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pillage-and-lute · 3 years

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An Ever Fixed Mark (Part 2)

Part 1, (here) Part 3, Part 4 , Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,

Read it on Ao3 HERE

Just three days after the first installation and 4,000 words? That’s right baby! Because I run on validation and whew! Y’all provided. The courting gift scene based on a recommendation from @tempered-char. Also with a hint of Geralt’s Delicate Sensibilities, as inspired by @valdomarx +Thicc Eskel as a bonus

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“Come in.”

It was soft, but not nervous, and Geralt pushed open the door.

Geralt wasn’t a romantic. He didn’t believe in love at first sight. From what he’d seen of the world he wasn’t so sure he believed in love at all. He could imagine, however, that if he were a painter or a poet he could have fallen in love right there.

The room was a tiny, dusty study, and standing in front of the window was, presumably, Julian. The light haloed him, dust mites floating down. Grey-blue doublet and slightly darker pants brought out clear, bright eyes, rimmed with thick lashes.

He had a rounder jawline, the sort that was in style with painters at the moment. It leant a softness to his face. Maybe that was the fact that he was...nineteen? Geralt couldn’t remember.

He realized he was staring and bowed. It was awkard, still holding his gift and the gift from the countess. He looked up, Julian was smiling.

“It’s nice to meet you, Lord Julian,” Geralt said. “I am Geralt of Rivia.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Geralt, and please, call me Jaskier,” said the young man. He stuck out his hand. Geralt quickly shifted the gifts to one hand and shook.

The hand was soft but not uncalloused, at the fingertips and base of the thumb. Long fingers, good for playing the lute that sat, gleaming and well cared for, in the corner.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, tasting the name. It was a good name, bright and pretty and a deadly poison if treated incorrectly. “I have a gift for you, and her ladyship gave me a gift but I haven’t opened it yet.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes and sat on a plush chair, gesturing Geralt to one opposite. “I have my own gift for you,” he said. “Father and Amaria didn’t think I could get my own courting gifts.”

Geralt decided to give up on subtlety. He wanted answers and he hoped this young man, Jaskier, was willing to give them.

“They want rid of you,” he said. It was a question but without the inflection at the end. “Enough to marry you off to a witcher.”

Jaskier sighed. “Just father, Amaria doesn’t have much to do with anything these days.”

“She seemed...” Geralt trailed off, not wanting to be disrespectful.

“It’s all about heirs,” Jaskier said, standing and beginning to pace. “Suitable heirs, which I’m not.” He sent Geralt a bitter little smile and flopped back down. “My father is not a nice man, you see. He’s never taken kindly to disagreements, and to him there’s only one ‘right’ sort of man. Men like him, manly and strong who kill first and don’t bother asking questions later. I questioned him, maybe three years ago, I didn’t think he should raise taxes again. He doesn’t forgive that sort of slight.”

Jaskier leaned forward, elbows on knees and stared at the ground for a second.

“I think he’d decided long before that, but he wants me struck from the family tree.” Jaskier looked up at Geralt. Some of his confusion must have been showing on his face.

This world of heirs and court intrigue was far from anything Geralt knew, and seemed more complicated than necessary.

“Follow me,” Jaskier said, rising and stretching out his hand again. “You can leave the gifts, we’ll be back.” Geralt set dow the gifts and hesitantly stretched out his hand, unsure if the gesture was figurative or if he was actually supposed to take it. Jaskier took him gently by the wrist and led him from the room.

“The halls are a maze,” he said, letting go a coridor later. “Follow close behind me, you could get lost.” Geralt did so. He couldn’t imagine anything more embarassing than having a footman fetch him from one of these little stone tunnels.

They emerged in yet another dusty hall, lined with tapestries. Jaskier stopped in between two, and in front of a large, painted wooden panel. It had a tree.

A family tree.

“My father,” Jaskier said, tracing his finger along dusty, painted branches. “Finds it very important that the next Earl be his direct blood, and also his kind of man.” He looked at Geralt significantly. “That meant ridding himself of Amaria’s sons from her first marriage, by the laws of our country, he could have been heir. That also means getting rid of me.”

This explanation did not help Geralt’s bafflement. Jaskier sighed again, although he didn’t seem to be doing so at Geralt.

“Amaria had two sons, both manly and well suited to my father, but not his direct blood. And they were older than me, set to inherit the role of Earl first. They met with horrible accidents.” A shadow passed of Jaskier’s boyish face.

“Strange coincidence, how a large rock managed to tumble from the ramparts on to Isak not even a week after the same thing happened to Tomas. Especially since there’s not rocks up there. I checked.”

“Your father,” Geralt said, a little numbly. “Had his stepson’s murdered.” He knew nobility could be nasty but still... “And we’ve made a deal with him.”

Jaskier patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry too much about it, Father mostly doesn’t do too much harm these days, and Filip, that’s my half brother, seems like he’ll turn out okay. Then again, he’s only seven.”

“Is he going to have you killed?” Geralt asked, knowing as he did that the Earl was trying, by way of marrying Jaskier to him.

“Not exactly. I don’t know if it’s because I’m blood or just because another ‘accident’ would look suspicious, but there’s an easier way.” Jaskier pointed to a name circled in blue. “That’s my aunt Matylda, father’s older sister. She got married, which officially makes her part of her husband’s family tree, not ours, and she can no longer inherit,” Jaskier paused. “If she weren’t already a woman, I mean.”

“But we’re both men,” Geralt said. “I could just as easily become part of your family tree and then your father’s problem.”

“Yes,” Jaskier said, “In theory, but of course that isn’t how he played it. I’ll be an honorary witcher, and my name,” here he tapped some fine script. “Will be circled in blue and removed from the line.”

They both looked at the tree, looming darkly for a while.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt offered, although he supposed it wasn’t worth much.

“I’m sorry too,” Jaskier said. “You shouldn’t be roped into all this.”

Geralt privately considered that, yes, while he would have preferred to avoid all this intrigue and politics, Jaskier didn’t seem too bad.

Jaskier led him back through the stone rabbit warren that made up the bowels of the castle.

“Is her ladyship...like that, because of the death of her sons?” Geralt asked when they paused at the top of a staircase.

Jaskier cocked his head sadly, and then continued walking. Aftr a few more paced he said, “Yes, mostly. She wasn’t always...present, I suppose before but when they died so close together, and in such an awful way-- there’s nothing nice about a block of stone dropping on you from four stories up--something broke. She’s a nice lady, just happier living in her head, I think. Maybe she goes somewhere else, where her boys and her first husband are alive, I hope.”

They arrived back at the study without another word.

They sat.

“I, um.” Geralt said. “Hmmm. I got you,” he proferred the package, not knowing what to say and begging Jaskier to save him from trying to figure it out.

Jaskier took the package and pulled the string so that it fell open. The doublet slithered out. Vesemir had sent a letter asking for measurements as soon as Geralt had told him the idea.

“It’s basilisk leather,” Geralt said. “Witchers, um, our Path, it can be dangerous, so you should have this.”

Jaskier held up the fabric, watching the colors, deep blue and green, shift across the slick material. Privately, and for no reason Geralt could really guess at, he was very pleased, both that the doublet was in what seemed to be Jaskier’s colors, and also at the awe struck look on his face.

“It’s as light as silk,” Jaskier said, passing the fabric between his fingers. “And you said it’s leather?”

“Basilisk leather,” Geralt said. Monsters. They were talking about monsters, which he knew about. Thank the gods. “It’s like armor, and it won’t burn or get wet, water just runs off.”

“I didn’t know there was such a thing as basilisk leather,” Jaskier said, holding the doublet up. “Where did you get it? It’s incredible.”

Geralt coughed modestly, and tried not to puff his chest. “I killed the basilisk. Making the leather needs different skills than normal tanning, it’s more like potion making.” He remembered that most people knew little about witcher skills and needs. “All witchers know some alchemy, and we make potions for combat so I...I tanned it. My brother Lambert drew up the design, I don’t know much about clothes.”

The tailor had nearly cried when they’d presented him with the fabric, exclaiming about it’s luster and the ‘glorious smooth hand’, whatever that meant.

Geralt watched Jaskier’s face anxiously. It wasn’t a courtly gift, no crown of pearls or whatever nobles expected, but it had taken him two months to turn the basilisk skin into leather. It would have taken him half the time but he’d had to do it on the road. Lambert had fussed about the design for almost a week too, and it had been Eskel’s idea to ask for the buttons to be little black pearls like that.

Vesemir had smiled at the team effort, calling it the wolves gift to their new pup.

Jaskier looked up at him, face like a sunbeam.

“Can I try it on?”

Geralt just nodded, and looked away modestly as Jaskier divested himself of his previous doublet before buttoning the basilisk leather.

He twirled, and in the light from the window the fabric seemed to glow, shifting and turning with each movement.

“And it really will keep me safe?” he asked, looking down at himself, beaming.

Geralt nodded. “It would take a battle axe a dozen tries to pierce it.”

Jaskier smiled at him again, and it made Geralt’s stomach tingle, although he had eaten some suspect meat on the ride to Lettenhove. Then Jaskier threw his arms around his neck.

Geralt wasn’t old fashioned. He could move with the times, whatever Lambert said, but manners had been stiffer sixty years ago and Geralt was just thankful that Jaskier wouldn’t be able to see the tips of his ears going red.

“It’s beautiful,” Jaskier said, pulling back. “Thank you.”

Geralt shrugged uncomfortably. Jaskier smelled like soap and some sort of oil. Linseed maybe, probably for the wood of his lute.

“I have a gift for you, it’s not as lovely, but I hope you like it.”

Geralt carefully took the package. It was wrapped much prettier than his had been. “The countess already...”

“That was from her,” Jaskier said dismissively. “And maybe even from Father, although I doubt it, he wouldn’t waste money on me. But this gift is from me.” He sat forward eagerly. “Go on, open it.”

Geralt wasn’t about to refuse that eager, open expression, so he pulled at the ribbon, feeling rather like a bear trying to tie a shoelace.

The bright paper just fell away and there was a stiff paper box. He opened that too.

Three glass bottles sat inside, nestled in paper. The paper was only there to keep them from clinking because as he pulled one out he saw the telltale dark sheen.

Brimstone glass. It was unbreakable. Sometimes witchers carried their more noxious potions in it but rarely, it was frighteningly expensive, usually only mages could afford it.

“How?” he said. How did you afford it? How did you know it existed? Did you know witchers use potions? He looked up at Jaskier, who looked nervous.

“Are they alright?” he said. “Only I won them off a sorceror in a pub. He told me they were indestructible and threw one at the ground to prove it. I thought they’d be useful...Was it a trick?” He looked so upset at the prospect.

“These, Geralt said, “Are Brimstone Glass, they are indeed indestructible and very, very useful.” Jaskier’s face split into a grin again.

“Thank you,” Geralt said. It didn’t seem like enough, but if he hugged the lad like Jaskier had him he would kill him.

“Should I open the box from the countess?”

“Do,” Jaskier said. “I want to know what it is.”

The latch flicked easily under Geralt’s hand and the lid popped open.

Jaskier gasped.

“It’s my mother’s ring,” he said. “I don’t remember her well, but I remember her hands...”

It was a beautiful ring, opal, if Geralt was any judge, but Eskel knew stones better than him. Silver wound around the stone, with smaller gems studding the setting to either side.

“I will use it in the ceremony,” Geralt said, offering it to Jaskier. “If it fits.”

“It won’t fit,” Jaskier said sadly. “Mother had very small hands, but it’s a nice thought.”

Geralt looked at the ring and Jaskier’s left hand. “Try it?”

Jaskier did, sliding the ring onto his finger easily. He looked at it in amazement.

“Amaria must have had it enlarged,” he said.

“A good gift,” Geralt said, although not sure who the gift was really for.

There came a polite knock at the door, interupting the moment, whatever sort of moment it was.

“My lord, it is time for supper.”

Damn.

Jaskier slipped the ring back into the box and Geralt looked away as he changed into his regular doublet. He didn’t look away fast enough and caught a scandalous glimpse of collarbone and soft chest hair where the chemise got pulled down a little. The air felt a little stuffy suddenly.

The gifts, and Geralt was proud to see that Jaskier folded the doublet carefully back into the paper, although nothing could have harmed it, were handed to a footman to be taken back to their respective rooms.Geralt offered Jaskier his arm, like he’d seen the nobility do, and then Jaskier led him to the dining hall.

To his relief, the hall wasn’t packed. They were what Lambert would call ‘fashionably late’ (and what Vesemir would call a reason for three extra laps) and all the guests were seated. A table held Lady Amaria and a man who must be the Earl, although there was little visible resemblance to Jaskier. They were seated with perhap half a dozen other nobles, as well as a red headed boy of about seven, Filip, probably, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. There was another table of presumably more minor nobility, and then a small table with the wolves, two seats still empty.

All eyes turned to look at the pair. Jaskier bowed deeply, and since his arm was still linked with Geralt’s he was made to bow too, or else risk having his arm pulled from its socket. Then they made their way to the smallest table.

Geralt pulled out Jaskier’s chair for him and saw Vesemir’s approving nod, as well as Lambert’s smirk. He didn’t see the swift kick Eskel delivered below the table, but caught the way Lambert’s eyes watered suddenly, and smiled at his brother in thanks for the retribution. Then he sat.

“Julian,” Vesemir said, reaching over the table to shake hands. “I am Vesemir, Geralt’s teacher. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“I am happy to make your aquaintance, Master Vesemir,” Jaskier said, and Geralt was impressed that he only winced a little bit as Vesemir inadvertently crushed his knuckles in a grip that could moor a boat. He did, however, gently shake out his fingers under the table once he’d been released.

“If you please, however,” Jaskier continued as if nothing had happened. “I prefer my nickname, Jaskier.”

“Jaskier it is, then,” Vesemir said, moustache twitching up at the corners. Geralt suspected he was thinking the same as he had done. Buttercups, pretty and poisonous.

“You were educated at Oxenfurt, is that correct?” Eskel said.

“Yes, in the fine arts, although I specialized in music composition and lute performance. I didn’t catch your name...?” The most delicate question mark was added to the end of the statement. Eskel blushed, Jaskier wouldn’t know it, but Geralt could see the back of his neck reddening.

“Eskel,” he said quickly. “And the asshole who’s snickering is Lambert.”

Jaskier didn’t look even a little intimidated by either of Geralt’s brothers, which was impressive, because Lambert could scowl like it was a contest and Eskel, although only an inch taller than Geralt, was naturally hugely muscled in a way even the mutagens hadn’t managed for Geralt. His chest and arms looked like they’d withstand a siege weapon.

Jaskier turned a smile on Lambert, who was sputtering indignantly at Eskel’s entirely fair description.

“I’m told you helped with my beautiful courting gift,” he said. Then he turned the smile on all of the wolves. “A team effort I imagine.”

This stunned all three brothers, and made Vesemir smile. Lambert shrugged uncomfortably. For all his prickliness, he couldn’t take a compliment.

“Eskel’s idea for the buttons,” he muttered, and Geralt knew he’d been entirely won over.

“The buttons are beautiful,” Jaskier said, smiling warmly at Eskel now, who looked like he’d rather be facing a mountain troll.

“Was Vesemir that got your measurements,” he said, looking down at the tablecloth. Jaskier beamed at the whole table then.

“Truly a team effort, thank you all, it’s beautiful and I cannot wait to wear it.” With that the whole table was well and truly won over by Jaskier. Geralt couldn’t help but brag a little.

“Jaskier gave me Brimstone Glass bottles as a courting gift,” he said, and preened slightly under the others’ slightly jealous noises of amazement. Jaskier flushed a very pretty pink.

“I just thought they’d be useful,” he said, although his smile was pleased.

Serving girls entered the hall with trays and the chatter in the hall expanded excitedly. A plump young woman set a tray down at their table and Eskel hummed in appreciation.

“It smells delicious,” he said. She smiled at him, looked him up and down, and then winked.

“Oh doesn’t it just, I could just eat it all up,” she said, not looking at the food even as she lifted the cloche from the appetizers. Then she winked and disappeared back into the kitchen. Another girl appeared and filled the goblets but the witchers hardly noticed for laughing at Eskel’s face.

“Seems Mabel took a liking to you,” Jaskier said, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. Through his own laughter, Geralt watched Jaskier’s father glaring at their table. Good. The old fuck could choke on it, he didn’t look like he’d ever laughed a day in his life.

“Careful though,” Jaskier was saying. “She looked ready to take a bite out of you.”

“But,” Eskel gestured, baffled to his face.

“Oh pish,” Jaskier said, taking a swig of wine. “Nobody cares about that sort of thing, do they? Plenty of ladies around here like a few scars, makes men look rugged and dangerous.”

“Rugged?” Eskel rubbed his hand over his face, contemplating.

“Definitely,” said Jaskier, nodding. He took one of the appetizers. Geralt moved a few to his own plate and slowly their little table descended into a quiet contentment. The appetizers were good, hors d'oeuvres , Geralt remembered Lambert telling him once. They were little bits of paste, meat and vegetable mostly, inside pastry casings.

He smiled when he noticed that he and his brothers were all looking between Jaskier and Vesemir to make sure they hadn’t missed any manners. Eskel swiped Lambert’s elbows off the table.

Eventually the appetizers were replaced with soup. The saucy kitchen girl, Mabel, Jaskier had called her, made a positively salacious remark to Eskel. Something daring about him licking everything clean. Eskel smiled faintly and turned redder than the beet soup.

“You should flirt back,” Jaskier said, once Mabel was gone. “If you’re actually interested, I mean.”

“It’s not that I’m not. Interested I mean,” Eskel squeaked. “But I can’t offer her anything, no marriage or security.”

Jaskier looked at him. It was definitely a look, although not a nasty one. “She asked you to lick her clean and you think that was an invitation to marriage?”

“I wouldn’t want to defile...”

“Oh shut up Eskel, sex doesn’t defile anything. It’s natural and normal and if you think it some how ‘decreases the value’ of a woman than you aren’t the man I thought you to be.” Lambert cut in. “Have some fun, maybe she can remove the stick you’ve lodged up your ass.”

“You’re right, of course,” Eskel said. But now Jaskier was looking worried.

“It won’t be a problem, right?” he asked Geralt. “That I’m not, um a virgin, I mean?”

“No,” Geralt said, probably missing the mark on reassuring, but doing his best. “Unless you mind that I’m not one either. And there is no fidelity clause, and no consummation, you needn’t sleep with me, and you’re free to see other people.”

Jaskier looked at first relieved and then impish, licking the soup from his spoon in a way that made significant parts of Geralt’s brain go numb. “I dunno,” he said, leaning towards Geralt and bumping him with a shoulder. “I can’t imagine consumation with you would be such a chore.”

Melitele’s great gauzy veil, this boy would be the death of him.

There was a pause between soup and the main course, but when Mabel picked up the dishes Eskel leaned towards her and asked if he’d licked it clean enough, to the woman’s obvious approval.

They sat and chatted, Jaskier, Eskel, and Vesemir debated over some old literature that Geralt had never heard of, and then they were interuppted with a cough.

The earl stood, face like stone, beside their table.

They rose. Vesemir bowed.

“My Lord,” he said. “It is a pleasure to make your aquaintance. I am Vesemir, of the school of the wolf.”

Lord Pankratz inclined his head. “Greetings, Master Vesemir,” he said. “I wish to discuss some of the terms of the contract with you.”

He snapped his fingers and a footman brought him a chair, without waiting for Vesemir’s response.

The wolves sat, feeling wary. Jaskier was looking down at his hands, shoulders shrunk in.

They sat in suspense as Vesemir and Lord Pankratz hashed out details of the legal protections. The main course appeared and the earl stood, and bowed.

“Why don’t we continue this after desert,” he said, smiling smoothly. And it was a very smooth smile. Like an oil slick.

Dinner after that was subdued, despite Eskel returning Mabel’s flirtations. Jaskier looked down at his plate most of the time and the witchers picked up on his unease.

“What’s wrong, Jaskier?” Geralt whispered.

“I don’t know, but he’s planning something, and I don’t like it.”

Then coffee was served after dessert, and the Earl de Lettenhove sat at their table again.

“Now, for what I really wanted to discuss, I know political marriages can be...challenging,” the earl said in a voice like a snake. “But I wanted to make it clear, should either member express a wish to anul the marriage, the contract will become void.” Here he squeezed Jaskier’s shoulder so hard he winced. “I couldn’t bear for my dear Julian to be unhappy, you see. He’s high maintainance I know, but I wish him the best.”

The earl smiled a despicable little smile. “Now, I think you two shouldn’t really see more of each other before the wedding, yes? Bad luck and all.”

The earl then hauled Jaskier away by his collar.

“What a cunt,” Lambert said.

“I figured that was in the contract anyway,” Geralt said. “Isn’t that normally how it works?”

Vesemir nodded. “Indeed, it’s how these marriages go. But I expect the earl is betting that the two of you wont be able to stand eachother, and so he gets rid of his son and doesn’t have to help witchers all in one go.”

“Yes, Jaskier explained things.”

And then Geralt told his family what Jaskier had told him. The suspicious accidents, the laws, the family tree.

“I agree with Lambert,” Eskel said. “What a gigantic fucking cunt.”

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What’s with my thing about clothing descriptions and fancy cloth? I’m a fashion design major, that’s what.

We’ve got answers about Amaria, and the reason for the engagement, but what’s the wedding going to be like? oooh, cliffhanger, but not too much so I hope it makes up for last time when I was so bad to you all.

Tag List! @llamasdumpsterfire @stinastar @aziz-the-fangirl @mordoriscalling @bastardofmothman @negativenuggetz @morte-mistrata @hayleynzlive @filledepluie @bygodstillam@sociowithatardisachevyandawand @faery-god @honeysuckletook @theflurtifly @saibowtie @werevampiwolf @frywen-babbles @the-kewlest@innocentbi-stander @1stbonesfan @aqueenrisesintheeast @marauders-fan-account @ineffable-lasagna

@ailorian @toothhurtyam I’m having trouble adding you, I can’t tag if this is a password protected side blog or if you have Allow Blog to Appear in Search Results off, I think.

#geraskier #the witcher #arranged marriage #arranged marriage au #its part two y'all #and the earl is a slimy sob

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littleoddwriter · 3 years

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Hope | Roman Sionis x Male!Reader

Guess what - It’s another vent fic! I promise to keep going with the requests I still have open, very soon. Be patient some more, please. Inspiration comes and goes pretty quickly at the moment. Anyway-

summary; You are being rejected by another potential therapist you contacted and you’re not dealing well with it, but Roman’s here for you to make you feel better.

Notes: TW // RSD (Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria); Self-Harm (cutting); Bad experiences with therapists mentioned; (mild) Dissociation; Implied Suicidal Tendencies; Hospital Mention. Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Hope; Hugs; Love Confessions; Soft Kisses; Roman is trying his best.

For over a year, you’ve been searching for a new therapist to go to. Unfortunately, you kept being rejected left and right and were therefore forced to fight everything on your own for the time being. You couldn’t go back to your previous therapist for several reason, the biggest one being that she wasn’t good for you. She’s put you down a lot, mocked you, laughed at you, never helped you with anything you’ve told her, and you’ve finally reached the point, where you’ve officially had enough, taking all your courage to stop seeing her.

Yet, you hadn’t expected to not find one willing therapist to take on your case. It was extremely frustrating and hurtful. It made you lose hope of ever receiving the help you needed, and deserved. You didn’t want to live from hospital to hospital. The last time you’ve been there, it didn’t really help you anyway. So you wanted to keep away from them for now. You just wanted to have a chance on living your life, while you were being treated for your issues.

A while ago, you’ve received another therapist’s data from your social worker. It took you a long time to fight your anxiety over the pending phone call. Eventually, time was a little pressing, since you wanted to have some results to show to your social worker at your next appointment with her.

So you forced yourself to call in the morning before you did anything else and could potentially put it off any longer.

Trembling, sweating, and with a pounding heart, you picked up your mobile phone and dialled the number, checking it five times to make sure it was the right one, and after a minute of encouraging yourself verbally, you hit the green button to make the call go through.

It didn’t even ring, after the dial, it clicked and the therapist’s voice rang through your ears. She sounded as if she had just gotten up, which surprised you and made your anxiety spike even more. You greeted her and stated that you were looking for a therapist, hoping that your smile was audible and that you seemed friendly.

“How’d you get this number?”

You faltered.

“M-my social worker gave it to me. She said I should give you a call?”

“Ah. Well, the earliest that I’d have time for a first session would be in a month at the earliest.”

“That’s okay,” you replied quickly, lightly. It wouldn’t have been a problem to wait another month after all this time.

“Do you have any diagnoses? What are your issues?”

Quickly you listed off your diagnoses, making sure there were no surprises this time. You had even written it all down, just in case your anxiety would have gotten the better of you.

“I can’t help you with that.”

It was the same as always. You had expected that, especially since she wasn’t the type of therapist you were recommended by others. Your social worker had insisted on trying different approaches, though. Which is exactly what you’ve told this therapist, but she wouldn’t even consider it, only repeating that she wasn’t the right one for you because she didn’t even cover all the disorders you had. After that you already said your quick goodbyes.

You carelessly let your phone fall onto the table, trying hard to hold back tears. The rejection just wasn’t something you could handle very well; it ate you up, ripped your heart apart and fogged up your brain.

Shaking your head to clear it a little, you got up and went straight to the guest bathroom. Roman was showering in your shared one at this moment, and you were glad about it, even though you had to be quick anyway.

On autopilot, you opened one of the drawers under the sink and got out the small blade you kept there, hidden and kept safe in a paper towel. You disinfected it, just in case, and then looked at it for a moment. Now was the time that you could still put it back and stop yourself from ruining your recent best streak. Before you had even realised it, though, you watched yourself press the blade into your forearm’s skin, drawing a short line. Blood quickly welled up from the new wound.

It wasn’t enough. You were almost there, but it wasn’t enough. Only an inch below the spot you’ve just cut, you nicked your skin once more, creating a smaller, but just as deep, incision. Sighing, you put the blade back where it was, nursed your wounds and got out of the bathroom.

The twin band-aids glared at you. You could see them out of the corner of your eyes at any given moment, which made your insides fill up with guilt all too quickly, choking you from within.

Trying to ignore the evidence of the mistake you’ve just made, you sat back down at the table and looked through your phone, while you were anxiously waiting for Roman to be done with his morning routine.

Eventually, Roman walked over to you, putting his hands on your shoulders and kissing the top of your head. “How did it go?”

You just scoffed, “Same as always. Already got rejected on the phone.” Roman stayed put behind you, so you pressed your arm against your stomach, hoping he hasn’t already seen the band-aids.

“Fuck! I told you I can pay them a visit for you, I’m sure someone would take you then,” Roman offered for the umpteenth time in the past year.

“No, I wouldn’t feel comfortable with that. Thank you, though. It’s sweet of you.”

Clicking his tongue and then humming thoughtfully, Roman ran his hands down your arms, prying your injured one from your body. You didn’t really put up a fight then. It was a lost cause anyway.

“Aw, baby, no. That cunt wasn’t worth it,” he cooed, leaning over you and lifting your arm to take a closer look at the plasters.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, feeling your heart clench painfully.

“It’s not your fault. Still, I’d have liked for you to wait for me, or come to me. You’d have been very welcome in the shower, you know?” He gave a quick kiss to the band-aids and let your arm down gently.

You chuckled softly and nodded, “I know, I’m sorry. It all just sort of happened, as if I was completely on autopilot.”

“I get it,” Roman sighed. “Stand up.”

Without questioning it for even a second, you got up from the chair, while Roman took a step back to make room for you. As soon as you stood there and turned around to look at him, he was on you, embracing you. You melted into the hug immediately, burying your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the sweet, pleasant scent that was his cologne.

“We’ll find someone for you. Eventually, someone’s just got to take you in, baby. I promise. Just hold on for me until then, ‘kay?” he spoke softly into your ear, which made you shiver slightly and had you hug him more tightly.

“I’m trying as best as I can, Roman. I swear, at this time, I’m only staying for you anyway.”

Instead of giving you a verbal answer to your confession, Roman leaned back a little, effectively making you look at him; and then he kissed you, oh, so softly. Those kinds of kisses were rare to be initiated by him, which only made you treasure them more. You smiled into the kiss and reciprocated it, sighing.

All of a sudden you felt so light and carefree, as if none of the other things had ever happened. You never wanted it to stop, it was just too heavenly, and you couldn’t bear the thought of returning to the hell on earth that your current situation felt like.

Yet, you had to admit that maybe it wasn’t just all hellish.

Roman cared about you and made you feel it. He comforted you when you needed it and didn’t shame you for the things you did. He really was your anchor in this world, the only thing – person – keeping you somewhat afloat and fighting every day. He made it worth the pain. In a way, he was the hope you so desperately clung onto.

It was one of the many reasons why you loved him so much, why you would never dare to leave him, even when your brain was screaming at you to do so for whatever new reason it had come up with that wasn’t real.

“I love you, Roman. Thank you,” you whispered when you two finally broke the kiss.

His eyes turned so gentle and soft for a split second, and he lifted one of his hands from your back, cupping your face with it, and stroking his thumb over your cheek. “I’ve got you, my prince,” he replied.

It made your heart flutter. You knew it was his way of saying ‘I love you’ back to you. You appreciated it more than you could ever truly put into words.

#tw self harm #tw suicidal #ok to reblog #x male reader #male reader #male reader insert #roman sionis #roman sionis x male reader #roman sionis x reader #roman sionis fanfiction #mlm fiction #ewan mcgregor #ewan mcgregor x reader #ewan mcgregor fanfiction #so anyway this happened yesterday and i really wish i had roman IRL with me to comfort me like that because damn I need it

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dembenchboys · 3 years

Text

Don’t - Tyson Jost

AN: this has been in my notes for like 6-7 months now I hope you enjoy! It’s based if the song don’t by Ed Sheeran.

Warnings: cheating and a mention of sex nothing detailed at all.

Word count: 1.9k

I met this girl late last year

She said, “Don’t you worry if I disappear”

“Yes.” That's the response Layla whispered in Tyson’s ear after he asked her to spend the night with him. As he planted more open mouth kisses to her neck, Tyson could feel her breath quicken and her plus racing up.

Tyson wasn't expecting to be taken back by the stunning brunette with green eyes who he locked eye contact with as she was busy dancing in the corner with her girlfriends when he went to the local bar Monday night with the boys for a simple night of relaxing. When they bumped into one other at the counter and she introduced herself to him while grabbing a drink, he wasn't expecting his heart to race a little quicker. He hadn't expected to be bringing her home at the end of the night, yet here he was, holding her hand as they climbed into the car he had booked for them.

What Tyson really wasn't prepared for was the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach when he woke up to an empty bed and a piece of paper on his nightstand with only 11 numbers scribbled on it.

I told her I’m not really looking for another mistake

I called an old friend thinking that the trouble would wait.

Tyson realized he should've tossed the little letter away as soon as he got off the phone with JT who reminded him to think with his head and recommend throwing it away. But Tyson, on the other hand, was always one to follow his emotions rather than his mind or gut instincts. After all, he was known as a softy for a reason. His head was telling him that he should simply toss the paper away since it was just going to cause him misery. His emotions, on the other hand, were reminding him of how he felt last night when he made eye contact with her. They were reminding him of how his heart raced and how he felt a nervous pulse in his stomach for the first time in a long time.

So, four mornings after waking up to an empty bed, he decided to take the plunge and message her. He realized that texting her at 11:00 a.m. would not lead her to believe it was a booty call. Tyson opted to keep it short and sweet, only saying, "Hey, how are you?" And before he could back out, he sent the message, not realizing how drastically those four words would impact his year.

It was 10:45 p.m., according to the clock. Tyson had become increasingly nervous as Layla had yet to reply. He was thinking to himself, what if he had waited too long, what if she had just left the note out of kindness and didn't mean it? But his phone vibrated in his hand just as he was about to turn it off and put it away for the night. And there was a text message from Layla on his phone screen, saying, "I'm okay, what's up?" “Have you finally missed me enough to send a text?” Tyson felt the blood rush to his checks at that moment, as he hoped she didn't realize how long he had been waiting, but she did. Tyson decided to make up for the fact that he hadn't spoken to her in four days, so he spent the rest of the night getting to know the lovely woman he thought had a good heart.

But then I jumped right in a week later, returned

I reckon she was only looking for a lover to burn

Tyson decided to invite Layla over after about a week of talking with her through his phone and tossing the idea around in his head. He had all of the spare time in the world before heading to Alberta since the Avs season had just ended.

Tyson had discovered recently she was a CU Denver student. So when they agreed on a Saturday, Tyson realized she wouldn't have classes, so he wouldn't have to worry about her cancelling, but he was still worried that she wouldn't actually show up. When a soft knock came to his door around 1:00 p.m., those nerves faded.

When Tyson awoke to an empty bed on the Tuesday morning he was supposed to leave for home, he wasn't surprised. Tyson found himself going to bed with someone and waking up alone more often after that Saturday afternoon spent with Layla at his place.

Then I put it on pause until the moment was right

I went away for months until our paths crossed again

After waking up alone on that Tuesday morning when he had to leave, Tyson wanted to put some space between himself and the situation. Tyson knew that if he went down that particular road with Layla, his heart wouldn't be able to heal if anything bad happened. Tyson tried not to think about her during his time in Alberta, but it became more difficult with each passing day. Tyson found his feelings growing towards her each day. He found himself thinking about her at odd times throughout the day, hanging with his family? Layla. Sitting around the fire pit? Layla. in bed right before he closed his eyes? Layla. She was an addiction, the kind you get when you try a new treat and can't stop thinking about it.

Tyson promised himself he wouldn't message her again until he returned to Colorado, and he kept his word. He'd been back in the city for about three weeks before he decided to pick up where they'd left off.

She told me, "I was never looking for a friend

Maybe you could swing by my room around ten

Baby, bring the lemon and a bottle of gin

We'll be in between the sheets 'til the late AM"

After several late-night phone calls to catch up, Layla eventually told Tyson what this meant to her after he invited her to dinner. “Around 1:00 a.m. on a Monday morning, she muttered to him, "I'm more into the friends with benefits situation right now." Tyson was definitely devastated but he was willing to take whatever Layla had to offer.

Tyson was unprepared for the feeling he got when he glanced down at his phone after leaving JT’s apartment to see a text that said, "baby, I'm swinging by your place with a bottle." Tyson knew that meant he'd wake up alone in the morning, yet he didn't care at the time.

Tyson and Layla had been seeing each other more and more in recent weeks. Tyson’s feelings for Layla became stronger over time, but he never expressed them. He just loved her company, and if that meant getting lost in the sheets more often than not, so be it.

And for a couple weeks I only wanna see her

We drink away the days with a takeaway pizza

Tyson was in a slump, he wasn't producing on the ice as he wanted to, and the media was branding him a draft bust because of it. As a result, he found himself blocking others out, with the exception of one individual. Tyson discovered that Layla was the only one he truly wished to be with. She didn't mention hockey at all, because they could easily lose themselves in each other and block out the rest of the world. They'd eat as much takeout pizza as Tyson's diet permitted.

Yet something changed between them in those few weeks. Layla confessed to developing feelings for the curly-haired boy. As a result, they opted not to label what they were doing, but they did promise not to see other people. Not that Tyson was doing so before.

Wish I'd have written it down, the way that things played out

When she was kissing him, how I was confused about

Now she should figure it out.

Tyson should have known something was wrong when Layla started staying at school longer than usual, but he didn't think much of it, assuming it was just finals. Tyson should have known something was wrong because she took longer to respond to his text messages and began avoiding his phone calls, but he was so wrapped up in the feeling she gave him that he didn't notice. When Layla failed to pick him up from the airport on Sunday morning, Tyson should have known something was wrong, but he just convinced himself she slept in.

But two things happened when the car he ordered from the airport arrived in front of Layla's apartment and he saw her kissing the kid from her biology class: one, Tyson's heart dropped to the bottom of his stomach, and two, something clicked and everything made sense to him.

That afternoon, at Tysons' place, he had to have a conversation he would never forget .Layla explained that she genuinely wanted to be with him and that she was just messing around with Tyler, the name of the kid from biology, because she wanted to be official with Tyson. And in a relationship, she puts a significant importance on trust and respect.

So they agreed to become an official couple that day, and the eight weeks that followed were some of the happiest memories Tyson had managed to make.Tyson grew more and more in love with Layla with each passing day, and he indulged in it. He treasured the cuddles and long conversations late at night. Tyson was certain he was in love with Layla, or Ly as he began to refer to her. He was about to reveal her to the group of people in his life that he held in high regard: his teammates.

She was crying on my shoulder, I already told ya

Trust and respect is what we do this for

I never intended to be next

But you didn't need to take him to bed, that's all

And I never saw him as a threat

Until you disappeared with him to have sex, of course

Tyson wasn't expecting to see Layla on the sofa on top of Tyler from biology when he stepped into Layla's apartment on the morning of the 23rd, three days before their three-month anniversary, ready to celebrate because he'd be on the road. But that is precisely what he saw.

Layla didn't know she'd been caught until the beautiful white roses fell to the ground and the door slammed shut from behind her.

As the knock on Tyson's door rang through the silent apartment, Tyson knew that all that had occurred in the previous year, his best days, and the one person he could turn too would all be gone in less than 20 minutes.

Tyson had never expected to have a conversation like this one in his dark, relatively clean apartment. When Layla cried on his shoulder, he reminded her of their compromise on trust and respect, telling her, "If you were unhappy, you should have left, I never saw him as a threat, well, before you slept with him of course."

But after all of the screaming and pleading, Layla gathered her belongings and closed the door to Tyson's apartment; the sound that echoed in the house was almost close to Tyson's heart beating in his chest.

As Tyson came into the dressing room the next morning, feeling dishevelled, he grumbled to JT that he should have just thrown it out.

#tyson jost fanfiction #tyson jost x reader #tyson jost fic #tyson jost blurb #tyson jost imagine #tyson jost #colorado avalanche #avs #jt compher #nhl writing #nhl blurb #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl imagine #nhl #my writing

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sweetpeasgirl · 3 years

Text

Treat You Better | Sweet Pea

Description: Based on the song “Treat You Better” by Shawn Mendes, Jughead and Y/n’s relationship is at it’s bittersweet end and Sweet Pea, her best friend, is there to defend her

Word Count: 2.3k

Pairing: Sweet Pea x Female!Reader

Warnings: Kinda angsty but not really

Tags: Angst, FLUFF

The White Wrym is not where you thought you would spend your Saturday night but Jughead had said that he needed to take care of a few things and you didn't want to be blown off again. You understand that he's busy, you really do. He's the son of the former Serpent leader; of course he's going to have a lot more on his plate. You just didn't think he'd push you off of it- the plate.

Sweet Pea had warned you about that. It was the latest topic of argument between you. For best friends, the two of you fight a lot. You know he's just trying to look out for you, that's been his role since the two of you were kids. He's in the grade above you, and was originally your older brother's friend, but they fell out a couple years ago. He never left you though.

He's always been the one watching your back. At first he just kept you out of harm's way, whether that be from grade school bullies or the men who lurk in alleyways when you're trying to walk home. Now, though, he has to watch out for boys who say they care about you but don't. He has to watch out for heartbreak.

That's where Jughead comes in. Sweet Pea is just being his overprotective self, like usual. Sure, you've had your fair share of walking out into the busy street with your head down, and he's had to pull you back quite a few times, but this is different. He can't save a heart that's supposed to break. Jughead does care about you, or at least he did when you first got together last year. Some things, however, just aren't meant to last forever.

Forever is a long time and time has a funny way of changing things.

"Juggie, it's your turn," your voice is quiet as you hand him the wooden pool cue, trying not to draw attention to yourself.

It's cold in the bar and you had been alerted so suddenly that date night was getting moved here that you didn't have time to grab a sweater. You can feel the stares burning into uncovered shoulders. It puts you on edge as Jughead accepts the cue from your shaky hands and takes his shot absentmindedly. Something's going on in his head, you can tell by the way he furrows his eyebrows and watches the people around him.

You, meanwhile, are trying hard not to look anywhere but the green felt of the pool table. There's commotion all around you. Shouts can be heard from the bar and the sound of smashing bottles that accompanies them. There's laughter coming from somewhere else but it doesn't sound friendly. Whatever it's about is cruel; it’s something that should not be made a joke of.

You're definitely way out of your comfort zone. Hell, you're way out of your un-comfort zone. You're just plain scared and, with the lack of conversation that Jughead is providing, the regret is bubbling quick in your chest. You almost wish he would just break up with you so you can cry and move on already.

"Jughead," a loud voice breaks the awkward silence around the crowded pool table, "there you are boy. We can finally discuss what you wanted to talk about now."

A tall, middle aged man with light brown hair and a weeks worth of beard growth pats your boyfriend on the back. Jughead shoots you an apologetic look as he passes the pool cue back to you once more. Your blood runs cold as he starts to walk in the opposite direction with the newcomer. He's seriously leaving you alone, in a room full of people who honestly aren't the safest characters, on what was supposed to be your night. Something happened to the boy you first knew and this just settled what you already thought. It’s over.

Your eyes blur with unshed tears at the hurt and fear circulating through your veins. He disappears from sight and the dark atmosphere gets hazier as you grip the side of the table to keep yourself steady. You can once again feel the stares burning into your back. It's like they were waiting for you to be left unattended. When you're with Jughead, the heir of the Serpent crown, you can't be touched. When you're with Sweet Pea, their deadly warrior, you can't be touched. When it's just you, though, anything goes.

You don't know what to do. It's only a matter of time before someone approaches you and when that happens you'll be in a situation that you probably won't be able to get yourself out of. That's the one thing your mother always told not to do; never put yourself into a situation that you can't get out of. Sweet Pea would not be happy.

"Y/n, what the hell are you doing here?"

Case in point. You jump at the sound of his voice but spin around instantly and bury yourself into his chest nonetheless. The tears fall down your face before you can stop them but you really couldn't care less. The smell of leather and pine surrounds you and warmth finally fills your body. Apparently you're colder than you had originally thought.

The relief that fills you is unmeasurable and you cling to Sweet Pea tightly, "It was supposed to be our night but-” you hiccup, tugging on his jacket- “I didn't want to miss another date night-” another hiccup- “I didn't want to-” you rub your forehead against his chest, your voice now just a whisper- “he left."

Your thoughts come out scrambled and between ugly sobs but it's enough for Sweet Pea to gather the overall picture of what happened. After all, he has been doing this for a while. He tightens his arms around you, the anger radiating off his uncovered skin in heated waves.

"He left you? Here?" Sweet Pea is seething when he pulls back.

He lifts you to sit on the edge of the pool table, the game laying discarded behind you. The visual reminder only makes the tears come faster and the warmth leave your bones again. You start shivering but this time you can't steel yourself enough to stop, the realization dawning before you can lie to yourself again. You and Jughead are done. You have been for a long time now and everyone else saw it before you did.

"Pea, we're over," you can't raise your voice above a harsh whisper, covering your raw face with your hands to suffocate the onslaught of cries you can feel bubbling to the surface, "we're over now. You were right."

You close your eyes to avoid staring into Sweet Pea's murderous chocolate ones. All you feel now is the ice circling your veins.

"Baby, hey," a large jacket that smells too much like Sweet Pea to not belong to him is draped over your shoulders, "it's okay. We'll go home."

The anger seeps out of his voice and you peer up to see the concerned face of your best friend once more. He's looking at you in the same way he was the time fell out of Jughead's tree house. You had blacked out from the fall and woke up in the hospital with a broken leg. He was so scared that he didn't leave your side for a minute. But it's different now, you're not physically hurt, so he shouldn't look worried.

You let out a sorrowful breath and just nod your head, a deep weariness settling over your being. At least you're getting what you had wanted. A clean break.

"Y/n, can we talk?"

You hadn't noticed Jughead come back but now he stands a little behind Sweet Pea who is still in front of you. Sweet Pea instantly turns at the sound of his voice, the rage back and in full swing. You just lower your head, too tired to keep it up.

"Jones you're so lucky I'm not beating the crap out of you right now. I didn't think you were stupid enough to leave her here but I guess I was wrong! You're just lucky I happened to be here. And that she doesn't hate you." Sweet Pea spits his words at Jughead

"Look, man, can I just talk to my girlfriend?" Jughead's voice is monotone, both of you knowing he's just calling you his so that he can officially end it once and for all.

It's for the best and you both know it. His phrasing, however, doesn't go over well with Sweet Pea.

"Are you serious right now? Or is this a sick joke? You forfeit that title when you left her as free game for anyone in this place,” Sweet Pea steps towards him and you hold your breath, knowing quite well who would win the fight if one were to ensue. “You're dating the most beautiful girl in this shitty town and you treat her like she doesn't even matter! If it was me she wouldn't be crying on a damn table, she would know damn well just how much I love her!"

Your head snaps up at his words, your breath hitching in your throat. The commotion of the bar is drowned out around you and all you can see is Sweet Pea's back. He can't really love you, can he? He's just making a point, being the best friend he always has been. The logic makes sense to you but you can feel your heart breaking for the second time tonight because of it.

You place a hand on Sweet Pea's shoulder, drawing his attention back to you, "it's okay Pea, I should talk to him at least."

He doesn't look happy but he nods, helping you off the table and moving to the side to let you pass. You look at Jughead and toss him a melancholy smile. It's wrapped with bittersweet memories from all your late night's at Pop's and early mornings coming back from the drive-in. Jughead and you had some pretty good times despite your inevitable end. Maybe, just maybe, though, you can make it a peaceful end.

"Y/n I do love you," Jughead takes his beanie off and runs his hand through his already messy, raven locks, "but not like I did before. Somewhere between moving here and, well, taking on the role of my dad I let us fall apart. I'm sorry."

"It's okay Juggie. I probably wasn't putting as much effort in as I could have," he scoffs at that, a guilty smirk on his face.

You both know that you gave this relationship your all. But, standing here now with Sweet Pea's eyes searing into your back, it's pretty clear that your heart was forming attachments with another person. Which means that sooner or later you and Jughead would have fallen apart anyway. Sometimes these kinds of things are no one's fault. It's a mutual heartbreak and when it needs to happen, it needs to happen.

"You know, y/n, I don't feel too bad about losing you to him."

You furrow your brows at his comment, your voice cracking slightly when you speak, "what do you mean? He was just saying all that stuff. Pea doesn't love me."

Jughead rolls his eyes and glances quickly at Sweet Pea before walking closer to you. You can tell he doesn't want him to hear what he's about to say.

"Y/n that boy is in over his head. It's a feeling I can relate very much to but listen to me," his eyes capture yours in a serious stare, "he's going to treat you better than I ever could. He's not going to leave you in dangerous situations or bail on plans. Can't you see he'd take a bullet for you?"

Your heart races at his words and you spare a glance at Sweet Pea. He's already looking at you, the worry back in his mesmerizing eyes. He raises an eyebrow at you, pulling a smile to your lips. Maybe Jughead is right. Maybe you love Sweet Pea as more than a best friend.

Looking at him now, his tanned skin glowing under the dim lights and his dark brown hair pushed behind his ears, there's no doubt in your mind that you're attracted to him. Sweet Pea has always looked handsome in your eyes, even after a fight with purple bruises staining his face. You think back to all the times he's been there when you needed him most. That boy drops whatever he's doing when you call; no matter if you're just bored or looking for someone to nap next to he’s there next to you. You've always felt at home when you're with him. Hell, you have a drawer in his room devoted to your clothes.

Sweet Pea loves you and you're pretty damn sure that you love him too.

Turning back to Jughead, you nod your head, "I'd take one for him too."

"Good. I think I'll leave now. Thanks for everything, y/n," Jughead pulls you into one last hug before heading out the door.

You pull Sweet Pea's jacket tighter around you as you walk back towards him. He gathers you once more into his chest and you let the last of your tears fall. There will never be a time when parting isn't such sweet sorrow. It's the beginning of something new but also the end of something that you once thrived on. However, wrapped completely in Sweet Pea's scent, you've never felt like you belonged somewhere so much.

"Ready to go home baby?"

"Yeah Pea. Let's go home."

#Sweet Pea #sweet pea riverdale #sweet pea x reader #sweet pea x you #sweet pea x y/n #sweet pea imagine #riverdale #riverdale imagine #jughead jones #riverdale series #reader insert

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unmaskedagain · 4 years

Text

Yeah, I’m done

I got in this prompt in November, if I remember right. I didn’t really look at it because… What the hell is a fall out fic?!!! I thought maybe it meant Lila exposed but I’ve done quite a few of those. However, I don’t really think I ever focused on it too much; usually, I stray to all the wonderful things Marinette does without them. This came from someone anonymous so It's not like I can just ask the sender… SO I decided to wing it.

Marinette could honestly say she had waited a very long time for Lila to be exposed as the liar she was. Over a year in fact. A very long fourteen months.

If Marinette was honest with herself, she would also add that she stopped waiting for any reason other than the fact she hated lies about… seven months, three days, and seven hours ago.

Why did she remember that so well?

That was the moment Marinette stopped trying to save everyone. Don’t get her wrong; she was still Ladybug. Ladybug was still a kickass hero. She did her job better than ever before.

However, Marinette decided to take a step back, breathe, and let the chips fall where they may.

Her fellow students, her once friends, had been trapped in the spider web of Lila’s tales; awestruck and utterly hypnotized into believing everything the Italian girl had to say. Even the ones about a girl most had known their entire lives.

A bully, they called her.

A selfish jerk.

A jealous bitch.

Her! Marinette! The girl who had done so much for them; had gone to bat for them more times than she could count, and obviously more times than they could remember.

Slowly, one by one, her friendship with each and every member of the class withered and died until there was nothing left but ashes.

It was then Marinette realized some things weren’t worth saving.

Marinette had no trouble forgiving them; it was who she was. But she promised herself she wouldn’t forget.

And if they could treat her like this, after everything, that she didn’t want to be friends with them anyway. Not now, not ever.

When Marinette stood up and announced her resignation from being Class President at the end of the prior school year, the entire class cheered. Like they did when Chloe was forced out of office. (…That only broke Marinette’s heart a little.)

The bluenette changed her number the day after school officially let out for summer. It wouldn’t matter, she knew. She doubted they’d even realize. Most hadn’t so much as texted her in months. Unless they needed something; a favor.

But Marinette was done with favors. Done with free commissions that no one ever seemed to realize cost her an arm and a leg; the fabric was expensive, art supplies for banners were expensive, designing was time-consuming. She was done with any free babysitting. She was done to bring in free sweets on big test days or when the class had a hard week prior. Marinette was done fundraising for class trips and events Bustier would exclude her from at the behest of the rest of the class for her “poor attitude” and “negative energy”. She was done with planning birthdays, making special presents, when no one in class even bothered to wish her a happy birthday.

And most of all, Marinette Dupain-Cheng was done fighting for people who didn’t fight for her. She had tried for months and months to get them to listen to her and what did she get in return? Deemed a green-eyed Liar! As far as she was concerned Lila and Chloe could have at it; do whatever they wanted.

She didn’t have a single friend in class.

They weren’t her concern anymore.

…

It took about a month into the new school years for the class to really understand that. Lila had originally voted in as class president, and had feigned a few tears while thanking the class for the honor but had declined due to being too busy. So Alya was voted in next.

Alya handled the first two birthdays, Ivan’s and Alix’s, really well; she decorated their desks, gave them a birthday card. However, the usual tray of baked goods that were usually brought in for every birthday never showed.

When Alya inquired if Bustier had forgotten to order the cupcakes, the teacher had looked confused.

Marinette tried not to smirk as she sat in the back of the class, pretending to look over her sketchbook.

“I’ve never ordered any before,” Bustier said. “Marinette always did. She was class president. It was her job.”

The two looked back at Marinette; expectant looks on their faces.

The Asian girl snorted. It was never the class president’s job. Chloe never did it in all the years she ruled the class with an iron fist. Marinette had done it because she had been their friend. And she didn’t order them. She bought the ingredients and made them herself.

“It’s the job for the new class president,” Marinette corrected and watched Alya’s face fall. Normally, at that point, Alya would try to ask Marinette for a favor; for Marinette to do it instead.

However, the glasses-wearing girl had taken to ignoring her ex-bestie as much as she could.

“Fine!” Alya huffed. “I’ll do it myself.”

The next thing the class realized had changed was when Bustier announced, “Maybe it’s time we start planning for any class field trips?”

Alya had nodded earnestly, and started making outrageous plans for all the trips the class could take; one to Paris Disney world, another to England, New York, L.A, and so many other very costly ideas.

Ideas, when Marinette was Class president, she would’ve quickly shot down as being impractical, expensive, dangerous, impossible, and any whatever other reason she could think of so the class wouldn’t get their hopes up.

Alya did no such thing.

Marinette just shook her head, and let her ex-friend dig her own grave.

The announcement happened in the morning. Alya had stayed behind when the bell rang for lunch to talk to the teacher and had blatantly glared at Marinette as she said so

And Marinette knew exactly what Alya was planning on talking to Bustier about.

Sure enough, at the end of the school day, Bustier had made another announcement; in front of the entire class.

Marinette really hated how unprofessional the teacher was.

Bustier made it clear that, once again, Marinette was excluded from the class trips that year until her behavior changed. This caused half the class, specifically Lila and Alya, to send her smug looks.

Marinette had nodded, “I understand, Miss Bustier. I can’t say it won’t be a relief not to have to help fundraiser.” The smug looks didn’t entirely disappear but a few faces looked confused instead as if they didn’t realize that meant Marinette wouldn’t help. “I always hated all the planning it took,” And doing all the work, she didn’t add. “Fundraiser after fundraiser. Coming up with the budget, making reservations, clearing it with the school board, clearing it with the parents, getting chaperones, actually raising the money.” She gave a fake sad sigh. “Oh well. Hope you guys have a blast though.”

Then it came time to plan for the first fundraiser. A bake sale.

Marinette had nearly fallen out of her chair laughing when Alya brought it up. Because the bluenette had always hated doing bake sales as she was the only one who ever brought in any baked goods. It was like the entire class thought that just because Marinette lived in a bakery it would be easy for her to get all the food needed.

It wasn’t. She made most of it herself and bought the rest with her own money.

“So who’s going to bring what?” Alya asked. She looked straight at Marinette and seemed to wat for the bluenette to speak. Only for Marinette to raise an eyebrow as if daring her to ask. Alya looked surprised for a moment before she seemed to remember that Marinette wasn’t going to help out. “We’ll make a list.”

No one said a word.

Marinette leaned back in her seat, with a smirk on her face. Alya had said they needed to raise at least $2,000 for the bakery. A highly unrealistic goal. Marinette had only ever raised $423 from a bake sale before.

“I can bring in cookies,” Alya offered once the silence and confused looks continued. “Anyone else? Nino?” She asked her boyfriend.

Nino’s eyes went wide, “Uh, I usually just play the music.” Alya glared at him. “But my mom has a killer blondie recipe. I can ask her to make some.”

Alya nodded, “Sweet. Rose?” And then, one by one, Alya called on each member of the class to see what she could force them to bring.

Even though all but one person in the class promised to bring something; it still wasn’t enough. It wasn’t a very big class. Theirs were the smallest in the entire school which was why new kids always got stuffed with them. In addition, flyers and a banner still needed to be made to promote the fundraiser.

It was clear as she looked at the list that Alya knew they were in trouble. And again, her eyes went to Marinette, a little bit more pleading now. Marinette just shook her head and started sketching a new dress.

She was done with always coming to the rescue.

Marinette didn’t go the bake sale. However, she heard about how much of a disaster it was from Aurore, her new friend from Mendeleiev’s class.

Half the food was burnt and overpriced. The flyers were terrible. And then it rained halfway through.

Suffice to say, the fundraiser was a bust.

And so were the fundraisers that came after it. Never once did the class meet their goals; though admittedly, their goals were never realistic, to begin with.

Marinette knew for certain by December that there was no way the class was taking any of the “oh so amazing trips, and it’s such a pity you can’t go, Marinette” they had planned. Or any good trip for that matter.

It took months for the school board to approve big trips; weeks to approve small ones. Paperwork needed to be filed with detailed plans ready to present. If a big trip got approved, and then for some reason, they couldn’t go and decided to do a smaller trip instead, new Paperwork would need to be filled out. The new trip would need to be approved. It wasn’t like Bustier could take the class somewhere without permission. And if it wasn’t done in time, there would be no trip.

In late October, Marinette posted a flyer on the class board, and around the school, promoting her new website. It got curious glances but only Adrien asked about it.

Adrien, who was neither enemy nor friend, but a neutral party who refused to get involved. His version of the high road, Marinette guessed.

“What’s that?” He asked. “You starting your own business?”

Marinette nodded, “MDC designs. I designed a bunch of clothes over the summer and got a few friends to model them; Aurore, Marc, Luka,” Juleka looked up at the mention of her brother “Kagami, Ondine, Claude Mireille; and a bunch of girls from the fashion club. People can choose the premade designs already promoted on the site and I can send it to them in their size. Or they can contact me for a custom piece; dresses, scarfs, nearly anything really. That’s a lot more expensive, though. Not at much as it would’ve been, say last year, but now that I’ve stopped doing free commissions, I could lower the price.” She said the last sentence louder than polite but she wanted the entire class to hear.

No one in class blinked twice at her statement. However, Marinette knew they would.

Adrien nodded happily, “Cool, that’s kind of what my dad did in the late 90s when he was starting out. Computers were like barely a thing he said.”

Marinette couldn’t picture a time without computers or her smartphone and couldn’t imagine a life without the internet. She shivered at the thought. “Aurore’s become really well known as an Instagram model. I gave her a few outfits in exchange for her promoting my stuff. She even got a few of her model friends to promote my clothes as well. It’s going really well. If the trend continues; I was thinking of doing a live, online, runway show. I’ve already been scouting places.”

That got some envious looks. Whether it was because Marinette was doing so well or because others would be used as her model, she didn’t know. She didn’t care.

Marinette was done caring about every stupid little thing.

The blond just nodded with enthusiasm, “You’re a great designer. I’m sure you’ll be a hit in no time.

“Hopefully, rather than later,” Marinette smiled. “It’ll go even better when Nadja promotes me on her show. I just have to babysit Manon for free for five random days of Nadja’s request that she could request … any time.” It had been a steep price but Marinette had been willing to pay. “She’ll even promote my runway show if I ever have it.”

The first time someone, Mylene, realized just what Marinette had meant when the drama club inquired to her about getting more costumes for the school play and she had no one to turn to. She took one look at commission prices for local tailors for custom pieces and nearly threw up. Marinette’s website, while still expensive, was a much better deal. Still, Mylene couldn’t afford it.

Nino needed a gift for his mom and remembered how much she loved the scarf he got her last year. He thought it was a good idea to get her something similar. But then he remembered Marinette had made the scarf. And Alya would kill him if he bought anything from Marinette’s website. So Nino settled on something small.

When the school dance came, for the first time the majority of the girls in class would have to buy their own dresses. They came from a store, were cheaply made, and were not nearly as amazing as the ones they previously wore.

All in all, it wasn’t the greatest year for Bustier’s class. Midterms had taken a heavy toll. It tense and everyone was clearly frustrated. So were Marinette’s friends from other classes. So during Lunch, Marinette surprised her table with delicious baked goods as a pick me up. The ones she normally would’ve brought just for her class.

Marinette pretended not to notice the hopeful looks on her classmates faces when she walked by with the iconic light blue Dupain-Cheng bakery box. And ignored the crestfallen looks on their faces when she headed them out to just her friends.

In April, it was clear that the trip to New York had fallen through as they didn’t have enough money. Alya had to rush to get something small approved before the end of the year; a trip to the local amusement park. Marinette didn’t laugh when Alya announced it to the class who looked really bummed all their hard work didn’t pay off. She didn’t even blink twice. It had nothing to do with her after all.

In May, the truth finally came out. It happened on a Thursday.

Lila had forgotten her lunch bag at home. Her mother brought it. Lila’s eyes went wide at seeing her mother and she did everything she could to get her out of the class as soon as possible.

Rose asked Mrs. Rossi, “How the meeting in Achu went?”

To which Lila’s mother replied, “A what now? I’ve never been to Achu.”

Marinette had merely leaned back in her seat to watch the fireworks.

And it was beautiful.

It was an even bet as to who had the bigger meltdown.

Mrs. Rossi: when she learned just how much her daughter had been lying; to her, to the school, to her classmates, and basically everyone she met since moving to Paris. Apparently, it wasn’t the first time and it caused a lot of trouble in the past which was why they had to move to France. Mrs. Rossi was quick to refute any rumors about celebrity meetings, traveling around the world, and ever meeting any royalty. And that Lila had no medical issues whatsoever and didn’t participate in any charity organization.

Lila: she had nearly been Akumatized when her mother started to reveal the truth. Luckily, Ladybug had been nearby to catch the little butterfly. (Marinette had just left to the bathroom, not that anyone had really noticed). The hero refuted ever knowing Lila outside of stopping her akuma forms.

And Finally Alya: who had burst into an angry rant and furious tears at being lied to. It was another near akumatization. Alya had to be physically restrained from attacking Lila once the realization hit her about her blog being discredited for lies.

A lot of the class yelled and made accusations but no reaction was nearly as extreme as the other three. Lila had taken advantage of her classmates for almost two years. They carried her books, remade plans so she could be included, took notes for her, threw parties to celebrate her newest accomplishments.

However, Marinette noted, not one of them mention the friendship they had destroyed because of their belief in Lila. She shouldn’t have been surprised.

The bluenette had long since realized she wasn’t ever as important to her ex-friends she once thought.

The entire class was still angry the next day. Lila didn’t show so vented to each other.

Marinette still sat in the back of the class, content to come up with designs to present to a nice lady who wanted a killer dress to wear to her sister’s wedding, and let the class deal with its own drama.

Unfortunately, some people didn’t get a clue.

“Marinette,” Adrien said brightly. Marinette fought not to look up at the sky and ask god why. “What do you think about the Lila situation?”

“I don’t really care,” The bluenette said. “I was done with the whole thing a while ago.”

Suddenly everyone remembered Marinette was there. Marinette who swore Lila was lying for months. Marinette who they had ostracized and exiled. Marinette who they had ignored. Marinette who had once been their friend.

Rose gasped, her hand over mouth, tears welled up in her eyes, “Marinette! I’m so sorry,” She cried.

“I can’t believe we were so mean to you,” Juleka said.

“Dudette, I had no clue what I was thinking,” Nino said.

More apologies came, each one more heartfelt than the last. Alya had been last. She looked like she had been stabbed from the pain her face. Eventually, the glasses-wearing girl cried, “I’m so sorry girl! I’ve been the worst bestie ever. I should’ve believed you over Lie-La.”

Marinette looked at her classmates, shrugged, and said, “Okay.” Then she went back to looking working.

That was it. However, clearly by the silence that came from the class. They had been expected a bigger reaction. Tears of joy and relief. Happiness to have her friends back. Anything but they got nothing.

Alya frowned, “Didn’t you hear us? We’re sorry. We should’ve trusted you, we know that now. We’ll make it up to you, we promise.”

Marinette sighed but shook her head. “No. Thank you. I don’t need you to make it up to me,” She said. “I don’t want you to make it up to me. Just keep doing what you’ve been doing.”

“But, but…” Rose looked around for help. “We’re friends again.”

“Yeah,” Adrien said brightly. “It can go back to the way it was.”

At that, Marinette put down her pencil. She gave the class a hard look. “Let me make this clear because I have no intention of repeating myself: we are not friends. None of you,” She gave pointed looks to her ex-friends, the longest to Adrien and Alya. “Are my friends. You were mean. You called me names. You spread nasty lies about me because Lila told them to you. You excluded me from all class activities; despite the fact that last year I did the majority of the fundraising, the planning, and the work. You hurt me. Things will not go back to the way they were. I don’t trust you. We are not friends. And we will never be friends again. No amount of apologies will change that.”

Alya went to protest, “Girl, we’re-”

Marinette interrupted her, “Just move on. I have.” Then put her headphones in until Bustier managed to get control back over the class. As far as Marinette was concerned there wasn’t anything left they could say.

…

That didn’t stop them from trying.

No one in the class seemed to believe that Marinette, their everyday Ladybug, wouldn’t forgive them. Lila had been withdrawn from school and no one knew what happened to her. And without Lila’s presence, the class was sure Marinette would have no problem moving on from the drama the Italian girl had caused.

They never even considered the fact that Marinette had never been angry at Lila. She hadn’t been happy at her lies. But she had been furious that her friends had fallen for them so easily, particularly the ones about the bluenette.

“Hey,” Alya said brightly stopping in front of Marinette’s desk the following Monday morning. She thought Marinette just needed the weekend to calm down. “All the girls are planning a slumber party at Rose’s on Friday, you in?”

“No,” Marinette said firmly. “I’m busy,” She offered politely.

And she would be “busy” every time they wanted her to do something.

Too busy to go to all the parties she had been previously excluded from. Her ex-friends still hadn’t realized Marinette had never wanted to go after she realized they just weren’t worth it anymore.

Too busy hanging out after school. Or go to Adrien’s photoshoot. (Alya just wouldn’t understand that Marinette was so done with her crush on Adrien.)

Too busy to help with the school play.

Too busy to watch Kitty Section preform.

Too busy to go play video games.

Every day, every moment they could; her ex-friends were trying to pressure her into being their friend again, hanging out with them again, forgiving them. They just wouldn’t take no for answer.

Honestly, Marinette was just done with their antics.

Particularly the incessant need to make sure Marinette was on the “big” class trip; as if they believed if Marinette went it would make up for everything.

Marinette made it clear she really, truly was way too busy to go some random beach trip. She really did have plans and she couldn’t back out of them. They were too important.

But her ex-friends kept bringing it up, with Alya leading the charge, over and over again. They didn’t care what Marinette wanted at all. And once more, Marinette was reminded why she was glad they weren’t her friends anymore.

Eventually, once again, they got the teacher involved. Bustier had so “nicely” announced in front of the class, that Marinette was more than welcome to go on the class trip with them and that they looked forward to coming along.

And as far as Marinette was concerned that was the final straw.

“I’m good,” Marinette said. “Seeing as my behavior hasn’t changed. I think its best I don’t go; right Miss Bustier? That was what you said? And obviously to you thought it was a good reason.” She reminded the teacher. Bustier flushed a pink color at being called out. “It wasn’t like you, an adult woman, caved into peer pressure from your students and a childish need to avoid confrontational situations.”

Silence from the class. No one had expected Marinette to react as she did. In their minds, she was still their “everyday ladybug”; the nicest and sweetest girl in school. The idea made Marinette scoff. Where was that mindset when Lila got ahold of them?

The bluenette glared at the teacher, the woman who should’ve never let the Lila issue get as far as it did; never let Marinette be ostracized and bullied. “I mean, you called me out in front of the entire class to tell me I couldn’t go. Not the first or last time, by the way, you did something so… crass. Not the most sensitive way either.”

“Well, I think-” Bustier had tried to say but was cut off.

Marinette wasn’t going to let her have a word in, “I’m so glad I started to record lesson last year, for you know notes? You know after that expulsion incident? I worried about what I’d miss. It made it so easy for my parents to understand why I was excluded from class events because they could watch it. I mean I have months and months of video evidence they just… loved. They got to see exactly what this class is like on an everyday basis, and exactly how you run it. So did our lawyer, who seemed rather interested in my school. It turns out that physically harming, via tripping or pushing them into walls as you walked by just hard enough for it to hurt. Or destroying private property; like a phone, spilling water on a laptop, or sketchbooks filled with work for commissions. Or verbally bullying someone. Or sending horrible texts daily, all of which I saved and printed out, can be considered harassment. Which is illegal and the perpetrators involved could face criminal charges as well as be sued for the destruction of said property and for emotional ramifications I suffered. But a teacher would never let anything like that happen in front of them so it wouldn’t be on any of the videos I have, right?”

She let the words fill the room. Bustier had paled dramatically and looked ready to faint. The rest of the students who had taken to bullying Marinette instead of ignoring her looked sick. Marinette had no sympathy for any of them. They got themselves into this mess.

Marinette shook her head, “I asked them to chill for now because you’re the teacher. You did what you did for a reason. It’s not like you’d shirk your responsibilities on the class representative. Or force some poor student to be a model example and mediator for all class issues. Or god forbid, cater to the bullies and blame the victim; allow one of your students to be verbally and physically harassed daily. The videos I have surely would never show anything like that; let alone prove it in a court of law… No matter what my lawyer says. But again, you don’t have to tell me why.” Marinette already knew why after all. And she was so done with Bustier. “You had to have had a good reason. Otherwise, I would have to take this to the school board. And a judge in a court of law. And see if you can explain it to them. Maybe I’ll even send them to my mom’s best friend Nadja so she can put them on her show and the world can see too. And we can find out what everyone thinks of you and your teaching methods.”

The threat was clear to all.

Bustier better back off. Or Marinette would make her back off.

The teacher only had to slip once, and she was done for.

“Enjoy the trip,” The bluenette smiled cheerfully, in a way that reminded them eerily how she used to smile at them when Marinette was still their friend; still their “everyday Ladybug”. But instead of bringing warmth as it used to, all they felt was shivers. “It might our last one altogether. After all, who knows where we’ll all be in September. May be separated into different classes. Or different schools. With the way Damocles expels students with no procedure whatsoever, you never know. Or have a new teacher. We can only guess. I think its best if we just… leave things alone. With the way things are, if you push, you might get pushed back… right off a cliff.”

Marinette was done playing games.

When the class left for their “big” trip, Marinette had finally let out a sigh of relief. Next, she was so transferring to Mendeleiev’s class.

She was done with Bustier’s class.

While the students of Bustier’s class were playing at the beach and plotting their next move to get Marinette to forgive them, Marinette was fulfilling one of her biggest dreams.

The bluenette did have for her online runway show. She had spent weeks and weeks promoting it on her website. Aurore, some of the fashion club, and other rising Instagram models walked the runway in Marinette’s new line. Jagged hosted. It hadn’t been Marinette’s idea, but Jagged complained to Penny when Marinette turned him down the first time and Penny talked to Marinette.

Chloe made a deal to her mother to watch the runaway show to review in exchange for Chloe being one of the models. Again, Marinette expressed concerns but couldn’t turn down the chance of Style Queen seeing her clothes.

Marc helped designed the runway; to give it an artistic, futuristic, edgy look. Claude brought in a smoke machine and his laser machine that the used for his short films to make everything really pop.

Clara Nightingale let Marinette use her music as the runway music. The superstar performed a song during the show and promoted it on her social media feed in exchange for a few custom pieces and Marinette getting Ladybug to do some selfies with her. (Tikki had to be bribed with an entire tray of chocolate chip cookies, and to be left alone with the TV in Marinette’s room for the night; something about finally catching up on Game of Thrones.) Marinette was quick to agree. Though Jagged had been in a huff until Marinette agreed to let him close out the show.

The world took notice, albeit mostly because of Jagged and Clara. But Audrey, the Style Queen herself, had raved about how cutting edge it was. She claimed that an underground, exclusive, fashion show was the new big thing in fashion. The clothes were marvelous too. All in all, MDC’s runway was exciting, sophisticated, and fresh, just like her new line.

Not long after Style Queen’s review posted, the orders had come flying in on her website. Everyone who was anyone seemed to NEED to be seen wearing the MDC brand.

Marinette had smiled ear to ear for the rest of the weekend. She looked forward to what the future would bring.

It was a new day.

Which was great because…

Marinette was so done with yesterday.

#ml fic #ml salt fic #ml salt #Marinette deserves better #marinette dupain cheng #class salt #alya salt #A bit of Adrien salt

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amessywritersmind · 3 years

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Sunrise, Blue Eyes - Frodo Baggins

Summary: A spur of the moment decision to see the sunrise turns out better than Frodo could have ever hoped for.

Word Count: 1636

Note: Hello everyone! I’ve already gotten some requests, which I’m super excited about!! Before I start working on those though, I wanted to start finishing up stories that have spent months in my drafts! Most of them are almost done, just needing a few paragraphs to close them out, so I will be finishing those up and then getting to work on those requests asap!! Anyways, enjoy!

Blonde hair billowed out behind her as she ran, Frodo hot on her tail. How Laurelia had this much energy this early in the morning, Frodo would never know. Why he even agreed to be out here at such a time, an hour before sunrise, when he could be curled up in his warm bed in Bag End was beyond him. Really though, he knew the answer to that question without even having to try.

She had asked him to come with her to a great hill overlooking Hobbiton, hours before the sun was in the sky, and without asking why, Frodo had agreed right away. It was something he often found himself doing, agreeing to her impulsive and sometimes outrageous ideas without knowing fully what he was getting himself into, though he didn't see that changing anytime soon. He didn't know why, but it was like he just couldn't help himself.

Shaking these thoughts out of his head, Frodo focused his attention back towards the bubbling girl in front of him, winding through the tall grass of a field, glowing with excitement at whatever she was dragging him to.

"Hurry! We can't be late!" she exclaimed breathlessly.

"Well, Lia, not all of us wake up with the energy of the sun itself inside us!" Frodo grumbled out in fake annoyance, though the smile in his voice was not lost on her.

At his comment, Laurelia turned back slightly, her face radiant with mirth, and grabbed Frodo's hand with a laugh, tugging him faster up the hill in front of them.

"Only a little further, my sleepy head, and then we'll be there and you can rest to your heart's content." she promised sweetly.

"and i'm using you as a pillow!" he shot back, a smirk now prominent on his face. He couldn't stay mad at her for long, not even fake-mad.

Finally, they reached the peak of the hill, sitting down in the cool, green grass. Once Frodo had caught his breath again, he took in the sight in front of him. From this view point, he felt like he could see all of The Shire. Little smials, lit up with front porch lamps, scattered the rolling hills, a few stars still twinkled above him, and he was sat in the middle of it all, right next to his bestfriend, and long time love (though nothing was official just yet). It took his breath away.

"Woah..." he whispered, almost to himself.

"It's beautiful isn't it? Just wait, when the sun comes over that horizon line. The whole valley glows. The way the sun reflects off the dew drops on the grass, the roosters crow to announce the start of the day, the birdsong to welcome you as the sun rays say 'good morning'...it's all so...magical." Laurelia spoke aloud as the first rays of sun split over the horizon.

A light breeze fluttered past the pair, rustling the branches and leaves of nearby foliage. Frodo felt himself shiver, the movement catching Lia's attention. Without saying a word, she tucked one arm under Frodo's nearest to her, looping it through in order to hug herself to him. She placed her head gently on Frodo's shoulder, taking in a deep breath and closing her eyes, his chocolate curls tickling her forehead lightly. He was instantly warmer.

He rested his head on top of her own as a bird, the first sign of life aside from the two of them, flys past, landing on a little bush near the edge of the hilltop. Frodo watches as it plucks the leaves and little berries from the bush, not seeming to mind the world going on around it.

“I’m glad I decided to come” he found himself stating quietly.

“I am too” Laurelia all but whispered.

After a few more minutes of silence, the sun now half way above the horizon, Lia spoke again.

“Do you remember when we met?” she wondered aloud. Frodo chuckled at the memory.

“Yes. I had just moved in with Uncle Bilbo that day. Infact, I had barely finished getting settled before you were banging away on the front door, demanding Bilbo introduce us.” He laughed, nudging her lightly with the shoulder she was resting upon. She tapped his arm lightly at that.

“Aren’t you glad I did? I, my friend, have saved you from a lifetime of boredom, which you inevitable would’ve had, had it not been for me” Laurelia continued joking. Frodo laughed in agreement.

“You were so cute back then, what with your curly hair and your wide, curious blue eyes...” she trailed off, suddenly feeling extremely nostalgic. “that’s what first drew me to you y’know, aside from the fact that you were new in town.” she finished, squeezing his arm once more.

“What? My blue eyes?” He asked, genuinely curious now.

“No, silly! Well, ok yes, but not just the color. It was something more. I’ll never forget how I felt when I saw those eyes of yours for the first time...” She began, looking up at him briefly. He gazed back at her with the same intensity she had felt on that very first day. She cleared her throat and looked back out at the sunrise, the glow of the sun illuminating the rosy tint that had appeared across her cheeks.

“Something in them spoke to me that day. For one reason or the other, I looked into them and it was like they were the only thing I could focus on. They told me of a kindness, a special kind that only the purest of souls can posses. They made me feel safe, and welcomed. I knew instantly that I could trust you in that moment. They told me of a love, a love that you give so selflessly and freely, a love that I’ve been lucky enough to receive ever since.” Laurelia spoke her mind freely, not stopping once to think about how this all must sound, spilling out of her mouth in the early hours of the morning. A secret meant only for her ears, and his.

“And what do you see now? When you look into my eyes...”Frodo whispered almost dreamily.

Laurelia pulled away from him slightly, enough to look him in the eye, but not enough to sever their connected limbs completely. She took her time getting lost in those eyes, ones she’s become so familiar with over the years. She tried to find a string of words that would describe what she saw, no, more like what she felt when she looked into his eyes but it was as if all speech had evaded her. Finally, a single word came to mind. The clarity of it hit her like a wave.

“Home.” she stated simply, there was no other way to describe it.

Frodo couldn’t help the ragged breath that fell from his lips at that answer.

“Home.” he stated again, tasting the word on his tongue. He came to the conclusion long ago that by her side was the place for him, and he stuck by that thoroughly, but to hear her say this gave him hope. Hope that maybe, she felt for him like he did her. There was only one way to find out.

Frodo hadn’t noticed how close they were to each other, but the longer she looked him in the eye with so much intensity and admiration as she was now, the more he felt physically pulled to her. And her to him. Before either them knew what was happening, their lips had touched.

Warmth flooded the both of them, the tenderness of the moment and the glow of the valley below, illuminated by the rising sun, was enough to make Frodo feel as if his heart was about to burst out of his chest. Not with the sadness Frodo felt when remembering his parents, nor with the anxiety he sometimes got when the town began stirring up new rumors about he and his uncle. No, this feeling was different, more pleasant. It was love.

As the two pulled away, the sun had finished its rise over the hilltop, its rays reaching the blushing couple.

“I love you” Frodo found himself whispering, a rooster sounding far off in the distance.

“And I, you. Always have.” Laurelia admitted gently, facing forward again and returning her arms, and head, to their previous positions.

Down below, Hobbiton stirred to life. Farmers got to work in their fields, merchants began setting up their stalls in the town square, the morning air was full of peace and happiness, and most importantly, Frodo had his home resting her head on his shoulder.

“I really am glad I came.” he found himself saying after a few moments of silence.

“I knew you would be! And look, you didn’t even fall asleep once!” she exclaimed quietly, giggling lightly.

“Now, we best get back before your uncle notices I’ve stolen you away again!” Laurelia began, getting up. Frodo stood as well, stretching his limbs slightly to regain feeling in them. While he was doing so he could help but see Lia staring at him with eyes full of love and a hint of something else.

“What?” Frodo laughed out. The only reply he got was Lia stepping closer, wrapping her arms around his neck. His arms moved without thought, snaking themselves around her waist. Before Frodo could question any further, Lia leaned in close, right past his lips and to his ear.

“Race ya” She whispered with a smirk before planting a kiss on his cheek and taking off down the hill. Frodo was stunned momentarily before finally regaining his senses. Shaking his head, a smile unable to leave his lips, he raced down the hill after her, following after those billowing blonde curls once again.

#Frodo Baggins #frodo baggins x reader #Frodo Baggins imagine #Frodo Baggins imagines #Frodo baggins fanfiction #frodo x reade #frodo x oc #lord of the rings #lord of the rings imagine #lord of the rings x reader #lord of the rings imagines #lotr #imagine #frodo baggins oneshot #Frodo baggins one shot #frodo baggins fluff

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yakumtsaki · 3 years

Photo

Cyneswith rolls the want to dine out with her Methuselahian boy-toy and I’m hoping we can knock this love out during this date so we never have to see him again. Naturally the road to 20 simultaneous lovers is gonna have some duds, but did we really have to start with one?? Between Cyn’s gray hair turn on and Shajar’s fitness/fatness ones the chemistry mechanic is ruining my life this generation.

Yea that’s great, CADP, here’s an even more appropriate green face: 🤢🤢🤢

-I don’t get paid enough for this shit.

Random Waiter sweetie, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry we’re romancing this old bitch in front of you, oh my god.

Mercifully CADP wastes no time falling in love with Cyneswith after this public woohoo witnessed by every townie within a 20 mile radius, and the date is a stunning success:

LMAO. Watch Cyneswith become a pillar of the community thanks to publicly banging the elderly, she truly can do no wrong. No wonder she’s the only child Jojo acknowledges.

Beyond over for Don.

Cyneswith returns home in the glowing triumph of her platinum plumbob. She literally hasn’t even made it to the front door yet-

-and CADP calls to ask her out again! Man, these drama professors are relentless, remember how half-alien prof stalked Gunther? Did this guy even go home or is he calling us right from the diner where we left him?? Whatever the case, hardest ‘Stay Here’ ever pressed, grandpa.

-But I wanna go out with him again! 🌸

Yea well we don’t have time to be systematically dating these flops, Cyn, if you wanted in depth affairs you should have rolled a different LTW.

NICE. Another fine addition to our yard of wonders! We’re still not dating you, CADP, but when we’re throwing ragers on this thing, we’ll be thinking of you with some nostalgia and a lot of disgust.

With Cyneswith platinum for the foreseeable future, I take a look at how everyone else is doing to ensure there aren’t any aspiration failures lurking. Ti-Ning and Frances are ultra-loved up and doing great-

-Angel rolls the want to get engaged to Wulf as well as the want TO INVITE OVER GUNTHER AKA HER TEENAGE FLING FROM 30 YEARS AGO, FFS ANGEL-

-and Don.. well he’s seen better days. The sad ‘go on a date’ want is killing me, I’ve considered it a given so far that he’s endgame for Cyn but they haven’t been interacting much lately, we’ll see how it goes, it might legit be over him.

The semester ends and with it Sophie’s insane 0 studying A+ streak, which is understandable since she literally almost died. Proud of Wulf and Don for bringing their grades up since they were both doing terribly, Don especially was flirting with academic probation last semester. I guess once your gf is no longer distracting you because she’s too busy cheating on you, you start hitting the books.

It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life.. and Sophie autonomously goes to gossip with Shajar!!! I was so shocked I unironically took a screenshot of the little action queue window, but whatever, it’s a big deal!

-Hey Shajar, you know who’s an even bigger turbocuck than you?? Ti-Ning! God I can’t stand that loser.

-Haha couldn’t agree more, Sophie! 🖤 Not like I’d agree with anything you say, I have my own personality and opinions and everything!! Why are we talking about him like he’s not right here? I’m not questioning you, just curious! 🖤

-It’s my new bullying tactic!

-It’s great!

-Congratulations on your ever-evolving bullying techniques, Sophie! 🖤

-Congratulations on idolizing me! Maybe you’re only a cuck and not a turbocuck after all.

AAAAAAA THEY’RE PLAYING RED HANDS OMG OMG IS THIS FINALLY GONNA HAPPEN????

-Haha great punch, Sophie! I actually felt the nerve damage as it happened!

-Thanks, ever since my post-workout coma I’m stronger than ever!

OMG THEY FINALLY BECAME FRIENDS. Bro I still cannot believe Cyneswith not only befriended Sophie first but is LITERALLY BFFS WITH HER. UN.REAL. ANYWAY there’s only so much blue balling I can take from these two, it’s time to find out if there’s something there once and for all. But first, we need a slight adjustment so let’s head to the nearest mirror..

-OH BROTHER.

In the name of love, Shaj, come on!

-So, Sophie.. As I’m sure you can see, I’m blonde now. And I had to sign a contract promising I won’t sue for how terrible it makes me look, so I’m legally blonde. Now that that’s out of the way..

-..it’s Ti-Ning trashing time!

GODDAMMIT SHAJAR NO. NO MORE TI-NING TRASHING, NO MORE USELESS PLATONIC INTERACTIONS, IT’S GO TIME. Check her out, and let the chips fall where they may!!!

F I N A L L Y I L N L A A L N L I Y L L A N I F

OK. SO NOW WE KNOW. What you do from now on is up to you, first and last time I’m intervening but these two were driving me insane.

-And so after careful consideration, it became clear that blonde is truly my color!

-Are you sure, Shaj? Because when I saw you upstairs you were sobbing and doing vomiting motions in front of the mirror.

-Aw Angel, that’s not a very nice thing to say! Don’t worry sis, I love your new look! In fact, I’m so proud of the way you look I want you right there next to me when I meet potential lovers! 💗

NOW THAT’S WHAT I LIKE TO SEE. I mean I wish I wasn’t seeing Shajar’s terrible blonde hair but Sophie’s blondeness turn on forced my hand. But the rest of this pic is what I like to see!

Despite recent developments, Sophie remains elusive af but I’m not butting in anymore, I’m returning to my go with the flow playstyle. So Sophie once again leaves us dick in hand and goes inside to.. you guessed it, socialize with Cyneswith. Shajar follows suit.. and..

....

................

.....................................

SHAJAR. YOU FINALLY STEPPED UP. I guess there’s only so much cucking from Cyneswith one person can take!!! If Sophie rejects this I’m literally gonna die-

-HELL YES OMG FINALLYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

CYNESWITH ARE YOU KIDDING ME. BRO. LITERALLY THE BIGGEST COCKBLOCK TO EVER LIVE

And Shajar is now in love with Sophie, whereas Sophie isn’t even best friends with her yet, oh Shaj.. Well whatever, you’ll get there (I hope). ACR gets right down to business, let’s ignore Sophie thinking of Cyneswith, istg..

Boy, that escalated quickly. I mean we literally went from first kiss ever to woohoo with 0 other interactions in between but after all those years of incelitude who can blame Shajar.

And it’s official!!! ❤️ I’ve been convinced these two belong together ever since they were teens but I was also convinced Gunther belonged with Melody/Daniel belonged with Brittany/Jojo belonged with Frances and we remember how all 3 of those went so only time will tell.

In the meantime let’s marvel at how uneven this burgeoning relationship is thanks to Shajar unilaterally obsessing over Sophie for half her teenhood. But she finally got her! An inspirational tale about never giving up on your dreams even when your dreams prefer your sister.

#gen 2 #ts2

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mysterytickingegos · 3 years

Text

Roadtrip

Pairing: Wilford Warfstache x Reader

Genre: Fluff. Like so god damn fluffy. The fluffiest thing this angst-lover will ever write. TOOTH ROTTING- okay you get the point.

Word Count: 1,710

Summary: Your relationship with the strange TV personality naturally leads to some pretty fun adventures, but this one might just go down in history as your favorite.

Anonymous Request: If you have time, could you please do 10, 17, and 20 with either Wilford or Yancy (and they/them pronouns)? 🥺👉🏼👈🏼 I love your writing btw ❤️

Authors Note: I think it’s safe to say I’m out of the ficlet mindset after this one. I got an idea and got waaay carried away but hopefully no one minds! Maybe a bit out of character? I’m not completely sure.

Want to read more?

[Image Description: A gif of Wilford Warfstache from the short “Warfstache Interviews Markipler” screwing with his hair. End Description.]

The sun wasn’t even up yet, that was your biggest concern. Not that there could be some kind of emergency but that someone had the audacity to knock on your door before the sun was even up. You swung the door open to see Wilford standing there, looking much more casual than usual and grinning the moment he saw you. “Good morning, sunshine! Ready to go?”

You sighed and let your defenses down. “To go?”

“Yes, to go! To go to the big thing in Chicago!”

“Yeah I remember that, I thought we were leaving at six thirty.”

“It is six thirty.” He said, glancing down at his watch to check.

You stared at him for a moment in sleepy confusion before it finally hit you. “You meant six in the morning??”

“Well of course I meant the morning, can you imagine the traffic that time of day?” He chuckled at the thought and let himself inside. “Besides, the network made it very clear I can’t miss this. Best not to take chances.”

“...You’re lucky you’re cute.” You grumbled, fighting back a yawn as you left to get dressed and grab the bag you packed the night before.

You’d been dating Wil for somewhere close to two years at this point, and you’d been friends for longer than that, and you still never had any idea what to expect from him. There was always a new adventure or shenanigans for him to pull you into, just waiting around the corner. This was one of those times.

When you came back downstairs he took your bag, and your hands in his once it was securely over his shoulder. “Come on, cheer up! I know you took the week off so I made sure this would be worthwhile, planned some stops, made sure we had plenty of time.”

You stopped to lock up your apartment before you two started walking downstairs. “What kind of stops?”

“Sweetheart, you are just gonna have to wait and see.” He told you with a wink.

MONDAY

If Wil hadn’t stopped at a gas station, you probably wouldn’t have been able to keep yourself awake at the start of the drive, but thankfully you took the opportunity to get yourself some caffeine and something for you both to eat. After that it was pretty fun, with music blasting and the windows cracked. Every half hour or so one of you would turn the music down and get into another conversation. You had both been so busy the past few months that you had plenty to talk about. Though, the entire time he made a point to keep a folded up piece of paper out of your reach.

The first detour was through the Las Vegas strip, the only stop being a cozy barbecue place off of an exit. But it was fun to see the grand casinos and attractions nonetheless.

“Okay, this is amazing,” You said, pointing to what was left of your sandwich. “What’s the story behind this place?”

“I’ve actually never been here before, just saw it had four and a half stars.” In the middle of his explanation, he swiped a fry off your plate. “I actually haven’t stayed in Vegas since before all the smart...google...haberdashery.”

You stopped halfway to taking a drink, biting back a smile. “Haberdashery?”

He smiled back, shaking his head at you. “Don’t start.”

“So you really planned this out then, huh?”

“Yeah! I have a whole list of places we’re stopping. Did you expect anything less from me?”

“I probably shouldn’t answer that.” You teased. He gasped in mock offense before both of you burst out laughing.

“Fair enough.”

Once you got back on the road it was an extremely long eight hours, at least in the second half after another gas station stop. Your legs were cramped up and the music was getting a bit tedious and had to be turned down. Wilford assured you it was the longest stretch in the whole trip, but even he was tired by the time you guys got to stop in a small Chinese restaurant on the border of Colorado. “I should’ve picked a closer hotel.” He mumbled through a yawn, waiting somewhat impatiently on the ‘meal for two’ special. “I really didn’t think it’d be this late.”

“How far is it?” You asked, spinning your straw in your glass.

“‘Nother two hours, I think.”

You nodded, deciding to step in. “You could barely keep your eyes open when we pulled in, you should let me drive.”

“You’re probably right...” He seemed hesitant, but neither one of you wanted this to end in a car crash. “But don’t look at the list.”

“I won’t, I won’t. Jeez”

The next two hours were nice, as it was dark now and there were hardly any cars. It didn’t take more than a few minutes for Wilford to doze off in the passenger seat after he put in the next address and you played an audiobook at a low volume to keep yourself focused. Finally the GPS buzzed; “Your destination is on the left.”

You pulled into the lot of Riverwalk inn and nudged your partner’s shoulder until he finally started to stir. “Hey, c’mon we’re here.”

TUESDAY

You heard an alarm start going off on the other side of the bed and let out a groan, pulling a pillow over your head. “What time is it?”

“It’s eight, get up and get dressed and I’ll find someplace to eat.” And with that Wilford was up and out of bed, no problems.

You on the other hand... “We can’t even sleep in a little bit?”

“Not unless you want to start crossing places off the list, my dear.” He started going through his things to look for something new to wear. “We still have to make it there by Friday...for the thing.”

You grumbled some more, finally dragging yourself out of bed after hearing a couple promises of fresh coffee. “Wilford Warfstache, this ‘thing’ better be the best thing that’ll ever happen to you.”

“I already know it will be!” He said in a sing-song voice as you grabbed your bag and vanished into the bathroom.

“What’s the plan for today anyway?” You called out.

“Nothing much, a couple breaks here and there but it’ll take most of the day to get to-” You heard him cut himself off, “to...the next place. But things’ll get good tomorrow, I promise.”

And when you drove into Oklahoma city that night, you pondered all the possibilities.

WEDNESDAY

It was much easier to get up early, mostly out of excitement. After you two stopped at a random chain restaurant to get something for breakfast, you pushed for answers again. “Come on, you have to tell me now that we’re here.”

“Well, actually I couldn’t decide.”He tore his napkin in two and pull a pen out of what seemed to be thin air. You were about to ask if he even realized he did that, as he usually didn’t, but he held both his now-paper-filled hands out. “So, you pick. Left or right, whatever the paper says is what we’ll do.”

“Okay...left.”

He tossed the other paper over his shoulder and read what yours said. “Ooh good choice.” You tried to lean over the table to see it but he closed his hand quickly, leaning closer to you. “Now, Y/n, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you want to kiss me.”

“I’ll kiss you if you tell me where we’re going.”

He laughed at you and slipped out of the booth without hesitation. “Nope! Not ruining the surprise.”

He was very insistent that it didn’t happen, even convincing you to close your eyes once you were close. He guided you out of the car, and finally let you open your eyes. You looked up at the big green sign.

“OKC Zoo and Botanical Garden.”

“Oh my- are you serious?” You had to stop yourself from jumping up in excitement, and grabbed his hand to pull him inside.

You were still beaming hours after you two left, showing him how all the photos turned out over dinner in Kansas City.

THURSDAY

The audiobook had hit a lull, and you were too sick of pop music to switch it. Wilford was much more quiet than usual, so you kept to yourself for a while after lunch, eventually nodding off for a good half-hour.

“We made it!” Your boyfriend cheered, shutting off the car as you sat up straight. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t even realize.”

“Nah it’s fine. We’re here?”

“Yep! We are officially, finally in Chicago. Ready to stretch your legs?”

You bought some ice cream from a Dessert Dealer before driving down to the architecture center to walk around, even deciding to catch a movie before you checked into the hotel.

“This was the best. week. ever!” You exclaimed, flopping onto the bed.

Wil chuckled and laid down beside you. “It’s not over yet.”

“Well you said no detours planned on the way back, and you’ll be busy with the thing tomorrow, so...safe to say we can call it.” You shrugged, flipping onto your stomach and laying your head on your arms. “What is it anyway? A speech? Big grand opening?”

He didn’t answer you at first, contemplating the answer. “Truth be told...” He started. “The network has no idea I’m here. I just wanted to surprise you with all of this. Because...”

“Because?”

He put up a finger, staring down at his watch until-

FRIDAY

“Because, happy anniversary.” He said with a grin,

You had to pause, doing the math in your head, before sitting up straight. “That is...the sweetest thing anybody’s ever done for me. God, I love you.”

He pulled you into a hug before you started tearing up. “I love you too...In fact I didn’t think it was possible to love someone so much.”

“Me either,” You admitted, pulling back to wipe your face with your sleeve. “Happy anniversary, Wil.”

Little did you know that despite the list being complete, there was still one more surprise in store.

You know, considering the ‘top secret list’ you couldn’t look at was just to keep your attention away from the tiny black box in his suitcase?

#Wilford Warfstache x reader #Wilford Warfstache x you #markiplier egos x reader #I'd like to formally apologize for the ending I just couldn't help myself #no beta readers we die like men #Let's hope grammarly didn't let me down

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peaches-writes · 3 years

Text

'christmas ornaments’

skz of christmas day 4: christmas party with hyunjin

member: hyunjin wc: 1.3k genre: fluff, bare minimum soulmate au, established relationship au, college au, comedy warning: explicit language note: pls i wrote this during midterms

Okay, okay, okay, socks! Where are my socks—ooh, a cookie! This doesn’t look two weeks old, I think I can eat it? Wait, wait, that’s not what I’m supposed to be looking at! What am I looking for? Um....uhhh....

Socks? You try suggesting to the voice in your head, letting out an actual chuckle in your physical setting so he won’t hear it from your thoughts. Baby, you’ve been looking for socks the past three minutes.

Right, socks! Thanks Y/N! Hyunjin physically puckers up on his side and telepathically sends you a kiss with an imagined sound and you burst out laughing in your head as a response. Bruh, where’s my kiss back?

Maybe if you’re already on the way to the party like you said fifteen minutes ago, you’d be getting all the kisses you want, dumbass. You point out with a roll of your eyes, bursting into more giggles when he starts whining in between unconsciously narrating whatever he is doing as he prepares to leave his dorm. Next to you in the backseat of Yeji’s car, Jeongin looks up from his phone to give you another comical judgmental stare over your ‘weird’ soulmate connection. What’s taking you so long, anyway? You’re probably just dressed in a white robe like one of the three Kings or something.

Excuse me, I made a lot of effort with my costume! The boy huffs, his train of thought finally shifting focus from looking for his socks to actually wearing them. You assume he’s finally moved on from it. It’s going to blow your mind and win me the best costume award at the party!

“So what’s hyung’s costume?” Jeongin asks as if on cue, sitting up properly when the edges of his Northern star costume starts to wrinkle ever so slightly. When you shrug and shake your head in response, he scoffs and adds, “I’m telling you, he’s probably coming in as baby Jesus.”

“That or as a Christmas tree.” You supplement, Hyunjin quickly protesting in your head at this comment. “He’s yelling at me, hold on!”

Y/N, we as a society have progressed past the need to dress up as Christmas trees! Hyunjin simultaneously exclaims matter-of-factly, informing you in between that he’s now on his way out of his dorm. On that note, I saw Minho come out his room in a Christmas tree costume a while ago because he really doesn’t give a shit so of course I wouldn’t let myself be caught in the same thing.

You sigh, feigning exasperation. So what are you? Honestly, I’m surprised you managed to keep this from me for two weeks.

There’s a large pause after, a faint echo of Minho and Jisung’s voices yelling at Hyunjin to get in the car filling in for your boyfriend’s lack or response until he’s settled enough to think, Like I said, you’ll find out with everyone else later!

You shake your head in disapproval in front of Jeongin this time, crossing your arms over your carefully constructed mug costume. “He’s really laying it on thick this year, Innie.”

Your annual Christmas party at the Campus Radio’s club room is officially communicated to the student council under your senior Chan’s name but it’s mostly you and your friends calling the shots on the specifics. In particular, it’s usually Minho and Jisung who decide on the costume theme—which just so happened to be Christmas ornaments for this year.

Because of this, you arrive at the club house seeing all of your friends and blockmates filling the large expanse of the designated dance floor with their life-sized ornaments. You see Chan waddling around as a snowman, Felix handing cookies around as Rudolph, Chaeryeong in her Mary-inspired attire, Sana in a replica of Mariah Carey’s Christmas album outfit, and even Changbin comically showing up as a Christmas Ham wearing one too many questionable-looking fishnets and patterning his red cheeks to the food’s netted texture.

“Y/N!” Felix bounces up to you and Yeji with his Tupperware or cookies and a bright red clown nose on his face. It makes the two of you giggle, especially at how it still sort of makes him look like a clown despite the antlers that go along with it. “Ha, I see you’ve brought some milk! Care for a cookie to go with it?”

You look down on your big red and green mug covering your casual attire from your waist all the way down to your knees with a laugh, taking out a bit cookie cut-out from under the Japanese paper ‘milk’ wrinkled around the rim of the mug. “Sorry, Lix, I already got my own cookie!” You joke, the punchline effectively toppling over the boy in laughter. You take a cookie from his Tupperware anyway and return your fake one back inside its designated pocket lining the inside of your costume mug. “So, has Hyunjin arrived yet?”

“You tell me.” Felix pouts. “We’ll start the program in five minutes and from what I remembered he volunteered himself to host.”

“He probably chickened out.” Yeji teases with a shrug, earning her a disapproving frown from you. “What? Why do you think he’s being all secretive with his costume?”

“Maybe they’re just stuck in traffic or something.” You point out, whipping your head around for your any signs of a dramatic entrance from your boyfriend and his two roommates. “When we turned to campus, they were already out of their dorms.”

And, as if on cue, the main double door entrance where you previously came from bursts open with a loud thud and releases bright light and cheap smoke effects from the other side (you’re quite sure it’s just from Chaeryeong and Chan grilling meat right outside).

“Ho ho ho, Merry Christmas everyone!” Santa Claus Jisung prances in the room with a red Jansport bag of your program’s game props and mini prizes. Minho the Christmas tree trails along with red and green balls for dangling earrings. “Did you guys wait long?”

“Hi, guys.” Minho waves curtly with his most passive smile before smacking the back of Jisung’s head. A few of your friends then crowd around the two when Jisung starts handing out pre-program candies.

“And where’s your boyfriend?” Yeji nudges your side as the two of you watch your two friends in secondhand embarrassment.

Yeah, Jinnie, where are you? You ask back to your boyfriend, peering around for any sign of him.

I’m over here! Hyunjin answers telepathically to you almost immediately, his voice growing louder as he now approaches the door. Prepare yourselves!

In front of you, Hyunjin then decides on making his dramatic entrance with the goofiest grin on his face that makes you, Yeji, and Felix smack your hands up to your temples in unison.

Of all the Christmas ornaments Hyunjin could pick, he just had to go as the whole Nativity scene. Balancing a life-sized diorama of Jesus’ birth right in front of his body—complete with stick, Styrofoam, and cellophane figures of the Mary, Joseph, and the Three Kings—your boyfriend’s head fits right on the scene as a replacement to the baby Jesus Christ while his hands hold the sides of the manger’s pillars all the way down to his waist.

“Hey, guys, sorry we’re late!” Hyunjin announces dramatically, briefly covering his face with his hand at the sight of everyone giggling at his costume. “Got a bit stuck in traffic—and I might’ve also gotten stuck on our car before getting here—but is everyone ready for the program?!”

Hyunjin gazes over to you last, his comically confident grin turning into a more sheepish one at meeting your eyes. So? Like it?

Jesus Christ, Hyunjin, you pretend to cover your eyes in front of him which makes him laugh instead of sulking as you intended.

Ha, see? You’re already getting into the joke of it! He points out, gesturing to his head stuck on a mini manger made of plastic straws. You’ll have to tell him that he looks like a baby lion with this set-up later. Get it? Because I’m supposed to be Jesus in this costume?

Just get to MC-ing, Hyunjinnie...and we’ll have to talk about you stealing my Best Costume Award later!

december 20 (kim seungmin)

skz of christmas (masterlist)

m.list

@skzwriternet

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boxoftheskyking · 3 years

Text

Pick Up Every Piece, Part Four

Ugh this took forevvvvver

I know that the MDZS map is like based on actual China, so my apologies to whatever Yiling is based on. I need a shithole for this story, and Yiling’s it.

In which Lan Zhan follows A Story

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

----

Early November 2000

Lan Zhan is headed back to Moling. It’s not a trip that he particularly enjoys, anymore. He takes the train these days, since he got rid of his car.

He used to drive the 45 minutes there twice a week when he and Liu Shirong were first dating, before they moved in together in Caiyi. There used to be a sense of anticipation, enjoyment, each landmark and familiar turning a step closer to someone he wanted to see. An arm across his back, a kiss to his jaw, Shirong reaching up on tiptoe to greet him. He’d pick up Shirong at school and they’d wave out the window at the little kids in the schoolyard. Bye, Teacher Liu! Moling was an escape, an innocent place, somewhere far away from the darkness and dirt he spent his days sifting through.

Dear Shirong. He’s a good man. Short, kind, a silly gasping laugh. Desperate for children. He has two now, and a husband. Lan Zhan has lunch with him occasionally.

Now that he thinks about it, their last lunch was over a year ago. He supposes that doesn’t count as “occasionally” anymore. He could reach out first, if he wanted to. But he’s never been the type to reach out. Shirong has a life, a family, all the things he always wanted. All the things Lan Zhan couldn’t give him.

“I cannot imagine myself with a child,” he’d said when they broke up. He hadn’t intended for it to actually be a breakup—he hadn’t really thought that far ahead. But Shirong had visited an actual agency the day before and handed him a brochure, and Lan Zhan had left the apartment and driven into the mountains in a blind panic. He’d ended up stopped outside someone’s cabin, all the way up their driveway, and parked outside this stranger’s house until he’d gotten his breathing under control. That’s one of the reasons he’d sold the car. He’d never done that before, taken off like that, trespassed on private property, so getting rid of the car was the safest option.

Precept 45 of the Lan Clan: Do not act impulsively.

Precept 213: Be strict with yourself.

Precept 341: When faced with temptation away from the righteous path, remove the source of temptation.

His brother finds his interest in the old clan rules an amusing idiosyncrasy. Even his uncle, strict as he is, finds the rules nothing more than an heirloom, evidence of some kind of hereditary virtue but nothing relevant to the modern day.

It’s not that he follows them. He just likes to know them, to turn them over in his mind. As options. When faced with a decision, there’s a comfort in turning to generations of dead Lans for guidance. Some people like astrology.

There are a lot of Lans, these days, enough that he’s never met a good number of cousins. There’s plenty of Lans he’s barely related to at all, at this point, but the name still has a good reputation. It’s the opposite of what the Wens have to deal with, those who weren’t involved in the insurrection. Everyone knows the old clans are ancient history and you can’t judge someone on their family name. But still, no one named Wen is going to find work in Lanling anytime soon.

The point is, the Lans have survived and multiplied, so whatever kept them going in the old days can’t be completely useless.

His original interest in the rules was mostly as a journalist, which he’d hoped his uncle might understand. Every rule implies a story. A reason. Thousands of them mean you can triangulate an entire context. Who were we? How did we get here? What did we lose, and how?

Precept 9: Do not speak dishonestly.

Precept 77: Do not make promises that you cannot honor.

“I cannot imagine myself with a child,” he’d said.

Don’t worry, Lan Zhan, we’ll figure it out together. “I’m not sure I want to imagine myself with a child.” It will be different when it’s ours. You’ll see. “The more you talk about it, the less sure I am.” That’s okay, Lan Zhan, I can be sure enough for the both of us.

“I don’t want this. I don’t want this with you.”

Precept 424: Do not be needlessly cruel.

Lan Zhan had killed men during the war. Cultivation was useful for long-range attacks, but he still found himself in the situation of killing up close, of watching the light leave an enemy’s eyes.

He saw the light leave Liu Shirong’s eyes. For a moment his instincts had jolted, shocking through his nervous system. You’ve killed him. You activated your core, by accident, and you’ve killed him.

But it wasn’t the end of Liu Shirong’s life, of course, just the end of his love for Lan Zhan, the end of their life together, the end of whatever future he’d imagined for them. Lan Zhan had meant to release him gently, like a small rabbit with a newly-healed leg, back out into the world he came from. But he’d crushed him instead, under his clumsy feet.

Do not be needlessly cruel.

There are pools of guilt around Moling. Every place that he recognizes, everywhere they went together, even if the memories themselves are good. The guilt gathers on his clothes, soaks through to the skin, makes him cold.

It’s not that he misses Shirong. Perhaps he should miss him more than he does. It’s been nearly three years since they split up. It should perhaps hurt more than it does. It’s embarrassing that it took longer for him to get over Wei Ying—a relationship that never happened.

The worst part of the breakup didn’t even have to do with Shirong himself. He hadn’t made a special call after Shirong left, or even after he officially moved out a week later, but he had mentioned it when Lan Huan called him as usual on the second Tuesday of the month.

“Oh, I’m sorry, didi,” Lan Huan had said. “I know you did love him, in your own way.”

In your own way.

Is he not— Did he not—

Had he never—

He is nearly to Moling. The train track curves here, about fifteen minutes out, and the rails were laid in crooked. It’s a jolt, every time. It’s easy to see who the regular commuters are, whose coffee sloshes over, who widens their stance in time, who looks suddenly out the window, worried. Sabotage on the tracks, maybe, or someone under the cars. The younger people don’t look worried, only bored.

The landscape is odd, he realizes suddenly. He’s been staring vaguely out the window, letting his mind wander, but where he’s used to a few farms, a man-made lake, and mostly open country there is torn up ground, heavy machinery, and miles of chain-link fence. Did he not notice this on his last trip? Had he been reading?

Out the window he sees a large sign on the fence announcing, “Future home of Jin Industries Moling Satellite Campus.” Typical.

In your own way.

He never asked what Lan Huan meant by that. Lan Zhan has won multiple awards for his reporting, for his ability to encourage others to talk. The right facial expression at the right time. A direct, polite question with just the right emphasis. Merciless is what they say about him, sometimes. He’s like a swordsman in an old movie, Nie Mingue used to say, in a way that sounded like a compliment. He moves so quick and so sharp, you don’t even know he’s cut you until you’re around the corner and your head falls off.

He’s poking at it like a sore tooth, needlessly. His golden core makes itself known, just a little sense, a small awakening. It’s always ready to defend him, even so many years later. He does nothing with the awareness, of course. No cultivation is authorized outside of combat. But his core was never removed, never shut down. Can’t put the hot sauce back in that bottle, Jiang Cheng had said once.

The train slows, stops.

“Moling station. Depart here—” The pleasant voice is cut off by a beeping. Lan Zhan stands and shoulders his bag.

“Attention passengers,” a crackled voice comes over the loudspeaker, far less pleasant than the recording. “Due to a security concern all passengers must depart the train at car fourteen. Doors will not open except for car fourteen. Departing passengers, please make your way to car fourteen.”

Lan Zhan looks around the car, then sees a “3” on the far wall. He sighs and follows the few people who are struggling with the connecting door to car four. The chimes that gently demand Get off the damn train are going. He has to speedwalk down the aisle, which is undignified, and everyone looks up at him with that poor bastard expression reserved for torn grocery bags and flat tires.

He makes it off the train a second before the door closes and it pulls away.

“Close one!” an old man grins at him, more humor than teeth.

The police have roped off most of the platform, everyone standing around looking at each other. A few are smoking. Lan Zhan goes over to the rope, coming up next to a kid with one of those handheld electronic games. The kid’s staring around at the cops while his game beeps vaguely in a lonely sort of way.

“What’s happened?” Lan Zhan asks him.

The kid answers without looking at him. “Abandoned bag. Nothing’s happening.” He sounds disappointed.

“Hm.” Sure enough, there’s a nondescript green backpack slumped on a bench.

“They always say it might blow up, but it never does.”

“Not so much these days,” Lan Zhan agrees.

“Like, if it was gonna blow up they wouldn’t be smoking near it, right?”

Lan Zhan smiles despite himself. “Good eye,” he says. His golden core is settled within him, curling beneath his breastbone like a sleeping cat, uninterested and unconcerned. No danger.

There had been a certain amount of withdrawal, after the war. And grief, and nightmares, and a limp for a while. But the end of regular cultivation, of relying on his golden core as a seventh sense, a second consciousness, a second self, the end of healing himself from the inside, of Wangji at his back and power at his fingertips . . .

It’s not entirely the government’s fault, if he’s being fair. Governments have always thrown away veterans, no matter who is in power. Always have, always will. Use you up and spit you out with maybe some benefits and the number of some overtaxed and underpaid case worker. And cultivation, being both new and more ancient than anything, was an unknown since the beginning. There are no peer-reviewed studies on the long-term effects of using a golden core. If Jin Guangyao hadn’t been doing his own research with the Wens for all those years, only to defect back to his father’s side when the tide began to turn, there wouldn’t have been a cultivator corps at all. So Lan Zhan can’t put the responsibility on any one person’s shoulders.

But it still claws at him, sometimes. His core wants out, wants to stretch, to strike, to light something up. It’s like wrapping his head in blankets, sometimes, stifling and muffled and hard to breathe.

Jin Zixuan likes to talk about it, how it feels. Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng do not.

He checks his watch and picks up his pace, passing by another building down the block under renovation with a Jin Industries sign. The logo is close enough to the Sunshot flag that the government connection is implied, but different enough for plausible deniability.

Lan Qiaolian is leaning on her car a few blocks away, exactly where she said she’d be. Lan Zhan appreciates it—they’ve met only once, and he doesn’t trust his ability to pick her out in a crowd. She’s a short woman, but solidly built. Doesn’t look like a Lan, is what his uncle would say.

“Lan Zhan!” she waves to him and drops her cigarette on the pavement. “Thanks for coming.”

He nods and takes his place in the passenger seat. The drive to the Moling Children’s Center is quiet for a while. The Center is near Yilong’s old gym; he remembers the road.

“You had a meeting with the detective?” he asks, though he knows the answer.

“Yeah. Still stonewalling me. Everything’s fucking confidential. They say they’ve canvassed the neighborhood, everywhere between the school and the bus stop and home. But it’s like everyone saw him walking home with his cousin, his cousin turns around for a minute to chase a damn neighborhood cat up a tree, and Sizhui is just . . . gone. How does a kid just disappear like that?”

“But this lead?”

“The administrator I talked to at the Center said they might have something, some record of where he was born. Maybe someone from his birth family has been looking for him, would take him? There’s just— Even if the records do exist, if they weren’t destroyed, I don’t know who has access. And he’s just a kid, you know? I’m not special. We’re not special. So I can’t think of anything but the worst. You know what happens to kids, especially if they take them West, I know they sell—”

“You don’t know,” Lan Zhan cuts her off, gently. “No one knows. No reason to go down that road unless the evidence points there.”

Lan Qiaolian rubs her face. “I just don’t know what the evidence is.”

“We’ll find something. I have a hunch.”

He does not have a hunch. He doesn’t believe in hunches. Or, rather, he didn’t before he started cultivating. Now he believes in the extra-sensory perception of his golden core, which he has been ordered—and signed pages of documents agreeing—to never use it again.

Either way, he’s learned that the general public like hunches. It’s comforting, apparently, someone taking the lead off of no information. It doesn’t make much sense, but most reassuring things don’t.

“I can’t help thinking—” Lan Qiaolian trails off, tapping her thumb on the steering wheel. “Maybe he left because of me.”

This is not a comfortable situation. Lan Zhan should respond with Of course not, don’t think like that. But for all he knows it could be true. He doesn’t really know Lan Qiaolian, and he certainly doesn’t know Lan Sizhui.

All he knows are the facts. Lan Qiaolian began fostering Lan Sizhui a year ago, when he was eight. It was just the two of them until a few weeks ago when Lan Sizhui went missing. It’s not his job to find missing children, but they are technically family, and if there’s some kidnapping or a dangerous part of Moling where children are falling into holes in the ground, that’s a story.

“Why would you think that?” It’s not as gentle, maybe, but it’s useful.

“I got laid off a few years ago. A lot of us did, mass layoffs.”

“Construction?”

“Yeah. Everyone from site managers to the detailers to— well, everyone. One whole firm shut down. So I thought, you know, I’d be home for a while, I got some unemployment, so maybe it would be a good time to finally start fostering. You know? I could stay home until he got adjusted, then when he started school I’d have found something new.”

“And he was happy?”

Lan Qiaolian smiles. “He’s always happy. He’s a real happy kid. Whatever he went through when he was little, he doesn’t seem to remember. Makes friends easily, fine by himself. He’s a dream. But maybe he was just good at showing me what I wanted to see. You know? Coming from a traumatic background like that, being in the system. You know, kids learn how to survive.”

“If he seemed happy, I’m sure he was.”

She sighs. “I just— The work never came back. The last six, seven months I’ve been calling everywhere I can think of. Even considered moving. Nothing. And so it’s been tight, even though it’s just the two of us. I figured with my husband’s life insurance we’d be fine until I found something, but I didn’t anticipate it taking this long. I’ve got some unemployment, but the support payments from fostering messed with my benefits. And so it’s been tight. And maybe he— You know, the secondhand clothes, no takeout, no games. Not getting to go on the school trips because I can’t pay the— I can’t help thinking, maybe all that time in the system, he must’ve been dreaming about a home, you know, what it would be like. And then when it wasn’t—”

“That’s a lot of conjecture.”

She laughs. “True. I just— The brain, it spins. You know?”

“Hm.” Lan Zhan looks out the window at the familiar neighborhood, then startles a bit. “Did they tear down the market?”

Qiaolian glances over. “Oh, yeah. Couple months ago. No more independent groceries in this part of town anymore. Not that most people could afford it at the end. They tried to stick it out, but the big chains moved in after the war, got those tax breaks.”

“Ah. ‘Economic revitalization.’”

She laughs again.

“So, if I can ask,” he starts, glancing out of the corner of his eye to gauge her response. “On the train I noticed building sites. Jin Industries?”

Her jaw clenches. “They’re not hiring.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“We’ve all tried. They’ve bought up half of Moling, and whoever’s running the construction’s not hiring local. Union’s totally shut out.”

“Really?”

“I’ve tried, okay? I’ve called so many—” she cuts off with a frustrated noise.

“Forgive me. It wasn’t a criticism. I’m just curious.”

She nods curtly. “We’re here.”

The administrator who has agreed to meet with them has black toner smudged up the inside of her left forearm and a framed picture of a cat on her desk. She offers Lan Zhan room temperature water in a cracked coffee mug.

“So you’re my eleven o’clock, right? Okay, right.”

“That’s an old flag,” Lan Zhan says, nodding up at the wall behind her. “I haven’t seen that design for a while.”

For the most part, it’s a standard Sunshot, but in addition to the golden hand and red sun, thin black lines reach up the palm like branches.

The administrator looks surprised, turning around to it. “Oh. Yeah, I guess. I don’t know, I don’t have time to keep up with all that. We have to pay for our own, you know. We’re required to hang a flag in every room but the bathroom, but it comes out of our general operating budget. The official ones aren’t cheap.”

Lan Qiaolian chuckles. “My cousin got it tattooed right after he got discharged. He was pissed when they got rid of the black squiggles in the update. I told him, that’s why you gotta think for more than a week before you make a permanent decision, you know?”

The administrator smiles politely. “Anyway. Let me see here.” She starts digging through her pile of folders. “Lai, Lai—”

“Lan,” Lan Zhan corrects.

“Sorry?”

“The name, it’s Lan.”

“Right! Right, okay, Lan. Lan . . . Here we go. Lan . . . Qiaolian. Foster mother. Yes?”

Qiaolian nods.

“And you are?”

“Family,” Lan Zhan says.

“Right. Okay, let’s see. Lan Sizhui, age nine.”

Lan Zhan leans forward. “Anything you can tell us about where he came from, his life before Lan Qiaolian met him?”

She clicks her tongue and runs a finger down the page. “War orphan, typical story. Moved around, a bit once he got to Gusu. No injuries or disabilities. Hearing and sight all good, average height. Slightly underweight, but that’s not unusual.”

“When did he arrive here?”

“At our facility? Looks like ‘98.”

“So he wasn’t here long before you got him,” Lan Zhan looks to Lan Qiaolian.

“Yeah, I guess. We don’t really talk about his past. That’s what the counselors recommend. You’re supposed to wait until they volunteer, you know? You don’t ask first.”

“Any idea where he came from? Birth family?”

The administrator clicks her tongue again, flips a few pages. Lan Zhan catches a sight of a grainy printed photograph, a kid looking around six, big chubby cheeks and shaggy long hair.

“Came in through law enforcement. No note of any charges or juvenile detention, so likely if he had surviving family they lost custody due to a criminal conviction. Looks like the child didn’t offer any details to counselors or placement. Um, looks like Sizhui was the name he got here.”

Lan Qiaolian frowns. “You named him? That’s not his birth name?”

“Common practice, especially if we have multiple kids with the same given name. He never gave a family name—Likely he either didn’t know his parents or forgot after being in the system for a while. A-Yuan is what he was called when he got here.”

“Yuan,” Lan Zhan turns it over in his mouth. “Something Yuan. Any record of where he was born?”

“Mmm, can’t be sure. But he entered the system in Yiling.”

“Yiling?”

“Yep. First registered into care in Yiling, 1995.”

Lan Zhan looks back up at the flag. The others must be thinking the same thing. Yiling in 1995, the Sunshot Massacre. But that’s a ridiculous thought—there were no survivors then, and plenty of other battles, bombings, one-off murders in the area at the end of the war.

“No family names though?” Lan Qiaolian asks. “Any record of someone who might be looking for him, might want him back?”

The administrator suddenly yawns hugely, covering her mouth with both hands. “I’m so sorry. No, no siblings, no recorded birth family. I’m so sorry, I haven’t been sleeping.”

“It’s all right,” Qiaolian says.

“I live over on the East side. They’re building some new damn complex, pounding in pilings at all hours of the night.”

“At night?” Qiaolian asks. “Why?”

The woman sighs. “I don’t know. Lights coming in the windows at one in the morning. I had to dig out my old curtains, thank goodness I still have them. Wake up in the middle of the night thinking the bombing’s started up again, ha, the banging and the lights. We’ve been complaining, but the company offered all the neighbors a settlement stop reporting it. Two months’ rent, we couldn’t turn it down.”

“Lots of construction,” Lan Zhan says, carefully. “Unusual construction.”

“I wouldn’t know,” the administrator shrugs. “I just hope they finish up quickly. My cats are getting stressed to death.”

“Have you noticed— Never mind.” Qiaolian chews her lip.

“Noticed what?”

“The site over by me, there’s a lot of trailers.”

“Like trailers you live in?”

“They look similar—usually there’s a double-wide or two for an on-site office, break area, you know. The site by us there’s a dozen at least. I just find that odd.”

“I haven’t noticed. Maybe. I don’t know, I try to ignore it. Whatever office complex or hotel or whatever it is, I don’t need it.”

The administrator flips through the file again. “I’m afraid that’s about all I can give you. Yiling might have more information—I think the children’s home there moved a couple years ago so files might have been lost, but it’s worth an ask. Signature on the transfer form looks like a Xie Ling. It’s not a huge town, anyway, could be someone remembers the kid, or the family. Local police or courts maybe, if they keep decent records.”

Lan Zhan and Lan Qiaolian exchange a glance.

“Sounds like I’m going to Yiling,” Lan Zhan says.

“You don’t have to—”

He shakes his head, then hands his card to the administrator. “If you think of anything, or hear anything.”

She takes it. “Gusu Herald? You’re not going to mention the flag thing, right? We’re compliant with everything, this one’s just a mistake.”

“I doubt you’ll even be mentioned. I’m just following the story.”

She looks doubtful. “Okay. We’re compliant, though.”

“I work for a newspaper, not the government.”

She snorts. “Yeah. Okay. ”

It twists a little in his stomach, but he nods at her politely as they leave.

The hallway takes them past a large window showing some kind of playroom. Three adults huddle around a low table, arguing in hushed tones, while a child who looks around four plays by himself with a few scratched up toy cars. The child has a cast on one arm, rolling one car at a time solemnly around on the carpet. He looks up as they pass him and tracks them all the way down the hallway. Lan Zhan can feel his eyes on the back of his neck even as they go out into the sunshine.

“Did Sizhui talk about anybody here?” Lan Zhan asks as they get back in the car. “Any friends at the group home, or children he knew when he was younger?”

“Not really. I was worried he’d have a hard time making friends, because he always seemed so content playing by himself. It’s why I was so glad he had Jingyi, his cousin. He’s the same age. He’s the one who was with—” Qiaolian breaks off, blinking hard. “Sorry. Long day.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” he says. He should say something else like It’s okay. It will be fine. We will find him. But he doesn’t, because that would probably be a lie. His silence rises like water in the car, over his mouth, his nose, stifling.

Do not be needlessly cruel.

“Yiling,” Lan Zhan says, to fill the space.

“Fucking Yiling,” Qiaolian agrees.

“I’ll go this weekend.”

“What? You can’t just take off across the country.”

“I haven’t taken vacation in three years. I can go.”

“Lan Zhan—”

“I will go. I’m not saying I will find him, but I will go.”

Lan Qiaolian doesn’t say anything else for the rest of the ride. When she drops him at the station, she just nods, lips pressed tight together.

“I will call you,” he says. She nods again and he gets out.

He stops by the payphone on the way in to the station to call the office.

“Can I talk to Lan Shu? Yes, thank you.” He waits while the call is transferred down to the basement. “Hi, Lan Shu. Have we got anything from Yiling? Anything we’ve covered. Is there a local paper there? I haven’t—”

Lan Shu snaps her gum on the other end of the line. He pulls the receiver away from his ear, wincing. It’s a very wet sound. “Yeah, I got some. I’ll check our clippings, but they’ve got some shitty local rag. A weekly, I think.”

“Please pull that for me. I’m looking for 1995, don’t know what month.”

“Eh, looks like it’s only been running a couple years. First edition I have is April ‘98.”

Lan Zhan taps his finger, thinking. “I’ll take everything you’ve got. Any of our coverage from ‘95.”

“So, Sunshot.”

“And anything else we covered.”

Lan Shu laughs around her gum, “What else is there? No one gave a shit about Yiling before Sunshot, and nobody’s given a shit since.”

Lan Zhan sighs. “Just pull what you can find. Please. I’ll be by in an hour and a half.”

He hangs up before she can snap her gum again. It gives him a headache, the wet sound.

He grabs a copy of the Herald for the train ride back. Instead of reading, he flips through the entire paper looking for one word: Yiling. He finds three mentions: once as the birthplace of a soccer player (a rags-to-riches story), once as the site of a hailstorm in the weather section, and once, as expected, in reference to the Sunshot Massacre.

He hasn’t thought about it much before. He’s never been to Yiling, but there’s never really been a reason. Even before the war it was a small, poor, middle of nowhere town with low property values, high crime rates, and the worst literacy numbers in the country. It was shitty, but not in an interesting way. Qinghe was always shitty but exciting—drug kingpins and porn producers and a famous red light district. It’s become more respectable since the war, though it’s kept some of it’s sleazy veneer. Lan Huan likes to visit, says there’s a good arts scene, but Lan Zhan has never been tempted. He traveled a lot during the war, but since returning home he’s never really felt the urge. For a while it was justified. Recovery. But five years? Maybe he’s more than comfortable, now. Maybe he’s stagnating.

Lan Shu gives him two-and-a-half years of weekly papers in a brown paper bag and slim folder of photocopied clipping from the Herald’s own files. He hauls it all home on the bus piles them neatly by year on the coffee table, then settles in with a cup of tea to read. There are empty gum wrappers in the bottom of the bag.

The Yiling Observer is a quick read, only eight pages in its first edition. There are no bylines, oddly, no editors listed, no photographs, just one phone number and a street address in the masthead. The stories are . . . not quite what he expected. No gruesome crimes or depressing statistics. Just coverage of a local amateur basketball tournament, a car accident that took out a storefront, an interview with a grandmother about her vegetable garden. Small stories, almost defiantly local, but clearly and concisely written. Professional. A recipe for xiao long bao attributed to a Mrs. Yi.

He flips to the back page, under the fold. Whatever it says in bold.

This is your humble author’s own column, where our fearless and frightening editor has given me these few inches to write whatever I like. Hence the name, Whatever. Today we’re going to talk about the Sunshot Flag, or as I like to call it, “Hey, let’s slap reminders of a war crime up on every building in the country, that’s a great idea.”

Lan Zhan snorts. Whoever the writer is, they’re not wrong. He gets up to heat more water and adds to his list of things to do on the kitchen counter. Read all of the newspapers. Call the HR department and schedule a few days of vacation, maybe a week. Wait until his uncle sees it on the out of office calendar and calls him in a huff to explain the story. Book a train ticket to Yiling. Make an appointment at children’s services. Find a hotel. Ask Lan Huan to water his plants. Do laundry.

He feels better with a list, like all of the static of potential responsibilities has focused into a clearly intelligible sound inside his skull.

He goes back to the paper.

And before you complain—and I know some of you will—you’re the one reading my paper. Maybe someday you’ll have better options and can use this only for lining your bird cages, but for now I’m the best you got. That’s Yiling, baby.

Part Five

#assorted writings #pick up every piece #the untamed #cql #mo dao zu shi #postwar journalist au #i hate plot

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bigdaddib · 4 years

Text

Really.

“You can’t be serious,” Arya glared at Sansa. “You could literally dare me to jump off the roof into the pool, you could dare me to drink two bottles of vodka upside down, you could—”

“I dare you to kiss Gendry,” she maintained, an evil brow raised.

Arya huffed, pushing choppy hair away from her face. “That’s…that’s stupid. Also, boring, no one else here wants to see—”

“Yes, we do,” said Margery. She was cuddled in next to Joffrey, but Arya knew her and Sansa were holding hands behind his back.

“Fine, fine, but don’t blame me when nothing really happens,” Arya tried to keep her voice from shaking. The only way she could do it was by pushing anger through it. Who did they think they were, anyway? It was one thing to tease about her and Gendry’s close friendship, it was another to…

It wasn’t rejection she was scared of. Or, even of ruining their friendship, she knew they’d be fine. Maybe it would be awkward for a second, but they would eventually laugh it off. She just…she didn’t want to see the look on his face. She didn’t want to see the grimace he got when he ate green peppers or mushrooms up close and personal, as a reaction to her. Like she triggered some type of gag reflex. She knew if she saw that face, she would cry right in his face despite not having cried once since she was five. He would ruin the record.

They followed her out of Shireen’s parent’s room toward the living room, where Gendry was talking to Jon casually in front of the fireplace.

“We’ll be by the drinks,” Sansa told her, and they soon walked over there.

Arya took a moment to herself. She’d just close her eyes and wouldn’t open them until he started laughing. She could handle laughing, she could laugh with him. She couldn’t fake being grossed out by something she’s been thinking about the past six months.

It wasn’t a long crush, admittedly. In all honesty, its probably lasted her entire life, but she’d only realized six months ago, when he got a temporary girlfriend. Arya was forced to watch them hug and kiss and…whatever else they probably did in their three month relationship. It was infuriating. Arya always sat next to him on the couch, Arya was who he spent time with on Saturdays, Arya wore his clothes when hers just weren’t warm enough. Those were all hers, and she had to watch Melisandre do all of, and Arya wasn’t allowed to be mad. She didn’t have the same claim over him, and that angered her even more because yes she did. She had every claim over him, he was hers. He’d been hers for years, and this girl just showed up and now he wasn’t allowed to be hers anymore.

And in those three months, she got more out of Gendry than Arya ever would. She got cuddles and kisses and whispers and…and…she got…

Arya hadn’t thought about any of that until then. Until she watched Melisandre casually walked out of his room wearing nothing but his t-shirt, four or five hickies on her neck. At that point Arya just thought she was jealous because she was getting more attention from him. But after seeing her like that, she realized it ran much deeper. That was the first time she imagined being with Gendry in his room, wearing nothing but a t-shirt as he was kissing her neck passionately enough to leave hickies. Once she let herself imagine it she couldn’t stop.

And even in her fantasies, she kept seeing that look on his face. Because Arya wasn’t Melisandre. She wasn’t long and heart stopping beautiful. She was short and horse faced, one of the guys. He’d never look at her the way he looked at Melisandre. And now she was forced to realize it straight on.

Jon saw her coming, smiled. Gendry nodded, he was probably pissed she had left him alone in the first place. Jon opened up an arm for her as she got closer, “Figured you’d be jumping naked off the roof by now,” he said.

Arya nodded, “Me too,” she was very bitter about the fact she wasn’t doing exactly that.

“What’s up?” he asked. Arya twisted her mouth to the side, looked up at Gendry. He wasn’t looking at her, instead he was sipping his drink and staring at the dancing crowd. Yep, he was pissed. Well, just wait, she was about to make it much worse.

“Do you mind if I talk to Gendry alone for a sec?” she asked Jon. Now Gendry looked to her, rolled his clear blue eyes.

Jon sighed, “Fine. Gotta find Ygritte I guess. She’s probably jumping naked off the roof now that I think about it,” he mumbled to himself, walking away.

“Don’t be pouty,” Arya stepped closer to him. He always smelt nice.

“I don’t get why you drag to me to these things if you’re just gonna ditch me. For Sansa, of all people,” he took a whiney drink.

Arya huffed, “You never want to jump off roofs with me, and this is the only way I’ll get you out of your room,”

“I have a nice room,” he countered, realizing his drink was empty and setting it aside.

“I’m sorry, I’m here now,”

“You probably want something,” he grunted, turning completely to the dancing crowd to their side, crossing long arms over a wide chest. “Alright, out with it, tell me what it is,”

Arya sighed, glancing over to see Sansa and Margery staring at her steadily. She wouldn’t be a chicken, that wasn’t an option.

So, she took in a deep breath, counted to three, then reached for him. His face was warm, his scruff was scratchy, but she kept her eyes firmly shut as she kissed him.

She knew she’d like it, she knew he’d be warm and tall and firm, she knew his hair was soft. She knew he’d be surprised too. He made a sound at the back of his throat when he realized what was happening, and that’s about all he did. The kiss lasted about two seconds, she got what she’d been dreaming about for about two seconds, and he did nothing but make a surprised noise the majority of it.

Arya pulled away as quickly as she had reached for him. She turned away, pointedly ignoring any sort of look he might be making. “Sorry,” she whispered. “I just—”

Gendry grabbed her waist and pulled her firmly against him, he used his other hand to cup the back of her neck. Arya looked at him then, and she was not expecting to see that look. She’d never seen it on his face before, it was deep and…and yearning. It made her forget how to breathe.

“Really?” he asked her.

She couldn’t say anything, she still wasn’t convinced this was all really happening. All she could do was look back to his lips, and apparently that’s all the answer he needed.

His mouth came down on hers in such a way Arya had to grip the tops of his shoulders to keep herself steady before deciding to wrap them around his neck all together. She tugged at his soft, fluffy hair, something she’s done before. He often laid his head onto her lap so she would drag her fingers through it, but this was different, this had intention and meaning, and he was moaning because of it. He was holding her closer, lifting her off her feet, moving to press hungry kisses up and down her neck. Arya was about to wrap her legs around his waist when they were interrupted.

Sansa, Margery, and Joffrey cheered and wolf whistled. Arya almost didn’t notice them, honestly she had forgotten they were there to begin with. Gendry, however, did notice. Setting her down but keeping his arms around her, he looked over at them as they walked over.

“And you didn’t wanna do it,” Sansa grinned. Arya was officially in a panic, almost moving to put her hands over Gendry’s ears.

“What?” Gendry asked gruffly.

“Oh, don’t worry bro,” Joffrey punched Gendry’s shoulder. “It was only a dare. We practically had to force her into it,”

The look Gendry got when he ate mushrooms was nothing compared to this one. His jaw was clenched and his mouth pinched. He looked so angry yet also looked like he was close to tears. He let go of Arya.

“Gendry,” Arya reached out for him but he stepped away.

“Its whatever. I’m going home.” He said gruffly, walking away.

Arya whipped to face her sister. “What the fuck?!”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “Don’t be an idiot, go after him! Someone had to make you guys see how you felt about each other,”

“Oh, aren’t you a hero,” Arya spat. She turned to go after him but had no idea where he went. He’d be on his way home by now. “Drive me home,” she told Sansa.

“I’m not gonna say sorry,” Sansa said to an icy cold Arya. “I do regret…you know, what happened after. But you two weren’t going to do anything on your own,”

“And that’s your business, how?” Arya wouldn’t look at her. She didn’t even want to be talking to her. She just wanted to see Gendry. She knew how hurt he must be, she knew he was sitting in a pitch black room with his music playing too loud and it was because of her.

He kissed her back. He had wanted to kiss her. The thought made her dizzy.

“It gets annoying, seeing all the pining,”

“Then maybe Margery should dump Joffrey so you two can stop pining,” Arya bit back. Sansa was quiet for the rest of the drive.

Arya knocked frantically on Gendry’s window, trying to make it loud enough to hear over the loud music.

“Go away Arya!” he called back.

“Please Gendry, let me explain!”

“You don’t have to. I get it. Give me the night, I’ll be fine in the morning,”

“No! No, not like that. I-I..” She sighed, preparing herself to say it out loud. “I wanted to kiss you Gendry, I just didn’t think you’d wanna kiss me,”

The music paused. It was dead silent for about three minutes. Then Gendry came to the window. He opened it, then leaned against the wall, not letting her in.

Arya tried to smile, “I’m sorry it…happened like that,” she whispered.

“But you did want it to happen?” Gendry asked, looking to Arya’s knees then back to her eyes, almost like he was too hopeful to hold steady eye contact.

Arya couldn’t look at him either. “I..I..yeah. Yeah, I did.”

“For how long?” he asked.

Arya rubbed the center of her chest, feeling shaky and unprepared for this conversation. She breathed out a quivering breath. “I don’t know. Probably always, but I…you know, I realized it when you were dating—”

Gendry didn’t let her finish before barking out a laugh. He threw his head back, squinted his eyes, and let it out from deep in his stomach.

Arya shoved his shoulder. “It’s not funny,”

“Its fucking hilarious. I got a girlfriend to try and get over you, and you were not having it. We couldn’t go anywhere without you breathing down our necks—”

“Because you were unfair!” Arya snapped back. “You randomly get a girlfriend for two seconds and our entire relationship was supposed to change, and you acted like I was just supposed to deal with it! Like you didn’t care about our relationship—”

“I needed our relationship to change! Unlike you, I’ve known that I was in love with you for fucking…years,” he interrupted himself with a bitter laugh. “Letting you sleep in the same bed as me, letting you wear my clothes, letting you snuggle up next to me on the couch, it was fucking killing me Arya! I needed to get over you, and it wasn’t going to happen if—”

“Did you?” Arya whispered, eyebrows pulled together. “Did you get over me?”

Gendry paused, searching Arya’s eyes. “No,” he finally said. “No, I didn’t.”

A wave of relief crashed over her, causing her to lean forward into him. She pressed her forehead to the center of his chest. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just… I never thought about it before…before I saw you doing it,”

Gendry ran his finger through her hair, rubbed up and down her back. “If I knew that’s all I had to do, I would’ve made out with a random girl in front of you years ago,”

Arya wrapped her arms around his waist, squeezed. “Yeah, that probably would’ve worked.”

Gendry sighed, “That’s…really annoying, not gonna lie.”

Arya laughed, looking up so that only her chin was resting on his chest. Gendry looked back down at her, held her face in his hands. She smiled.

“I’m…really happy right now,” he told her and she smiled wider.

Straightening up, she looked at his lips.

“Really?” he asked sternly. Arya laughed.

“Really.”

That was all he needed. In the next second they picked up right where they left off at that party.

#gendrya #Arya Stark #arya x gendry #Gendry Waters #gendryaau #truth or dare #fluff #gendrya ff #gendrya fanfiction #friends to lovers

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ninja-go-to-therapy · 4 years

Text

Destroyed

Hehe Damage Branch Number 9 (or 5, depending). I will never stop.

Summary: As the ninja vanish one by one, Lloyd begins to fall apart.

Trigger Warnings: kidnapping, mental breakdown

1588 words

It was bad enough when it was just Cole.

Lloyd remembered the day they’d declared him missing like it was yesterday. Cole hadn’t been seen for days, and while they had been worrying since day one, they’d hoped he had just gotten caught up somewhere.

Day two had been full of distractions, too many low-grade criminals and too many things to take their minds off what was really important.

Day three was when they started to really, truly panic.

Day four officially marked their brother as missing.

Lloyd thought he could handle it. At first, he worked with the others and the police, doing everything in their power to figure out where Cole had been taken.

But as time dragged on, Lloyd found it harder and harder to get out of bed.

His brother was missing, and they had no leads.

Soon enough the others were splitting their time between searching and taking care of Lloyd. And Lloyd felt bad, really he did, it was selfish of him to distract his siblings like this. But he couldn’t get up, he could barely even eat. He just couldn’t.

It all reminded him so much of his brothers’ time in the First Realm. He’d thought them to be dead. He’d never felt more hopeless, then, never more absolutely full of despair.

But that was when he was too focused on staying alive himself, too busy fighting his stupid father. He’d cried himself to sleep every night, but he’d known he couldn’t afford to go off the deep end.

Cole’s disappearance alone should have been less bad than that.

But something ugly twisted in Lloyd’s stomach when he wondered what could have possibly happened to his brother, and Lloyd was scared.

A gentle knocking sounded at his door, swinging open slowly before he even acknowledged it.

“Hey,” Jay said, bags under his eyes and hair a tangled mess. He handed Lloyd a bowl carefully, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’m going out tomorrow, gonna go around the neighborhood to see if anyone knows anything.”

“Which neighborhood?” Lloyd asked quietly, holding the spoon but finding himself too nauseous to eat.

“As many as I can hit,” Jay responded, smiling sadly at him. “We’re going to find Cole, even if I have to work through every person in Ninjago myself.”

Lloyd, finding himself with oddly teary eyes, just nodded.

He just… he missed Cole so much. He knew, somewhere deep inside himself, that Cole was still alive. But for how long? What if they didn’t find him in time? What if Lloyd was the reason? He was so busy being helpless, what if because of him they never found Cole?

“Hey, hey, don’t cry, Green Bean,” Jay said, brushing his fingers through Lloyd’s hair in what was probably supposed to be a soothing gesture. It would have been nice if it hadn’t been for the rats nest of tangles Lloyd was sporting. Jay settled for rubbing circles on Lloyd’s shoulder instead.

“I miss him,” Lloyd said, his voice barely coming out through his cries.

“We all do,” Jay agreed, letting Lloyd pitch forward and cry into his shoulder. “But we’re going to find him. I bet you he’ll be back before the month is up! Positive thinking works wonders,” Jay said, hugging his baby brother tight. “Get some sleep, Lloyd.”

———

Lloyd woke up with his entire body a burning numb.

Jay was gone, likely to do whatever it was he’d said he was doing yesterday. He was too tired to remember.

Lloyd pulled his blanket over his head, planning on going back to sleep so he could wake up whenever someone was around.

He hated being alone.

He stared at the blanket, letting his mind wander.

He wished someone could be with him. But that was selfish. They were out looking for Cole, like any good sibling would do. Lloyd wasn’t any good. If he were, he'd be out helping.

He had hours to wallow in his misery before Zane came in to check on him.

———

The weight of the world was crashing down on his shoulders.

Jay had yet to come back. His phone was going straight to voicemail, and it had been too long. Way too long.

Lloyd didn’t know what to do.

Jay wouldn’t just not answer their calls, especially when they were all distressed as they were. He had to have been caught up with something, or… or…

He knew. Deep down, Lloyd knew what had happened.

Wrapping his mind around it sent tears pouring down his cheeks. Not again. Please not again.

God himself wouldn’t answer his pleas.

Jay was gone. Taken, maybe dead. He wasn’t coming back. Just like Cole. It was happening all over again.

Lloyd didn’t know what to do.

———

Barely a few months later was the day Lloyd found himself at his tipping point.

Zane had gone out — a stupid, stupid decision, and Lloyd should have begged him not to go — and though it had hardly been an hour, Lloyd was getting nervous.

It was only a quick trip. Zane would be there and back, he’d be back within the next fifteen minutes, even. There was no reason for Lloyd to have any idea that Zane wouldn’t be coming back.

Of course he would come back.

Zane wasn’t going to succumb to whatever horrible, horrible fate poor Cole and Jay had met. Zane was strong. Zane was smart. Zane would be fine.

In the back of his head, Lloyd wondered if maybe Cole and Jay had just run away together. He giggled through the tears at the thought of them having been at a cozy little cottage this whole time. Happy and unharmed.

He almost wished they’d abandoned him. It would be easier to face than whatever the reality must have been.

The clock kept ticking, as it always did. No word from Zane. No nothing.

Lloyd was too scared to call.

He was too scared to hear the dial tone, too scared that it would go straight to voicemail. He was too scared that they wouldn’t be able to track his phone when Zane didn’t pick up.

They never had any luck with tracking phones. Not before, not now.

Whatever had happened to his brothers was smarter than that. He wished bad things could be stupid.

Hours later, he heard the door open.

The relief was almost enough to get him out of bed.

He was beat to it, though, as his own bedroom door swung open to reveal… Kai and Nya. Right, they’d gone out together earlier to talk to the police again. Together. Safe.

Zane wasn’t safe.

When his last two siblings left asked him where he was, Lloyd couldn’t answer. Zane was supposed to be here. He was supposed to be back. He was supposed to be with them.

“Where is he, Lloyd?” Kai asked, his voice soft, but sounding like a demand all the same. “Please, you’ve got to tell us.”

“Gone,” Lloyd whispered, trembles and shakes running up and down his whole body.

“What do you mean gone?” Nya asked.

She knew what he meant. They both did. The siblings shared a look of terror.

“We have to find him, we’re going to, we’re going out right now—”

Lloyd surprised all three of them when he interrupted Nya with a scream that ripped from his throat like fire.

“I can’t!” he sobbed, throwing himself around the two. “Not again, not again, I can’t, I’m sorry,” he cried.

“We’ll find them,” Nya promised, hugging him tight. “We will.”

“You’re okay, Lloyd,” Kai said, his own cries muffled as he tried to comfort his baby brother. The last brother he had left. “We’re here. We won’t ever leave you.”

———

Lloyd had never believed Kai to be a liar. But today, he knew it to be true.

Kai had lied to him.

He’d told him he’d never leave, he’d promised him, he’d sworn it, how could he do this to him?

His brothers, every single last one of them, were gone! They’d left him!

He didn’t know what to do. With Kai gone, what more did Lloyd have? It was Garmadon’s reign all over again.

But this time they’d been ripped from him one by one, they were gone, it had been a year since this had all started. Cole wasn’t ever going to come back, was he?

All Lloyd had left was Nya. His father was an evil incarnate, his mom was hardly ever around, his uncle probably only saw him as the Green Ninja.

The Green Ninja.

Lloyd scoffed. That legend, that destiny, had taken absolutely everything from him. It had stolen his childhood right from under his feet, it had caused him pain and hardship that most could never even fathom. It had put him through absolute hell, for years!

But he had dealt with it. It had all been okay, because his family had been with him. His brothers. They’d been by his side every step of the way, they’d made all of it worth it.

Was it worth it now?

No, Lloyd decided, clenching his fists tightly by his side. It wasn’t worth it, it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t any of that. He couldn’t live like this, not anymore.

He was going to find his brothers, he was going to bring them home, and then nobody was going to come after them ever again.

Even if he had to burn the world to the ground to do it.

#the damage tree #destruction #kat writes #ninjago fanfiction #ninjago #tw kidnapping #tw mental breakdown #this one takes place in a timeline where the core 4 all happen if you couldn't tell #usually more than two of the core four wouldn't be happening at once in one timeline #anyway yeah Lloyd is sick of this #be scared #be very scared #oh yeah and that poll was just to vote on the name of this branch #cause I had two options and I liked them both #thank

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abalonetea · 3 years

Text

Just Keep Breathing: Chapter One

I was partnered with @the-dot for the @originalfictionbigbang! Thank you for working with me, Dot!

Here is the first chapter! I’ve split the first 10k words between four chapters, and will be posting them all in a masterpost in just a moment!

Summary: It’s the height of storm season and everyone in Hi-Banks, Florida is getting ready for the bad weather. It should be a year like any other - but on the tails of a national pandemic, a new disaster strikes. More than one new disasters. So many disasters that Eddie Carver would like to put some of them back, thanks. He’s just a down on his luck guy living in the local trailer park with his boyfriend. He’s not interested in dealing with the revival of an old murder case - which he knows nothing about, thanks -, the storm season of the century, or…zombies?

Yeah. Absolutely not interested in the zombies.

This black-comedy follows the inner workings of a small town as they band together to survive, and the young man - reckless, mean, angry, written off b the big city folk come to look into a cold case - that might hold all of societies survival in his hands.

Forget about society. Eddie’s only interested in keeping his friends alive.

Chapter One – Hi Banks Florida

“ - increased reports of unprecedented aggression all across New York City. This is following in the wake of Mayor Alex Grand’s assault on his wife. These attacks have increased nearly ten fold in the wake of the recent vaccine’s release, prompting many to wonder if the vaccine was released too soon – should more tests have been done? Could this be a side effect of it? We have reached out to the head of the FDA, Doctor - “

The television goes to pure static, a hissing crackle of black and white fuzz. Eddie groans. “Seriously? I was watchin’ that!”

“Guess you ain’t watching it now,” says Carson, draping himself over the back of the couch. He curls an arm around Eddie’s chest, pinning him against the back of the couch. “You should be at work, anyway.”

“Penny don’t got work for me today.”

“Then you should be out working on the truck. I’m sick of walking to the docks.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. He shifts, leaning up and wrapping his own arms around Carson’s neck, tugging until his boyfriend is leaning down enough that Eddie can kiss him. “I can’t fix the truck ‘till we get a part mailed in. Penny let me use the work account.”

“Bullshit,” says Carson. “You just don’t want too.”

“It ain’t bullshit. It’s, uh, truth shit.”

“Wow.” Carson shakes off Eddie’s grip. “You worked hard on that one, huh? Whatever, don’t work on the truck. I’ve got actual work to get too.”

Eddie twists, pulling himself up so he can drape over the back of the couch. “Gonna rain today. Take an extra shirt.”

Carson says, “sure, I’ll put it in the truck so it stays dry. Oh, wait.”

And, okay, so Eddie kind of deserves that one. The truck hasn’t been running for almost a week now. This isn’t the first time that it’s stopped working. Carson bought it straight out of the local junkyard five years back, and it’s pretty much held together with duck tape – literally – and chewing gum – which might be the next step.

Eddie really is waiting on the part to come in.

The problem is that he sort of forgot to order it until yesterday.

Drooping, Eddie makes a disgruntled sound. “I’ll see if I can’t fudge it, okay? Just, I dunno, don’t get hit by lightning. The storm’s supposed to be nasty.”

“Great.” Carson shoves on one boot, then the other. “So we’re going to have no power tonight.”

“I’ll fill the tub.”

“Summer sucks ass.”

“Florida sucks ass,” corrects Eddie.

Carson thinks on it, then bobs his head in agreement. “Yeah, okay. Let’s go with that one.”

“You gonna be home for - “ The television bursts back into being with a crackle of too loud sound. Eddie swears.

The woman on TV reads off, “ - no official links between the two. Gerald Harbrinks has been arrested today for the most bizarre case of armed robbery the county has ever seen, in which he dropped his gun and instead chose to bite the cashier - “

Eddie mutes it. “Sorry. One’a these days we need to get actual cable.”

“Yeah, when toads fly,” says Carson. “You doing dinner?”

Eddie thinks about what they have in the pantry. Not much, but probably enough to throw at least half a meal together. He’s better at cooking and coming up with things than Carson is. “Yeah. You going to be back before dark?”

Carson shrugs. “How should I know? They never tell me anything. I might not even have to stay if it rains.”

“Babe, if it rains, they’re gonna make you stay out of spite, and you know it,” says Eddie, because the guy who runs the docks is kind of an ass.

Carson grunts. “Thanks for the reassurance.”

“No problem.” Eddie shuts the TV off all the way and finally pries himself up off of the couch. “So, dinner, unless we lose power. We’ll have to hit up Red’s. He’s got that grill or whatever.”

He sways his way over to his boyfriend, plasters himself against Carson’s front and schmoozes his way in for a kiss. Carson curls an arm around him for a moment, then makes a face. “Come on, man. I gotta at least get down there before the rain starts or I won’t make shit.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” says Eddie. “Get outta here. Don’t get drowned or nothing.”

* * *

Hi Banks, Florida is the sort of place you’re born into, you slog through, and then you die in. And mostly, the people are okay with that. Why leave a good thing, right? Or maybe it’s more that the people born into Hi Banks just have a hard time getting together the chance to leave.

The trailer park is on the backside of town, filled up with old mobile homes and trailers parked up on cinder blocks. The paths between homes flood any time it rains and Eddie makes a point of sloshing his way through the puddles until the inside of his sneakers are soaked and his stained up jeans are covered in mud. Splash! Slosh! Splat!

The Calloway’s have added a new pick up truck to the collection of cars sitting out front. Eddie would bet it’s like the rest of their vehicles and the engine doesn’t actually roll over. Not that he can say too much on that front, considering his own truck.

If there’s any chance that he can trick the thing into running, he needs another quart of oil and – well, it is his fault that Carson’s going to have to walk home in the rain later, so Eddie figures he’ll pick up a box of swiss rolls while he’s out. Swiss rolls are Carson’s favorite.

Sweets in general are his favorite, but whatever.

So he sloshes his way through the trailer park and out onto the long, main road that cuts through the center of town. If you keep going long enough in one direction, it will take you to the highway. Keep going long enough in the other, you’ll hit the swamps.

There’s just the one commercially owned grocery store in the whole town. The parking lot is mostly empty, which isn’t a surprise considering it’s the middle of a Monday, and also about to cut loose. The wind’s started to pick up and everything, clouds dark and violent overhead. Eddie scurries into the shop, muttering a brief ‘hey’ to Annie Green when he passes her counter and heads towards the back.

Fitz is curled over the meat case muttering under his breath to himself, which is less unusual than it sounds. Eddie opts not to wave at him, and instead just goes for the cake aisle. It’s so picked over that it’s ridiculous. There aren’t any swiss rolls so he grabs the oatmeal cookies instead.

No doubt that the milk and bread aisles are already empty, to go with the alarmingly small amount of paper product. Up at the check out, he asks Anne, “you seen Roy come in yet today? He owes me ten bucks.”

“Nope.” The machine beeps when Anne scans the box of cookies. “Is Ftiz still back at the meat? I swear, he’s been in here for an hour.”

“Yeah. Maybe he’s stocking up on it.”

“Even Fitz isn’t stupid enough to stock up on meat right before we’re due for hurricane season.” Anne holds out her hand and Eddie fishes a crumpled five from his back pocket to pass over. “You talk to him?”

“Nope.”

Anne heaves out a sigh. “Great. Guess I can walk back and deal with it. If he’s drunk - “

“If he’s drunk, call his wife. She’ll have his ass for drinking that much this early in the day.”

Anne snorts. “Yeah, she will.”

Eddie shifts from one foot to the next, peering out the glass front doors. It’s still raining hard outside. “You think this is gonna light up any time soon?”

“Supposed to rain all evening. I’m surprised that they haven’t canceled work at the docks,” says Anne.

“Ugh. Great. Just, double bag them, I guess. I have to walk back in this.”

Anne doubles the bag and Eddie steps back out into the deluge. He’s soaked in a matter of minutes.

* * *

“Fucking Hell!” Eddie shakes himself off as he steps into the trailer. He fumbles around in the dark for the first few minutes, stripping out of his sodden clothes and down to his equally sodden boxers. Still swearing, he drops the bag of soaked oatmeal cookies onto the counter and flips on the light switch for the kitchen.

Nothing happens.

Eddie swears louder.

There’s the sound of something shuffling about from the bedroom. Eddie grabs the natty tea towel off the front of the stove handle and uses it to wipe off his face. “That you, babe?”

No answer. The shuffling sound gets closer. Eddie rolls his eyes and attempts to pat himself dry with the hand towel. It has a mixed amount of success in actually accomplishing anything.

“I got you cookies. They should be dry. Cause of the plastic and stuff?”

Still no answer. Eddie mutters under his breath. Fine, he’ll just have the cookies himself.

He pops open the plastic wrapper and pulls out a handful of them, carrying them over to the couch – where he finds Carson stretched out, massive headphones in, and a blanket pulled down over him.

“What the Hell, man.” Eddie kicks the couch base. “Move your legs.”

Carson grumbles and slides his headphones out. “When did you get back?”

“Like, five minutes ago. I went to get you cakes, but they didn’t have none.” He passes Carson a cookie instead. “You could’ve said something when you came out of the bedroom.”

Carson squints at him. “What are you talking about?”

Something in the bedroom is knocked over. CRASH. Eddie jerks, spinning around and squinting into the dark of the trailer. “So, uh, that’s not you.”

“Of course it ain’t me,” says Carson. He shoves the blanket onto the back of the couch, swings his legs over the cushions, and leverages himself up. There’s a bat by the front door. Eddie grabs it and passes it to Carson, because he’s tiny and Carson’s not.

“Chicken,” mutters Carson, but he doesn’t look thrilled to have to go deal with this. “We got that flashlight in the kitchen?”

“Batteries are dead,” says Eddie.

“Great. Storm season, and we’ve got bad batteries.”

“Pretty sure that’s not a hurricane breaking stuff in our bedroom, babe.”

Carson shoots Eddie an unimpressed look. “No duh.”

They make their way to the little off shooting bedroom, Eddie tucked close to Carson’s back. It’s at least still early enough in the evening that wane, yellow light creeps in through the nearby window. Carson presses a hand to the door, pulls in a deep breath, and shoves it open.

What happens next happens fast: there’s motion from the over turned bedside table. Carson swings with the bat, effectively smashing their lamp to pieces. The neighbor’s fat, orange tabby cat gives an indignant hiss and jumps onto the bed, then out through the nearby busted window. There’s glass all over everything, from the lamp and the window, and rain has blown in from the storm soaking the bed and the table in equal parts. The carpet nearby squishes loudly when Carson takes a step.

“Oh,” says Eddie. “Window’s broke.”

Carson drops the bat onto the ground. “That’s it. We’re going to Red’s.”

#wip jkb #my writing #zombies #original fiction big bang #writeblr

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mono-dot-jpeg · 4 years

Text

fries and milkshakes - k. tsukishima

Summary: A salty volleyball player and a pro gamer walk into a room, so many insults were made that day.

Word Count: 1.8k

Genre: Fluff, Enemies to Lovers, Pro Gamer! Reader, Open Ended (?)

Pairing: Tsukishima Kei x Reader

a/n: purely a self indulgent fanfic bc salty shima is growing on my best friend :))) follow them if you haven’t >:(((( @mangobangi also a very fun quote was put in here from them as well skjdksjdk

"Waa~ the season is over! Thank god. I don't have to worry about practicing with Heesu!" You sighed blissfully. Now you weren't a pro at what would be called normal sports but you were definitely a pro at gaming.

You were (streamer/name), one of the pro players of Philadelphia Fusion from the Overwatch League. You were known for being one of the first females to join Overwatch League. It was a bumpy ride but you made it far. But now you had your studies to focus on. While you weren't in the official line up (due to how young you were), you practiced hard with the benched players and streamed in your free time with your fellow teammates.

You arrived at Karasuno, it wasn't a new day for you. A pretty normal day, except you were transferring into a higher class so that was pretty new. You get to Class 1-4, entering hesitantly.

"Ah, you must be the new student! Introduce yourself!"

"Morning, I'm y/n l/n! Please call me y/n! Nice to meet you!" You bowed as you introduced yourself, you ended up having to sit next to a tall blonde named Tsukishima Kei. Soon it was free time/study hall.

Some students had come up to you as they seemed to recognize you from your streams. You never minded the attention and you just hoped it never got too bad. "Are you really s/n?"

"I prefer not to talk about it too much.." You laughed nervously.

"Wow! You're in like the top 50 in the Asia and American servers!" You rubbed the back of your neck sheepishly. You were never one to brag about your achievements. It was all just a video game to you in the end but then again, you were gonna be in Overwatch League when you get out of high school.

"She can reach top 50 and yet her height says she can barely reach the middle shelf." You turned to look at the tall male.

"Well, that's not very nice, Tsukishima-kun." You tell him. "And if you're gonna insult me, make up something better. I've dealt with years of misogyny in the gaming world, fight me." You have an annoyed glint in your eye as he glares at you.

"Oh my bad, chibi-chan." You were walking right into his trap and you didn't even realize it. "At least I'm in the starting line up on my team." He snickered. He knew very well that you were part of the Philly Fusion and you knew he was in the volleyball team. He knew of a few ways to push your buttons.

"H-Hey! I'll be in the starting line up soon! Just you wait! I'll be at the top!" You huffed. "You'll see me with the big boys, you salty beanpole of a guy!"

"Beanpole? Is that really the best you could come up with?"

"I could come up with worse but I don't think you could handle the heat. What with your petty insults and all." You crossed your arms. "At least I'm at the top with the best."

“Tch, what insults could you come up with, chibi-chan?” He scoffed. Everyone can feel the tension rise between you both. Luckily, a fight didn’t happen due to the fact that the bell had rung. While you and Tsukishima were frustrated at the sound of the bell, Yamaguchi seemed very relieved.

It’s been several days since you got transferred to Class 1-4. You made a decent amount of friends in the class (though you weren’t sure if someone of them wanted to be genuinely friends with you or they just wanted to meet your teammates). You were really good friends with Yamaguchi, although you still didn’t like Tsukishima enough to want to be his friend. More often than not, you both spat insults at each other with no remorse. It seemed to be a mutual thing, neither of you wanted to be friends nor plan on it.

You went to see volleyball practice pretty often as to support Yamaguchi (though Tsukki joked a lot that you were obsessed at continuing the feud you and Tsukishima had). “Hey Yama-kun.” You weren’t as energetic as it was getting close to league season and that meant less time with hanging out with friends.

“Are you okay, y/n-chan?” he asked as he was rubbing the sweat off his face with his towel.

“It’s almost league season for me, which mean I won’t spend as much time here. I’ll be home earlier to practice with my team.” You often practiced in your free time when it was off-season but the coach always thought it was better for you to practice with the team even if you weren’t gonna be in the line up.

“You really have to practice even if you’re not in the lineup?” Tsukishima scoffed.

“At least I’m passionate about what I do! You barely put energy into yourself playing!” You snapped back at him.

“Whatever..” He muttered.

“Sorry about Tsukki..” Yamaguchi said. “So, you’re gonna be really busy now, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna be going back to the Fusion base since they might want me to train over there.” That struck a cord in the duo.

“You’re gonna be leaving?” Yamaguchi asked, shocked.

“Yeah. But it won’t be forever. But they know it would be better for me if I went back to school around the Fusion base so it would be easier for me.” You ruffled your hair in slight frustration. “So funny enough, this is my first and last year here.” You sighed. Tsukishima didn’t know what to say. Nor did he realize what feeling were stirring up inside of him. But they didn’t feel good.

“That sucks, but you’re gonna get close to your dream, right?” The green haired male asked. “I’m glad you’ll get the dream you wanted but we’ll miss you when you leave.” He smiled sadly.

“Saltyshima won’t miss me though but I appreciate that you will.” You smiled at Yamaguchi while said male scoffed at your statement. “Let’s just have fun for these last few day before I leave.”

“Eh? You’re leaving that soon?”

“In 3 days actually. On Saturday.”

D-1

You already felt yourself missing everything in this school. While Tsukishima is struggling to think about what were these dumb feelings doing to him. Why was he feeling this way? Why was it always towards you? Why were these feelings even existing?

“Okay, Tsukishima-kun. Yamaguchi and I made a promise. I have to try and get along with you before I leave to go back. So, let’s start over.” You stuck his hand out. He doesn’t shake your hand and scoffs.

“Like I wanna be friends with you, chibi-chan.”

“Okay, let’s go out to eat then. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“How about ‘I decline’?” He says back.

“It’ll just be for 30 mins after practice. You can handle that right, Tsukki?” You say almost mockingly.

“Fine.” He huffed. And so started the adventure of the salty male and the pro gamer. After practice both of you headed off to a small diner. “Wow, very fancy.” He says sarcastically.

“Hey, my mom won’t let me in on the money from Overwatch League, give me a break.” You ordered fries and a milkshake. He ordered the same thing as he didn’t seem to care for anything else on the menu. You held up a fry close to his mouth. “Look it’s you.” Before you could move your hand back to eat the fry, he moves closer and eats the fry, his lips just grazing your fingers. “Hey! You have your own sets of fries, Saltyshima!”

“Never said I couldn’t eat your fries though, chibi-chan.” He smirked smugly. How were you gonna get along with the male if he acted like this? You don’t know. You sip on your strawberry milkshake as you glare at him.

D-2

“You’re telling me, you haven’t dipped your fries in a milkshake before?! You’ve got to be kidding me.” You huffed. “Well, now you gotta try it, right now. Do it.” You crossed your arms as you waited for him to do it. You and Tsukishima had unknowingly made a routine between each other which was fries and a milkshake after practice or after school.

“No way.”

“Do it, you coward.” You dip your fry into your milkshake and eat it. “Don’t knock it until you try it.”

“If I do it, will you stop annoying me?”

“You and I both know, I’d still annoy you. Just do it.” He rolled his eyes at your statement before finally trying a fry dipped in the milkshake. “So?”

“It’s not that bad.”

“See! I’m such an intellectual!”

“How are you in my class again?”

D-3

“So...this is the last time we do this. Then I leave.” You were a little gloomy since you and Tsukishima seemed to finally get along, only to probably forget each other in the long run.

“You act like you’re leaving forever. You’ll come back when the season ends, right?”

“I..don’t know yet.” You sighed as you stirred your milkshake with your straw. “You’ll wait for me right? If I come back.”

“When you come back. Don’t say if.” You laughed a bit, but it was a bitter laugh.

“I never thought we’d somewhat get along and when we do, I have to leave for Overwatch League.” You muttered. “Why don’t you come and say goodbye to me when I get to the airport? My aunt is driving me, Yama-kun knows where I live, come with us.” You offered.

“Maybe.”

“Well, let’s not make this our last goodbye right?” You said softly.

Leaving Day

You took a deep breath. Yamaguchi is sitting beside you as he notices the sad look on your face. Tsukishima didn’t come with you to say goodbye. “I’m sure he’ll show up.” He said, trying to be optimistic.

“I don’t know, Yamaguchi...” You mumble. You finally arrive at the airport. “I’ll miss you. I’ll try to text and call as much as I can.” You give him a sad smile. You hug him as he hugs you back.

“I’ll see you soon.” He smiled. You grab your suitcase slowly starting to leave.

“Oh, chibi-chan, you think you can escape from me that easily?” You hear a familiar voice and look up, seeing Tsukishima. Yamaguchi seem to have to take that as a sign to give you and him some space.

“You came after all.” You smiled. He patted your head before pushing you back, chuckling.

“Who do you think I am, chibi-chan?”

“Well, say your goodbyes now. I got to go soon.”

“Right. We got off the wrong foot in the beginning. I will admit that. But within the last 3 days, I tolerate you.”

“Wow, you tolerate me. That’s better than before.”

“Let me finish. I will wait for you. I...don’t just tolerate you. I like you.” His face is dusted with pink, making you hold back a smile and a tease. He took a step closer and kissed your forehead, surprising you. “Take that as my goodbye. Don’t forget to text me when you land, idiot.”

“I won’t forget, beanpole.”

“Shortstack.”

“Lamppost.”

“Gremiln.”

“Salty fries.”

“Sweet milkshake.”

“When you get back, you better buy me fries and a milkshake.”

“I haven’t even left.”

“Well, hurry, so you can come back quickly.”

“I like you too, Saltyshima!”

#haikyuu!!#haikyū!!#haikyuu+x+reader #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu tsukishima #tsukishima kei #kei tsukishima #tsukishima x reader #kei tsukishima x reader #kei x reader #haikyuu kei #haikyuu kei x reader #haikyuu kei tsukishima x reader #haikyuu tsukishima x reader

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the-mandalorian-clone-lover · 4 years

Text

Ok y’all, I have gathered enough nerve or something and here it is :D

This is kind of the description and then I’ll put the reference photos and the first part under the read more thingy.

Roman is a mob boss and is played by Ewan McGregor (he’s 100% a hopeless romantic and wants someone to cherish, when he finds that person he will literally do anything to keep them, not afraid of much), Erica (She wants to be loved despite her Asexuality, she is afraid it’s impossible, and she isn’t willing to do much to make it happen because she’s convinced it’s impossible) is his girlfriend. Butcher is basically Kronk from the Emperor’s new groove (because he’s enormous and adorable and I love him).

Second part here

Ok so top is Butcher, he’s probably 6′5 in my mind or more? Probably has tattoos, I’ll leave that up to your imagination. Second is Roman (who is Ewan obvs but this is about the age I picture him). Third is Erica, I picture her between 26&28 and Roman 30 or 32, so there is an age gap but it isn’t more than 4-6 years. She’s 5′11 and Roman is 5′10, that’s a surprise tool that will help us later, and yeah I think that’s about it. Story below :)

Oh– Warnings?: Talking about coming out, Erica yells a sentence or two but she’s frustrated, silly self-indulgence? Excessive tooth-rotting fluff

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(The song he sings is Your Song from Moulin Rouge)

Roman’s been deep in thought in the back of the car the entire ride and Butch has finally had enough.

“Somethin’ going on boss?”

Roman sighs, “Erica texted that she wanted to talk to me instead of doing dinner tonight.” He pauses before evidently deciding to give Butch the whole story, looking at his feet as he does so. “I asked her at dinner two days ago if she wanted to be official and now, I’m wondering if it was too soon. Did I scare her off?” Roman’s eyes come back to Butch’s as he asks and for a moment he’s at a loss, thankfully Roman continues before he has to answer. “I know I tend to..” his eyes go to the window, eyes searching it as if it holds the right words “..do things a little old fashioned. Commit to each other, take care of each other, do people, not do that anymore?” He asks the question desperately and Butch ponders a moment before responding.

“Maybe not out there, but if anyone would want a little old fashioned, I think it’d be Ms. Erica.” They’ve been dating a month or so now, strictly dinner and walking in the park type dates, she had come to the pent house once, but only so Roman could give her a one month anniversary present; a necklace (it had been simple but elegant, Butch had helped pick it out).

Roman’s eyes make their way back to him, “What do you mean?”

Butch pauses, tilting his head and looking down before answering “She’s got an old soul, and she’s not the kind of woman you could get away with not treating her right.”

Roman had nodded his assent before opening his mouth but the stop of the car cuts him off.

Butch waits till they’re both out of the car before speaking again. “Do you want me to follow you up?”

It’s a matter of protocol, some days Butch sweeps the penthouse before Roman goes in, just to be sure, but at this moment Roman is pretty sure there could be snakes in his house and it wouldn’t be worse than the thought of Erica leaving him. Its early to be so attached, he knows this, but she’s so lovely and wonderful and one-of-a-kind that he hates to see her go so soon, when there’s so much he hasn’t gotten to say to her. He braces himself inwardly though, putting on a brave face for Butch.

“No, I’ll be alright, I’ll let you know if we decide to go for dinner after all.” He tries to smile but knows Butch sees right through it. Butch pulls him in by the shoulders for a hug before holding him at arms-length.

“Don’t go getting all mopey before she’s even talked to ya, maybe she’s already made dinner and that’s why.”

“It’s much too early for that, I hope she doesn’t think she has to—”

Butch is turning him and shoving him towards the door.

“Go on lover boy, face your music and don’t be a wimp!”

Roman drags himself up the stairs, feeling like a glutton for punishment at this moment, straightening himself up before opening the door. He almost regrets forgetting to knock before remembering this is his house and choosing instead to call out.

“Erica? Darling? I’m a little early, didn’t want to startle you.”

She appears in the entryway that leads to the living room, looking a little nervous herself.

“I-“ She takes a deep breath, eyes never leaving him “Thank you for having them let me in, what I wanted to talk to you about is a more personal matter.”

Well. That certainly didn’t sound like a precursor to a break-up.

“Of course” Roman responds, trying to sound as at-ease as possible. “Can I get you anything?” His eyes sweep her figure and upon realizing she’s abandoned her shoes he begins to toe off his own, leaving them next to hers in the doorway.

She’s shaking her head when he looks up. “No, thank you, I brought some cookies I made, they’re in here.” With that she turns back to the sitting room and begins to walk away. He hurries after her but tries to allow her space still. He takes the moment to look at her. She’d looked ill at ease in the foyer, a large OD green sweatshirt (that had probably seen better days) that said ‘Property of Middle Earth’ in worn white letters nearly swallowing her, hair down and falling in her face, she’d pushed it behind her ears twice as they walked. She’s wearing the black jeans she says are her favorites, everything seems to point to her dressing for comfort. She pushes the sweatshirt sleeves up to her elbows before sweeping the container off the coffee table and holding it out to him.

“I remember you said you liked macadamia nut, it’s my first time making them though.”

He nods, taking the box, also taking care to brush his fingers against hers as well as he can without raising suspicion. He takes off the lid, taking a deep breath before looking up to her in awe, “These smell amazing!” He smiles before looking down again, grabbing one to hold it out to her. “Share?”

She smiles thinly, shaking her head again, (Roman doesn’t think he’s ever seen her shake her head this much) before answering “No, I’m alright. Not very hungry anyway.”

Erica knows its not a convincing answer but what can she say? She’s been dreading this conversation ever since she started having feelings for Roman and when he had asked her to think about being officially together, she’d known she couldn’t put it off any longer. She looks at the floor again, remembering that she’s wearing her favorite sweatshirt and that if anyone from Middle Earth were here they’d be encouraging her (maybe not Sauron but he wasn’t really the encouraging type) and probably giving her an awkward thumbs up from behind Roman’s couch. She smiles at the comforting thought and looks back up at him. No matter what his response was, she’d handle it. She’d come this far. She sits down (albeit a little rigidly) on the couch behind her, and Roman follows her lead, sitting in the chair diagonal from the coffee table.

She takes another deep breath, this is it. “I’m just going to come right out and say it—”

“Do you want to break up?”

Roman’s on the edge of his chair, gripping the container and looking at her with, fear? Dread? She isn’t sure but it isn’t a positive emotion that’s etched into his face. He’s not the only one.

“No,” she says it carefully, deliberately, before continuing past what she knows is the point of no return. “But you might”.

It feels like a bomb went off. Roman actually leans back in the chair before blinking rapidly, attempting to process. “Did–“ he supposes ‘cheating’ might be too strong a word if they’re actually not even together but he isn’t sure what else they would split over.

“It isn’t something I did. It’s something I am.” Erica is resisting the urge to cry now, it doesn’t matter how many times she talks about it, it doesn’t seem to get easier when you care what the other person responds with. She’s looking at the floor when she hears shuffling and feels the couch dip next to her. She looks over to find Roman seated on the far end, reaching slowly to hover a hand above her shoulder.

“Whatever it is, we’ll work through it. It’s not as if anything is irreconcilable.” He pauses and Erica really is bracing now, nearly wanting to get up and run from the room in preparation for the inevitable.

“Unless you’re actually an orc. Or you like eating hummus. I have to draw the line somewhere.”

He says it as if it were obvious and she smiles, shaking her head before breathing out shakily. “It’s, well, its neither of those things.” She says, finally looking him in the eye, reaching up to guide his hand down to her shoulder. If nothing else, she’ll enjoy these last few minutes of comfort he offers before it’s all over.

“I’m asexual.”

Its out. And while it does take a weight off her chest, she isn’t sure it’s gone for good.

Roman blinks, tilting his head, “Tell me what that means?”

It’s a request. Not a demand, he didn’t fill the air with his assumptions, he just asked. That’s a new one.

“Well, it um,” Erica takes another deep breath, reaching out to grab his other hand in both of hers and fastening her eyes to them before spitting out the rest in a rush, “It means I don’t experience sexual attraction.”

He’d already started stroking the fingers he could reach when she took his hand hostage and he doesn’t stop when she finishes. She doesn’t move though, she’s waiting for it to sink in. Either he’ll tell her to get out, tell her that that isn’t a thing, or that he can fix her. She’s already got a plan for all three.

“Ok.” He says it as if she’d just told him it was cloudy outside. “How do you want me to respond?”

She brings her eyes back to his slowly, mouth agape. She can’t even be bothered to close it either, somehow, he’s managed to say the one thing she never expected.

“How do I want you to respond?”

“Well, I know that I don’t know exactly what you need or want to hear, so I’m asking.” He says it all so gently, as if he were trying to comfort her, as if he could sense how hard it was to say this, could he? “I want to support you” he says with conviction, “Sometimes you might have to tell me how.”

His gentle tone never fades, if anything it only sounds more genuine as he continues, moving his hand to hover next to her cheek. She leans into it, sniffing softly and closing her eyes against the tears. It’s hardly the time to cry now. Gathering herself she opens her eyes.

“You need to understand sex is something I might not ever be able to give you.” As sweet as he is, she won’t let him commit to something if he doesn’t even understand what it means. “I’ve, had,–“ now her eyes are back in her lap, withdrawing her hands from his, “experiences, but, I didn’t like them. And since I don’t have the desire anyway, it’s possible I’ll be like this forever.” She’s painting it bleakly but what else is there to say? She’s never been supported by any partner or friend and she isn’t sure she’d even know how to handle it if she was. Part of her does want to break up with Roman now, end it all before he can, give herself control of the situation before it gets any more uncomfortable.

“Why do you say it as if you were broken?”

Shock. That’s what she’s feeling, bringing her eyes up to look at Roman as if he’d grown two heads. Opening and closing her mouth twice before finally blurting out

“Isn’t that what you think?” She’s standing now, words falling out of her mouth in a rush of fear and anger, “Isn’t that what everyone thinks?! Isn’t that what you’re supposed to say? That I can’t be anything other than a robot if I don’t want” she gestures fiercely “that!? As if I wasn’t a whole person without it?” Roman is standing now but she can’t stop “As if there was no way two people could be together without doing it??” Her voice has somehow been getting louder all through her rant and everything’s getting blurry as the tears start “As if I were making the whole thing up?” He’s closer now, and she stumbles back, yelling a final, “AS IF I WASN’T A REAL PERSON BECAUSE OF IT??” before she collapses into his arms. She’s sobbing in earnest now, gripping onto him as tightly as she can. This has never happened. Every other time she’s always handled the rejection, the teasing, the downright harassment before calmly leaving and never coming back but, somehow, it’s Roman being kind to her that finally causes her to break. All the frustration, hurt and confusion finally pouring out in her tears. He’s just stroking her back with one hand, the other cradling her head against his shoulder. Between the sobs she can hear his voice, but he doesn’t seem to be saying much other than ‘its alright’ and telling her to let it out, saying that he’s here and he’s not leaving. It helps.

When the sobs subside to hiccups she wraps her arms a little tighter around him and takes a breath before sniffing.

“Can I have a tissue?” She says it as softly as she can, she doesn’t really want him to leave but she’s starting to worry for whoever does the wash. He seems to pick up on her reluctance to separate, instead taking the arm from her back to reach behind and down for the box on the coffee table. He fumbles in the awkward position for a moment, causing them both to huff in good humor before standing straight and holding it up by her face. She takes it.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said all those things to you.”

She mumbles it without ever moving, choosing to reach over his shoulder to wipe her face, if he’s willing to keep holding her, she isn’t going to make him stop.

He goes back to petting her hair softly, answering in the same tone, careful to keep his voice low. “Don’t apologize. If someone said those horrible things to me, I’d be upset too.”

She sighs quietly. He must not understand still.

“But everyone thinks they’re true. That’s the problem.” She says it matter-of-factly, her arms loosening a bit to rest on his shoulder blades before he suddenly grips her tighter.

“Not everyone.”

It’s a small thing, and it shouldn’t mean anything to her, but it does. It means the whole world.

They stand there holding each other for heaven only knows how long, Erica not wanting to leave the comforting embrace that Roman is offering, and Roman content to hold her as long as she needs.

More time passes before she hears him humming, well she feels it first but then she hears the soft notes next to her ear and feels him shifting back and forth slowly. Swaying them both. Then he’s singing to her. Quietly, barely above a whisper but his voice is like honey.

“My gift is my song, and this one’s for you” he nuzzles his cheek on the side of her head before going on, still whispering gently to her and swaying softly “and you can tell everybody, this is your song. It may be quite simple but, now that it’s done. I hope you don’t mind, I hope you don’t mind that I put down in words,” he gets a little louder then, more confident, “How wonderful life is, now you’re in the world.”

“Elton John?” She asks, voice still a little wobbly, only slightly teasing.

“No, well, yes, but I was thinking of Moulin Rouge.”

She frowns, slowing their swaying slightly, “I thought Elton John wrote that?”

She hears a small ‘ah’ followed by “Moulin Rouge is a film, have you not seen it?”

She shakes her head against his, muttering a ‘huh uh’

“Hmm, well, then let me finish serenading you and then we can watch it, how does that sound?”

She pulls away then, wanting to look him in the face even if she doesn’t necessarily want him to see hers. “You want to stay? With me?”

He nods, brushing his thumbs across where they’ve come to rest on her waist. “I’ll admit I don’t understand it all yet but I can learn. And if you promise to never start liking hummus then we seem to have an agreement.” He finishes with a smile and somehow Erica finds herself smiling with him. Somehow, she has hope again.

“I think I can promise that.” She says, taking another shaky breath in before muttering ‘eskimo kiss’ and leaning forward to brush her nose against his, he bumps their foreheads together and then they’re both giggling. He hasn’t ever kissed her lips yet but it’s moments like this that make her certain he’ll wait till she starts it.

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#asexual #ace #ace stories #ace character #ewan mcgregor #mob boss #how do i tag #*runs and hides*#*hopes for the best #aces in spaces

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