISSIONS ~ ~ PATREON ~ ~ KO-FI ~ Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own anything except my own writing. All properties belong to their respective creators.
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pixieungerstories · 3 years
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Quarentine - 1
They always say ‘buy the worst house on the best block that you can afford’ and god knows this place was a total shit hole.  1200 square feet on an overgrown lot surrounded by McMansions.  Hell, I paid less for the place that the land was worth.  I’m amazed someone hadn’t bulldozed the place years ago.
To make a long story short, I did not look a gift house horse in the mouth.
I mean, it wasn’t a total write off.  None of the windows were smashed.  There were mature fruit trees in the backyard.  If you ignored the weeds and rotting fruit, there was a lot of potential.  The plumbing was lead pipes and the electrical was knob and tube, but I know people and I could trade favours to get that replaced.  The foundations were good and the roof barely leaked.
I spent the summer camping in a tent in the back yard and slowly getting the place winterized enough that I could move it.
It was still a creepy ass house when I did.  It had a boiler.  I had no idea how to deal with that, but I was learning.  And I learned how to ignore the whistles, hissing and banging sounds that went with having a boiler.  The old rads were cast iron with pretty little details in the corners.
There were holes in the plaster, but I just ignored them.  It wasn’t worth fixing when I was going to gut the place and put up drywall eventually.  It just made it easier to get at the plumbing.
I started just living in the kitchen and ignoring the rest of the house.  I had disconnected the rest of the electrical and plumbing and was using that as a home base while I renovated outwards from there.
There is nothing quite as creepy as sleeping in a sleeping bag on what were probably asbestos tiles in an old house that makes the weird noises that old houses make.  I kept reminding myself that they only seemed louder than normal because the place was empty and there was nothing to muffle the sound.  The shrieking had to be the upstairs window that didn’t quite shut properly.
I had the feeling that something was watching me and prayed to god it wasn’t rats.
I was in this for the long haul.  Get up, shower at the gym, go to work, come home, renovate until it gets dark, shower at the gym, camp out in the kitchen.  Not exciting, but satisfying.  Let’s face it, this was the only way I was ever going to be able to afford a house.
When the work from home order came, I had to actually get a phone line installed so I could have internet access.  Me, my laptop and a kitchen table I rescued from the curbside a while back.
The creepy feeling was worse.  I told myself it had to be the isolation kicking in.  I skyped with my best friends at night to make up for it.  The power was still a bit dodgy and kept going out, but that’s what laptop batteries and cell phones are for, right?
I was sure the cough was from the dust.
The guy delivering groceries left them on the sidewalk instead of the porch.  It was fine.  I understood completely.  I hadn’t done much work on the outside of the building at all. 
I realized I was sneezing a bit when I started having to use toilet paper as kleenex.
I was fine.  I was young and healthy.  I didn’t have any sick days at work so I was determined to just push through.
I tried to get more rest.
I dreamed about something laying a cool hand on my forehead.
The grocery store was out of thermometers.
I mean, did it really matter if I had a fever?  I wasn’t leaving the house to share with anyone.
My cough got worse overnight.  I was vaguely aware of someone lifting me up and holding a cup of cool water to my lips.  I was so fucking thirsty. 
“You shouldn’t be here,” I mumbled.  “I don’t want you to get sick.”
“I won’t,” a rumbling voice assured me.
I didn’t remember making soup, but I jolted into awareness sitting at the table with a steaming bowl in front of me.  Chicken noodle out of a can.  It’s not that hard to make.  I’m sure I could add water and heat in my sleep.  Apparently, I just did.
I was so cold that night.  I don’t know where the extra blankets came from, but they were there in the morning.
I don’t know how I ordered a bed while I was sick, but it was there and on my credit card.  So was the mattress and sheets.  It must have been the fever talking when I ordered them.  I would not have picked out anything that old fashioned looking.
How did I get all this stuff up to the second floor bedroom?  I’m sure I don’t remember stripping the paint off the closet doors.   I must be losing my mind.  I slept, I ate, I stopped logging in at work.  I just needed to concentrate on getting better.
By the time I was able to stay awake for more than an hour at a time, the city was shut down.  I was confined to my house whether I liked it or not.  I was suddenly glad my fever addled brain had ordered a bed while I still could.  
The watched feeling was worse.  I ordered some rat traps with my groceries.  I didn’t catch anything.  They didn’t take the bait.  I swear I heard snickering when I checked them in the morning.  That was a new sound for the boiler to make.
“I am losing my mind,” I repeated to myself.  Then blushed when I realized I had said it aloud.  “And yes, I also talk to myself,” I added for good measure.  “At least it is some sound,” I muttered.  “I should turn on some music or something.”
Work was officially shut down but I still had the dumpster outback.  I spend my awake time cleaning out the other rooms.  The advantage of living in a construction zore was all the dust masks.  When I needed to actually go out, that might help.  In the meantime, I carefully sorted through the things the previous owners had left behind.  Some of it was just trash, but there were some old photographs, lost buttons, even a single antique earring.
“No chance of finding a pair, I bet.  Still this could be made over into a necklace or something.”  Shit.  I was talking to myself again, wasn’t I?
I still got tired easily.  I dreamed about my mom stroking my hair as I slept.
The footprints I couldn’t explain away.
I had taken down a section of wall and spent the day carrying out the chunks of plaster before microwaving a pizza pop and tucking in early.  In the morning there were footprints in the dust.  They weren’t mine.  They were huge and it was hard to believe they were human.  Weird long toes, with the claw tips a little in front were not what I was expecting.
That was the first time I had wanted to leave the house.
I grabbed my stuff and made it to the front yard before I was spotted by a passing patrol car and ordered back inside.  I had no idea how to explain that I thought there was some sort of monster living in my house.  I was shaking as I went back inside.
“Hello?”  I called from the doorway, ready to run.  I had no idea where I could even run to.  “Um…  Is anyone there?”  I don’t know what I was expecting.  “Hi?  Um ….  I bought the house, I didn’t know there was any … thing living here.  I have been trying to fix it up.”
“I know.”
Fuck.  The scratchy, rasping bass voice was not what I was expecting.  “I … uh…  I can go back to camping in the yard,” I suggested.
“No.”
I waited to hear if he (?) was going to say anything else.
Apparently not.
“Uh … no I can’t stay here?  Or no, you don’t even want me camping in the backyard?”
“If I didn’t want you here, I would have had many opportunities to get rid of you.”
Shit.  That wasn’t ominous or threatening at all.
With a low chuckle the voice asked, “Did you mean to say that out loud?”
I froze and tried to remember what I had said.  Oh.  “No, that was an accident.  I’m not used to having anyone around to hear me.”
“I always hear you.”
I closed the door and went out to sit in the garden for a moment to think about that.  I ended up pacing, swearing and wishing for a cigarette.  I hadn’t smoked in years.    The sun started to go down and the bugs came out.  I was being eaten alive outside.  Going inside was scary but he was right.  He had lots of time to …
I flung open the door.  “Did you order furniture on my credit card?”  I demanded.
The laughter that rang out was a whole other level of creepy.  I shivered and thought about going back outside.  The door pulled itself closed behind me.  I spun to look at it and didn’t see anything.  I could hear something breathing. I turned again.  Nothing.
“If we are both going to live here, can we at least agree on some ground rules?”
“Like what?” was almost purred in my ear.  Looking around wildly, I still couldn’t see anything.
I was shaking now.  “Is there a way for you to be less scary so I don’t have a heart attack?” I squeaked.
There was nothing but silence.  Still my sense of the presence suggested it was gone.
I didn’t sleep that night.  I would just start to nod off then jerk myself awake and look wildly around the room.  I never saw anything.
Six am, my alarm went off and I could smell coffee.
All the dust had been swept up.
“Hello?” I whispered.
Nothing.  I had coffee and cereal and tried not to think about my surprise roommate.  I was so tired, I passed out at my computer in the kitchen at some point that morning, only to wake in bed upstairs in the afternoon.  “I don’t want you to touch me while I’m sleeping,” I mumbled, painfully aware that there was dick all I could do to stop it.
“Alright,” the voice said, coming from somewhere in the direction of the closet.  “But don’t fall asleep at the table then.”
I breathed a faint sigh of relief.  I wasn’t expecting the next part.
“You need to eat something now.  You are still recovering.”
There was a can of soup heating on the stove.  My breakfast dishes were gone.  I found them clean and dry in the cupboard.  “Thank you,” I whispered.  He didn’t reply.  As I ate lunch, I was psyching myself into going upstairs to look in the closet.  The door had been painted shut when I got the house, but at some point had been stripped down to the bare wood.
I hadn’t worked up the nerve by the time I was done eating.  Or washing and drying the dishes.  I found myself at the bottom of the stairs staring up at the second floor.  Did I really want to see what was in that closet?
No.
But it would be better to look during the light of day.
Eventually, I made it up there.  I put my hand on the knob and tried to turn it.  It didn’t budge.
“You want rules?” the voice growled behind me.  I spun, there was nothing there.  “Do not open that door.  Do not come into my space.”
I went from trembling from nerves to bolting down the stairs in an instant.  I nearly tripped, but felt something - him? - catch me and set me on my feet.
“Careful,” he purred.
I spent the rest of the day in the garden again.  I was still out there when the sun went down and the back light turned on.  Then the kitchen light and for a moment I could see something outlined against the antique curtains I hadn’t replaced in the kitchen.  I tried to remind myself that he wasn’t necessarily that big.  He might just be closer to the light and casting a bigger shadow.
I didn’t believe it, but I tried.
I crept back into the house like a scared child who wasn’t sure how angry their parents were going to be after they had done something wrong.  I turned on all the lights on the main floor and stayed in the kitchen away from the stairs.
“Planning on staying up all night?”
I jumped.  “How are you always behind me?”
“I live in the shadows.  Go to bed.”
“Um…  I was thinking, that should be your room, really.  Your closet.  You picked out the bed.  I can just camp down -”
“No.  Go to bed.”
“Do you really think I’m going to be able to sleep in a room with a closet that must not be opened?  I have read Blue Beard, you know.”
“So have I.  The wife gets the house and lives happily ever after.”
“The last wife does,” I pointed out.  “The first dozen or so didn’t.”
He chuckled at that.  “We made a deal, remember?”
“Are you teasing me?  What deal?”
“I don’t touch you in your sleep.  You don’t sleep in the kitchen anymore.”
“How big are you?”
The lights flickered and went off.
“Do you want to see me?”  he purred, so close that I could feel his breath on my neck.
“Not in the dark,” I squeaked.
“Go to bed.”  
The light snapped back on, leaving me blinking.
I spent the night sitting on the bed with my back pressed against the headboard trying to see the whole room at one.  Eventually, I fell asleep.
My alarm did not go off at six.  It had been turned off.  The coffee was ready but not turned on when I went down stairs.  The air smelled faintly of solder.  There was a post-it stuck to the coffee maker.  Fine copperplate handwriting told me:
I have replaced the plumbing
I stared at it dumbly.  I had replaced the plumbing to the kitchen sink and the downstairs powder room and had been washing out of the sink since I had been forced to stay home.  The only other plumbing was down to the washing machine in the cellar and the upstairs bathroom.  I pushed the button on the coffee maker and slowly crept upstairs.
Sure enough the stack of copper pipe waiting in the other bedroom was gone. 
Well, not gone.  I could see it installed through the holes in the walls.  I turned on the tap to the sink and sure enough, I had water.  I now had an upstairs, working bathroom with a clawfoot tub.
And no walls.
“I don’t like the idea of you watching me bathe,” I called out.  Then I felt like an idiot because if whatever it was had voyeur tendencies, it could have been watching me for months.  I tried all the taps and the toilet.  Everything worked.
“Thank you,” I mumbled, unsure if I was talking to myself.
“You’re welcome.”  It was the least creepy, most normal thing I had heard from him.
----
When I got back downstairs, there still wasn’t coffee but there was a new note:
Humans who do not sleep start to hallucinate
I crumbled it up, threw it across the room and jabbed the on switch on the coffee maker.  Nothing happened.  I growled as I plugged it in.  The power went out.
“Oh come on!  Withholding coffee is cruel and unusual punishment!”
“Sleep.”  It sounded like the whole house had murmured that last bit.
I wish I could say I handled it gracefully, but I didn’t.  I stomped back up to the bedroom like a petulant child.
I woke to bright sunlight streaming in through the window.  The house was quiet and it felt empty for the first time in days.  I had a bath and washed my hair and I felt better than I had in days too.  Clean and dry and dressed, I bounced into the kitchen to try and turn on the coffee again only to see my laptop snap shut.
It was with a lot of trepidation that I opened it.  I was expecting a ridiculous online purchase which is why I stared dumbly at the screen unable to process what I was seeing.
It was a CGI woman with her hands tied to something over her head being railed by a monster who was fingering her clit with one hand and fondling her breasts with the other while her belly distended in rhythm with his thrusts.
“Ugh!  Dude!  You can NOT watch porn on my laptop!” I shrieked as I frantically tried to close the window.
“Would you rather I watch you?” he asked calmly from somewhere to the left of me.
I breathed out a shaky breath.  “OK.  Let’s talk about private browser windows and how not to get a computer virus.”
When I got to the end of my tentative explanation, I asked, “Do you need … some alone time?”
There was another house shaking howling laugh.
“Is that a yes or a no?”
“You need to eat.”
That brought up a whole other issue.  “Do you?  Eat I mean.  Do you eat?  What do you eat?”
“Don’t worry about me.  I am not going to eat you.  Unless you ask nicely.”
I blushed even further but got out a pan and a skillet meal from the fridge.
I spend the rest of the afternoon weeding the garden.  I came in when it got dark, heated up my leftovers from lunch and tried to figure out what to do with myself.  The nap had meant that I wasn’t tired for the first time in days.
I wondered what he would do if I watched a movie.  I hunted through the cupboards and found a bag of microwave popcorn from before the virus started.  Right! I thought.  Bowl of popcorn, a movie, skype with a few friends.  Pretend none of this was happening.
I wasn’t surprised when the lights went out.  That was just a thing now.  My computer was still illuminating a bubble around me and B99 was still hilarious.
I wasn’t expecting the bed to dip next to me.  That once again raised the question of how to deal with him around others.  I hit the mute button.  “What are you doing?” I asked icily.
“Not touching you.  What are you eating?”
“Human food.”
“Hmmm.”
I unmuted my computer to answer Penny’s question about how stir crazy I was going.
“12/10 on the looney toons scale,” I offered.
She just laughed.
All of the popcorn was gone.
“Ah hell.”
“What’s wrong?” Penny asked.
“All my popcorn is gone,” I grumbled.  I didn’t add that I had more than half a bowl left a moment ago.  Not eating me, I reminded myself.
“That sucks.  Need to pause and get more?”
“I don’t have anymore.”
She just laughed, “But do you still have toilet paper and hand sanitizer?”
I chuckled, “Toilet paper, at least.”
“I should go.  It’s getting late,” she said with a yawn.
“Yeah.  Good night.”  After Penny signed off, I just let Netflix autoplay the next episode.
“Do you need to sleep?” The whisper seemed to come from the direction of the closet but the bed was still dipped under his weight on my other side.
My heart leapt to my throat.  “How many of you are there?”
“Just me,” he purred too close to my ear.  I flung myself away from him and toppled out of bed.  Two hands caught me.
Two other hands caught my laptop.
I stared as it was placed back on the bed a little way in front of me.  The hands on my arms were cool and smooth.  “What are you?”
“I am me.  I have not asked your name.  You will not ask mine.”
“My name is on the mail.  And my credit card.  You know my name,”  I pointed out keeping my eyes locked on the screen, fighting the urge to look around.
“Nonetheless.”
This wasn’t going to work, but I had to try.  “I would like to be alone now.”
The bed shifted as the weight was removed from the side.  The black shadows that could be fingers moved from my computer.  The voice said, “Good night” from the direction of the closet.  
I sat frozen.  “In the morning, I’m moving the bed to another room.”
“Why?”
“Because the closet is yours and it’s scary being here with you,” I admitted.
“I have never done anything to harm you.”
“You scare the shit out of me multiple times a day.”
There was a long pause before he replied, “And yet you haven’t left.”
“The city is on lock down.  I can’t leave.”
“Hmm.”  
I jumped as my laptop snapped shut.  I fumbled in the dark trying to find it on my bed, “What are you doing?” I demanded.
“Taking this downstairs.  I will not bother you tonight.”
“What-” I started to say, then snapped my mouth shut as the realization that this may be his ‘alone time’.
This time the “Good night,” came from the bedroom door.
In the morning the only thing in my browsing history was netflix.  This was less comforting since I had shown him how to clear the cache.  I told myself at least the keyboard wasn’t sticky.
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yellowocaballero · 3 years
Text
Jon & Sasha Arson fic
Little fragment of an idea that never went anywhere. No reason for it. Just thought it would be funny. I was right. Rest under the cut. 
Most people who were unlucky enough to meet Jonathan Sims assumed he had no friends.
This was true, up to a point two weeks after Jon became a researcher at the Magnus Institute: afterwards Jon had no friends, except for Sasha James.
Sasha James was attributable to arson.
Most people who were unlucky enough to meet Jonathan Sims assumed he had no friends. 
This was true, up to a point two weeks after Jon became a researcher at the Magnus Institute: afterwards Jon had no friends, except for Sasha James. 
*******
Sasha James was attributable to arson.
Arson was attributable to a bookshelf of Leitners, humming strange songs and spewing toxic energy into the air in rhythmic hissing motions. The Leitners were attributable to Artifact Storage, a testament to mankind’s hubris and a modern-day tower of Babel where a group of underpaid academics found themselves stress testing kevlar and fire suppression systems each day. Artifact Storage was attributable to the Magnus Institute, where Jon had managed to land a job after three months of desolate post-graduate unemployment. And the Magnus Institute was attributable to - well, probably Jonah Magnus, but Jon found that it was likely a bit of a reach to blame a long dead Regency gentleman for all of his problems. 
Jon needed this job. London was expensive and so were funerals, and he couldn’t keep living on life insurance forever. It was even a good job, with decent pay and the exact kind of limp, half-hearted academia that the private sector promised disillusioned English mastery holders. His coworkers were nice - well, Tim was nice, everybody else seemed to hate him for the same reason that everybody else hated him, likely intimidated by how smart he was - and the commute was short. He couldn’t afford to lose this job. Spiritually, metaphysically, and literally. 
Which was why he should stop staring at this piece of paper. The follow-up research to a statement given by some idiot unlucky enough to cross paths with what was certainly a Leitner. 
‘ORIGINATION OF PHENOMENA ISOLATED’, the page read out professionally, yet chipperly, like a young woman in a new office job. ‘ITEM QUARANTINED WITHIN ARTIFACT STORAGE (46B.1)’. 
Hm. 
Jon pushed down on the floor, rolling himself a meter to the left.
“Say, er, Mr. Stoker.”
Tim “I’m only four years older than you, please call me Tim” Stoker, who had been thumping away on his cheap plastic keyboard either writing up a report or messaging someone on one of those infernal casual sex websites, pulled down his headphones and blinked at Jon owlishly, before splitting his face into a grin. Jon could practically hear the David Attenborough-style narration within his mind: ‘After long weeks leaving out food for the wild Simothan, the feral yet gentle animal approaches the researcher of his own volition. A win for scientists everywhere.’
“Yes, Jon?” Tim asked, in an uncanny yet hopefully unintentional RP drawl. 
“What’s Artifact Storage?”
“God, I wish I was you,” Tim said feelingly. But he nodded sagely anyway, milking his ‘wise senpai’ thing for all it was worth. Jon could practically feel Tim calling himself a senpai. It was kind of embarrassing. “You know the shady room locked deep within the basement that exudes a terrible aura of malice and hatred towards you specifically?”
“The gender neutral bathroom?” Jon asked, confused. 
“No, the one that always smells somewhat of blood. You hear screams sometimes?”
“The Archives!”
“Yes, but no! It’s Artifact Storage. If the researchers dig up any creepy shit from a statement, or if a statement giver brings in something that melts the metal detector, then we dump it in Artifact Storage and let those miserable fucks take care of it.”
“Is it more of a containment facility, or would you say that they conduct experiments?”
But Tim just shrugged. “My source down there tells me that they do some experiments to justify their budget, but it’s mostly unscientific. Poke this and I’ll give you twenty quid, that kind of thing. They say that if you really want a sick day, all you have to do is touch a mysterious rock and whisper your mother’s name -”
“Fantastic, thank you for your help, must go back to filling now,” Jon said quickly, skittering back to his own desk. He tried to distract himself from the terrifying thought of the basement full of supernatural nuclear bombs underneath his feet by trying to remember his mother’s name, but he was stuck on if it was Marjorie or Margaret. Mary Anne?
Maybe Tim’s personal Meerkat Manor series of Jon’s life had paid off - Sims Shack? - more than Jon would like, because Tim squinted at Jon in an unsettlingly familiar way. As if he knew exactly what Jon was thinking about the literature of mass destruction, and he really wanted Jon to be thinking literally anything else. 
“I wouldn’t go down there if I were you, Jon,” Tim warned, sounding a little like a horror movie trailer. “Bushy tailed college grads who go down there don’t come out the same as they went in.”
“I’ll take that under advisement, Mr. Stoker.”
“For the love of christ call me Tim!”
It really was a pity - Jon had actually liked this job. 
*******
It was remarkably easy to commit arson in central London.
Jon had done it once or twice. Three times, actually, although when you think about it arson was a criminal charge and only truly existed so long as someone was charged with it, so technically you could say that Jon had done arson zero times. In his defense, you try making it through Oxford without doing anything embarrassing. 90% of your time was in class or schoolwork and 10% of it was being hazed. At least Jon hadn’t fucked any pigs. 
Jon hit up the usual stores, and stashed the usual implements in his rucksack. It was a careful week after his conversation with Tim, as he couldn’t afford for the older man to connect the dots. He made a show of going home at a timely five pm, startling everybody around him, and paced in a tight circle around his flat until he gave up and watched mindless telly until the clock struck midnight. 
He took a cab to the park a few blocks down from the Institute, and walked the rest of the way. It was a cool, dim night in London, and the foot-traffic had slowed down to a steady trickle of young people in tight clothing. Jon pulled down his baseball cap on his head, fished a key out from his pocket given to him by a helpful and friendly janitor, and took a back entrance into the Institute. 
Said helpful and friendly janitor, whose allegiance had been won because Jon was a “nice young lad” and “I always wanted to burn down the place myself, I’m happy to see the next generation give it a go” had helpfully told Jon that there were no security cameras inside the Institute. A grievous oversight, but good luck for Jon tonight. He took the stairs down to the basement, zipping his jacket up tight against the inescapable chill, and pushed his hat further down his head as he navigated his way towards Artifact Storage.
He unlocked the door with the janitor’s key, hands shaking, and slipped inside into the dusky and unlit room. 
It was pitch-black, and Jon quickly fished a torch out of his backpack. He flipped it on, letting it slowly scan the room. It was the lobby into Artifact Storage, familiar from his stake-out missions: you walked in, met the bored woman behind the desk, checked in or checked out what you wanted, and if you needed to go inside she would press the button that unlocked the heavy climate-controlled door and let you into the hallway inside. The only other door in the lobby was to the office of the Director of Artifact Storage, a terrifying short and squat woman with silver hair pulled into a bun. 
Jon leaned over the counter and jammed the button, holding his breath until he heard the door click open. He quickly twisted the handle, swung the heavy door out, and slipped inside, taking care to grab one of the chairs in the lobby and prop it open. Quick escapes were necessary. 
He was in. 
The torch lit up a map taped up to the wall, and Jon squinted at it. Section A, Section B, Section C...he remembered the classification from the document he read a week ago, and slowly walked down the hallway until he found the heavy climate controlled door marked ‘SECTION B’. He carefully wrenched it open, taking care to grab a rolling cart and using it to prop the door open, before stepping inside. He fished the canister of gasoline and the lighter out of his backpack, giving the gasoline a good shake. 
It was a library. Small, and instead of shelves there were long metal racks with filing boxes stretching long into the darkness, but Jon knew a library when he saw one. Each box had a clipboard attached to it, and most boxes had very large and terrifying stickers on them painted sickly yellow or dangerous red. 
The only thing in the library that wasn’t a filing rack was a battered and beat couch. And the only person in the room besides Jon was a woman, blinking up at Jon blearily from where she had been passed out on the couch. 
“Er,” Jon said. 
The woman sat up, squinting at Jon’s torchlight until he guiltily aimed it just to her left. She had a wild mane of curly brown hair, and was wearing a pencil skirt and ruffled burgundy blouse. A blazer was folded at one end of the couch, clearly being used as a pillow, and she looked strongly as if Jon had just woken her up from a very nice nap. 
“Whuh,” the sleepy woman said. 
“My mistake,” Jon said, “this isn’t the loo. Go back to bed, this is - er, a very bad dream, goodnight.”
“Whutuhiseet,” the woman slurred. 
“It’s - very late, go back to bed.”
“Alright,” the woman said, falling back on the couch. After a second, her snores echoed through the room again. 
Jon very slowly crept backwards. Actually, on second thought, his mission could wait for tomorrow. Bit of a cock block, this, but that was alright - 
“Hey! Who are you!”
Jon, hand on the handle of the door, squeaked and turned around. 
The woman was back up again, and this time she seemed actually awake. She was frowning mightily at Jon, and was already sliding off the couch in stocking feet to glare at him. Jon was aware that he did not look like an innocent person in these events. The gasoline did not help.
The woman’s eyes trailed to the gasoline, then widened. Jon ineffectually tried to hide it behind his back. 
“You’re trying to burn down Artifact Storage!” the woman accused, somewhat fairly.
“Not all of Artifact Storage,” Jon said guiltily, “just the Leitners.”
The woman stared at him further, as if she was a special guest on Tim’s Sims Shack nature documentary. 
“Why,” the woman said slowly, “would you want to do that?”
Despite himself, Jon found himself puffing up in indignation. “They’re evil, nasty little books that shouldn’t exist. Forget studying and - and containing them, we should be making sure no more of them ever disgrace the world again. We should be burning every one we see. They’re pure evil given literary form, they are a disgrace to books and libraries, and if I ever met Leitner myself I would beat him to death with a rusty pipe for subjecting me to his fucked up books.”
The woman stared at him. 
Finally, she said, “I’m Sasha James. Want some help?”
“I - er, wouldn’t that get you in trouble, Ms. James?” 
“I like this job but I hate Leitner and his fucked up books more,” Sasha said gravely. 
Jon, having found a kindred spirit, held out the lighter. 
Sasha James took it, a wide grin splitting her face. 
*********
Jon didn’t remember much else of that night. 
There was definitely arson involved - or, seeing as they hadn’t gotten caught, just some good old-fashioned fire starting. He had the sense that they had both been so giddy with adrenaline that they had immediately joined the raging uni students in the late night bars, toasting their success in toasting. There had probably been quite a bit of alcohol.
When he woke up the next morning, it was in his narrow and uncomfortable bed, face to face with an unfamiliar snoring woman. For a second, two, Jon was briefly convinced that he had done something so drastically out of character it meant that a fucked up book had body swapped him with Tim. Bodyswapping was more likely than him having casual sex. 
Then Jon remembered the arson, and he exhaled in relief as his life made sense again. 
“Ms. James,” Jon whispered, poking her in the arm. She snuffled and muttered something. Jon poked her harder. “Ms. James, we have work.”
Sasha turned around, turning her back to him and pulling up the blankets. “Go back to bed, Tim.”
Ti - oh god. Jon felt like he was in a CW drama. This was why he didn’t interact with people, far too much likelihood that he would accidentally end up interacting with somebody who had sex.
“Ms. James,” Jon hissed, extremely embarrassed, “you have to get up!”
“Mergh mergh fuck off,” Sasha James said. 
Jon, like a true gentleman and hero, got up and made them both strong tea. He squinted at Sasha, recalling everything he knew about her (slept a lot, liked arson, hated Jurgen Leitner) before digging out some instant coffee and making some of that too. Finally, after shoving a hot cup of sludgey black liquid at the woman, she grabbed the cup and chugged it until she was able to sit up and open her eyes. 
She blinked at Jon, who was already picking his hair in an attempt to get ready for work. He could clearly see the thoughts ‘you aren’t Tim’ run through her brain. Hah! He could be the narrator of the nature documentary for once!
“Uh,” Sasha James said, “I’m sorry, did we…?”
“Commit arson? Yes.” Jon paused a beat. “But as I don’t believe we were caught, call it an indoor campfire.”
Sasha James drank more of her coffee. Jon grabbed his clothing and disappeared into the loo to get changed. 
When he re-entered his bedroom, she snapped her fingers at him. “Right! We got pissed after! Good times, mate!”
“I have to assume,” Jon said politely. He was doing his very best to be very polite, because Jon knew he was rude and didn’t want his new coworkers to know that until his probation period was over. Maybe he should have waited until after his probation period for the arson? Would it look bad on his annual review? “Do you need to borrow some clothing? I think we’re about the same size.” Oh, no, was that rude to say to a woman?
Sasha James squinted at him. “It’s like you’re not hungover at all. How old are you?”
“Twenty five?” Be polite, Jon! “And you’re...thirty seven?”
“I’m thirty one, asshole!”
Oh no. Women hated it when you called them old. “You don’t look a day over twenty seven!” Jon cried, panicked. 
“Have you met a woman?”
“I had a grandmother?”
“I’m going back to bed,” Sasha James said. 
Unfortunately, Jon knew that it would be very suspicious if they both skipped, so he forced Sasha into one of his suits that...looked much nicer on her than him, but whatever, and hustled them both to work. Now that the adrenaline had worn away and the sense of purpose in his holy mission had burned up with the cleansing flames, Jon found himself biting his nails in agony in the Underground. 
They had to know. Someone must have caught them. Maybe there were secret CCTVs in the Institute. Maybe Sasha was going to rat him out - but she had helped, so wouldn’t she just be ratting out herself? Was she a double agent? Mr. Bouchard was never going to forgive him, no matter how nice he was and how much he seemed to like Jon to the point where he rather wished someone had given him the ‘Stranger Danger’ speech as a child so he would know what to do. Jon was going to go to jail, or worse - get fired. 
Sasha, cooly sipping her coffee and looking somewhat fly in sunglasses and his suit, did not seem disturbed by any of this. Jon’s rapidly spiralling panic attack must have been obvious, because she casually flicked a finger on his forehead. Jon yelped with pain. 
“Take it easy, mate. If they catch us, I’ll just say that the books made us do it.”
Jon scowled at her, rubbing his smarting forehead. “The books?”
“Sure.” She waved her fingers spookily as the Underground rattled forward into the heart of London. “Brainwashed us to do their evil bidding of -”
“Destroying them?”
“There’s a lot of arson Leitners,” Sasha James said sagely. “Trust me, this is just a normal day in Artifact Storage.” She clapped him reassuringly on the shoulder, and Jon fought a blush. “Don’t worry. We performed a public service, kiddo. St. Peter’s gonna give us a medal when we get to the pearly gates.”
“I’m an adult,” Jon said, scandalized. He had gray hair!
“Well, I guess, but I don’t know your name, so…”
 Jon squinted at her. She squinted at him back. 
“You’re thinking that if you don’t give me your name I can’t rat you out to the feds,” Sasha said flatly. 
Jon pursed his lips. 
Finally, he settled on, “You don’t rat me out to the feds and I won’t tell them that you’re in an illicit relationship with Mr. Stoker.”
“Mr. - how did - what!”
“It’s Jonathan Sims,” Jon said gruffly, crossing his arms. He was slightly hungover and his nerve were jittery and he had set fire to his workplace the previous night, but somehow Jon thought that his heart was jackrabbiting in his chest for a different reason. Somehow Jon felt as if his heart couldn’t stop thumping behind his sternum because Sasha James was staring at him, head cocked, as if he was a mystery she was interested in finding out. “That’s my name.”
Sasha James stared at him, as if surprised, before her face broke into a wide and happy smile. Jon hunched his shoulders up, embarrassed, faintly aware he was blushing. “It’s nice to meet you, Jonathan!” Then she grabbed him by the collar, shaking him slightly. “And there is nothing illicit about me and Tim, and there is nothing between me and Tim at all, we are just friends, so get that out of your little head -”
The train rattled on towards the Magnus Institute, and towards the slight smell of smoke in the air. 
*******
Sasha: are you coming 2 the pub w/us 2nite?
Sasha: come onnn you should comeee don’t feel awkwardddd 
Sasha: I know you hate a) group settings b) drunk people c) Tim in a group d) drunk Tim and e) Tim drunk in a group but that’s no reason not to come!
Sasha: Tim is physiologically incapable of not adopting men 3-5 years younger than him it’s in his blood you can’t escape his affection
Sasha: or at least I find it funny so I’m not letting you
Sasha: Jonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn
Jon: Yes I’ll come, I need to talk to both of you.
Sasha: WAHOO
Sasha: wait
Sasha: really?
Sasha: did you commit ars*on again
Sasha: wait if you did don’t tell me the courts can request text transcripts
Jon: No, I just need your advice on an urgent matter.
Sasha: do you need to be drunk to do it
Jon: ...maybe.
Jon: ....Mr. Bouchard offered me the Head Archivist Job?
Jon: Which is stupid because I’ve worked here for barely four years and you’ve worked here for about ten years I think. And you’ve published five papers in parapsychological research. I know I helped you figure out that this place is a weird trauma mill but it was really mostly you. It’s completely ridiculous to promote me and I’m afraid it’s favoritism. For potentially heinous ends? This feels awful because it’s such an honor but I would never stop feeling stressed and guilty because I know so many more people (like you) are so much more qualified. Or qualified at all.
Sasha: holy shit
Sasha: ...do you remember the speech I gave you on stranger danger?
Jon: I’m afraid to mention this to Tim because he might beat up Mr. Bouchard for both my honor and yours.
Sasha: Jesus at this point I don’t even want a fucking job anymore. What bullshit. I’m never going to get promoted and I just need to accept that. This isn’t your fault, Jon, seriously, thank you for telling me. 
Sasha: we can talk about this at the pub
Sasha: in private. Off the radar. 
Jon: Looking forward to it :)
Jon: did I use the emoticon right?
Sasha: Yes, Jon, you did everything right. 
181 notes · View notes
dreamteamfanblog · 3 years
Text
Y'know, I don't actually have a well defined stance on the "Should We All Be Treating Dream Better In Prison" debate, partially because I haven't been watching the Smp regularly for a while and am most likely not up to date with everything and from what i've heard/seen I am kinda on the fence, so like, i'm not arguing for either the stance that Dream should be treated better in prison than he is or for the stance that nobody's obligated to be nice to him after the moral event horizon's he's crossed. Like. I am not making a stance on which is correct.
But I will say the debate in Dream's favour makes me a bit uneasy solely for the fact that it really seems like the long standing Dream Apologism (or at least tolerance) tendency back in full force. That's not me saying "We can't criticize the way the prison is set up rn", I myself don't know how I feel about the conditions in the prison. It's not the suggestion that conditions should be better in of itself that puts me on edge. It's the sheer unadulterated passion and fury and intolerance towards characters who aren't Dream next to this very lackluster mumbly noncommittal "hahh yeah that was really bad and not good :(" certain parts of the fandom extend when it comes to what Dream's done.
I see lots of people incredibly passionate about how Dream's mental health is bad now and he's not getting enough nutrition and he's being mistreated, and i'm not going to go on record and say I even disagree necessarily but I will ask where that energy is from these exact same people while Dream's continuing to regularly commit atrocities?
A lot of the "Dream Deserves Better Treatment In Prison" crowd will vaguely acknowledge that Dream is Bad and has done Bad things, but they never match the passion they extend in Dream's favour to criticize him with the same fierceness when it comes to things like his consistent and continued abusive behaviour towards poor Ranboo, the fact that he beat a child to death while locked in the prison together then laughed about it (then smugly taunted about how he could do it again and again and the people on the server were still his puppets), murdering Ghostbur/reviving Wilbur with no remorse or hesitance, etc.
I mean sure all but the most diehard out of touch Dream Apologists will very briefly acknowledge these things with a neutral-negative tone but it's literally so blatantly lackluster besides the same people's impassioned fury over how Dream's treated in prison.
And this isn't a new thing!
People are quick to downplay Dream's corruption in the early days of the Smp before the revolution, people are quick to minimize Dream's role in everything Schlatt did, people were a bit too hasty to insist back when the exile conflict first happened that he very possibly really was just upset with Tommy for griefing and probably wasn't even planning to hurt L'manburg or use Tubbo (which...we know is false now and honestly knew was false then too lets be real), hell, there was this whole cognitive dissonance mental gymnastics thing going on throughout season two where people tried to juggle both the fact that Dream's actively psychologically torturing a child all season and the idea that he's not really a tyrant per say and we don't necessarily need to shove him out of power cause has he really done that much to deser-
you get the idea
It's not apologism per say. When pushed people will acknowledge that Dream's a bad person or that specific things that are pretty impossible to ignore were really awful of him.....then cha cha slide right into "But is it REALLY okay to do/say/feel ____ regarding him???".
It's not apologism. But it is tolerance. And the expectation that his victims be tolerant as well.
During the early days of the Smp, Dream unfairly asserted an authority over people who did not want him to govern them. He dished out punishments, made up rules, dictated the lives of others, involved himself in conflicts that were not his business, etc, and when he was told to leave just a few of these people alone in just a tiny little area of land because his governing was unwanted? He asserted himself supreme authority, named his friend king, and then repeatedly killed and destroyed the land of like four people who literally just asked him to leave them alone and stop bossing them around for no reason. He was oppressive, he killed, he stole, he destroyed everything around him with no mercy because someone asked him to stop bothering them and not enter a plot of land that literally took up like a hill in a plains biome and nothing else at the time. There are one person houses on the server bigger than the original L'manburg land plot. Dream was a tyrant who took five canon lives in one day because he was so entitled he couldn't fucking handle the hit his overblown ego took over such a reasonable request. However many people, even people who will vaguely acknowledge that Dream wasn't a good leader back then, will actively ignore or even openly flippantly downplay his atrocious behaviour while also getting weirdly fixated on, like, the 'drug' van thing. Wilbur is a very corrupt person and he has been since before the Pogtopia arc, I will die on that hill, but within the context of the Independence War....L'manburg was entirely in the right? And didn't really do anything?? Like first off I really don't care how often they do the whole bit of calling them drugs, they're potions, the implications are not the same. Secondly, they literally just scammed Tubbo, and not even out of much all things considered, which are like, standard Dream Smp shenanigans, come on now, and like, when it was blown up and made into this big thing where now Tommy and Wilbur are going to jail.....everyone was kinda just like "wait what the fuck". Like. Eret and Tubbo both literally switched sides to side with Wilbur and Tommy midway through the arrests cause like...what the fuck. Like, as Wilbur himself pointed out, they didn't even do anything illegal, Sapnap just decided on the spot that it was and he's taking them into custody. Tubbo was literally the one person scammed and he was a L'manburg citizen from its very conception. The fact that people have always been so ready to minimize Dream's corrupt bs at the time while fixating on bUt ThE dRuG vAn is really weird. And while most people don't take it so far as to claim that independence was a bad thing to ask for full stop, they're also way too fuckin' keen on making L'manburg's side look a lot less innocent than it was and making Dream and his soldiers look a lot less corrupt, unreasonable, and power hungry than they clearly were at the time, instead implying that L'manburg somehow took things too far or had disingenuous origins despite not actually doing anything illegal or super immoral anyway, they were literally just asking Dream to back off from their absolutely tiny little patch of land and stop telling them what to do, and Dream was the one who declared war outright and then started murdering/stealing/pillaging/burning-and-exploding shit all over the place. A lot of people, even as they acknowledge he's Bad, expect an unreasonable amount of tolerance for Dream while being rather overly critical and judgmental of the other side of the conflict in question to an unfair degree. They aren't defending Dream per say, they're just fixating heavily on the other party's perceived wrongdoings while Dream is doing horrific atrocious things and just kinda gets vaguely handwaved at. Sometimes this dips directly into the "Dream was bad obviously, but was starting a revolution and war against him really necessary when it caused so much bloodshed :( ?" argument as well.
This carried on very neatly into the Manburg-Pogtopia arc, Dream's tyrannical oppressive destructive violent acts are acknowledged by a little "Dream's bad and all" and then is followed up by heavy criticism of the other side for doing something completely reasonable as the "Well, Schlatt was TECHNICALLY legally elected!" argument takes hold and it's implied that Pogtopia maybe shouldn't have staged a coup, I mean, that wasn't legal, y'know? Are they Just As Bad actually? Or if not just as bad at least also bad and therefore worthy of criticism? What right did Every Single Member Of L'manburg have to overthrow a democratically elected leader even if he did wrongly imprison them, exile his political opponents, tear down historical monuments, raise taxes unreasonably, and execute a child in front of a crowd? What about the Law? Aren't Pogtopia technically usurpers??? Isn't that Wrong™? I cannot stress enough how often i've seen people trying Really hard not to look like they're defending Dream while actively downplaying his actions and criticizing the rebellion on its legality as if Schlatt was not literally the only citizen of L'manburg left because he executed/exiled/chased-off literally every single other person in the nation wanted him gone because he was a tyrant and obviously his Legal Election doesn't counteract that despite people's attempts to argue that while Dream was bad (and schlatt too, though we'd be lucky to get any sort of description of what 'bad' entails here, much less one that does justice to how monstrous these people are) did we really have a right to force them out of office so harshly with violence?
Or going into the exile conflict, I like, instantly clocked that the plan was to isolate/hurt Tommy, drain L'manburg of whatever resources he wanted out of them, then destroy them. I think most people with two braincells to rub together at least picked up on some of his plan, and of course it's very obvious that what Tommy did was not exile worthy and that Dream would have picked up any excuse he could think of here. But of course you had a ton of people downplaying Dream's actions/intentions/motives. And somehow the weird hyper criticism of the victims got even more severe. Like. To the point where some parts of the community almost seemed to be engaged in a contest to see who could find the most ways to tone police Tommy, Quackity, and Fundy the most for being upset about tyrannical governmental abuse that put all of them in danger and functionally destroyed one of their lives. Like. They will literally downplay or brush right past Dream's shady horrendous bs so quick to jump right into their best point of how Tommy brought this upon himself or was too emotional or needs to learn how to control himself or is so Selfish because he dared be....baffled and angry by the random unfair disproportionate punishment when he didn't do anything wrong. This exact same bullshit extends to when Quackity and Fundy get upset and snap over the exile decision, people sweep right past how horrifically agonizingly atrocious Dream's actions were and then immediately start calling Quackity and Fundy hysterical at the absolute best but much more commonly manipulative or power hungry for the high crime of being deeply upset that a good friend of theirs was just unfairly exiled on the whims of a tyrant, to the point where there were people outright criticizing them for the fact alone that they dared be upset/question the decision instead of immediately politely accepting it and just letting the leaders responsible get on with their lives with no complaint!
And then the rest of the season was the same shit with people acknowledging Dream as bad but pearl clutching at any sign of action against him or people not being polite and tolerant of him. I think I damn near cracked when people watched Quackity call Dream a tyrant and insist he couldn't get away with treating people the way he does and immediately jumped into how dumb and reckless and mean spirited and power hungry and whatever Quackity is. Literally any time he spoke out against Dream for like any reason in any way! This also extended to anyone else whenever they weren't super palatably polite and tolerant of Dream and wound up immediately labeled all sorts of distasteful things because they actually tried to take action against him or even just had the 'audacity' to say some mean things to/about him or the people who help him commit atrocities! Dream gets away with just vaguely being Bad™ but his victims, whenever they aren't the picture of grace or respect or obedience for two seconds, become any number of very specific and very passionate insults and accusations.
They aren't Dream apologists, they don't condone or defend his actions, they acknowledge him as Bad, but they're so much more angry whenever people DO something about it!
Dream is bad™ but wasn't L'manburg escalating to independence like that so quickly in bad faith, especially after the Drugs™? Dream is bad™ but like he has a point that Schlatt was elected so did the people really have a right to stage an illegal coup there? Dream is bad™ but Tommy shouldn't have been so angry and reactionary when Dream tried to get him exiled for no reason, right? Dream is bad™ but can we really say it's right for Quackity to engage in mild skirmishes with him and insult him??
This weird tone policing in which anytime one of Dream's victims is harsh or mean with him they're suddenly *insert wide range of very harsh insults/accusations* is really weird. Dream is bad™ but if anyone does anything about it besides quietly/politely asking him to please stop that sir? They get harshly critiqued to hell for it wheras there's never any suggestion for what they should be doing besides Giving Him What He Wants Very Politely Until He Goes Away. Any insults or acts of rebellion or god forbid violence against Dream is so unacceptable and the people who do any of the listed things are just indescribably bad. Even when Dream hurts and oppresses everyone to this very day and shows no remourse about a single thing, I still see people out here doing this shit.
And, well, I see a lot of the "Dream Needs Better Prison Conditions" crowd be very critical of people who aren't Dream and literally every time they do anything that could be considered even remotely Mean To Dream and they get so much more heated about that then about the actual horrific things Dream has done.
So while I don't take a stance on the point itself at the moment, i'm at least very wary of the whole situation because there's this long standing precedent of fixating in on people not being palatable™ and respectable™ in how they handle interacting with the person responsible for brutal and consistent oppression against them, this long standing precedent when it comes to narrowing in on how Dream's effected by the people who's lives he's ruined acting out against him or not treating him well and absolutely refusing to extend empathy to the other party who, even when they do end up doing 'bad' things at any point, never do anything near as bad as what Dream's done and yet get significantly less sympathy or tolerance than he does. And while i'm neutral on the topic itself i'm deeply suspicious of this whole debate by nature of this precedent and how a lot of the Improve Prison Conditions For Dream crowd are openly much more empathetic towards him than any of the people he victimized and are more likely to brush by his honest to god unforgivable sins than literally anything at all from the objectively much more sympathetic/justified people he's hurt. It just all feels very familiar and i'm inclined to feel like a lot of the debate can read as worryingly disingenuous on that premise alone?
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suugiithings · 3 years
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KATSUKI BAKUGOU X YOU
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The image isn't mine credits to the owner.
For some reason, I just write angst. 😅
I hope you like it. I really like Bakugou. I am still reading the manga and I am still in the 17th volume but I am loving his character development.
We can't forget that underneath all of that image of a bad/angry boy is still a teenager and geez we all can agree that teenage days are the worst.
Anyway, I am sorry for my writing skills and probably grammar mistakes but as I said in my work of Kirishima I don't usually write in English so I am trying my best and using dictionaries and even Grammarly to make sure everything is on point but sometimes some mistakes can get through it so I am apologizing beforehand and I will keep improving my English vocabulary to make my writing more interesting.
Words: 1.2k
Warnings: It is Bakugou so swearing is obviously here.
You stopped abruptly as you heard a loud and painful hiss. Your whole body completely froze while watching the state of that blonde guy. The rain wetting all his figure, his hair was even more messy than usual, his hands were sparking a little from his frustration.
I knew it. You told yourself as shutting your e/c eyes aggressively because of the huge pain felt as seeing him in such condition. You knew that he was suffering like you were because even if he didn't tell Kirishima what he meant to him we all knew that Kirishima was someone really important to Bakugou. Thankfully you had enough empathy to realize that seeing Kirishima unconscious on a hospital bed was an overwhelming pain for him as well.
Finally, you got the strength and courage to open your dark blue umbrella and took small and slow steps towards him. Fortunately, he didn't notice your presence as he was drowning in his feelings. Feelings. Something and probably the only thing Bakugou was terrible with. Normally he only ignored them and pushed them deep down in his soul letting them there alone getting bigger and bigger every day. And then one day those neglected pieces of human nature just exploded doing a huge mess. You already had witnessed that happening once and it wasn't something pleasant to see. It made your heart shatter in a million pieces because he went in a total auto-destructive mode and you being in love with him made you feel helpless and lost in the middle of your and his pain.
At last, when you were just mere centimetres from him, your umbrella was already above his head and his hood was pushed to cover not just his head but especially his face. His whole body hardened and you took this opportunity to wrap your free hand around his body while laying your head against his wet clothed back.
" I'm sorry for this random affection but I don't know what to do with this pain. I... I...My heart and soul are in suffering now so please just let me be like this for just a couple of minutes." he didn't say anything but you realize how heavy was his breath. A deep breath came from you while you squished him more trying to let your feelings be silently handed on to your lover. You would never be able to express your feelings so you just wanted him feel them.
"I'm sorry." a heavy and sad whisper came from the blonde as his muscles started to smooth under your touch. "It was my fault." your small hand rubbed the side of his body where your hand was calmly but firmly laying. The reality was you didn't know what really happened you just found Kirishima body laying on Bakugou arms in the middle of the battlefield where a group of villains attacked. Bakugou was frozen by his panic and disbelief the whole time since you found out them until arriving in the hospital.
"Shh...It isn't anybody's fault except those fucking villains." His body hardened again and heat rises from him. Shit. You should have just stayed quiet. He tried to let go of your grip and when he did he looked directly at you. And if it was possible your heartbreak to even smaller pieces. His face was consumed by the pain, sadness and especially the well-known rage. His eyes and face were swollen and red not just because of him being crying but also because of the fight they had against those villains. Small cuts here and there in his body. You tried to reach him but he dodged your touch.
" It was my fault. I was weak and he threw himself in front of me stupidly. I was the one who couldn't protect another human being and lost the fight. It is my fault. So just shut the fuck up with your pity I don't need it for anything. Especially when you were fucking late to help Kirishima. It is also your fault. You are useless. " If you didn't know him you would definitely just turn on your heels and leave but it was Katsuki we were talking about. He was shouting those things not really because he meant but because he was using your name instead of his while in reality, it was just a way to talk his feelings out and to curse at himself and not you. " So don't touch me. Don't try to seek relief because you don't deserve it. You need to drown in those feelings."
Your umbrella fell on the road and your hells rose to let your lips touch his. It was unexpected by both of you. You didn't think this through, it was just a reflection of your inability to comfort Katsuki. However, what shock you the most was his strong arms unexpectly wrapped your waist tightly pulling you so closer to him that both bodys almost fused in to each other and then his lips started a rough and intense kiss. All feelings getting involved at this moment. You could taste the bitterness of failure, the sourness of sadness and deep down a really shy sweetness of the untold love.
You both were already gasping for air but none of you wanted to let go. Your lungs were burning, your hearts racing and your legs trembling.
However very abruptly everything stopped including the feeling of his touch on your now wet body from the rain.
" What the fuck was that for?" the blonde screamed very loud when he came into his senses. His eyes were confused and full of anger. You stood in your place unshakable, you were already prepared for this.
" Nothing, Katsuki. It was nothing." you sighed in annoyance." What the hell do you think it is? I am tired of this." You screamed back at him and he was shocked. Yes, you had already had some fights but for silly things especially because you loved to make fun of him and tease him but never for serious topics and never with this look on your face." I think this kiss made pretty clear what's going on between us. I am fucking tired of watching you suffer in silence. I hate that so much. My heart breaks every time you self-isolate yourself. Maybe I am being egotistic but I just want you to be happy, goddammit. " His gaze was burning your skin of how intense it was. For the first time, you didn't know what he was feeling. Yes, because even though he puts his mask of an angry and though guy, he was actually a pretty simple person underneath that. He was just trying his best to improve himself and raise at the top and someone who lack a lot on self love.
" I didn't ask for anything. And there is no us here. I don't love you. Love is just stupid and a waste of time." he muttered finally taking his gaze away from you. "I don't want to love you while I don't love myself."
" Shh... I don't need to be corresponded I just want you to let me help you." You wrapped your arms again around him squishing him so hard as you could. " Just enjoy my company and let me be your walking diary. Allow me to hear your rants and fears."
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catzula · 4 years
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Confessions.
A\N: is this self-indulgent? Yes, yes it is. And did I cry writing this? Positive. Okay, the thing is, this is something I've been wanting to publish for so long, but I didn't have the courage to do so. But recently, I told someone about the whole ordeal and the reaction I got was so different than I expected, so I thought why not write this? Even if one person sees it and relates, or maybe even encourages them to talk to anyone about it, (even if you don't have anybody please I beg you come to me I'll always listen to anything you want to say), I would be so happy. Please don't think this is because I'm trying to get sympathy points, it's not. I don't want anything like that, just to actually help anyone who was in my situation. This fic (rant more like it) isn't fully based on my situation, mine is different, but I didn't feel comfortable talking about that, oh and this isn't edited, I didn't really want to read it over and over again so idk. So, anyway, I'll be posting one of the requests today too, it's fluff yay and my first aizawa attempt, so... Yeah. A/n is longer than the fic itself, seems like it.
Warnings: delicate subject, mentions of sexual harrasment, reader isn't in a good mental state, guys if it's triggering don't read it please I have no idea if there's any other things that could be triggering
Genre: angst, some fluff in the end
Pairing: bakugou x reader
W.c: 1,6k
You felt weak.
You have never felt this weak before, so helpless and unsafe.
You felt like you weren't supposed to talk about this with anyone. It was like if you told anyone, they would shame you, like they wouldn't believe you, or maybe even tell you it was your fault.
It didn't make any sense, why would anyone think that your logical part asked. But your insecurities wouldn't let you tell anything to anyone, making you feel sick when you tried to even hint it.
So you decided it was the best not to say anything, hide it forever even. Though you thought that was for the best for everyone, it was the hardest thing you probably ever did.
Your friends were aware of how jumpy you were late, how whenever someone touched you for anything, or even brushed you slightly, you froze with fear. But when they asked about it, you would brush it off as nothing.
They noticed how moody you were too, how frustrated you were with everything, crying, or getting mad at random, small things.
How you distanced yourself from people, hid for them, isolating yourself.
It was hard for them to see you like this -you were trying your hardest to smile and laugh like you always did, but they could see how much it hurt you to pretend- but it was especially hard for one certain angry boy. Bakugou was going insane, not knowing what was hurting you so and not being able to do anything about it.
Though he could never admit it, he had a crush on you. The worst kind, at that, or so he thought. He didn't like this feeling, of liking someone so much that you were constantly on his mind, his mood changing according to yours, laughing when you laughed, getting furious when you cried.
And lately, it was killing him. He knew you had feelings for him too, he knew how much you tried to look happy when he was around but it was just hurting you and that was even worse.
It was only until that one day he heard your soft voice, trembling with sadness as you explained what was going on to your best friend, Kirishima.
He hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but it was impossible for him to just leave when you were crying so.
"I'm sorry." You told Kirishima between your tears. "I'm so sorry."
***
You knew you had to tell him some time. You just hoped it would be later. But there was no running away when Kirishima pulled you to the roof, making you sit and waiting for you to speak.
"You have to tell me." He told you as you squirmed to get away. "I need you to speak to me, Yn. I need to know so I can help you, you're my best friend and I can't keep pretending nothings going on."
"I can't either." You answered, whispering without even noticing.
"I can't lie anymore, I'm tired." You sighed and hid your face in your hands. "Eiji, you have to promise me you'll listen to me until the end, and don't do anything I tell you not to do."
"Of course." He promised.
"This is about my professor." You finally admitted.
"The one you get along very well with?" He asked cautiously, afraid that wrong words were going to make you stop.
"Uh, yeah." You answered with a dry, humorless chuckle. "Apparently, we weren't getting along for the right reasons." At this, his head snapped up, his eyes locked with yours. "What?!"
"He-he tries to touch me." You mumbled in your hands. "Y/N, what the fuck does that mean?" He tried to stay calm, but how could someone stay calm over that?
Your insecurities infecting you, you felt like he was questioning you, not believing you and you swallowed hardly. "You know what? I-it's really not that important, I exaggerated." You told him, feeling uneasy all of a sudden. But he wasn't having it. He scooted near you, taking your hand in his. "No, Y/N, we have to talk about this! What do you mean by- by trying to touch you?" Your heart hammering in your chest you decided to rip the band-aid off.
"He touches me." You repeated, a lump in your throat, not allowing you to speak more than a whisper. "And he always has that- that smile... that smile that shows he knows what he's doing, and he knows how weak I am, how I can never do anything about it." You went on, feeling the hot tears tumbling down your cheeks. You shuddered with the unwanted memories.
"Did he-" Kirishima stopped talking, wide eyes watching you. "Did he ever..." Although he couldn't finish his sentence, you knew what he meant. "No." You told him. "He never went all the way, it's more like he's toying with me."
"How did this happen?" He asked, words so silent, you almost didn't hear them. 
You shrugged. "It started small." Your voice faltering with tears. "At first I thought it wasn't on purpose." You told him as you relived the memories. "His hand sometimes brushed my breasts and my skirt... He would also press his body against mine when he was walking in the hallways..."
Oh my God, this was terrible. Just talking about it made you feel so weak. Why couldn't you just say something, do anything? Why did you always freeze with fear instead of fighting? Maybe some people just didn't have it. Did this make you unworthy?
"Then it just started to get worse. He would full-on grab me when he 'helped' me with my questions, would always come so- so close to me that I could feel him. He started to corner me, made me stay after class, and just always tried to catch me alone." 
"Oh my God," Kirishima mumbled, unable to say anything else. "Why didn't you say anything?" 
Yes. Why didn't you? 
"I was scared." You whispered. "I was scared of- of you thinking I was lying, that I was saying this for attention, that I was exaggerating, that this wasn't important that this was my fault."
Was it your fault? Maybe you could have worn pants instead of skirts. Or maybe you smiled at him too much, did you give him the wrong impressions? Was it really your fault?
His head snapped up, angrier than you had ever seen him. "How could you think all that?" He asked voice laced with anger. "He is a... a well-loved person, Eijirou. Everybody likes him, trusts him and he just looks so nice... Why would anyone believe me when-" You stopped talking when he hugged you once again, tighter than ever before. "I would always believe you."
I would always believe you. Words you longed to hear so damn much, making you cry uncontrollably.
"I feel so weak, Eiji." You said once again, the nickname you had given him falling off your lips for the first time in a while. "I can't even say anything to him... I'm weak... I'm afraid of people judging me, and I just can't feel safe anymore. I can't even trust myself." 
"I'm so sorry." He told you between the sniffs he was trying to hide, you thought it was ironic that he was the one apologizing. "I'm so sorry Y/N." 
Both of you weren't aware of the angry boy listening to you, shaking with anger and sadness. He couldn't believe there was someone out there making you feel like this when he himself couldn't even dare to tell you his feelings, let alone touch you.
***
"Where are you taking me?" You asked at the boy tugging at your wrists, pulling you somewhere.
Bakugou came to your door the next day he heard your conversation with Kirishima, a plan in his mind to help you, at least a little bit.
"Okay, we're here." He told you. He had brought you on a small field, surrounded by trees and flowers, an empty space in the middle. Your heart beat fastened in your chest, but how could it not when he looked this way to you?
"I will teach you self defense." He told you.
"What?" Wasn't that a little too random? "You heard me." He answered gruffly. "I'll teach you how to defend yourself."
"I- I mean- thank you!" You said, laughing a little. "But I don't understand..."
Oh no.
"Why?" You wanted- needed his answer to be something, anything other than what you had in mind. But it was obvious that it wasn't, when he stayed quiet.
"You heard us." You whispered, hand trembling with fear. The boy you liked, the one you had the biggest crush on, had heard how pathetic you were, how you didn't even have the courage to speak, to push this man's hand and confront him.
"No-" you choked. "It's not what you think." You said as you thought about what you could say, but your mind went blank when his hand caressed your cheek. "Don't." He told you. "Don't lie to me, you don't need to. You don't have to talk about it either, but I'll be here, always here for you to speak, to seek help, and now I will teach you self defense. You said you didn't feel safe, you felt weak. I'll be your safe place if you need me to, but I want you to feel safe yourself too."
You opened your mouth to say something but he didn't let you.
"Look, this isn't because I'm pitying you, or because I think you're not capable of defending yourself. I just- I want to help you, be with you, and this is the only thing I can do."
"Thank you." You whispered and without giving any warnings, you wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. "You have no idea how much this helps."
A long silence went between you, allowing you to ask that one question.
"But why are you doing all this for me, Bakugou?"
He pulled back with your question, though so slightly that your noses almost touched each other. "It's because-" he stopped, fear clawing in him. What if you didn't feel the same way? He knew you did, but what if you didn't?
He gulped and took a deep breath. You have been acting so brave for the longest time, he couldn't even understand what you had went through- even though you couldn't see how brave you were yourself. So he decided it was his turn to be brave now.
"It's because I'm in love with you." Your breath stuck in you, eyes wide but a smile of relief on your lips. "Bakugou..." You whispered as he leaned in a little more.
"I love you too."
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The Best Things ~ J.V. (part 12)
A/n: I would like to apologize for not marking warnings on each part like I should have been. I get too excited to post and skip over them on accident. I’ll do my best to add them from here on! Also, I was adding the warnings as I wrote but then they didn’t save so I tried to remember them as best I could. If I forgot anything, I sincerely apologize.
Warnings: Recounting past trauma (physical abuse, homophobia), explicit talk of death, badly handling others’ trauma, light smut (foreplay: slapping, choking, degradation, daddy kink, handcuff restraining, brat/dom dynamic, punishing, teasing, masterbation)
Word Count: 5200+
MASTERLIST
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The air was so thick with tension that a knife could have cut through it. No matter how much Harley was fighting his instincts to lounge and be himself - the self Jeremiah was used to, at the very least - he felt like he had to be the self he used to be. The one Bruce was expecting. Jeremiah knew Harley was trying too hard, and Jeremiah was far too easy to read - which meant that Bruce knew too. So Harley sat there trying to behave and Bruce sat there brimming with suspicion and pain and hesitation and Jeremiah sat between the two boys, wishing this had never happened and he could just escape the two brothers who seemed seconds from either running or fighting.
Echo, as if sent from God, walked into the room with a pitcher of water. They were at Jeremiah's instead of Wayne manor as Harley had absolutely no intention of being back there or anywhere near Alfred. The butler was far too good at accepting change, which meant that the man might pick up on the fact that Harley was no longer Y/n and the whole thing would fall apart. Honestly, it seemed like so much work. Harley wasn't sure why this plan was so important but Jerome was feeding off of it so Harley did it anyway because he'd said he would. If this is where Jerome lead, Harley would follow.
"So," Echo cut into the silence as she walked around pouring drinks. "How is everyone this evening?"
Harley smiled at her, amused. She was poorly hiding a sort of awkward expression that was dashed with a little humor. She was mocking them in her head; Harley could almost hear what she was thinking. A bunch of dumb boys sitting around a table unable to swallow their pride. Idiots. "Oh you know," Harley mumbled casually, shrugging. "Indulging." He motioned to his food but his words were obviously directed at the ambiance.
"Having a good time?" Echo asked.
"Not at all," Harley immediately answered with the same casual, chipper tone. Jeremiah choked on his drink as he laughed at the exchange. The humor delivered saltiness in Harley's voice and the passive aggressive mocking in Echo's had always been an exchange that could make Jeremiah chuckle at least a little. Echo and Harley were very good at banter and it lightened the mood significantly every time they went at it. After all, it was just in good fun. Bruce seemed to relax as a smile curled everyone else's lips. "So... Harley." His lips seemed to want to reject the name.
Harley's smile dropped. Hearing Bruce call him that made him uncomfortable. Not just because he was nervous about Bruce not calling him Y/n as he had all up until this point but because he had cut Bruce out of this new life very purposefully and now... he was in it anyway. "Yes?"
Echo sighed and left the room as she sensed Harley jerk back, even with her attempt to loosen everyone up. Jeremiah focused on his food. Bruce looked at Harley but Harley did not look back, instead choosing to stare at the door Echo had gone through. "Why Harley?"
That was an easy question. "When I was in Arkham, a few of the guards used to beat the shit out of me every single day to try and convince me to be straight." Harley looked Bruce in the eye when he said this, completely calm. He had long since gotten over it. "They even put me in isolation to keep me away from people who might protect me or care about me."
"Jerome." Bruce didn't form it like a question.
Harley answered anyway. "Yes. But see this is a smaller world than everyone thought and my therapist, Harleen Quinzel, became my friend instead. She's like me, but for girls." Bruce nodded, accepting that. "They couldn't kill me without having to mark me as a loss. That and they'd have lost their punching bag. To teach me a lesson, they killed her. And then made sure the TV that was never supposed to be on the news would be on the news, on just the channel and at just the time that would allow me to see her bloody, bruised, cold, dead body strewn out for the public to see. And no one gave a single shit because no crimes in Gotham get solved unless someone important is involved. And even then- well, you know first hand."
Bruce's expression grew very dark. "I didn't know."
"Of course you didn't," Harley purred, still eating as if he was talking about the weather.
Jeremiah has stopped eating. "People are really like that?" His voice was small and his eyes moved to Bruce, his hands tightening around his silverware as if picturing Bruce's face cold and dead and staring at him through a TV. Bruce felt his eyes and looked back to Jeremiah, but the red head averted his gaze to Harley instead. "I mean, people really act like that just because of... how someone loves?"
Harley nodded, swallowing the food in his mouth. It tasted like sand but he kept eating it. It made him feel powerful to while the others in the room had forgotten their food altogether. Although... Perhaps he hadn't chewed it as well as he thought because it felt as if it had gotten stuck somewhere along the way. A thick lump had lodged for a second and a sick feeling had settled in the bottom of his stomach. He hadn't thought about that image in so long... the daily bearings and the isolation and the one ray of light he'd gotten being extinguished and displayed because he had dared to be himself and therefore allowed her to do the same. Because they were different than how most people were.
"Do you know who did it?" Bruce asked.
"Yeah." That didn't seem to be the answer Bruce was expecting. "This isn't great table conversation," Harley eased, changing the subject. "But that is why I go by Harley. Do you like it?"
Bruce shrugged. "Do you still go by Wayne?"
Internally, Harley sighed. "Harley Quinn."
At that Bruce nodded. "You're not coming back are you?"
Harley laughed dryly. "You're not very good at casual, light conversation are you Brucey?"
"Don't call me that," Bruce snapped, body going stiff.
Rolling his eyes, Harley sat back in his seat. "Why not?" It came out harsher than Harley had meant it.
Meeting hostility with hostility, Bruce got angry as well. "Because that's what Jerome called me, and after how many times he tried to kill me it's not a name I like."
"Get over it," Harley sneered. "It's just a name and we're in Gotham. Trauma is kind of a part of life here. Adapt or get trampled."
Bruce jerked back. "Get over it? Since when are you...?" He trailed off, as if hesitating, before his face set and he finished his sentence with a much harder tone. "Like Jerome."
Harley felt his knuckles turn white. "Stop saying that like it's a bad thing." "It is!" Bruce hissed.
Harley shot to his feet, dropping his silverware on the table. Jeremiah flinched but Harley didn't notice. Bruce did. "Look, Jerome is fucked up and dark and broken. He doesn't have a grip on reality or know how to human because he wasn't fucking treated like one. He killed people. He was crazy and insane and unhinged and dangerous. Yeah! You know what else he was? He was understanding and accepting. He got why people lived their lives differently than he did and didn't really judge anyone, ever. He thought they were boring and chose to live differently, sure, but he lived to make people laugh and have fun. Maybe his sense of fun was fucked up, but he genuinely just wanted people to laugh along with him for once. He didn't hide who he really was. He wasn't ashamed. He didn't shun me and shove me in a corner and try to change me. He accepted who I was. He CELEBRATED me. I'd rather be with him than at this stupid fucking dinner or anywhere near you because I'm not some poor gay boy who needs saving. I'm strong and I matter and I FINALLY love myself, and you won't ever take that away from me because you see self respect and see Jerome because no one taught you that you are more important than everyone else. I refuse to sit here and let you try and turn me into some pathetic whiny brooding mess who's never happy because my priorities are fucked up. I won't be you. That isn't my goal anymore."
The room was dead quiet. For a long time, no one said anything. The brothers just stared each other down until Bruce shook his head. "Perhaps this was a bad idea."
Jeremiah pinched the bridge of his nose. "You guys are idiots." The other two in the room looked at the red head with shock. "My brother is dead, and honest to god it's a relief that he is. He's out of my life and I'm safe from him. I never had the chance to have a real relationship with him. I used to read the newspaper about your family and think that you guys were some kind of dream. Two brothers that loved each other despite everything and parents that were like... actually good people on any level." He sighed. "Obviously I was wrong. You're too busy trying to make him how he used to be." This he directed at Bruce. "And you're too busy hurting and bottling up your emotions and pushing everyone away to let anyone care about you or see the real you." This was for Harley. Jeremiah didn't stop when both other boys went to speak though. "Just shut up and make this work because you guys are the only true family you each have left. Harley, you grew up and I have to say you wear your changes very well. You're happier and sturdier and if someone isn't happy about that then they're insane. Right, Bruce?"
The Wayne boy hesitated before giving in. "Yeah. I am happy for you. I should have started with that. I just... I'm scared for you."
"Why?" Harley demanded, exasperated.
"Because I don't want you to become Jerome. I don't want you to end up like that. I don't want you to be some criminal, when you used to be the best person I knew. You said your life goal used to be being like me? No. I wanted so much to be like you. You couldn't speak about a huge part of you, but you accepted it with the knowledge no one else ever would. I refused to even look at the fact that I'm attracted to guys until you and Jerome got together and then..." his eyes shot to Jeremiah and then back. "Things happened and- and you were always so bright and happy and free. Like a bird in flight or- something." He shook his head. "You were inspiring, Y/n. Seeing you like this... it looks like you've been broken. And I just want to bring back that light you had before. When you seemed so much happier."
"I'm not broken." Harley looked at the boy who was supposed to be his brother. The boy who used to be his best friend before one lie after another had pulled them further and further apart until they were on completely opposite sides. Secrets had torn their relationship up into so many little bits it could never be repaired. They were just too different now. "I'm not lost or struggling. I'm just not... sitting there and pretending all the bad things aren't happening. The friends I have now actually like and respect me as a person, not just because I'm Y/n Wayne. I'm myself, proudly, and I wear my experiences as a reminder of what I can endure. Things hurt less. What you see isn't some poor boy waiting to be saved. It's darkness. And maybe that scares you, because you're used to hiding your darkness. But darkness, Bruce, isn't a bad thing. Darkness is what makes us who we are. Like everything it can be used as a weapon, but Darkness itself isn't dangerous. What you do with it is."
Bruce considered that for a long time. "That... is a good point."
Jeremiah released a breath. "So... truce?" The boys looked at each other before shrugging. Harley sat back down. Jeremiah seemed pleased. "Okay, now lets talk about something a little more pleasant."
"So you mean literally anything other than what any of us have been up to recently?" Harley sassed. Jeremiah shot him a look. "Okay fine whatever." He searched for some light conversation. "So you guys are like boyfriends now or what?"
That seemed to make Bruce and Jeremiah both blush and the air in the room cleared significantly. Harley pulled off being cheery and invested as he teased and prodded and asked questions and engaged. Things almost seemed like they used to be when Bruce and Y/n would sit with their parents and Bruce mentioned a girl and Y/n would go off about how he was going to be the best man or the world would surely end... but Harley wasn't Y/n and Jeremiah wasn't their parents. This wasn't Wayne Manor and as good of a server as Echo was, she wasn't a butler. She wasn't Alfred.
Under the light tone, Harley formed a plan. A plan he carried out as he and Bruce began to hang out more and more as time passed that night and stretched for a while. Jerome became nocturnal in favor of being awake when Harley finally returned at home. The boys would spend some time together and then sleep and then Harley would wake up and go out and spend time with Bruce and Jeremiah again. Slowly the time with the other boys began to cut into Harley's time with Jerome and both he and Harley were getting restless. They'd begun arguing about it.
"Stay in tonight," Jerome whined.
"Bruce wants me to come back to Wayne manor tonight." Harley sighed, an odd expression on his face. "I've finally earned his trust and am getting along with him - as much as it pains me. I think Jeremiah is talking to him when I'm not around, convincing him to behave and respect my boundaries. He calls me Harley and has stopped expecting me to be the person I used to be. I don't know, I think he'll be enough to convince Alfred though I might have to try a tad harder." He rubbed his forehead. "Soon I'm sure I'll be chummy with them again and that'll definitely lead to interacting with all of Bruce's friends - which will be a whole other adventure of its own."
Jerome huffed. "If you're going back to Wayne manor, won't Bruce want you to move back in?"
The thought had occurred to Harley if he was being honest. Where did he draw the line in being buddy buddy with his brother again? Where did he stop things? How far did Jerome want him to go? "Probably," Harley voiced, shrugging. There was a long pause. Jerome was more guarded than he usually was and it set Harley on edge. When the red head did speak, it was in a dangerously quiet tone. "Would you go?"
"W- would you want me to?" Harley was distracted by the way Jerome's Adam's Apple moved when he swallowed.
Jerome hummed. "So this is still about what I want?"
That made Harley defensive. "You think I'm dealing with my arrogant brother because I want to?" It had a biting edge to it.
"And what about my brother?" Jerome pushed.
Now Harley was confused. "Jerome I did all of this for you. To convince them you were dead so you'd be free to have some free time and then make your grand entrance whenever you wanted to. I did this because you asked me to." Jerome rolled his eyes. "You've been gone a lot. You come home... lighter. You enjoy your time with them."
"I'm sorry, you WANT me to come home miserable?" Harley sneered, his hands coiling into fists.
Jerome's eyes darkened. Harley realized what was happening. Before he could react, Jerome's hand shot out, fingers curling around Harley's throat. Jerome pressed his boyfriend against the closest wall, his face close and words sharp like knives. "You're getting angry again. Talking to me like that, as if I'm one of our dumb brothers or that blonde idiot Jeremiah carries around. You might have been gone for a while now, but SURELY not long enough to have forgotten to respect me."
Harley gasped, eyes fluttering closed. Jerome's grip wasn't dangerous but it could go that way if Harley wasn't careful. Jerome only ever got like this when he was frustrated. Usually when he was bored and wanted to do something other than sit around. To be fair, he was cooped up which was something he HATED to be. He hated feeling trapped. And on top of that Harley had been spending less and less time around the place. It was a miracle the redhead had behaved so long. Harley had spent more nights with Jeremiah, talking to Bruce so late into the night and fake catching up and playing nice that it was just easier for them both stay at Jeremiah's. Alfred had even gotten used to a simple text from Bruce letting the older man know where he was and that he was safe. If Bruce wasn't home by 10pm Alfred had come to expect that he wouldn't be back at all. It had become a sort of habit.
Perhaps Harley had been a tad neglectful.
He sighed, letting his guard down and releasing all the tension he'd gained from being around Bruce. Jerome didn't deserve this. "I'm sorry, you're right." Jerome didn't let up. "Oh so you shoot me puppy dog eyes and say sorry and that's supposed to be it?" Harley could feel his insides warming as Jerome grew closer, the air in the room slowly becoming infected with sexual tension. The sudden mood change was hard for Y/n to switch gears to, even though he was immediately eager. "You've forgotten who you belong to."
"I-"
Jerome's hand tightened on Harley's throat, cutting off any attempt to speak. "What was that?" Harley coughed a little as the initial shock took him off guard. His eyes fluttered but he could still breathe which is what mattered. "Come on, Harley. Come on, Y/n." Harley jerked at the name. "Is that what you want me to call you? Is that who you want to be?"
Harley wasn't dealing with that shit. His body jerked, arms wrapping around Jerome. He pulled hard, twisting to turn Jerome around so he'd have to let Harley go, or risk hurting his arm. As predicted, Jerome let go. Harley twisted their bodies with extreme force, pushing Jerome's face into the wall aggressively. "What the fuck did you call me?" He growled. The words were raw from his throat being a little sore. It made Jerome smile. "Answer me. Now." Harley let his free hand thread into Jerome's hair. He pulled, the red head squirming underneath him as it began to hurt. "I said, now."
"I called you Y/n," Jerome answered softly. His tone was half reluctance and half defiance. He didn't want to answer Harley like he'd been told to, but saying the name again did give him power.
Harley leaned back, pulling Jerome away from the wall just by his hair. He dragged him over to the bed. "Kneel. Now." Jerome was giggling as Y/n hurt him, getting off on the pain. "NOW, Valeska!" Jerome smirked, taking his precious time with following the order. When he was down, Y/n maneuvered his face into the bed. "Stay there. If you move, I will know and you will be punished. I will be back in a moment." He left Jerome there, ducking out of the bedroom to the trunk in the bathroom, shoved in the closet. He opened it, pushing around some things they'd collected in their time together. This was the stuff they used when things got more kinky. Handcuffs Jerome had gotten from cops even before he and Y/n were together. Rope from a construction sight. Some things were specifically from sex stores - stolen of course.
Ignoring most of it, Harley grabbed the handcuffs and went back into the room. He returned to see Jerome had indeed moved. In fact he was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning back on his hands. He was smirking at Harley, a dare in his eyes. The red head seemed to be expecting Harley to lose his shit, but Harley didn't. Instead, he got very still, thinking. That seemed to actually make Jerome nervous.
Slipping the handcuffs into his back pocket, Harley slowly approached Jerome. His eyes cut into Jerome's soul, his jaw so tightly shut that Jerome shivered. "What, you think you're going to look at me and-?"
Jerome didn't get to finish his sentence. Out of nowhere, unexpectedly, Harley backhanded Jerome, causing the sitting boy's head to snap to the side. The red head was shocked, but found his stomach twisting with the familiar sensation of arousal. This wasn't like when he was a kid. Harley was calm and controlled - even his hit was direct. There was a safety in the way that Harley controlled himself. Jerome didn't fear him. It left room to enjoy what was happening. Harley gripped Jerome's jaw, bringing the red head's brown eyes around to meet his. "What did I say when I left the room, Jerome?" Harley not using a pet name in a sexual situation made Jerome shift nervously. Was Harley actually mad? "You told me not to move."
Harley released a breath, smirking as he got turned on just by getting Jerome to answer his question without being pushed. When Jerome was being bratty, he refused Harley any amount of control. So when he let up even the smallest amount, it never failed to excite Harley. "And what did you do?" Unwilling to let Harley win twice in a row, Jerome shrugged. Harley slapped him again. The red head blinked, breathing sharply outward as he felt the stinging on his face. "I moved."
A hum came from Harley as he stood, crossing his arms. "You know I had to punish you for using the wrong name, but it was going to be pretty light. Now..." Jerome shivered under that look - like Harley was trying to figure just how to kill him. "I'm going to take your clothes off Jerome. If you fight me, you'll get immediate punishment do you understand?" Jerome nodded. Harley rose an eyebrow.
"Yes, Daddy."
That seemed to please Harley. He stopped glaring at least. First Harley removed Jerome's shirt. Then he gently nudged Jerome, and the redhead followed the flow and laid back on the bed. Harley then removed his pants, and his socks one at a time. Slowly. Jerome felt himself get antsy. "Do you want something, baby?" Harley asked evenly.
"I'm fine," Jerome responded.
Unfortunately for him, his erection gave him away. "You don't want me to do... anything?" Harley asked again, pausing to look at Jerome very carefully.
The redhead looked back for a long time, a battle happening between the two men. Jerome lost. "Jesus Christ Harley, touch me."
That got Harley to smile. "Ask nicely J, or I'm going to have to punish you." Jerome went to glare but Harley reached up, threading his fingers through Jerome's hair and pulling roughly. "Listen here bitch, I'm not here to mess around. You're going to listen to me or you're going to regret it, understand?" They had come a long way since having sex in a cell and trying to keep quiet. Back then, Harley had fumbled and blushed a lot and been overwhelmed very easily. Back then, Jerome would stretch out, getting comfortable as he bossed Harley around - a true power bottom. Or, he would top, and then he'd get very soft and quiet and affectionate... Well, compared to how he usually was when he was impossible to please and degrading to an extent that had driven Harley insane.
Now adays, things were different. There was a huge power play between the two men constantly, and endlessly pushing buttons. What would often happen was that Harley would be a bit of a brat but otherwise let Jerome blow off steam, unless it was a day that Jerome desperately wanted Harley to "take hold and ruin" him. A direct quote from the ginger. On those days, Jerome did what he did best: he kept talking. He said all the things he knew would piss off Harley the most, like calling him by his old name. He would make Harley snap and then Harley would retaliate exactly how he wanted.
Not today.
"Fuck, you're such a baby," Jerome grumbled, rolling his eyes. "I'm bored with you playing daddy, I already know all your moves and we both know that you're just going to give me what I want anyways. You're a soft top, Sweetheart." He was smirking, proudly flaunting the power he usually had over Harley.
Today though, Jerome had pushed him too much. After all the shit he'd gone through with Jeremiah and Bruce, hearing Jerome call him Y/n had pushed him in a way that had sent him over the edge. And if he was being honest, he had his own frustrations. He wanted to run free as much as Jerome did and break things and scream as loudly as he wanted and sock his stupid brother in his face any time he dare even mention Jerome's name in Harley's presence. He was tired of behaving. He was tired of feeling like some toy. He was tired of being used. He was really, REALLY fucking tired of being ignored, too.
Harley's smile was dangerous. Jerome looked at him, unsure of what was going through the other boy's head. "You know, you have a little too much attitude for someone who's currently desperate for me to touch him. You want something from me? You need to learn some respect." Harley reached over, grabbing Jerome's wrist and forcing it toward the top of the bed. It happened so fast that only when Harley had used one cuff to get Jerome's right hand, and then had threaded the second cuff through the bars at the head of the bed, did Jerome react.
"HEY!"
At the outburst, Harley didn't hesitate to slap Jerome again. The redhead gasped, body shivering. He would absolutely never admit it, but this kind of aggression had always turned him on, when he was comfortable with the person. He'd wanted someone to be like this with him for ages, but not many people were willing to go far enough to please Jerome Valeska. By the way Harley was looking at him right now, this time might be different.
"I didn't give you permission to speak. Granted, I didn't tell you to shut up either so I'll be forgiving, but if you shout at me one more time you will regret it." He gripped Jerome's other wrist, cuffing that as well. Now Jerome's hands were over his head, trapped by the cuffs and the bar. "If you want to say something, I want you to address me first. I will allow you to continue then. Or I will not." Jerome hesitated, then nodded, intrigued by this side of Harley even he had not the pleasure of exploring before.
What came next surprised Jerome. Harley didn't take him right there, rough and hot. He didn't move slowly around and tease until Jerome wa a desperate mess of begs and whimpers. Harley didn't touch him at all. In fact, he moved off of the bed completely. He left the room even, returning a moment with a chair. Only then did he undo his own clothes, only lowering his pants enough to allow himself access his erection. He didn't even pull his pants off all the way! Jerome felt completely exposed, tied up and naked for viewing pleasure, when Harley was so far away and completely dressed.
To Jerome's intense frustration, Harley sat down on the chair and began stroking himself, eyes on Jerome. Harley's eyes were wide and lust blown, his tongue flicking out every once in a while to wet his lips. After a while, his eyes fluttered shut and his head tilted back just a little as a small moan came from him.
Jerome shifted. He was getting uncomfortable with how long he'd been hard without being touched, and watching Harley be like this was not helping. Jerome really liked to be involved in sexual acts. He had gotten rather pouty anytime Harley was caught masterbating, and there had been an unspoken rule that Harley didn't really restrain Jerome for stuff like this. If Harley wanted to be touched, Jerome would touch him. They both preferred it that way. This was ridiculous, and frankly rude. Jerome wasn't going to give Harley the upper hand. This was a low blow and he wasn't going to let Harley get away with it.
As Harley continued though, getting more into it and completely ignoring Jerome, it was becoming increasingly hard to keep his mouth shut. Trying to play it off like he didn't care as much as he did, Jerome finally spoke up. It had seemed an eternity for him, but it had actually only been a few seconds and Harley had to swallow his smile to not give himself away. "Okay Harley, very funny. Let me touch you. I'm sorry I called you the other name. You know I can do this better than you can. Let me out." When Harley continued to ignore Jerome, the cuffed ginger raised his voice. "LET ME OUT!"
"Why?" Harley growled, eyes finally on Jerome again. "Because you told me to? Because you asked me to?" He stood, pulling his pants up again. "I'm not your little bitch Jerome, you're mine. You want to kill someone? Fine. You want to steal or break something? Fine! But you don't call me by that name. You don't mess with me, because I'm all you got. If you want me to leave, you ask like a big kid."
Jerome's lips twitched, slowly rising into a smile. "Are you actually mad at me?"
Harley grinned. "No, not really." They both cracked up, losing it for a few extended seconds. Then Harley cut off and Jerome faded into quiet, soft chuckles as Harley began to speak. "I respect you, J. My little joker." He moved towards the bed, caressing Jerome's cheek. The ginger leaned into the touch, his eyes closing. He fed off of the contact, as if it was a drug or he was starving and the gesture fed him. Harley smiled softly. "You gotta respect me too. You don't have to piss me off to get me to break you, joker. All you have to do is ask me nicely, like a good boy. Do all the bad things you want. But not to me."
A sigh escaped Jerome, and then he finally gave in. "If I behave will you let me out? I want you to touch me. Please."
That pleased Harley. "That's what I wanted to hear." He leaned back a little, eyes scanning Jerome's exposed body. "I will let you out. And then it's time to play for real." His eyes glinted with a darkness that made Jerome jerk in expectation. Needless to say, Harley didn't disappoint.
-
Story Tags: @wanna-plan-world-domination​
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maria-scribbles · 4 years
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loyalty’s all i got | part two
three years ago, you had it all: great friends, good grades, and an almost perfect relationship with your boyfriend, jj. it all came crashing down when your mom relocated your family to california for work and you were forced to trade the outer banks for malibu, leaving your broken heart behind in the place you were just starting to think of as home. now you're back in town for college and to pick up the pieces, hoping to make things right again with your friends and the boy you never stopped loving.
word count: 8.6k+
ship: jj maybank x female!reader, pogue friendship
warnings n stuff: angst angst angst all around (with a happy ending tho!!), the reader being a v. sad girl, mentions of anxiety/depression, failed long distance relationship, drifting apart, self-inflicted loneliness/isolation, the classic trope of 'they broke up but they're still in love with each other' that gives me feels, swearing (it's not my writing unless someone says 'fuck' at least once), reconciliation/mended relationships, traditional cheesy rom-com rain scene 'cause i'm a Dramatic Hoe™
a/n: and here's the second and final part of this looooong two-shot! thank you all so much for reading and i hope you enjoy the finale even though i low key kind of hate it 🙃. fun fact: surfrider beach is a real place in malibu known for its great waves :) also i apologize for how long this took to post, i dropped my laptop and the screen broke so i had to wait for it to get fixed lmao. unbetaed as usual, any mistakes are my b. 
~masterlist~
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part two: like a ghost that no one knew
When you said goodbye to your friends three years ago, you should've known things would never be the same again. You were sixteen, still so young and naïve and full of an almost childlike hope that kept you from seeing the obvious: life wasn't fair. Sometimes, you could be holding all the right cards and still lose the game.
It should've been easy. You had a video chat schedule already figured out, promises of daily texts and Snapchats, a boyfriend willing -enthusiastically willing, in fact- to go long distance and make it work no matter what 'cause you both agreed that what you had was something worth fighting for. You and your friends had weathered many storms together, what was one more? It could've been easy but you underestimated just how cruel California would be.
You traded one coast for the other and watched the sun set over the Pacific alone when you would've given anything to watch it rise over the Atlantic with your friends. It hurt to surf solo but you did it anyway, even though it felt like a damn sucker punch each time you caught yourself scanning the sand for JJ and his proud smile when you successfully caught bigger and bigger waves at Surfrider Beach. 
Long distance was hard. You had days where all you wanted to do was lay on your bed for hours, safely curled up in his arms as he ran his fingers through your hair but you had to settle for his voice over the phone and one of his shirts from your closet instead. You missed everything about him: his pretty eyes that looked like the clearest ocean, the cheeky grin he'd send your way after making a stupid joke that had you affectionately rolling your eyes in exasperation, that adorable flush that spread across his face without fail each and every time you said you loved him. You longed for his constant affection; the way he always wanted to keep you close somehow, his arm around your shoulders, hand in your back pocket, or fingers entwined with yours; how he could never go a day without kissing you. Being apart was nothing short of torture.
"I fucking miss you." He said late one night during a rare FaceTime session -his phone was a piece of shit so he had to 'borrow' John B's whenever he could- and you smiled despite the knife twisting itself deeper and deeper into your heart as you played with the fraying sleeve of his old sweatshirt you wore. 
"I fucking miss you more, J." You whispered back, giggling quietly when he scrunched up his nose in playful skepticism. 
"Yeah, I don't think so, babe. There's no way." 
"Yes, way!"
Although it hurt like hell, you imagined being tangled up with him in the hammock hanging in the Chateau's yard under the North Carolina sky -the light from the moon would turn his blond hair a pale silver as he grinned down at you and cupped your cheek in his hand, closing that final distance between you for a kiss that'd fuel the fire racing through your veins- and you let that fleeting happiness carry you through the night, long after you said goodbye. You fell asleep with your phone in your hand, unaware that your mother had been listening from the other side of your closed door.
You'd been distant from her and your dad in the months since the move, obviously going out of your way to avoid them both by spending all your spare time surfing at the beach, coming home well past sunset and heading straight to your room without a word. They'd taught you forgiveness wasn't something to be given willingly -it had to be earned- and since neither of them had done anything worthy to deserve an absolution, you simply pretended they didn't exist and let yourself stew in your justified anger.
Until the morning after your video date with JJ, they'd wisely given you your space so you were pretty blind sighted to find them both waiting for you at the dining room table, one of your dad's famous cinnamon rolls on a plate set in front of your usual chair. You paused in the middle of tying one of your boyfriend's worn bandanas in your hair before abruptly continuing toward the front door, acting like you didn't see the hopeful looks on their faces that made guilt slowly start to burrow its way into your chest. 
"Y/N, wait," Your dad sprung from his seat and reached his hand out toward your elbow, his face falling when you instantly pulled back and crossed your arms. "Please, let's just talk for a second."
"I'm gonna be late for the bus," You lied and tried for the door again, sighing in frustration when he blocked your path and ushered you toward the table where your mom was sitting, biting her thumbnail. The guilt burrowed deeper: you thought she kicked that habit years ago but there she was, chewing her nail to shreds and it was all because of you (the empty satisfaction you felt knowing you were the cause of her stress made you hate yourself just a little more.).
"Jellybean, don't worry about that. I'll drive you." 
You bristled at the old nickname but sat in the chair your dad pulled out for you anyway. The smell of the cinnamon roll he pushed your way made your mouth water but you refused to eat and kept your eyes down as you played with the stack of bracelets adorning your wrist. "You wanted to talk?" You asked, deciding to just rip the band-aid off all at once 'cause knowing your mom when she was anxious and your dad being allergic to any type of confrontation, you'd have sat there all day until one of them worked up the courage to speak.
"Talk, right." Bill said with a nervous chuckle, shaking his head as he took a seat and swiped his own cinnamon roll from the pan in the middle of the table. "Uh, how are you?"
"Are you serious right now?" You asked incredulously, looking up from your lap with a raised eyebrow. "All this for 'how are you?'" 
"How would we know?" Your mom finally spoke up as she pulled her ruined nail from her mouth, only to start instantly drumming her fingers on the table. "You're always holed up in your room or at the beach, Y/N. You never talk to us anymore."
You rolled your eyes before fixing her with a deadpan stare. "Hmm, I wonder why."
"Honey, you know I'm sorry-"
"Don't, okay? Just don't." You swallowed thickly and dumped the cinnamon roll back into the pan, blinking away the awful burning pressure building behind your eyes. "I can't listen to some half-assed apology that you don't mean!"
"Y/N, we are sorry. Everything's gonna get better, just give it time." Your dad's reply was muffled by a mouthful of pastry and any other time, you'd usually be laughing at his chipmunk cheeks but instead you just stared back down at your hands again, lip quivering as you tried and failed to hold yourself together. You would not cry. You would not cry. You would not-
"Please, honey." Your mom tentatively reached out one hand like she was approaching a wounded animal, her voice so soft you could barely hear it above the rush of blood in your ears. "It hurts us to see you like this-"
Oh, fuck this shit.
"You're hurt?! Are you kidding me?" Your chair scraped along the tile as you rocketed to your feet, vision blurring when the dam finally broke. "You promised we wouldn't move again until after I graduated and you broke that promise. I let myself make friends for once in my goddamn life -I fucking fell in love, Mom! I fell in love with the most amazing boy who, by some miracle loves me, too despite me being a...a complete loser!" You were rambling now but you couldn't find it in yourself to care about or stop the words flying from your mouth. 
"God, I was happy -so, so disgustingly happy it kind of scared me, okay?" You laughed bitterly and roughly wiped the tears from your cheeks, only to have more immediately take their place. "And you didn't even stop to think before you took it all away from me! So don't even talk to me about being hurt 'cause you have no fucking idea!"
Your dad was frozen, eyes the same color as your own blown impossibly wide in the middle of another bite of cinnamon roll while your mom, two tears streaking perfect twin tracks down her cheeks, looked at you like you'd just told her the world was ending -to her, it just might've been but to you, it already had. Neither of them said another word as you snatched your backpack off the couch and stormed from the house, slamming the door behind you.
Halfway to the bus stop, you decided school just wasn't in the cards that day and doubled back, hiding behind the shed in your backyard until your tears had run dry and both of your parents left -Rebekah to the hospital, Bill to wherever he went while you were in class- before heading inside to change into your rash vest and grab your board. Despite it being early Friday morning, Surfrider Beach was full of life and you welcomed the hustle and bustle as you turned off your phone and buried it at the bottom of your bag, leaving your problems behind on the sand. 
You spent the whole day at the beach, blissfully alone and free to do what you wanted, until the sun dipped low in the sky and you were too exhausted to even think about anything but dragging yourself home so you could pass the fuck out. You caught one final wave before heading back to shore, waving goodbye to the group of other kids you'd surfed with all day (the one thing you loved about California: everyone was so chill) and trudged through the sand toward your things where, just as you expected, your sister sat on your towel, clad in a baggy UCLA long-sleeve with her phone in hand. 
"Bitch, you killed it out there!" She looked up as you dropped your board to the ground and sat down heavily beside her, slipping an old Kildare County High School sweatshirt -the first one you ever 'borrowed' from your boyfriend, much to his delight- over your head. "I mean, look at you go!"
You leaned closer to watch the video she took, the barest hint of a smile on your face when you watched yourself perform a near perfect cutback on the screen. "That's 'cause I had the best teacher." 
Daisy tagged you and posted it to Instagram before you could protest, then tossed the phone back into her bag and turned to you with a forced cheerfulness that kind of made you want to smack her. "So..."
"Mom and Dad sent you to clean up their mess." You finished quietly, tucking your knees to your chest and wrapping your arms around them as your sister sighed dramatically and offered a sympathetic wince. 
"As always." She copied your position and you both stared out at the sun sinking over the water, its fading rays turning the sky brilliant shades of orange and pink. It was typical of your parents to send Daisy after you when you were upset -after all, you'd both been each other's only friend for over half your lives- and normally, you'd be glad to see your sister's friendly face instead of your mom's or dad's. That evening, though? All you felt was...disappointment.
"Guess they really don't give a shit about me." You mumbled under your breath, half-hoping Daisy didn't hear you but from the way she snapped her head in your direction, you didn't get your wish.
"Y/N, that's not it. They're just..."
"Just what? Pretending that they didn't stab me in the back? Acting like everything's all hunky-dory and they actually cared about my feelings?" 
You hastily wiped at your face when your sister silently looped an arm around your shoulders and tucked you against her side, her fingers running soothingly through the ends of your damp hair as you vented all of your frustrations -everything you'd kept locked deep inside your heart- until your voice was hoarse and the sun had long disappeared from the horizon and you had no tears left to cry.
"You have no idea what it's like, being so lonely it hurts to breathe. It hurts knowing Mom and Dad have each other and you have Daniel and I'm alone all the time." You lifted your head from her shoulder and rubbed your red eyes with your sleeve. "Worst part is, they just keep acting like I'll wake up one day and magically be okay and everything'll be all sunshine and rainbows again." 
"First off, I wanna say that I'm sorry for not making more time for you. I knew you were struggling and I'm a terrible big sister for not being here for you like I should have," You squeezed Daisy's other hand in thanks as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, her voice soft and steady like the waves crashing against the shore. "Second, I definitely don't think Mom and Dad are handling this the way they should, but I think they're trying in the only way they know how. That should count for something, right?"
You sighed and tugged the sleeves of your sweatshirt over your hands. "I guess, but they haven't even tried to see where I'm coming from and they don't get that I'm not the only one they hurt. If I have to hear one more half-assed apology, I'm gonna lose my shit. Again."
"I'm not saying you have to forgive them right away 'cause I sure as hell wouldn't until they say they're sorry and mean it. But..." She said, pulling you to your feet and shaking the sand from the towel you were sitting on, "you shouldn't keep shutting them out, okay? It's not healthy."
You tucked your board under your arm as Daisy grabbed your bag and swung it onto her shoulder before you both started walking toward the parking lot. "What if I'm never ready to forgive them?"
"That's a question I don't have the answer to." She said with a shrug. "You've gotta figure that one out for yourself."
So you followed your sister's advice. You were civil and gradually, your relationship with your parents improved until you could stand to be in the same room as them and even carry on a short conversation, even though you knew you'd probably never be able to fully trust them again. You caught them exchanging glances you could only describe as wounded when you often turned down their invitations to go to the movies or get ice cream or other things you used to love doing when you were younger but for the most part, they took it in stride and you were grateful for their little efforts. Forgiveness wasn't in the cards quite yet but with each passing day, you felt the icy wall around your heart slowly start to melt away.
But every time you thought you were taking one step forward, life pushed you two steps back. Just when you were getting things back on track with your family, the train went flying off the rails when it came to your friends and it was all your fault.
It wasn't like you didn't try -God, did you try- to keep yourself from falling back into old habits but Malibu just had a way of bringing out the absolute worst in you. Your old self, the girl who kept to herself and pushed everyone away, someone you thought you buried in the deepest grave, slowly came back from the dead with a vengeance little by little, so subtly you didn't realize what was happening until it was too late. 
One missed phone call turned into two, texts went unanswered for days or not at all, FaceTime sessions happened less and less. The last video chat had been with Kiara and it ended terribly, after you blew up at her for mending her friendship with Sarah Cameron in the near two years since you'd been gone, spitting words you couldn't quite remember -something along the lines of 'didn't take you too long to replace me, huh' and calling the blonde girl a 'heinous bitch'- but knew you regretted with everything you had and hanging up before she had a chance to explain. You couldn't even recall the last time you talked to Pope or John B aside from the occasional Snapchat and your daily calls with JJ had turned to once a week, if you were lucky.
He was trying, you could tell, and so were you but the deck was stacked against you and you were never very good at cards, anyway. It hurt to try, it hurt not to try, everything just hurt. Nearly two years apart had done their damage and coupled with your debilitating fear of being forgotten that clawed at your chest like a rabid dog, your relationship was on unstable ground and for the first time in almost four years, you were thinking about the end. It wasn't like you didn't love him anymore (holy shit, were you still completely head over heels in love). In fact, you loved him so much you realized that he could do so, so much better than you and the thought rested heavy and bittersweet on your mind, lurking in the shadows until you were ready to bring it to light.
It happened on New Year's Eve. Alone in your room, your hands shook as you answered JJ's call at midnight, his voice tired and a little hoarse from celebrating the new year three hours earlier on the opposite coast and you nearly started crying right then and there when you replied with a shaky "I think we need to talk."
"Babe, what's wrong?"
You took a deep breath and said quietly, "Everything."
"Talk to me." The pure concern in those three words nearly convinced you to call it off, to tell him to forget you said anything and that you were fine, everything was just fine but deep down, you knew you couldn't.
"I've been thinking about us and I...I just think that you deserve better than me. Someone who can actually be there for you when you need her and hold you when your dad's an asshole and see you every day. Someone who can laugh at your silly jokes and share a joint with you and clean you up when you get into fights defending your friends-"
"Babe, what are you talking about? That girl is you."
"Maybe I was but I'm not anymore and I don't think I have been since I left. I just can't be the girl you want, I can't be the girl you deserve, J -I'm a total fucking mess and you can do so, so much better than me."
"Y/N."
You didn't know you were crying until you heard the broken way he breathed your name and salt water dripped from your chin onto the bracelet around your wrist. 
"...are you breaking up with me?" His voice was impossibly small, the quietest you'd ever heard it and the exact moment your battered heart shattered into pieces was when you realized he didn't even put up a fight. 
"I think so." The words tore through you like a gunshot as you cried, curling into yourself on the bed in an effort to ward off the worst pain you'd ever felt in your life and you wondered if it was possible to die from a wound that wasn't even physical. 
He was quiet for a long time, so long you thought he hung up without you noticing through your tears, until he sniffed on the other end of the line.
"Guess we had a pretty good run, huh?" He asked with a watery chuckle and you found yourself giving a tiny, shuddering giggle in response -God, even when you were breaking his heart he still managed to make you laugh.
"The best, baby." The pet name slipped out like second nature and you winced, hastily trying to cover your mistake with an awkward cough but from the sharp breath you heard him take, he'd heard it anyway.
("I'm sorry," you said, and it stood as an apology for more than just your slip-up.)
"I love you, Y/N. Probably always will."
"I'll never stop loving you, JJ. That's a promise."
You let yourself believe him as you laid there bleeding from a gash you couldn't see, a wound you knew would never heal, and you hoped he let himself believe you, too, even when you ended the call without another word and threw your phone away from you, not bothering to see where it landed. The sound of your heavy, broken sobs filled the room and you didn't even mind when your mom, who you knew had been listening from the other side of your closed door like always, barged in and took you into her arms, stroking your hair as you cried into her lap.
If you were supposed to avoid getting hurt by leaving first, why did it feel like everything in you was broken? If you were making the right choice, why did it feel so wrong? You didn't have the answers and no matter how hard you searched, you knew you'd ever find them.  
So you tried to stay busy. You joined the surf club at school, got a part-time job at the local aquarium, did anything you could to distract yourself from the hurt and the guilt and the way getting out of bed every morning was the hardest thing to do. Surf club introduced you to Mackenzie, the one girl who was more ostracized at school -an even richer version of the kook academy you hated -than you, her for being freakishly tall and you for your East Coast attitude, and the two of you became fast, if reluctant friends. Mack didn't try to stitch the gaping hole in your heart caused by your absent friends but she numbed the pain just enough to make it bearable and you were grateful for her calm, steady presence at your side, even as you both tried to keep each other at arm's length.  
Later, you found out she was just like you, friendless and awkward with no self-esteem and a tendency to push people away, and that just cemented your friendship through the summer and your final year of high school.
Mack told you all about her life, growing up with no siblings, having height that she never learned to deal with, and a debilitating social anxiety that made making friends near impossible, and in turn you told her about how you hopped from town to town on your mother's whims, the wonderful friends you let slip away, and the beautiful boyfriend you loved enough to let go, and you both cried together for the lives you could've led.
"You two looked so happy," She said during the first sleepover you hosted as she held one of the many picture frames littering your dresser, her lips turned upwards in a small smile.
You gently took the frame from her hands and ran your fingers over the grinning face of your ex-boyfriend, his arms wrapped around your shoulders as your painted lips planted a deep red kiss on his cheek, and the wave of longing washing over you was almost strong enough to bring you to your knees. "It was the happiest I've ever been."
"Do you miss him?"
"So much it hurts."
i miss you.
i'm so sorry.
i still love you.
You'd typed and erased those texts every day but never mustered the courage to hit send and you couldn't decide if that was a blessing in disguise or the worst possible curse. Of course you still loved JJ: you promised you would and even if you didn't, you couldn't stop if you tried. He was your first love, the boy you so willingly gave your whole heart and then some; you still kept his ring on your thumb -the one he gave you at the airport the day you left- and his bracelet around your wrist, his bandanas in your hair and his face in your dreams and you knew you always would.
Before you could blink, your eighteenth birthday flew by and graduation was upon you.
You thought the second you were done with high school you'd be gone, heading straight back to the Outer Banks and the life you left behind but you found yourself stalling on sending in an application to UNC -Chapel Hill until you missed the deadline for the fall semester. On the outside, you made up a semi-legit excuse about getting your basic courses done at a community college to save money but deep down you really knew why you procrastinated: you were terrified to go back. Ever since your break up with JJ, you hadn't spoken to him or any of your old friends other than the obligatory birthday wishes on Facebook and you wondered if the damage you'd done over the years was too much to come back from, even as you tried to work up the courage to find out for sure.
Another year passed: in between earning college credits, you and Daisy took a sister's trip to Disneyland, Mack asked you to tag along on a jaunt up the coast to San Francisco to see Alcatraz, your parents celebrated their 25th wedding anniversary (your gift was long-overdue forgiveness and they said it was the greatest thing you possibly could've given them). When the time came, you and Mack both sent out your applications to UNC -you for biology, her for chemistry- and the myriad of emotions you felt when you got in was nothing short of dizzying. The old you was terrified, screaming at you to rip up the letter and join your sister at UCLA instead of opening old wounds but the hopeful you, the girl who lived without fear, the girl who fell in love and let herself be loved, screamed louder.
And so you killed the old you once again, burying her even deeper than the last time in a locked chest and throwing the key as far as you could out into the Pacific where you knew you'd never find it. You clutched your acceptance letter close to your chest and took a step east, away from California and toward the place where your broken heart still rested, scattered in pieces across the sand.
Settling in at UNC was surprisingly easy. You and Mack already clicked pretty well as friends so making the transition to roommates was natural and, dare you say it, even a little fun and the two of you quickly fell into a comfortable routine in your tiny apartment off campus in Chapel Hill. Comfortable and yet...that happiness you once felt all those years ago was missing from your life and you found yourself just as restless as you were in Malibu. While you knew exactly what you needed to do, that fear kept rearing its ugly head in the back of your mind, poisoning your thoughts: what if they wouldn't be happy to see you, what if they forgot about you, what if they hated you? What if he hated you?
It was terrifying, picturing yourself turning up at the Chateau with a hopeful smile only to have the door slammed right in your face. Deep down, you knew they'd never do that to you no matter how badly you'd hurt them but when you'd spent your whole life expecting the worst, taking a leap of faith wasn't an easy feat -something Mack just couldn't wrap her head around.
"I don't get it."
You glanced up from where you were lounging on your bed, flipping through your biology notes in preparation for your lab exam the next morning and shot your roommate a confused look. "Get what?”
Mack sat at your desk, her own notebooks lying ignored as she spun the chair around to face you, arms crossed. "Why you haven't hopped on that ferry to go get your man yet!"
You froze for a moment too long before offering a half-hearted shrug as you fiddled with the beads at the end of your bracelet. "It's not that easy. He probably wants nothing to do with me and I don't blame him."
"How do you know? You haven't talked to JJ in over a year, right?" At your tight nod, she continued, "What if he's just like you-"
"Depressed?"
Mack fixed you with a flat, unamused look. "Still in love, dumbass."
You scoffed and propped your chin in your hand as you glanced back down at your study guide, trying not to latch onto that little thought -hope and pain all rolled into one- that sparked to life at her words. He'd said he would probably always love you that New Year's Eve and back then you'd let yourself believe him but now, you weren't so sure. "Yeah, right. No way he's still...still in love with me after I broke his heart."
"Maybe he is, maybe he isn't," Your roommate said with a shrug, spinning around on the chair to grab her things. "You'll never know if you don't get over there, track his fine ass down, and talk to him."
You stared down at your notes without actually seeing anything, the slanted letters of your handwriting blurring before your eyes as the other girl flipped her chemistry book closed and stood, shooting you an warm smile that you didn't see. 
"Listen, Y/N, you're my best friend and I want to see you happy more than anything but I can't take that jump for you. Yeah, it's scary and nerve wracking and you might end up hurt worse than before, so what? That's just...life."
Mack left after that, crossing the apartment to her room so she could get ready for a date with a girl from her psych class, leaving you alone with tears on your face and a million thoughts in your head, all of them terrifying and exciting and oh so loud.
She was right, of course -Mack always knew the right thing to say- and as you stared down at the bracelets on your wrists and the ring on your thumb, the pictures on your phone and the too-big shirt hanging off one shoulder, you realized sitting around moping wasn't gonna solve anything; if you wanted your happiness, your friends, the love of your life back, you needed to step up and fight for them with everything you had. And so you wiped the tears from your cheeks and walked to the cliff's edge with your head held high, ready for the fall and whatever came with it. You were ready to fix your mistakes, no matter how badly it might hurt.
Still, you couldn't do it all on your own. You needed some help to make things right again and while you knew just who to ask, you weren't quite sure if they'd be willing to lend a hand. Desperate times called for desperate measures though and you penned a good old-fashioned letter, feeling like a heroine in a Jane Austen novel as you poured all your thoughts -your dreams, wishes, hopes- onto a piece of paper in bold blue ink and sent it off to its destination on Figure 8, your Hail Mary for a happy ending sealed up neatly in a single envelope.
Mack, bless her heart, did her best to keep your spirits up as you waited on a response but even her ever reassuring presence couldn't keep you from worrying as one week passed by, then two. Halfway through the third you'd almost given up, already wracking your brain for another way to make your plan work when your phone chimed with a text from an unknown number.
i'll help you
And just like that, the moment you'd been waiting for was finally within your reach; you told your parents not to expect you for Thanksgiving break, called your sister for a much needed pep talk, and started counting down the days until you'd see your friends again, for better or worse.
When you left the Outer Banks three years ago, it was sunny. You were sixteen, young and in love and scared about the future.
When you returned, it was in the middle of a storm. You were nineteen, a little bit older but no less in love and definitely still scared about what was waiting for you at the end of the road.
Rain pounded against the roof of Sarah Cameron's SUV as she drove away from the docks and toward the Chateau, her fingers tapping along to the music playing quietly through the radio. You sat in the passenger seat, soaked to the bone from your ferry ride from the mainland and shaking like a leaf despite the towel wrapped around your shoulders and the warm air flowing from the car's vents.
"Thanks for coming to get me," You said, wincing at the awkward lilt of your voice echoing in the small space as you spun JJ's ring around your thumb and stared out the windshield at the familiar sights streaking by in blurred shades of green and brown. Being back opened a Pandora's box of emotions in your head, both good and bad, and instead of trying to sort them out, you let them bounce around in your brain like a pinball machine and concentrated on methodically twirling the warm metal ring in circles on your finger.
Sarah briefly glanced away from the road to shoot you a small smile, her kind eyes softening at your visible nervousness. "Not gonna lie, I was pretty sure you hated me so when I got your letter it kinda...threw me for a loop. Sorry it took me so long to reply."
You wished the heated leather seat would swallow you whole as you winced again and wrapped the towel tighter around your shoulders. "For the longest time, I thought I did hate you but I realized I was just...scared of losing my friends and I took it out on you. You didn't deserve to be labeled the villain in my story when I was the one, um, sabotaging myself, I guess." You took a deep breath and picked at a loose thread tickling your arm. "And I'm really, really grateful for your help."
It was more than you wanted to admit out loud -nearly the same words were written in the letter peeking out from the center console of the car- but at the same time, you knew it was what needed to be said and from the way the blonde girl's fingers stopped tapping against the steering wheel, she knew she needed to hear it. At a red light, she quickly tapped out a text on her phone before tossing in back into her bag with another tiny grin in your direction.
"Happy to help. For what it's worth, I'm so sorry if I made you feel like you were being replaced, I never intended to hurt you or steal your friends or...or, I don't know, usurp-" 
"Sarah, stop. Please," You held up a hand to cut off her apology and offered her a self-deprecating smile. "I'm the one who's sorry. I let my...jealousy get the best of me and I feel so bad about all the shit I said 'cause that wasn't fair to you at all and I hope you can forgive me-"
"Y/N, there's nothing to forgive! We all say stupid shit when we're mad -trust me, I know." She interrupted with a bubbly, contagious giggle that seemed to scare away the gloomy storm clouds gathered over your head for a moment in time. "But I was never pissed at you, ever. I just want you to know that."
Stunned, you settled deeper into the seat and started playing with your ring again as she kept driving on, unbothered by your lack of response. You felt like you were thirteen again, back when Sarah and Kiara were your only friends, before the birthday disaster and the whole pogue versus kook feud that got completely out of hand; it felt...nice and you found yourself hoping that the blonde girl would still want to be your friend again, no matter what the others thought about your sudden return. 
"Thank you."
Sarah gave no indication she heard your quiet confession of gratitude but from the way you watched her smile grow out of the corner of your eye, you knew she did. The rest of the drive passed in companionable silence as you retreated into your own thoughts, your nerves getting worse and worse the closer you got to your destination.
You took a deep breath and let it out slowly through your nose, feeling like your heart was trying to beat its way through your rib cage. You hadn't been this anxious in a long, long time, so long you almost forgot how much you hated the tightness in your chest, how your palms would start to sweat, the way you'd chew the inside of your cheek until you tasted blood on your tongue. By the time Sarah pulled into an open spot beside the achingly familiar Volkswagen parked in front of the Chateau, you were surprised you were still able to breathe.
The sight of the tiny house, one you spent so many carefree days and beautiful nights in alongside your friends, standing virtually unchanged in front of you was like a shot to the heart and your hands, curled into fists on your lap, began to shake without warning. Shit, you were a godforsaken mess; how the hell were you supposed to do this without having a mental breakdown?
"I'm so scared."
The whispered words, barely audible over the torrential rain against the roof, slipped from your mouth before you could stop them and Sarah slowly reached one hand over to give your trembling wrist a reassuring squeeze, the corners of her mouth curled upward in a slight smile.
"Don't be. They're gonna be so happy to see you!"
You turned to look at her, eyebrows knit together in disbelief. "How are you so sure they still care about me?"
"I'm sure 'cause I've seen it. My God, if only you could've heard all the times they talked about you -'I wish Y/N was here,' 'remember that time with Y/N,' hell, just straight 'I miss Y/N so fucking much,'" She said bluntly and shifted in the driver's seat to face you head on, smiling wider at the thunderstruck look on your face. "Pretty sure I haven't gone a week without JJ saying that last one at least once." 
"I thought..." You paused, tongue darting out to run over your dry lips as you tried to put your jumbled feelings into words, "I thought he'd hate me -I mean, after all I've done, you think he still..."
"Loves you? Are you kidding?" Her reply was so enthusiastic it was hard not to believe her as she went on, her words like sunshine brightening the darkest corners of your mind. "He's still head over heels, I've never seen him even look at another girl in three damn years. You know he still wears your necklace, the one with the silver star? Kie told me all about it."
"I-I didn't." You remembered giving it to him the day you left, managing a shaky smile through your tears as you carefully clasped it around his neck, your fingers running over his skin as you settled the charm perfectly alongside that little shark tooth you'd grown to love.
('Be careful with this, baby. It's my favorite.' You had said, crying harder when he'd taken off one of his rings and slipped it onto your thumb.
'Well, this one's my favorite so take good care of it, okay?' His voice had been light but his eyes were heavy with unspoken words that you'd heard loud and clear because you knew your gaze said the exact same things.
don't let me go
don't break my heart
don't stop loving me)
You coughed to disguise the fat tears that started rolling down your face, quickly wiping them away with your sleeve but the blonde girl wasn't fooled as she gave your hand another friendly squeeze.
"Come on, they're probably wondering what's taking me so long," She sent a conspiratorial wink your way and grabbed her bag from the center console. "I told them I was picking up some pizzas but I have a funny feeling they won't be too pissed that I lied."
With a desperate grip on the strap of your backpack and your heart racing, you trailed behind Sarah through the rain to the front porch. 
"Ready?" She glanced back where you lingered at the top of the stairs, anxiously shuffling from foot to foot, and shot you a smile that did little to calm your nerves. "Just wait here!"
She knocked on the door before you could reply and yelled loud enough to be heard over the pouring rain, "Hey, it's me! Can somebody get the door? My hands are kinda full."
"Got it!"
Your bag slipped from your fingers and fell onto the porch with a loud thump at the sound of the voice floating through the open windows, a voice you heard nearly every night as you slept, in your dreams of a future you wanted with everything you had. You knew it better than your knew your own, knew every pitch and tone and lilt; quiet and raspy in the mornings when you woke up in each other's arms, loud and carefree during long days spent under the golden sun with the rest of your friends, soft and warm and laid bare at night when he showed how much he loved you with more than just words.
Sarah gave you an enthusiastic thumbs up before stepping to the side just as the door opened and you suddenly found yourself struggling to breathe as you stared into the wide blue eyes of your ex-boyfriend. JJ stared right back, one of the hands you used to hold clenched so tight around the doorknob his knuckles were white, the lips you used to kiss parted in surprise, the blond hair you used to run your fingers through falling onto his forehead like always and the familiar, beautiful sight of him standing close enough to touch made your knees weak.
"You're not pizza."
It was such a JJ thing to say and you didn't know whether to laugh or cry as you swallowed thickly and shook your head. "Sorry to disappoint you."
"I'm not."
"Oh."
Hope flared white hot in your chest at his words but it quickly started to fade, replaced by fear when he made no move toward you, his fingers still gripping tight to the door, and you felt your face start to heat in embarrassment as Sarah looked back and forth between the two of you like she was watching a tennis match. 
God, you were so stupid. What did you expect would happen, showing up out of the blue after over a year of no contact? Everything would fall into place again with just one long, heavy look? Believing it could be that easy turned you into a complete and total fool, tongue-tied and insecure and weak.
"Yo, what's the hold up?" John B's voice asked from inside the house and Sarah leaned down to call through the open window, "Come out here and find out!"
A wave of dizziness hit you like a truck and you took a sudden step back toward the stairs, arms wrapping around your stomach as it twisted itself into knots. "I'm sorry, I-I shouldn't have come. This was a mistake." You didn't notice the stricken look that crossed JJ's face or the three familiar, stunned expressions that appeared behind him in the darkened doorway before turning away and stumbling off the porch toward the road, leaving your bag behind and you definitely didn't notice how you barely made it off the bottom stair before a set of footsteps hastily gave chase. 
"It wasn't a mistake, Y/N!" JJ's desperate voice stopped you in your tracks, halfway across the yard with more than just rain running down your face. "Not to me, never to me."
His soft touch on your wrist sent shockwaves through your body and you instantly became putty in his hands, letting him turn you around without a fight to face him, watching in fascination as the downpour started to darken his gray shirt and flatten his hair against his forehead. Three years hadn't changed much about him -he was a little taller, hair a little longer, the muscles in his arms a little more defined- and when you met his wide-eyed gaze, beads of rain dripping from his long eyelashes like diamonds, you wondered if he was thinking about the differences time created between the younger you of the past and the you of the right now, too.
"Oh." You repeated dumbly, struggling for something, anything to say that didn't make you sound like an illiterate fool. Even at nineteen, words still weren't your strong suit so you let your actions speak for you as your hand reached out on its own accord to caress the silver star still clasped around his neck, the thumb still wearing his ring brushing slowly against the dip between his collarbones; he shivered, and you weren't really sure if it was from your touch or the cold. 
"Y/N." JJ said your name like a prayer, like he couldn't believe you were there in front of him, and you inhaled sharply when both of his hands slowly, carefully moved to cup your face, his calloused thumbs habitually wiping the tears from your cheeks over and over, even as more instantly replaced the ones he swept away. "I fucking missed you."
You stood there, looking like a damned drowned rat with your hair dripping into your eyes, shivering in your soaked jeans and Kildare County High School sweatshirt, the love of your life cradling your face so gently in his hands, and so many things you wanted to say flooding your brain but only the one that mattered the most managed to get by your trembling lips.  
"I'm still in love with you." 
You noticed a lot when you put your heart on the line: the steady, soothing sound of water falling through the trees, the bright, clean taste of rain on your tongue, how the sun was just barely starting to peek out from behind the stormy clouds, but they all paled in comparison to the little things you noticed about the boy in front of you; blue irises made even brighter by the red rimming his eyes, how he stepped closer on the wet grass until the tips of his scuffed boots touched your worn gray high tops, the way his hands trembled ever so slightly against your flushed face. 
"Well, it's your lucky day 'cause I'm still in love with you, too."
All of the breath left your lungs in one big rush when JJ smiled hopefully -oh, how you loved everything about that smile: his slightly crooked teeth, that dimple in his cheek, the endearing pink blush swept across his nose- and you felt yourself return it without a second thought, your own hope once again burning bright in your chest.
"Even after...everything?" Your voice shook like the fingers you slid into the hair at his nape and he leaned down to rest his forehead against yours, close enough you could feel his breath on your lips when he spoke.
"I told you I'd always love you, didn't I?"
You nodded, a delicious shiver running down your spine when he tilted his head just so and gently bumped your nose with his. You remembered all the times he did that through the years, a dizzying slideshow of memories that flashed through your mind like lightning, and your fingers wove themselves deeper in his hair. 
"I have so many things to apologize for," You said with a tiny, quiet shake of your head, tearing your eyes away from his in shame and staring over his shoulder toward where the rest of your friends watched from the porch, all crowded together at the top of the stairs with identical enthralled expressions on their faces. "There are so many mistakes I've made and people I've hurt and I have no idea how to even start saying sorry for it all." 
"Babe."
The sound of your old pet name caused your gaze to snap right back to his and your heart felt like it was about to beat right out of your chest when one of his hands trailed down the sensitive skin of your neck and then lower until it traced along the curve of your hip and left a line of fire in its wake.
"We'll figure that out later, okay?" JJ said as his fingers tucked a loose strand of wet hair behind your ear, a coy, ardent grin on his face. "'Cause I've been waiting three years to kiss you again and if I don't get to do it soon, I'm gonna lose my fucking mind."
You smiled -a wide, joyful, elated smile- and rose up on your tiptoes in anticipation. "Then kiss me." 
You didn't have to tell him twice. His lips pressed against yours desperately, like he needed you to breathe, like you were the very air in his lungs, religiously, like your mouth was the altar and he was there to worship as he pulled you close, the fingers of one hand tangling in your hair while the others dug into your hip. You kissed him back just as hard and the familiar taste of him on your tongue -mint, smoke, salt- sent that dearly missed spark racing through your veins like wildfire.
It was a little cliché, having your long-awaited reunion kiss in the rain but it was honest and candid and real and so much better than anything you could've dreamed. You lost yourself in his touch like you used to, clinging to him like a lifeline and pouring your whole heart into every fierce brush of your lips against his, both of you pulling away for a moment only to dive right back in each time. It was addictive, intoxicating, and you could've spent the rest of your life standing there in the middle of the yard and kissing like there was no tomorrow if a loud, ear-piercing wolf whistle hadn't come from the direction of the porch.
The two of you broke apart just barely, with foreheads still pressed together and swollen lips, and you couldn't stop yourself from giggling when JJ blindly flipped the bird over his shoulder before pulling you back in for another eager kiss that filled your whole body with an exhilarating, heavenly heat that never faded, even after four enthusiastic voices suddenly surrounded you like an excited swarm of nosy, buzzing bees.
"You aren't the only one who missed her, J." Kiara said, smiling widely as you reached out to grab her hand and pull her into a powerful one-armed hug, her chin resting on your shoulder.
"Yeah, stop hogging all the love!" John B added, throwing himself into the pile along with Pope, who slung an arm around your shoulders as he said, "Great to have you back, Y/N."
Sarah was the last to join and she quietly tucked herself under John B's arm with a pleased grin on her face, nodding when you mouthed 'thank you' in her direction. The six of you stood there in the rain, smiling like fools, and as the sun started to scare away the dark clouds overhead and in your heart, a weight you didn't even realize had been crushing your chest slowly began to lift away with each freeing breath. 
You still had a lot of work to do: wrongs to be righted, apologies to be made, explanations -not excuses- to be given for every shitty thing you did in your past. But as happy tears started streaming down your face once again and you felt the arms of the friends you’d thought were lost to you forever tighten around you at the sight, you knew in your bones all would be forgiven. You knew that after three long years, you'd finally come home.
-
let me know what you think! i read each and every one of your comments and cry because they mean so much to me! ❤
taglist ❤: @sinkbeneathwaves​ @cordeliascrown​ @maysbanks​ @jjpogueprincess​ @bibliophilewednesday​ @k-n-e​ @jiaraendgame​ @alexa-playafricabytoto​ @heypearce​ @sexualparkour​ (send me an ask if you’d like to be added or removed!)
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obx-adventures · 4 years
Text
The Introverted Twin
Summary - Being John B’s bookish twin isn’t easy. Especially with my best friend, Pope, being weird about me getting closer with JJ.
Catch up here: Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3
——
Chapter 4
I spend the next week isolating myself from the Pogues. John B, JJ, and Kie all try to get me to talk to them about what happened, but I stick to my decision to keep Pope’s declaration of love to myself. After a week of silence, John B and JJ have had enough.
“Alright, Y/N,” my twin says when he busts into my room. “No more sulking, let’s go out.”
“JB, go find Pope. Take him out, not me.”
“No can do, sis. I can’t let you hide in here for forever. You’ve already said you won’t tell us what happened, so we won’t push. But you are not staying in your room for another day.”
“Sunshine, come on,” JJ begs as he takes my hand to try to pull me off my bed. “We’re worried about you.”
“Kie is talking to Pope right now,” JB reassures me as he opens my blinds. “He finally answered her text this morning, so we decided to divide and conquer.”
“He did? Is he ok?”
“You don’t get any information until you meet us outside,” JJ answers stubbornly as they leave the house.
I sit on my bed a few minutes trying to weigh my options. My self-imposed punishment isn’t really helping anything and I do want to know how my best friend is doing. Reluctantly, I leave my room to meet the guys in the backyard.
“How is he?” I ask, trying to ignore the smug looks on their faces as I sit on the hammock next to JJ.
“Kie said that he seems sad but ok,” John B responds gently. “She tried to get him to talk to her about whatever happened between you two, but he won’t give her anything. She is going with him to make some deliveries today so she’s hoping to get more out of him.”
I look down at my hands in my lap and try to fight back tears. I can’t believe I’ve caused Pope so much pain. He has been such an important part of my life for so many years. Did I lead him on? Could I have done something to prevent this? Maybe relied on him less? I think back to how I told him that he makes me feel like I’m not alone and selfishly worry that I won’t have that anymore.
“How about the three of us go out on the Pogue today?” JJ suggests as he takes my hand gently. “You can get some sun while we fish. We’ll stay quiet if you want us to.”
I nod and go inside to get changed. The guys take over snack duty for the day and we are on our way within 15 minutes. Once we drop anchor, I strip down to my swimsuit and lay out in my usual spot at the front of the boat. I finally feel myself relax when the quiet is interrupted by the sound of John B’s phone.
“Whoa,” he exclaims. “Pope told you he’s in love with you?!”
I jolt up to look at my brother and see JJ’s shocked expression.
“Shit, JJ, pretend you didn’t hear that.” My brother sounds sheepish as he looks between us.
“Why?” JJ and I ask at the same time.
“Because Pope told Kie she could tell me, but he doesn’t want JJ to know,” John B explains. I can hear the question in his statement but decide to ignore it. JJ looks at me with his eyebrows contracted in confusion.
“Why would Pope not want me to know?” JJ asks me.
Instead of answering, I lay back down and squeeze my eyes shut behind my sunglasses. How the hell am I supposed to answer this question? I don’t think I can handle JJ brushing off Pope’s suggestion that something was going on between us as if the idea is ludicrous.
“What did you say to Pope?” John B asks when he realizes I’m not going to answer JJ’s question.
“What do you think I said, JB?” I reply sarcastically. “We haven’t spoken in a week, so it doesn’t seem likely that I confessed that I’m in love with him too, does it?”
“That’s not what I meant, smartass. I was asking how you handled it. It can’t have been easy.”
John B comes over to sit down next me. I sit up, take off my sunglasses, and look out over the water before I respond.
“I told him that he’s my best friend,” I confess. “I didn’t know how to respond. Did you know he felt that way?”
“I thought it was possible. But I never thought he would say anything. What triggered it?”
“He thinks something is going on with me and JJ,” I admit. He has to lean in closer to me to as I whisper this, and he raises his eyebrows at my response.
“Is there something going on between you and JJ?” he whispers back to me.
Just as I did with JJ a few minutes ago, I lay back down instead of answering. My brother looks at me for a few moments before going back over to his seat. The rest of our time on the water is uncharacteristically quiet, with all of us stuck in our own thoughts. After only 30 more minutes, John B decides to head back to the Chateau. As I’m walking to the house, I’m stopped by JJ grabbing my hand.
“Sunshine,” he says quietly when I don’t turn back to look at him. “Come on. Talk to me. Why doesn’t Pope want me to know?”
I take a deep breath to brace myself before I turn around to look at him. I can’t risk getting lost in his piercing blue eyes while we have this conversation, so I look down at our still joined hands.
“He thinks something is going on with us,” I whisper. When JJ doesn’t immediately respond, I lift my head to study his face.
“Do you want there to be something going on with us?” JJ’s cheeks are tinted pink and he looks at me with questioning eyes. I chew on my bottom lip as I look away from him. He moves closer to me and my heart rate speeds up. “Look at me, Sunshine.”
I can’t bring myself to make eye contact with him again, so I pull my hand from his and run into the house. John B is pacing around the living room when I enter, and he looks up to see me flustered and emotional.
“Look, Y/N,” he starts. “JJ is my best friend. I love him like a brother. But – ”
“JB, I can’t have this conversation with you,” I interject. I grab the van keys and run out of the house.
“Where are you going, Sunshine?” I don’t answer JJ as I get into the van and drive away.
I drive around for a while and somehow end up at Sarah’s house. She has been dating my brother for a while now but she and I aren’t very close so I’m not sure how I ended up at her doorstep. I knock on the door and am greeted by Wheezie. She calls Sarah for me and I can tell how surprised Sarah is when she sees that I’m her visitor.
“Y/N, is everything ok?”
I don’t think I can answer her without breaking down in the doorway. She sees the tears well up in my eyes and gently takes my hand to lead me to her room. Once she closes the door, she sits on her bed and gives me a few minutes to collect my thoughts as I pace in her room.
“Have you talked to my brother today?” I ask, trying to figure out if he has already told her everything that happened this morning.
“I called him maybe 20 minutes ago and he didn’t answer. But he texted me and said he was talking to JJ.”
“Shit! Fuck! Shit!” Sarah is visibly shocked by my outburst and comes over to me and pulls me into a tight hug.
“Y/N, I know that you and I aren’t really friends yet, but you can talk to me.” I pull back from the hug and dry the tears I didn’t realize had already fallen down my cheeks.
“Ok, ok, ok…” I say as I try to organize my thoughts. “Last week, Pope told me that he was in love with me. But I don’t feel the same way. Also, I’m maybe in love with JJ. And sometimes I think that JJ may have feelings for me too. But then I remember that I’m definitely not his type and he’s JB’s best friend. And it would kill Pope if he knew how I felt about JJ. But it’s all kind of exploding right now and I have no idea what to do.”
I deflate once I get this all off my chest. I fall onto the bed next to Sarah and start sobbing with my head in my hands. She wraps an arm around me and brings my head toward her shoulder.
“Shhh, it’s ok. We’ll figure this all out.”
Once I calm down, I lift my head off her shoulder and shake my hands out. I’m a little embarrassed that I just had a breakdown in front of my brother’s girlfriend but there isn’t anything I can do about that now.
“I’m sorry I just dumped all of that on you. You are the newest person in our group, and I think I’m here because you may be the most objective person that I can talk to about all this.”
“No, don’t apologize,” she responds kindly. “Let’s talk this out. So you think you may be in love with JJ?”
“I don’t know… maybe… yes. But he’s JJ. He can get any girl he wants, I don’t think he wants me.”
“I think you’re wrong, I saw how he looked at you the other day when we were on the boat. And he planned a trip to the planetarium for you. I don’t think he would do that if he didn’t care.”
“I know he cares, but I think it’s just because I’m his best friend’s sister. Wait, how was he looking at me on the boat?”
“Like you were the only person there,” Sarah says with a smile. “You aren’t just John B’s sister to him. Like you said, I’m brand new to the group and even I can see that you’re special to him.”
I feel heat rise to my cheeks at the idea that I’m special to JJ. But then I remember what John B tried to tell me before I left.
“John B would never be ok with it, Sarah,” I say dejectedly. “And even if he was, what about Pope?”
“Look,” Sarah stands and starts speaking animatedly in front of me. “It’s not like anyone wanted me and your brother to be together, right? Kiara was so pissed at him and Rafe didn’t talk to me for a month. But none of it matters. If you love someone, you need to just say ‘Fuck it’ and be happy. The people who really love you will come around.”
I think about what she said for a few minutes and I can’t deny that she’s right. John B basically told all of us to get over it. And while it wasn’t easy, we did. Could that happen for me and JJ?
“But the real questions, Y/N,” Sarah says, pulling me from my thoughts, “are how does JJ feel about you and do you want to be together.”
I stand up, pull Sarah into a tight hug, and give her a kiss on the cheek. I thank her and run back out of the house to the van. I need to find JJ and finish the conversation he tried to start earlier.
Ch 5
Taglist: @agirlwholovescoffee @obxlife @meaganjm @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @velyssaraptor @lunaposey
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Text
[[Part 4 of ???]]
Stuck with you
//Baozhai and Islay walked through the jungle. Islay cutting down leaves in their way with her sword.//
Baozhai, looking at the map: You think we'll find any skeletons through here??
Islay: How should I know? I Never heard of this place before.
Baozhai: Oh well, then allow me to tell you about this place!
Islay: please don't-
Baozhai: The Paititi was a civilization that were known for having tons of gold and practically living in it everday! Everything they had was made out of gold. Bowls, statues, and even clothing! Isn't that amazing to know??? Then one day the the civilization just disappeared! As well as the gold items and riches they had. Once outsiders arrived, all they found were statues and the abandoned villages. The weirdest thing they found was murals, depicting where they supposedly hid their treasure...
Islay:
Islay: How do you know all that? I thought you were supposed to be stupid or something.
Baozhai: Oh Ironbeard told me- HEY! I'm not dumb! I have the intelligence of a highschooler thank you very much! >:(((
Islay: Yeah, yeah whatever you say.
Baozhai, still angry: I could literally wire your mouth shut if you said that in front of a crowd of people..!
Islay, stop walking and turns to Baozhai: Baozhai, let me get one thing straight with you. I don't care for your threats and I'm not afraid of you. Everyone else on the ship might cower in fear when you brutalize someone but I've seen other pirates with less anger issues do worse. You're just a temperamental brat who gets offended at the slightest comment that criticizes you. Now all I want to do is get this treasure, leave, and ignore the fact that you still exist... You think you can manage shutting your mouth for once?
Baozhai:
Baozhai, pouts: fine I'll be quiet but I won't be happy about it >:(
Islay, rolls her eyes: Just make sure you don't loose the map.
//Islay took a few steps forward. She pushed some giant leaves out of the way. In front of them was a stone path with strange runes drawn on them. Baozhai looked at the map. She took a step forward and put her pressed her foot down on the path. Immediately, arrows came flying out from the walls. Baozhai quickly backed away before one of the arrows could pierce her.//
Islay: The classic arrows coming out of walls and trying to figure out the correct pattern on the floor... How cliche.
Baozhai: Good thing this map shows you how to cross.
//Just as the two were about to cross, a gunshot fired near their feet. The two women jumped back. A few feet from the left of them, stood Flint and Billy. Flint had the gun pointed towards the women.//
Flint: Not so fast ya' harlots.. give us that their map and we'll let ye both walk free..
Islay: Fuck off mate! This is our map and we're getting to that treasure!
Bones: Islay, we all know where this is going. Ye really want to risk a limb over that map?
Islay, holding her sword towards them: I'd rather die for it then let ye rats have it!
//She rushes towards the two. Unfortunately, she was taken down by Billy with a swift kick to the stomach. Billy put himself on top of her, putting her arms behind her back. Preventing her to do anything else harmful.//
Islay, struggling underneath Billy: Doesn't matter! My accomplice will tear you both apart!!
Flint: Well then I guess we'll have have pry it from their cold dead han-
Baozhai, hands him the map: Here you go :)
//Flint, Bones, and Islay all stand there completely stunned for a few seconds. Islay stared at Baozhai with her mouth gaping. Flint snatches the map out of Baozhai's hand.//
Flint: Seems like yer accomplice is more accommodating than ye..
Baozhai, hugs Flint tightly: you're so handsome..
//Flint stared, unamusedly at the small woman. He tried gentle pushing her off of him. But alas, Baozhai stuck to him like glue. Flint attempted to shove her off but still she stuck onto him. With all his strength, he tried to shove her off.//
Flint: LET GO OF ME!
Baozhai: 💕
//Flint grabbed Baozhai by her shoulders. He put his foot up against her, trying to pry her off of him. Fortunately, he managed to get her off of him.//
Baozhai: sorry... Couldn't help myself from wrapping my arms around your big, beefy, frame~
Flint, obviously disgusted: ...
Flint: tie em' both up Billy..
//Billy nods as he takes out some rope. A few minutes later the two women are tied, back to back to each other. Flint and Billy leave them behind as they successfully cross the booby trap.//
Islay, eye twitching angry: I cannot ... BELIEVE YOU HANDED OVER THE FUCKING MAP! WHY THE HELL DID YOU DO IT YOU FUCKING IDIOT. YOU COULDN'T DO THAT BRUTAL SHIT YOU LIKE TO DO TOWARDS THEM?? DID YOUR TWO FUNCTIONING BRAINCELLS GIVE UP ON YOU???
Baozhai: I'm sorry! I couldn't help myself.. he was just so dreamy💕 I feel like we had a real connection there!
Islay: HE PUSHED YOU OFF OF HIM! HOW WAS THAT A "REAL CONNECTION"????
Baozhai: it didn't seem like through his actions but I could feel it.. emotionally 🥺
Islay: OH I'M GOING TO SHOW YOU A REAL CONNECTION YOU STUPID SON OF A BI-
//Cut back to Billy and Flint walking through the jungle. Flint was holding the map.//
Bones: you think those two ladies will be fine..?
Flint: I'm sure they will. If they don't, too bad.
Bones: I mean, I feel a little bad.. I knew Islay for a few years and seeing her again was pretty nice... Until she tried killing me. That other girl seemed to like you a lot too..
Flint, sighs: They're the enemy, Billy. Don't think you should feel bad for em'. If the captain was here, he'd smack you on the side of the head.
Bones:
Bones: but he isn't here..
Flint: I can clearly see that-
//Suddenly, Flint fell through the ground. Flint was clinging to the edge of the ground. Below him was molten lava... Seemed as though it was another one of the booby traps. Unfortunately they had overlooked it. Billy, quickly began to pull Flint up. As he began to pull him up, the map slowly slipped out of hands. Flint, just now realizing this, tried grabbing the map. Unfortunately, the map fluttered down into the lava.//
Flint: No, no, no!
//Map: disintegrates.//
Flint: GODDAMNIT!
//Billy successful pulls Flint out of the hole.//
Bones: You okay??
Flint: No! Damnit I lost the FUCKING map!
Bones: It's okay maybe we can-
Flint: No, it is not okay! I lost the fucking map because I chose to talk instead of looking where I was walking! GODDAMNIT, GODDAMNIT, GODDAMNIT!
//Cut back to Islay and Baozhai. Baozhai was trying to figure out a way to untie them.//
Baozhai: maybe if we... No that wouldn't work.. how about! No, no, that wouldn't work either.. HUH! I've got it!
Islay, dying on the inside: what is it...?
Baozhai, slowly tries to use her knees to get up: we'll... Stand up.. and walk to the treasure tied together!
Islay: Sounds stupid.. but by this point what choice do I even have..?
//Islay uses her knees to also get up. Struggling but successful the two were able to get off the ground.//
Baozhai: Okay! Now we just run across the trap!
Islay: If I die doing this... Tell the crew... I hate you more than that warden that almost killed me..
Baozhai: I'll keep that noted!
//Together the two began to run towards the trap. Immediately tons of arrows flew out of the walls. They screamed in terror as the arrows came close to piercing their skin. With luck on their side, they managed to get across without any arrows sticking to them.//
Baozhai, breathing heavily: see.. that.. wasn't.. so bad..
Islay, white as a ghost: I think I may have wet myself there.
Baozhai: ... Gross...
Islay: I SAID I MAY HAVE!
//Cut back to Flint and Billy. After Flint got over his breakdown of losing the map, him and Billy began to walk around the jungle.//
Bones: uhh, let's take this direction..? *Points to a path*
Flint: we already walked through there...
Bones: Oh, um, then how about through here-
Flint, facepalms: we already walked through there too... ten minutes ago.. WE'VE BEEN WALKING IN CIRCLES FOR FUCK SAKE!
Bones: um... how about we try to walk back and retrace out steps?
Flint, let's out a long sigh: ... Fine.
//The two walk back in order to retrace their steps. Behind a bush they saw, Islay and Baozhai. Who were still tied up together.//
Baozhai: I'm telling you, if I was captain I'd be great at it!
Islay: if you were captain, the ship would immediately blow up from your incompetence.
Baozhai: Hey at least I'm the one who memorized the map! That has to count for something when it comes to leadership or captainship..
Islay: Since when do you have photographic memory???
Baozhai: Ever since I could remember ever little detail of me getting "treated" at the mental asylum I was forcefully put in. Like how they'd lock me in a padded room for hours on end in complete darkness and isolation or how they stuck a needle into my eye and into my brain to get the bad spirits out of me.. god it was painful.. haha! Those were the worst times of my life..! :D
Islay:
Islay: Let's just try to get to the treasure in one piece.. and maybe figure out a way out of these ropes.
//Behind the bush, the two clearly heard what they were just talking about. Billy nudged Flint.//
Bones: I've got an idea..
Flint: Let me hear it..
//Baozhai and Islay continued to walk together. It looked like the sun was starting to set. Islay took notice of this.//
Islay: Damnit, night's gonna arrive soon. As if we need any more problems..
Flint, comes out from behind the bushes with Billy: Stop right there!
Islay: Speak of the devil.
Baozhai, gasps: You came back for me! :D
Flint: I'm not here for you, you stupid cow!
Baozhai: yes you are~! I knew you couldn't resist me..
Flint, groans: I swear I'm going to punch you again.
Baozhai: Ooo, sounds hot..
Flint:
Bones:
Islay:
Flint: you know what nevermind... Tell us how to get to the treasure or we'll cut out your tongues!
Baozhai: Oh okay! Make a-
//Islay hits her head with Baozhai's head.//
Baozhai: Hey! Ow...
Islay: Don't tell him anything you idiot! The last time you did that you got us into this mess! Who knows if they'll do it or not!
Baozhai: okay fine
Flint, holds a knife against Baozhai's neck and growls: Talk..
Baozhai: I'd love to but I'm caught between wanting to tell you or possibly being strangled to death by my crewmate..
Flint: I'm going to count to three and if you don't tell me I'm going to kill you and her..
Baozhai:
Flint: One...
Bones: don't you think we should torture it out of them at least?
Flint: two.. *puts the knife and his head closer to her*
Islay: Whatever you do, don't tell him anything Baozhai!
//Baozhai with precious seconds passing by did the only reasonable thing imaginable. She gave Flint a kiss.//
Flint, cutting him off from saying three: *proceeds to gag and quickly step away from her* WHAT THE HELL??
Baozhai: I'm sorry you were getting close to my face and I couldn't help myself~ It was worth it~! Albeit your teeth did kinda cut my lips..
Flint: FUCK THIS *pulls out his flintlock pistol and presses the end against Baozhai's forehead* I'm gonna put a bullet in this cunt's head!
Bones: What about getting to the treasure???
Flint, growls: ... We can figure that out later..
Islay: Hold on now! How about we all get there together..
Flint: What are you talking about?
Islay: I'm saying how about we NOT kill each other until we arrive to the treasure..? You help us get out of these ropes and we lead you guys to the treasure.. then when we get there we can go back to hating each other as normal... That sound like a deal..?
Flint: Why would I trust you.. you could betray us or strand us at any moment when we let you go..
Islay, looks at Baozhai: even if I wanted to, I couldn't because of the simp next to me..
//Flint stared menacingly at Islay. He took out his knife again and held it against Islay's neck. Islay tried moving her head away her from the knife. Instead of slicing her neck open, he swiftly cut the ropes.//
Flint, puts away his gun and his knife: let's get a move on then. The sun is getting low and I'm not planning on carrying the either of you.
Baozhai: ha, I knew you would do that. You care about me too much to ever do such a thing..
Flint: talk one more time and I'm throwing you down a lava pit.
Baozhai:
Baozhai: my lips are sealed..
//The four walk off straight ahead with Baozhai taking lead.//
To be continued...
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ashenburst · 4 years
Text
Next To Me
Abbacchio x Reader, fluff? Just some funny stuff going on. Having a crush SUCKS but it’s also the best thing ever, and you’re struggling exactly with that - a blatant crush. 2771 words.
Have fun because I have so much more angst in mind.
With Fugo and Buccellati gone on a mission, no actual authority was left at the table. And yet, nothing out of the ordinary happened – it was unusually peaceful, even. Narancia was on your right, Mista on your left, Abbacchio in front of you, and it seemed as if nothing could disturb this atypical formation and the peace it brought.
Truth be told, with no Fugo to keep Narancia in check, the boy was elated. He told Narancia to read a lesson from some book. As expected, as soon as Fugo left, Narancia put a comic inside the book and began “reading”. You were sure that this wouldn’t end up well – but advising Narancia against it would do more harm than good, so you didn’t do a thing about it. Instead, you participated in whatever it was that Narancia wanted to retell you from the comic.
Mista had no encounters with the number four to unsettle him, which was a pleasant addition to the already calm atmosphere. Abbacchio, on the other hand…
What oddly irritated you was the fact that Abbacchio was silent all the while. You’d been chatting with Mista and Narancia for quite some time now, but this man hadn’t voiced himself not once. His presence was only physical, his mind certainly was absent; with his headphones on, he must’ve completely isolated himself. Not that you minded, you truly didn’t mean to bother him, but…
"Hmm, Narancia," you mumbled, staring at Abbacchio.
"Yeah?"
"What kind of music is Abbacchio listening to?”
"Ehh... no idea." He shrugged.
"Why are you asking?" Mista joined the conversation, uninvited, as usual. You glanced over to him, somewhat reluctant to reply. The guy knew about your crush on Abbacchio, unlike Narancia, who was oblivious to your usual swooning.
"He's got his headphones on constantly. If he's that fond of music, why doesn't he talk about it more?"
But Mista offered a normal response. "Not everyone is like Narancia to yell about their favorite trash artist."
Narancia shouted, "Snoop Dog is a legend! Shut up!"
Mista chuckled. "Chill, it was a joke."
"Pfft. More like an insult. Not funny." Narancia buried his face into the comic. Despite that, Mista continued his rambling.
"You know what's funny?"
The boy lowered the book just a little, enough for his displeased stare to be seen. "What?"
"(Y/N)."
You jumped in your seat. "Huh?! Why now?”
He closed his eyes, nonchalantly explaining, "Well, as I recall, you have a crush – “
"Shut the fuck up,” you warned.
The gunslinger just loved to tease you about it. Once again, he was enjoying the role he’d assigned himself – and oh, was he invested. He swayed his arms backwards, exaggerating his emotions with a sorry pout. "Aw, so mean! Did I hit the wrong spot?"
The wrong spot? "As usual." You stared at him.
Luckily for you, Mista was a slow one. He lowered his arms, eyes squinted as he glared straight ahead. Your stern expression did not falter, time passed, and yet Mista failed to comprehend the burn. You couldn’t believe it took him so much. "Oh." Suddenly he was very riled up. "Oi! Watch your mouth!”
"Why, you too," you muttered, rolling your eyes at him. He was blabbering some nonsense which you chose to ignore. You merely averted your gaze in the opposite direction and crossed your arms. With a sigh, you wondered just how exactly your friendship reached this point. Constant bickering and roasting became a norm – and now, you couldn’t imagine it any different.
Although you willingly participated in these… playful fights, you had your measure. Much like this instance, sometimes Mista would aggravate you too much, and you decided to quit it for the time being. He could get so annoying.
But Narancia... not as often. He was laughing all the while, which you found pleasant in the situation. After all, it was Mista’s pathetic self that amused him – or so you hoped, at least.
“So (Y/N), if you're that interested, why don't you just ask him yourself?” The black-haired boy asked, setting down his “book”. You noticed the coy smile he carried. You did not like its possible meaning. Had Mista told him?
"Yeah, as if,” you replied dismissively.
"But you seem completely competent at carrying a conversation, (Y/N)," Mista commented and you turned around for a moment to dignify him with a curt reply.
"Not with you, Mista." You smiled and once again turned your back to the gunslinger.
"Anyway, as I was saying, what do you want me to do?" You puffed your chest out, making Narancia giggle. "Hey Abbacchio, what in the name of –"
"What?"
The deep voice was instantly recognized. You clenched your jaw and forced yourself to look at Abbacchio. He’d removed his headphones, perhaps so as to hear you better. With his questioning gaze on you, you couldn’t help but feel intimidated.
It was Mista's turn to laugh. Narancia joined him. You almost felt betrayed.
Gathering what was left of your calm, you managed to utter a stammer-less sentence. "Were you listening?"
"No, I simply made out my name,” he said.
You were relieved. Moving on with the discussion, you spoke, “So, Narancia and I were wondering –”
"Wrong! You were wondering,” the boy corrected you to your utmost displeasure.
"Does it fucking matter?" You whispered to Narancia then turned back to Abbacchio. "I was wondering what music were you listening to. That's all."
He raised a brow. “You’re interested?”
“Yeah.”
“You probably haven’t heard of it, and it’s boring,” he explained, one hand on the headphone, ready to put it back.
"You wouldn't be listening to it all the time if it were boring," you replied bluntly.
Judging by the shift in his face, Abbacchio was slightly taken aback by your response. This caused you slight panic, so you immediately backed up your statement with, "Besides, I'm sure there's nothing like boring music. In matters of taste, there can be no disputes."
It was only after a short pause that he finally gave you the answer. "Monteverdi."
Narancia had to share his uncanny knowledge on that matter."Claudio Monteverdi, the Italian composer from the late Renaissance! He wrote operas, such as..."
Due to the fact he was yelling in your ear, you had to intervene. "Narancia –“
"Wait! I know! L'Orfeo! I knew it, right? Right, Abbacchio?" Narancia pointed at him.
"Correct." The white-haired male was surprised that Narancia knew, and Narancia was vastly proud of the fact as well. The only thing missing was Fugo to praise him.
"Classical music, huh? You never struck me as the type," Mista stated. Abbacchio barely shrugged to that.
"That's cool though," you blurted out, earning a stifled laugh from Mista. Just like before, Abbacchio showed little to no interest in the commentary. Since nobody else was willing to continue the conversation, and you were slightly… at a loss of words, Abbacchio once again put his headphones on. You bit your tongue. If only Narancia and Mista weren’t there to trip the dialogue, maybe you could’ve actually said something. Nevertheless, alone or not, you found it exceptionally hard to talk to your crush, due to the very fact he was that: your crush.
You hummed, placing your elbows on the table and staring at Abbacchio. He already had his eyes shut, as he was enjoying some Monteverdi’s masterpiece, utterly isolated from everyone else at the table. You almost envied him.
Actually, you did envy. Someone stepped on your foot. You glared at the only person who could've done it. Mista.
"The fuck,” you wheezed, grabbing him by the collar. “What’s wrong with you?”
His eyes widened as he whispered in response, "Are you freaking dumb?"
"No, but you are,” you automatically replied and let go of him.
"Buccellati would've killed you if he were here,” Narancia added loudly.
Mista acknowledged Narancia's statement with a furrow of his brows. Then, he lowered his head, his attention back on you.
"Jokes aside," he continued, hushing his voice to the very brink of your earshot, "you're unbelievable. You can't handle one conversation with him."
"Eh, no? I just don't wanna annoy him.”
"Keep telling that to yourself and someday, someone else is going to snatch him right before your eyes." Mista made grabbing gestures with his hands, making you back away. A bit too much, apparently, because Narancia pushed you.
"You almost spilled my juice!"
"Scusi, Narancia, I didn't mean to," you immediately apologized, making him huff and look away. You sighed and turned towards the gunslinger.
Mista tilted his head. "So?"
"Let me tell you what I think. I think you're just trying to make me embarrass myself in front of him,” you explained.
"No! I'd never!" Mista placed a hand on his chest, dramatically exclaiming, "I'm your best friend after all! I wish only the bestest of the best for you!"
"Sucks having a bestie like you," you murmured. Due to the fact your “bestie” yelled abruptly, Abbacchio glared at the two of you. You noticed this in the corner of your eye and gulped. "Anyway... I uh, I guess you're right,” you added, glancing back to Mista.
"That's the right attitude! Go get him!" He pumped his fist in the air.
“Could you please quiet down?” You asked him and chuckled awkwardly. “I appreciate your support and everything, but it’s just that… this discussion shouldn’t really be heard.” You looked over to Abbacchio, fearing he could’ve discerned something.
“Oh, of course, (Y/N), of course! But the fact still stands: if you don’t talk to him, you won’t achieve anything. Besides, don’t you think it’d be easier if he accidentally found out? You’d be relieved, wouldn’t you? And I’d stop teasing you. Perfect, right?”
Not perfect at all. Just the thought of you confessing to Abbacchio forced heat into your face. Mista caught this momentary embarrassment of yours; he leaned in and you once again backed away, thus provoking Narancia all over again.
“What the fuck are you two doing?!”
You were lucky you didn’t get a knife in your chest, because Narancia was holding one. You jumped on your feet.
“Blame it on Mista’s lack of respect for private space!” You pointed at Mista.
He let out an “eh” before retorting, “Blame it on (Y/N)’s inability to handle constructive criticism!”
“Blame it on Mista’s stench!”
“What the fuck?!” He threw his hands in the air.
That was when you noticed Fugo coming back, without Buccellati. Poor him, he was absolutely clueless – and he bore a confused expression accordingly.
“Hello there! You’re back so fast, I reckon the mission went well,” you greeted with a smile. Fugo reciprocated it.
“Yeah, it was a breeze. I wouldn’t even call it a mission, it was more of a… mail delivery. Buccellati was genuinely confused in the end as well,” he explained, waving his hand.
“Weird,” Mista murmured.
“Where’s Buccellati?” Abbacchio asked.
“He’s talking to the owner of the ristorante. Also, if I may ask, Mista’s stench is to be blamed for what exactly?” Fugo’s question was so innocent, you couldn’t help but chuckle.
“The usual shenanigans, nothing special,” you answered truthfully. Fugo nodded in understanding and neared the table.
“Ah, Narancia, I’m glad you were…” He paused, stopping next to Narancia’s seat. Narancia stared at him, and Fugo stared back. You, being the one next to Fugo, noticed where his focus landed – it was the book wherein the comic laid, and Narancia left it wide open on the table. You weren’t looking forward to the consequences.
Indeed, Fugo’s rage took over. One of the many questions that followed being, “Do you think I’m retarded?!”
You didn’t want to be anywhere near the impending doom, so you quickly strode towards Abbacchio’s side of the table and sat next to him.
Mista too skillfully moved away, and even took an unbothered sip of his tea. Above the cup, his dark eyes found their focus on you. You were sure you spotted amusement hiding behind those thick lashes; it was an unnecessary pressure adding onto the already not so ideal situation.
Now, seating yourself next to Abbacchio was a difficult feat on its own. To strike a conversation, that was almost impossible. Your mind ran rampant, looking for excuses to start one. He mentioned Monteverdi, he liked classical music – you had some knowledge on that matter, so you could actually talk about it… no. If you knew something, Abbacchio certainly knew more – he must’ve loved classical music, and you were no fanatic of it. He was one… perhaps? God, you were so unsure.
You swallowed a lump that gathered in your throat. If you thought you were an amateur in that area, why not present yourself as one?
“Hey, Abbacchio?”
“Hm?”
Good, he was listening. You took a deep breath before moving on.
“Concerning what we talked about earlier… I… really don’t think I’ve ever listened to Monteverdi,” you mumbled, watching as Fugo criticized Narancia and threatened to smack him with the book.
“Would you like to?”
Was he offering you to listen to it? You couldn’t allow yourself to hope so; nevertheless, you’d give it a try. You looked at Abbacchio, only to see that he too was occupied with observing the fight.
“Why not. I like classical music, so…” You fell silent, knowing you’d start oversharing – and you absolutely did not want to bore him. Having heard your response, Abbacchio lifted his hands from his chest where he had kept them crossed. Thus, the most peculiar sight blessed your eyes: he was removing his headphones. You were struck with ecstatic disbelief.
He handed them over to you, he did, and you took them, fingers wrapping around them as if they were the most fragile object to be forged on this world. You put them on your head, already hearing whispers of that opera Abbacchio was indulging in – and once you finally moved them into their place, once your ears were comfortable, you knew you were in for a surprise.
Your expectations, no matter their wavering height, turned out to be shamefully low. Angelic was the tune, timid and yet – captivating. It was no prideful, vehement opera you were listening to, no. It was a choir that sung with harmony, softly, with rises and falls all tender, accompanied by an organ that not once stood out. The kind of music you would easily dub a lullaby.
It was so delicate, so fine. Voices cascading into each other in waterfalls of arias. Masterfully crafted to form this otherworldly experience. You were shocked beyond measure.
You couldn’t believe this stoic man was listening to such music. You allowed yourself a shy peek towards him, and were rewarded with an encouraging fact: he was watching you, attentive, wanting to know how you would react to his music, to his interest. He cared, and the voices in your ear grew louder along with your humble realization.
As soon as your eyes locked, he, just like you, looked away. You were unsure if he were smiling, but you knew you were.
In front of you, Narancia’s juice was already spilled, and the comic was ripped into bits. The book was left unscathed, but Narancia wasn’t. Fugo hit him in the head with it, asking him – if you heard that well – if knowledge would transfer to him that way. Creative. All of this was happening as many voices gently hummed against your eardrums.
“Listening to a choir while Fugo beats the shit out of Narancia is quite… the experience,” you pointed out, your tone barely audible.
Abbacchio actually let out a laugh. He even asked, “You like it?”
“Absolutely,” you whispered, awe-stuck. You turned to him once more, and allowed a grin to appear on your face.
“Your taste in music is incredible,” you told him. His lips parted in surprise, but quickly formed a placid smile.
The choir quieted just in the moment for Abbacchio to be heard distinctly. “Thank you,” he mumbled with a softness unusual to him. You merely nodded – you were too satisfied to say anything.
At that exact moment, Buccellati returned with words of discord. “You’re going to ruin the ristorante at this pace! Look at this mess!”
As the only valid authority in this group, Buccellati managed to elicit apologies all around. He shook his head, still disapproving as he sat down. He straightened his suit and looked up, scanning the tainted tablecloth and the ripped pages of the former comic. And yet, pleasant surprise washed over his face as soon as he spotted you with Abbacchio. The smile he gave you could only be described as encouraging.
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