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shozaii · 4 years

Note

Hawks, Aizawa, and Present Mic with an s/o who has a deadbeat parent? They've only seen their parent a few times in their life and they've pretty much never talked to eachother at all? Please and thank you 💗

(a/n): thank you for the request!💕 i hope you enjoy it🥰

p.s.; deadbeat holds the definition of a parent regardless of gender who does not want to take full responsibility on the child. for instance; on terms of child support,etc.

masterlist

rules.

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a s/o with deadbeat parent(s)

pairings: hawks x reader; aizawa x reader; present mic x reader

warnings: deadbeat! parents

hawks

keigo has never really seen your parent(s). it was like once or twice, but not too many which sealed a proper meeting. and neither did you.

you wanted a change in that, so you made a decision to see them, when you could. it wasn’t for a purpose of reunions or such; it was for the sake of letting them know you still exist.

sometimes he follows you when he has his days off. knowing that you visit them after a gap of two weeks.he still had no idea with how distant you are with them. so when they did talk to you, it just seemed off. the exchange was really discreet, not much of looking each other into the eye. basically stuff that he finds intriguing.

it has happened frequently - they even pretended like you weren’t there. and it’s not like he doesn’t want to question you,,,he wanted to verify that whatever he was witnessing was actually according to his assumptions.

before he asked you, though, he has seen how unusually down you look, so while you’re both heading home, he gets you your favorite treats, or tries to distract you from what you were currently thinking. he might even go for little walks, just for you to get some fresh air while he rubs little circles on your back to calm you down.

that one day, he was sitting in the living room, waiting for you to be done. he started to hear things being thrown onto the floor, muffled screaming and arguing. maybe that would’ve been his final straw. so the moment you stormed out of the door, he grabbed your hand, leading you out of the house your parents resided in.

the whole journey home was pretty silent. no one talked. you were wiping away your tears as he held you close, wiping them away with his thumbs. he did mumble, “we’re almost there. hang on.”

once you were both home, you seemed to sob even harder than before. he didn’t dare to talk just yet - instead he had you in his arms, pulling you in closer whenever it got more intense.

when you calmed down, he looked at you, brushing your fallen hair strands away from your wet cheeks. “i wanted to know earlier. i really did. i’m so sorry i didn’t put effort into it; i wanted to make sure i wasn’t making assumptions-,”

“keigo.”

“yeah?”

“i’m sorry you had to see that. all of it. i didn’t want to tell you about it - what was the point, anyway? i just didn’t know it would get worse.”

“you don’t have to apologize, y/n. none of this is your fault, okay? now you’re here with me, and if i have to hold you in my arms for as long as possible, i would. now don’t you ever say that you’re wrong.”

and the night went on, until you fell asleep in his embrace. he was genuinely glad that you’ve let it out at the right time, and he’s going to do everything he can to be by your side.

aizawa

he didn’t mind if he met your parent(s) or not. shouta most probably had this thought of you wanting to know more about him; which is why you were talking less about it. all that mattered was your happiness.

he also knows the times you have visited them, and you do it alone. when you do return, you don’t exactly have the relieved/happy expression. it has always been sour.

“everything alright?” he would ask, sitting up just to look at you.

“meh, maybe.”

“y/n. babe. you can’t brush it off with a maybe.”

you do,anyway. ‘tired’ or ‘feverish’ or ‘my eyes are so heavy right now.’

that’s it. he’s going to meet them, and he wants to see it with his very own eyes. what was going on over there? why were you not doing well everytime you came home? who hurt you, most importantly?

he waited until the day you told him you were going for a visit. he hops out from his nap, walks up to you, and tells you he wants to come along. of course, he did notice the worried look in your eyes. afraid that he might break the actual reason why; he had to ignore said look, and continue insisting on following you.

you had to give in - maybe the day has finally come for him to know more of them. well, you barely knew much yourself.

when he was there, he absolutely did not see it coming. how your parent(s) didn’t really bother about your arrival. how they definitely did, but did not notice shouta walking in along with you. he was baffled.

he was upset. sad that he didn’t know any of this earlier. the more he witnessed how it went down - the more he blamed himself for not paying attention.

moreover, how could you take all of this?

he sighed heavily, and got a hold of you when you were done talking to them. “let’s go home. got anything else to tell ‘em?”

you stared at him, and then back at them. “n-no. not at all.”

the two of you ended up sitting on a bench in a nearby park, watching the sunset.

“so....this is why.”

“yeah. i didn’t know how to open up about them, anyway. i’ve never been close to them my whole life. it feels so surreal that i still have contact with them - you can say whatever you want, shouta. i don’t mind.”

“what even do i have to say? it’s not like you chose this path, did you?”

you shook your head. he wasn’t wrong.

“talk to me. i’m here with you for a reason. but then again - i’m sorry i didn’t pay attention. whatever it is, we’re going through this together. i’m not gonna leave you behind,” he said this while holding both your hands, eyes looking into yours once more.

“together,” you felt a smile creep up on your face after a very long, stressful day.

present mic

we all know hizashi as a fun, down-to-earth person. but like every character i’ve seen and connected with in bnha; i can say that he has the softest soul ever.

he’s pretty observant, too. i can tell. a little change in his s/o’s behavior - in particular - and he rushed over to them, and confronts them about it.

one thing he has obliviously noticed in you is your change in emotions when a topic about parents in general is brought up. weird. everyone around him isn’t reacting to it, so why you?

you have shown him a few pictures of them. it was very small talk about them, and you seemed to be rushing through the topic. and he has offered to come along with you when you went for visits, but you always insisted that he needed some rest or he had loads of work to do. or you had other errands you had to take care of.

he was so confused. was this meant to be secretive? it was probably for the best, but he couldn’t stop worrying. every time you did go out(which was probably ranging from two months to two weeks per visit), he would sit and stare into the void, thinking of ways to ask you about it.

“how was your day, baby~?” he would ask you. you’d reply with “meh” while crawling into bed, nuzzling into him.

that was a drastic change in you. he needed and wanted to take matters into his own hands. this was a situation of now or never.

it didn’t take longer than expected, when you received a phone call from them. your relatives have encouraged you to go visit them after a week of meeting them. the recent one was heartbreaking enough - what was going to turn out from this?

the moment hizashi had heard of it, he was all dressed up in a jiffy. denying it would probably make him feel a little hurt - but what if he gets disappointed just by the relationship your parents have?

like shouta, he’d take a brief look and immediately feel like someone slapped some sense into him. this is why y/n was silent. this was why y/n was uneasy when anyone was talking about parents, this was why, this was why that; the list went on and on in his train of thought, eyes widening by seconds.

as expected, his s/o’s parents didn’t really welcome the both of you. it wasn’t a happy reunion. the tension built in the air terribly. hizashi felt terrible.

you were such an amazing person at heart; always helping anyone in need. showering him with all the love. dedicating your life to becoming a pro hero with hard work and determination. endless smiles. this was a whole different look.

the visit your relatives have planned didn’t go too well. on the drive back home, he held your hand, never letting it go the whole time.

“well, hizashi, i’m sorry you had to see that. i didn’t know how you would react. you’ve helped me change so much in person and i can’t afford to lose you. never.”

his eyes widened. “woah, y/n!” he pulled you into a hug. “what do you mean lose? i’d have to say the same thing to you, babe. but i’m really glad you showed me what i deserved to know. i want to connect both of our feelings together, so that understanding would be so much more easier. don’t you ever think i’m leaving you because of this. i’m all yours.”

proceeds to give you kisses all around your face. he knows you deserve it.

hizashi has so much of love for you it pours out like endless streams of confetti. he has always been by your side; and will continue to do so. both emotionally and physically.

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(a/n): this is my view on the topic. i didn’t want it to be too angsty, and made sure to add loads of fluff in it. i hope you liked it! :>

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tmnt-brave-new-world · 3 years

Text

Prologue

He was running faster than he had ever moved before, his breaths came out in heavy pants. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. They had known going into this, there were damning consequences to failing. It simply wasn’t an option. Icy blue eyes gazed up at the sky as the pieces of Krang’s ship and dimensional gate loomed over the city of New York. It was forming a giant ring above them, and no one was willing to try and imagine what might come pouring forth once it did.

Humans couldn’t survive the atmospheric conditions from Donnie’s understanding, which meant it was up to them to stop this from happening. They were heading towards a building to try and determine the best way to stop the gate from fully forming, and additionally to use the high advantage point as a jumping off point to hopefully reach their intended target.

“Come on! We got this bros!” Mikey yelled excitedly before he took a running leap from the roof top, and landed on a piece of floating metal headed towards the giant conglomerate of moving parts, in the sky.

“Damn it Mikey! Don’t just rush in, you idiot!” Raph yelled after him, before following his lead and jumping on another piece of metal and machinery as it floated by. He would never admit how grateful he was for Mikey’s regular bouts of pure dumb luck.

It took longer than they had originally expected to reach the structure, and the fight with Krang himself was absolutely brutal. It didn’t help that they were down a man as Donnie attempted to override the protocols and force the override to disengage the pieces. They had thought that Shredder was a nightmare, but in retrospect he was nothing compared to this. They didn’t have the experience, or any given advantage in this fight. They were exhausted and had only recently began to repair their brotherly bond after the infighting from the past week. It was just too much at once.

“Leo! There’s something wrong, I’m out of time! I can’t stop this! Oh God, I’m so sorry; I tried. I gave it all I had!”

As the fight between Krang and his three brothers played out, Donnie poured everything he had into breaking the code, he was certain he had it and just needed to tease out the finer points before he could take total control. The others just needed to hang in there a little longer. His fingers flew over the keyboard until, with a sense of relief he managed to stop the impending doom that would follow the systems countdown. They had won, it was over, and with literal seconds to spare. He stood from where he had been seated at the controls prepared to tell his brothers the good news, however he paused. Nothing was changing; why hadn’t the ship stopped constructing the gate?

He looked back at the command system, attempting to determine what he had missed. As he scanned the system his stomach tightened itself into knots as the sudden spike of dread began to drive itself throughout his nervous system.

The system had shifted into a second control override system, and the clock continued its countdown to the end.

The had failed. They couldn’t stop what was to come next.

Leo swallowed hard against the sudden fear, and bile that tightened his throat. “We’re leaving now, we don’t have a choice, we need to retreat back, and try to formulate another plan!”

The brothers quickly regrouped and leapt off of the giant piece of alien tech, they managed to use one of Donnie’s last ditch tools, a grappling gun, to attach to a building and use the momentum to swing themselves away. The force flung them harshly towards the gravel laid roof top of another near by building. The landing was anything but gentle and resulted in several injuries that would take awhile to heal, even with their elevated healing abilities.

As they ran from the empowered machine, they couldn’t help but pause for a moment at the sudden blinding light that it admitted, beaming towards the sky. Unknown to them the beam of light was more than a terrifying display. It was alerting the rest of the galaxy to Earth’s presence and placing this relay of the Krang network online. There was no way they could hide now; The bell had been rung, and it had been heard by any all planets and peoples that had the appropriate technology to do so.

…….. 12 years later……….

The Turtles listened intently to their communicators as each of the special handpicked teams, took their positions. It was so close, Leo had waited for over a decade for this opportunity; a chance to finally begin to atone for his failing that had allowed Krang to change the world, stripping resources, and taking people off world to be used for all sorts of terrifying reasons.

He glanced at several of the men and women that were apart of his assigned unit for this maneuver. Not all the change brought on by the gate had been for the worst. It had allowed the rest of the universe to find them, and allowed them to find new allies, technologies, and experiences they wouldn’t have otherwise encountered. A significant number of those present were not human, but from the other races across the stars, who had relocated to Earth, or had joined in the resistance against Krang and his tyrannical mechanisms.

There was one other factor that had given he, and his bothers something they had only dreamed of. With the wide variety of peoples and cultures that came from this new world, they were by no means the strangest creatures around; Mutants were no longer feared or threatened. They just simply were. Another group of other beings. The Humans in the first few years had been shocked and terrified of the new species that came to Earth, but had learned over time that shared cooperation, kept everyone alive, and their resources replenished. It was truly, the one good thing that had came from the past decade of hiding and scrapping to get by. Most people were too hungry or scared of Krang and his control of everything else to act like asses with the new neighbors who were moving in every new day.

Leo snapped back to the task at hand. It was crucial that they manage to take out Krang this time. If they failed the resistance would be exposed, and most likely traced back to their bases and obliterated, one by one. Today, was their first, and last chance to complete the assassination attempt. It had taken months and many lives to painstakingly determine Krang’s location and determine a strategy with a decent enough percentage of success to make it worth the attempt.

Leo took the opportunity to check with Raph, Mikey and Donnie to confirm they were in position and ready to act.

“Donnie, are you ready to do this?”

“I have counted the minutes to the time when I would have a chance to finish what I started so many years ago. I am more than ready Leo.”

His voice was cool and his tone seemed to lack emotion over the com link, but Leo knew Donnie was full of fire and wasn’t leaving until this day was done. Donnie had suffered from possibly the largest sense of guilt. He blamed himself for failing to crack the code to controlling Krang’s ship, and thus for the devastation that followed. He had spent almost all his waking moments applying his knowledge to any and every area that he could. In the short time since the Last day of earth, he had become a master chemist, surgeon, and triage doctor, architect, engineer, and mechanic, in addition to his previously developed skill set. His talents and abilities were endless and applied whenever needed.

“Mikey, you in position?”

“I’m watching our target and his guard as we speak. He isn’t getting away this time.”

Mikey had matured tremendously over the years. He still laughed and smiled, especially with the children of the resistance, but in the quiet moments when they were alone, his eyes showed the loss he felt at the countless lives snuff out prematurely, or taken against their wills to be enslaved among the stars. He spent his free time taking what was around him and creating things of beauty, or finding ways to make the bland camp rations into foods that even the smallest and pickiest of eaters craved. He felt a need to give those around him acts of inspiration. It was as much a balm for his soul as for those around him.

“Raph, Its you and me brother. Are you and your team prepared?”

“We’re ready on this side. We either succeed today or die trying. I’ve put everything I have into training these men and women. We will not fail today.”

When Krang had succeeded in setting up his relay that day, and Earth fell so easily in the days that followed, Raph raged, and lashed out at anything that moved, until he simply had nothing left to give. It was the loss of the world, and so many people above, that had made him feel that his rage meant nothing. He spent years taking his anger, and negative emotions and channeling them into trying to save the lives of those who called him a monster and a freak. Except, with everything else going on in the world, they no longer saw him that way. He became accepted and for once, finally accepted himself.

Taking his fathers teaching he began to show others how to defend themselves and to protect the weak, and those they cared for the most. He had become an incredible teacher over the past decade, and with his abilities, it had been noted by several commanding forces, from across the galaxy that the loss of life had diminished by notable percentages in hand to hand combat, whenever they clashed with Krang forces.

Leo after accepting the loss of the most important battle of his life, had spent his efforts coordinating mass evacuations of the people of New York, which had turned to organizing refugee camps. He fought to protect them, including the alien life forms that had come to Earth hoping to escape the devasted home worlds they fled from. As time and the need built, he soon found himself commanding a ragtag band of freedom fighters, taking back areas and stealing supplies whenever available. Under his leadership, life had been tolerable, and people had faired significantly better. The camps had swelled into the thousands over the years until he was effectively running a small, ironically, underground city.

Krang even with as many spies as he had working for him, had never been able to find the location of the city. It moved and changed its shape whenever needed, and those within it realizing how better off they were fought to keep its secrets, by whatever means necessary. His abilities to win people, and see several moves ahead, is why those who had opposed Krang on their own planets sought him out, and after a time, Leo decided it was time to try and take back what Krang had taken from them all. For the lives and peace of so many he was willing to attempt this suicide mission.

That is how they found themselves here today. There cause was noble, and their reach extended across the universe. They were here on behalf of the billions of lives that Krang had suppressed for an unknown fixture of time.

Today it would end. Today was a new day

“Everyone into position, we begin operation Star Waltz within the next 60 seconds. This is everything we have prepared and trained for. Don’t let me down my brothers and sisters.”

…… 20 years later………

Leo finished his glass of smoky aged bourbon, with a small sigh. 32 years. That was how long ago it had been from the Fall of Earth, marked in the calendars as E.F. and the current year of 21 New Earth, or N.E. The world at the Death of Krang had been overjoyed, but soon after they found themselves in a new struggle. As with every change in power, a vacuum had formed and it had taken a significant amount of time and effort to help elect a governing body, for the planet, as well as root out those who had benefited the most from Krang’s control. Banning slavery and freeing those who had found themselves under its control had taken Leo to places around the world, and to other galaxies he never thought he would see. He had also gone to meet the elected official of each new territory, determine if this was by the will of the people or simply another power crazed asshole who needed to have an “unfortunate” accident. After the time he and his brothers had spent fighting Krang, they had all agreed, that no one would ever suffer a monster so long as they drew breath. Whom ever found themselves in charge, was well indoctrinated that they were a civil servant, and if at any point they became a tyrant, they would be dealt with, in one way or another.

Some fell in line without incident, having survived the new world, they understood the need for cooperation. Others depending upon their policies and whatever else the brothers managed to dig up, were given one of two sentences, they were either executed on the spot, and their cabinet might also suffer the same fate. Ff they were deemed to be just as corrupt, or on rare occasions when they weren’t truly bad, just bad enough, they awoke on Donnie’s exam table, with a bomb inserted into their necks, and a very strongly worded warning. The control to which was held by the world elected federation, who acted as a voice for Earth.

What they did was decidedly not ethical, however they had all survived hell for far to long and had to do too many terrible things, to dance around a megalomaniac. Those who were in charge, were there for the sake of the people, not to line their own pockets, or benefit from the suffering of others. That was the primary reason that Krang had a chance to come to Earth in the first place. They would do whatever it took to keep those same circumstances from ever happening again.

Which reminded Leo, as he stared out across the skyline of his high rise to the glow of the gateway. They hadn’t been able to remove the gate. There wasn’t a way to “turn it off” once it was activated. Destroying it also wasn’t an option, tampering with the gate would have released the equivalent of so many thousands of nuclear warheads directly upon New York and several other states in which the radiated particles would have been carried upon the winds to. Additionally, the Nanites which managed its upkeep would have been released in the trillions and would have cannibalized the planet and all its inhabitants along with it, to rebuild the infrastructure.

Definitely not an option to alter the Gateway, whatsoever. Not to mention, if something big and bad did ever arrive to the planet to try and conquer or destroy it, the Gateway was ultimately an escape route. Per Donnie’s calculations they could evacuate everyone on the planet in under a week, and for those that didn’t want to go, well good luck and best wishes.

The new residents, and all the worlds that until Krang, had been unknown, were now very much aware of Earth, and Earth was just as aware of them. They had simply decided it was a cultural trade, and good for commerce. Not to mention, the mutants got to stay above ground and live as federation recognized citizens.

Life was definitely good, and their new lives, were significantly improved. Each of the brothers had found a niche that worked exceptionally well for them, and from the new world, came many new opportunities. Which Lead to the creation of Tartaruga Bros incorporated. It was a stretch for a name, but they did need a last name, and O’Neil they all agreed, carried too much of a painful memory of happier times.

Somethings had definitely stayed the same. A small smile came to his lips, as he listened to Raph and Mikey argue over toppings to the artesian Pizza that they were creating for a late-night snack. The brothers had decided that they did better together, especially as they worked best as a team. They stood together as a united front as defenders of Earth and all of her peoples.

They had upgraded though, from a lair in the sewer to a state-of-the-art penthouse in the sky. Life was better, but everyday held something new in this Brave new world.

#TMNT Brave World #TMNT AU #TMNT blog #TMNT Brave World Prologue #TMNT #ninja turtle

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marvelousell · 4 years

Text

The Agreement (Part 6.)

Pairing(s): frat boy!fwb!Tom x reader, frat boy!Harrison x reader

Summary: Tom is a typical frat boy, his love for partying, drinks and girls are bigger than his ego. Y/N is a whole different dimension, she keeps her circle small, and even though she knows her best friend Tom is a total douche, she can’t say no to the little deal that was sealed between the two of them.

Word count: 3.1k

A/N: My heart is beating for Haz rn but Tom is my fave so I’m confused af ok😫. Also who tf is Emily🤡? I hope you like this chapter and I would appreciate it if you leave a comment, reblog or send a feedback!❤️

My tag list is open for this series!

Warnings: flufff, swearing, mentions of alcohol

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5.

Masterlist

“Ready?”

Monday came quickly honestly. Probably the constant overthinking during the whole Sunday and Monday morning distracted you pretty well.

And here you are now.

Fresh out of the shower, with your robe around your body staring at Anna in front of your door who was ready to ‘glam you up’.

“I don’t know, I think I’m gonna puke if we’re being honest.” You spoke, exhaling the air from your lungs.

“It’s totally normal to feel like that! That means you like him.” She winked, marching to your bedroom.

“Well I do like him and that’s why I’m worried. What if I mess everything up? I’m so awkward you know that.” You began to panic, chewing on your bottom lip nervously.

“Just be yourself, he is already smitten. Believe me, what could go wrong?”

Maybe the truth about Tom, I don’t know.

“You’re right, but I’m still sweating and I feel sick.”

“Can’t wait for you to return from the date and say to me ‘oh I was so stupid for worrying it was amazing Ann I love him!’” She mocked you, laughing along with you.

“I really hope that will be the end product after tonight’s date.”

“Harrison is a really great guy, you will have the best night with him I’m sure.”

Your mouth curved into a smile at the thought of him.

At the thought of his blue eyes and his contagious laugh that was ringing in your ears since Saturday.

Maybe he really is the one for you?

If only Tom didn’t come that night at your apartment, everything would be fine.

The thoughts were eating you up, but you tried to remain calm.

“Just remember Tom’s words. Maybe this deal won’t last that long.” You said to yourself.

“So what are we doing for tonight?” Anna spoke resting her arms on the chair, looking at your reflection in the mirror.

“Nothing extra, keep it casual.” You replied, not wanting to look like you’re going to a red carpet.

“Keep it casual got it.”

“Did you spoke with Tom yesterday?” She asked curiously, making your heart skip a beat when she mentioned his name.

You were trying your best not to react.

“No, he didn’t call me. Why, did something happen?” You asked, trying to look worried.

“No, no. Just asking I thought that he maybe apologized or something, but it seems he is still acting like a total douche.”

You kind of forgot the scene from the party, Harrison being on your mind practically every second.

But now that she reminded you, you were pissed. He could at least call and say a stupid ‘sorry’, however he was too proud. Tom would never admit he was wrong even when it was a small, unimportant thing.

“You know he is like that when he is around a girl that he wants to shag, but still I don’t approve that, I mean we’re his friends.” You responded.

“That’s absolutely right. Gosh I don’t know how could someone sleep with him? I know he is hot and all that but c’mon Tom just thinks with his thing down there and that’s disgusting.” She spoke bitterly while your face turned red.

You don’t know a thing Anna, but you’re definitely right about that.

He just knows how to make a girl say yes straight away, that’s the problem.

“U-uh yes, I agree.” Your voice coming out as a whisper.

“Let’s not ruin our night with him, we love him although he is like that so it’s not important. Did our prince charming say where you two are going?” She changed the subject, focusing on your hair that was the last thing that needed to be done.

“Didn’t drop a single clue, he just said he will pick me up at seven.” You chuckled, glancing at the clock.

Thirty minutes and he will be here.

“Oh shit he is outside.” You whisper yelled, heart almost jumping out of your chest.

“Listen. Don’t worry, just relax and be yourself. Harrison is fantastic and not a pompous dick like others.” She put her palms on your shoulders giving them an encouraging squeeze.

You closed your eyes, inhaling deeply to calm your nerves.

“Thank you so much Ann, I owe you big times. I will call you when I come home or you can stay here and make yourself comfortable whatever you want.” You said, hugging her tightly.

“Thanks for the offer but I will go home, and I will be waiting for your call. And you miss have fun.” She smiled like a proud mother, hugging you back.

Your hands were shaking, and your stomach lurched when you saw him leaned on his black car waiting for you.

You both immediately smiled at each other.

Harrison was as nervous as you were. He spent his whole day rambling to Harry that tried his best not to laugh at his friend who was totally excited to see the girl that couldn’t leave his head the whole weekend.

He was finally ready to find a girl. Someone who will be here even when things went downhill.

“Good evening gorgeous.” Harrison greeted, flashing you a broad smile.

“Well good evening to you too handsome.” You greeted him back, standing now in front of him with a shy smile plastered on your face.

“You look stunning tonight love.” He half whispered, with his eyes still on yours.

“Thank you, so do you.”

“Ready to hop in?” He asked, opening the door for you.

“Of course, how could I not be with a gentleman like you by my side?” You flirted shamelessly, making him laugh.

“Eager to know where I’m taking you?” He asked, starting a conversation.

Your eyes were glued on the road and everything around trying to guess where you were heading to.

“Definitely, hope you’re not gonna kill me or something already.”

“Too much criminal series love.” He chuckled at your response.

“And I would still want the place to remain a surprise, but don’t worry nothing will happen.” He added.

“It better not Harrison I trust you.” You continued to joke, enjoying the rest of the drive.

“And we’re here beautiful.” He parked his car, opening the door for you again.

Holy fuck.

The view was mesmerizing. It was like a hill, with a view on the whole city that was glowing now.

Your whole face lit up, not only because he was creative and didn’t take you to a classic restaurant on the first date but because you had such a great person next to you to enjoy the breathtaking view with.

“This is truly stupendous Harrison..Gosh.” You were so dumbfounded at the sight that you didn’t feel the warmth of his body behind you.

“I’m so glad you like it, I wanted to take you somewhere special the first time.” He spoke into your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“I appreciate that a lot, and you really left me speechless here.” You giggled, turning your face to his.

Harrison put a lot of effort in this, wanting to show you how much he fancied you.

This wasn’t just an ordinary place that he googled up or something.

This was Harrison’s special place ever since he was twelve. He would often come here when he needed some time for himself or when he wanted to sit and relax looking at the whole town that was in a rush as always.

The place was unique in Harrison’s life. His gut told him he could trust you and that this was a brilliant timing to share it with you.

He hoped maybe it will be your special place by the end of the night, because he was sure you were the girl that will change his life.

“It’s actually my secret place or whatever they call it nowadays.” His eyes lit up looking at the two most beautiful sights in front of him.

“Oh no sorry, now I ruined the whole secret place thing for you.” You grabbed his hand, feeling bad in some kind of way.

“Don’t be silly love, if I thought you weren’t noteworthy I wouldn’t share it with you.” His fingers stroked your skin carefully, making your heartbeat go wild at the feeling of his gentle touch.

“Happy to hear that you think I’m that special.” You whispered, noticing the small blanket positioned on the grass behind him.

“C’mon let’s sit and enjoy the real magic from here.” His hand took yours, rubbing his thumb against your palm.

“So you study English Literature?” He asked, pouring the sparkling wine in your glass.

He sure planned this all well, and you weren’t complaining. In fact you loved it so much that you could sit like this forever. Just you and him.

“That’s right. Does it sound that boring?” You asked, the nervousness now long gone.

“Absolutely not! Mr. Phillips must be your favourite professor I assume?” He rose his eyebrow asking sarcastically.

“Are you like in my class or something because that would be awkward as hell. And no c’mon he is a total ass.”

“If I was with you in the same class I would definitely ask a beauty like you out a long time ago, don’t worry. My sister is taking his classes, she started her first year so you know heard some stuff.” He chuckled, sipping his wine.

“I’m sorry for her, he can be an idiot towards students but that shouldn’t discourage her at all.”

“Totally, every college has someone like that.” He added, receiving a nod from you.

You two were talking like you knew each other your whole life and that was something you craved for a long time.

Harrison couldn’t keep his eyes the whole night away from you.

It was something about your irresistible smile and how your head would fall back when you laughed that got him love-struck.

He really liked you and your sweet soul that was full of tenderness.

That was something he could never find in someone ever since Emily.

“Tired?” He gave you a half-smile when he felt your head resting on his shoulder.

“No, just loving this atmosphere and your presence. I could do this every day for the rest of my life if you ask me.” You said softly.

Harrison thought that this was the perfect timing to wrap his arm around your waist, caressing it carefully.

He was sure he wanted to kiss in you that exact moment. Even though he was distracted by his heart that was a beating mess and by his sweaty palms, he couldn’t wait more. He reminded himself if he waited and didn’t speak to you that night nothing of this would happen, so what could go wrong now?

He didn’t want it to be forced, it should be memorable for the both of you.

What’s the point if he doesn’t show you how much he liked you through the kiss?

So his hands leisurely traveled to your arm and shoulder. Your skin was landscaped with goosebumps, and you were sure he could see how your cheeks turned red although it was dark.

You relaxed in his hands, leaning your face into his neck inhaling his scent.

The grin on his face was growing bigger when he felt your body on his, he would trade anything just to be always like this with you from now on.

His fingertips brushed the skin of your hot cheek while his eyes were admiring your body that was illuminated by the moonlight.

Eventually his large palm cupped your cheek, bringing you close to his face.

His nose bumped into yours, his eyes now focused on your sparkling ones.

“Is this okay?” He asked for consent.

“Yes.” You whispered back, wrapping your hand around his wrist.

“God you’re so beautiful.” His lips were ghosting over yours, still testing the waters.

Harrison was exhilarated at that moment, closing the small space between your lips. They were moving against yours delicately. He could taste the sweet wine from your lips mixing with the taste of your cherry chapstick and it was a combination that he will always associate with you.

Your heart fluttered, and the only thing you could think is how his lips were soft against yours.

Harrison would break the kiss, opening his eyes to ensure himself that you were real and that this wasn’t a figment of his imagination before pulling you in for another short innocent kiss.

You both stayed close to each other after the intimate moment, with Harrison’s thumb still on your cheek.

“I really like you Y/N, I want to be around you more.” He spoke in your ear, nothing but the truth.

“And I like you more, hopefully this will be something more.” You responded truthfully as well.

“Thanks for the wonderful evening love, and thank you for giving me a chance to finally find and enjoy the time with someone as pretty as you, inside and out.”

“No, thank you for everything. You were the first who showed some love and interest for who I really am, not just for some fun.” Your voice getting smaller when you said the last part.

“Love, if someone doesn’t see your true beauty behind that graceful face, he doesn’t deserve a single look from you, let alone something more.”

Oh how right you were Harrison, you don’t even know.

You were a grinning mess after his statement, the only thanks you could give him was a small peck.

The car stopped in front of your apartment, silence now filling the space in his car.

His hand rested on top of yours through the whole ride back to the apartment.

Harrison was beaming, glancing every now and then at you, memorising every feature of yours.

“Here we are.”

There was just a little bit of sadness that could be heard in his voice, because the night was over and he was already missing you in his embrace.

“Thank you for this beautiful night. You really made it special.” You spoke once again, caressing his hand that you refused to let go.

“Please love, I already said what I really mean. You are a wonderful person and no one could prove me wrong.”

“You Y/N made this night one of my favourites and thank you for that.” He admitted, kissing you passionately.

This one was a much longer and caring. The kiss was like a perfect match and it made you smile during it.

“Thank you.” You murmured as he pulled away.

“I’m going to call you love, I can’t wait to see you again.”

“Not if I call you first.” You answered.

“I won’t complain.”

“Have a good night beautiful.” He added, pecking your lips.

“And you as well handsome.”

It was like you forgot how to walk when you stepped out of his car. Harrison’s vehicle not leaving the driveway until he was sure you entered the house safely.

The smile on your face was genuine and the whole night was repeating in your head non-stop.

It occupied your mind so much that you didn’t even notice the light being turned on in the living room.

Until a loud groan finally caught your attention.

“Who’s there?” Your voice trembling.

“Fuck, just me.” A male voice responded, mumbling the words.

Just me?

“Are you normal? How did you even enter the apartment?” You relaxed immediately when your eyes landed on a half drunk Tom.

“Key behind the flowerpot, not a brilliant hiding place if you ask me.” He laughed while his eyes remained closed.

“Yeah..right, forgot about that. What do you want?” You spitted, clearly annoyed at the realisation that you will probably not spend the night alone.

“Gotta see my favourite girl, but looks like she was busy.” Tom slurred, resting his hands on the back of his head.

“Tom if you’re drunk you can crash on the couch.” You stated, making your way to your bedroom.

“C’mon babe, wanted to spend the night with you.” He rushed next to you, grabbing your waist.

“Thought you didn’t do that.”

“I meant as friends love, but I can always make an exception for you.” Tom whispered as the smell of the strong alcohol hit your nostrils.

“Are you going to talk to me and say why are you here or?” You tried again.

“I was with Sophie today ya know. It kinda went well I guess? Or not? Because she said I’m gonna regret that decision and that tone but hey I don’t care at least her annoying ass is out of my face.” He smiled, receiving an eye roll from you.

“I told you to talk politely, now she is going to get all crazy.”

“I was polite! But she just doesn’t understand what it means I don’t want anything with you. That’s the problem.”

“Okay, you have a point here, she can get pretty hard to handle.” You believed his words knowing she was a special case.

“Thank you. Also I came to apologize for my behaviour.” Tom added, mumbling the last words.

“Oh really? Why?” You crossed your arms, waiting for him to speak.

“Because I was tipsy, and that was a shit move, you know I didn’t mean that.”

“It was.” Your mouth set in a hard line.

“I’m sorry love okay?”

“You’re forgiven, apologize to Ann as well.” You weren’t in a mood for a fight, and he at least said sorry so all good.

“Not happy to see me love?” He turned his attention to you, squeezing your hips.

“I’m tired Tom, but I appreciate your apology and everything, feel free to take the couch.”

“Where were you that late on a weeknight anyways?” Tom asked curiously, eyeing your body and how pretty you looked tonight.

“On a date.”

Date?

Oh yes Harrison.

That dolled up for him?

Why does he even care about that, you two were nothing?

“Looks like you had fun. Tell me more.”

“You really won’t let me sleep tonight am I right?” You asked, trying your best not to smile but he was making it so hard already.

“Nah, let’s make ourselves comfortable on the couch and spend the night like that hm?” He smirked, pulling you back into the living room.

“Why can’t I say no to you? You need to stop that.”

It was so hard, switching thoughts about two boys every minute. One second it was Harrison only and then Tom just shows up out of nowhere and makes everything go wild inside of you.

You didn’t want to lose Tom nor Harrison.

However you were aware that someone in the end will get heartbroken no matter what, and that was your main concern.

Tag List

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retrievablememories · 4 years

Text

try again | ten

title: try again pairing: ten x black!reader genre: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff request: “Can I ask a dark Ten and his black wife having a miscarriage and feeling like she failed him in being a good wife and making him a father so she wants a divorce so he can be happy with someone else but he persists on being with her not matter what happens. Thanks for taking it!” word count: 2.9k warnings: mentions of a miscarriage, depression/grief, marital troubles a/n: my computer/photoshop is being raggedy as hell so i don’t have an actual banner pic or paragraph separators for now 😢 god. i ended up watching a 15 min youtube video about newborns b/c of this fic, tho, so that was fun

Seeing those two little lines was one of the happiest days of your life.

After trying for nearly a year and thinking it was never going to happen, you finally got a positive result. You took 5 tests to make sure you weren’t imagining things, but it was as real as it could possibly be. The doctor’s confirmation only sealed the deal.

To know that there was a small life growing inside you that you could call your own, made from both you and Ten’s DNA, was astounding to you. There were many nights where you simply laid in bed tracing shapes over your stomach, wondering what your child would be like and if they already knew how much you adored them. You especially loved it when Ten would lay his head on your chest and caress your stomach, speaking softly to both you and your growing child.

Some hidden part of you had wanted to be hesitant about celebrating this developing chapter of your life, not knowing if things would turn out alright since it had been so difficult to conceive before. Soon, though, you let that worry fade to the back of your mind in the face of your overwhelming joy. You filled your hours with thinking about baby names and baby nurseries and baby clothes, wanting to create the best life you possibly could for your little one.

You willed your fears not to get the best of you for once and instead poured all your energy into creating that reality. A reality that, unbeknownst to you both, wouldn’t come to pass.

You can still remember that blissful feeling now, if you concentrate hard enough and try to push past the pain. You hold onto that glimpse of happiness very tightly, drawing what you can from its memory until you can receive nothing more.

Back when you first lost the baby, Ten had promised you he could never be mad at you about it, even though you asked him over and over again—nearly everyday—if he was upset with you. Even then, he didn’t get angry with you asking all the time, which somehow made you feel worse. Like even more of a burden. You tried to stop asking about it, stop thinking about it, but his words weren’t quite enough to reassure you.

Despite your best efforts—from both you and him—the seed of doubt implanted itself in your mind anyway and slowly began festering there.

Where your bed once was a place where you dreamed about your future child, and even conceived them there, it’s now become something of a prison. A constant reminder of what happened and what won’t happen. The sheets are more like arms that suffocate you in their hold and keep you confined in a cocoon of pain. Despite your desire to be free of this cage that’s sprung up around you, you find it impossible to escape.

Whenever Ten is off at work, you continually ruminate on the past year of failures. Your one tiny hope and the end of its brief light, so quick that it’s difficult to remember how it happened. No, you don’t recall much from the day you were rushed to the hospital or how the miscarriage itself occurred, though you think maybe it’s better that way.

You’re somewhat grateful for how the human brain knows how to protect itself from trauma. Sometimes it’s the only way to survive. You find it incredibly ironic, though, how things we don’t remember still imprint themselves on our minds and souls. You experience the pain as acutely as if you’d been mentally present for it all.

The dark thoughts press in more closely whenever Ten is not next to you, though you never feel completely whole even when he is around to comfort you. Your mood worsens in the day, when he’s gone at work. You don’t even have your own work anymore to take your mind off of things, having taken a month off to recover. The worries that plague you during these hours make it hard to do much of anything but lie in bed and sleep.

You’re more grateful for his presence than he can know, but you also feel increasingly guilty when he’s the one who has to do most of the housework. If you had the energy or motivation to do it, you would; but right now, those feelings are lost to you. You keep hoping to yourself that you’ll find your way out of this dark place soon, even though you are more suffocated by it by the minute.

On a day where you find it especially difficult to keep the thoughts at bay, you contemplate many things.

What would it be like if you were no longer here? If Ten could find another wife who could actually give him what he so desired, without failing this time? He deserves that much, doesn’t he? To have a family of his own, even if it can’t be with you. Maybe you can’t have kids at all, and your short pregnancy was the only chance you had of conceiving. In that case, you reason that he should be able to go off and find someone else instead of you clinging so tightly to him, unable to let go.

It pains you to do it, but you begin writing a note for him to find later, too afraid to tell him out loud what you’ve been thinking and what you plan to do. You don’t know if anything you’re writing makes sense, but you feel like you have to do it either way; there’s no point in staying and making you both more miserable.

That night, Ten holds you as he falls asleep, like every other night. You stay awake for hours after he drifts off, turning your plan over in your head. A few tears drop from your eyes, but you quickly wipe them away, ignoring your own heartache. You’ve already set your mind to it.

When Ten gets home that Thursday, he’s surprised and a little panicked to see your car not in the driveway. It’s been sitting there for weeks, but now that it’s gone, it must mean you’ve went somewhere.

Maybe you’ve gathered enough strength to go out today and go shopping, something you always liked to do. A part of him suspects that isn’t the real answer, though, which only increases his anxiety. Maybe he’s just being paranoid, but he decides to check just in case.

He calls you, but it goes straight to voicemail. When he tries a few more times with the same result, his nervousness turns into full-blown panic. Unsure what to do, he decides to text you despite knowing he probably won’t get an answer.

6:25 P.M. Y/N are you okay? Where are you???

6:26 P.M. If you decided to go out today just text or call me back please, I just need to know you’re okay

6:26 P.M. I’m really worried

Ten finally gets out of the car and goes in the house, rushing up the stairs to your shared bedroom. He’s doubtful he’ll find anything there, but he needs some kind of answer for what’s going on. To his surprise, there’s a note lying on the bed.

Chittaphon,

I’m leaving for a while. Please don’t panic or be upset, I’ll be safe where I’m going. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you anything, but maybe it will be easier this way. I’m not sure if I can continue on like this. I have to think about some things. I want you to know that I’ve loved you since the first moment, but I don’t know if that’s enough anymore.

I did everything I could to help us form a life together, but I failed anyway. I hate myself for it. I don’t blame you if you hate me too, or if you’re only staying with me because you think I can’t make it on my own right now. I just want you to find happiness again, whether I’m there or not.

Y/N

Ten shakily sits on the bed, covering his mouth with his hand and closing his eyes tightly against the tears. The absolute stillness of the house without you in it is overbearing, and he puts his head between his knees as he tries to block the quiet out. He doesn’t move from that spot for a long time, and his head pounds from the blood rushing to his skull, but that discomfort is nothing compared to the turmoil stirring in his chest.

A loud knocking on the door startles you out of your sleep.

It’s only been a few days since you left your home with Ten, and you’ve kept your phone off and buried at the bottom of your suitcase since then. You had no intentions of talking even if he tried to contact you, and you eliminated that line of communication so you wouldn’t have to. It’s been your small hope that your actions have built up enough to make him hate you, to not want to contact you anymore, to agree to a divorce—although that thought brings you more pain all the same.

You stumble out of bed and into the hallway, and there’s an ensuing commotion on the other side of the hall as your parents come rushing out of their room. Your mother comes to your side with concern and panic on her face, grabbing your arm. “Y/N? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you say, though you’re trembling a little from the sudden noise.

“I don’t know who the hell is banging on the door like that at this time of night, but let me tell you…” Your father curses under his breath as he heads to the living room to peek out the window and see who it is. He quickly comes back into the hallway with a puzzled expression. “Y/N, it’s your husband.”

“Chittaphon? I thought you said you both agreed it’d be best for you to come home for a little while? Why is he here at this hour?” Your mom gives you a wide-eyed look, waiting for your explanation, and your head begins to hurt from the hurricane of emotions you’re enduring.

Your fingers fidget as you try to steady your nerves enough to respond. “Please, just let me talk to him alone. I-I know why he’s here, but we have to talk…”

Ten bangs on the door again, and your dad gives a skeptical glance. “Are you sure?”

“It’s fine, I promise,” you say, gently ushering your parents back to their room. “Please, just let me handle this.” They look like they want to say or do something more, but they relent to your request and leave you in the hallway alone. Your mother glances at you from behind the door before closing it, though you notice she doesn’t shut it all the way.

When you open the door, Ten stands there looking at you from behind the screen door with distress written all over his face. The mesh screen obscures his features a bit, but you can still read him from a mile away. You immediately feel guilty, though you don’t make any move to open the door. You’ve already made your decision—but mostly for his sake.

Ten drops his backpack—the only thing he has with him—and presses his hands against the mesh as if he could touch you through it. You back up a little when he does, standing further away from the entrance. He sounds like he’s been running a marathon when he speaks. “Why did you leave?”

“Why are you here?”

“Y/N, I know there is only one place you’d go for sure in a situation like this. And I was right. Why did you leave?”

You shake your head. “I don’t think this is a good idea anymore.”

“What isn’t a good idea? Us being together?”

“We should get a divorce,” you say quietly, somewhat afraid of his reaction, though you still think it needs to be put out in the air.

Ten is lost for words, and he has to think for a few moments before speaking again. “Y/N. Just tell me this one thing. Do you hate me?”

You’re quiet for a moment. You want to tell him yes, to make this separation easier so he can forget about you and move on. But your throat tightens at the idea of letting that word pass your lips. Tears sting the backs of your eyes even though you silently beg them not to.

“No.” Your voice wavers a little when you respond. “I just...want you to be happy. I’m sure you read the note.”

“You’ve forgotten one thing. I can’t be happy without you.”

“But you were happy before you met me. You can do that again.”

Ten presses his forehead against the door, knowing he has to keep his patience even if he’s upset. “But we’re together now, and now that you’re in my life I don’t want you to ever leave.”

“Chittaphon, please. You don’t need me. The only thing I’ve done lately is be a burden to you.”

“Y/N. You know, I considered just letting you go wherever you needed to go to make things less painful for you. That’s the only reason I didn’t come up here immediately. I thought maybe you’d fallen out of love with me, didn’t want to see me again, and that I just needed to let you be for a while...but Y/N, I can’t be without you. I’m not going to leave my wife alone when she needs me the most—whether you’ll allow yourself to believe that or not.”

The first tears drop despite your resistance to them, and you have to struggle to talk through the knot in your throat. “But I-I couldn’t—I’ve been a terrible wife, I couldn’t give you the child you w-wanted, that we b-both wanted…” You lean against a nearby wall for stability as your body grows weaker. “We tried so hard for a year, and…”

Ten clings more tightly to the mesh, his own tears dripping from his chin. “Please open the door.” At this point you are too shattered to deny him, and you seek his comfort even though you feel undeserving of it.

When Ten finally coaxes you onto the porch, he pulls you straight into his arms and holds you close, allowing himself to simply breathe in the scent of your hair and skin. You both end up sinking to the wooden porch floor, with Ten embracing you.

“Y/N, I’m begging you to trust me. There’s no way I could hate or blame you for this,” he says quietly, your tears wetting each other’s skin. “Sometimes things happen that we don’t understand. That just means we have to get through them together.” He pulls back a little to make you look at him, his hands cradling your face. “We can always try again. This doesn’t have to be the end, Y/N.”

You nod slowly, looking into his despairing eyes. “I’m sorry.”

You allow him to bring your head to his chest—the same as he often did with you. His heartbeat thuds under your ear, and the sound makes you feel calmer than you’ve been in weeks. You sit together like that for a while, listening to the sounds of wildlife all around you and letting yourselves mend the broken pieces of each other.

You wake up to the sensation of a small, wiggling weight on your chest, and you’re confused as to what’s going on until you hear the sound of a familiar set of giggles. A smile crosses your face before you even open your eyes, and you reach your hand out to feel a bundle of soft, curly hair.

“Are you awake already? It’s so early.” More happy laughter is your response, and you finally let loose a chuckle of your own. You open your eyes to the sight of your 1-year-old son nose-to-nose with you, his warm breaths puffing across your face. He smiles and squeals loudly when he sees you looking at him, and you scoop him up into your arms to cuddle him close.

“Good morning my little boy,” you sigh, kissing the top of his head. He smells freshly-washed, so you know Ten must’ve given him a bath already. Your son is more interested in treating you like a playground and climbing all over you rather than lying in your arms, but you’re more than happy to let him play to his heart’s content.

The door to your bedroom opens soon after, the smell of breakfast drifting into the room. The bed sinks behind you as Ten climbs on, and your son squeals even louder at the sight of his father. Laughing, Ten picks the small boy up and nuzzles his face into his hair before turning to you.

“Hey sexy, breakfast is ready,” he says, leaning forward to kiss your cheek.

“Don’t flatter me, I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet,” you say this with a grin as Ten keeps kissing your face, with your son trying to get in between you so he can give you kisses too. You wrap your arms around both of them and you all huddle up in a heap on the bed, laughing and falling over each other. In this moment, you have little doubt that you’re the happiest person in the world.

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jay-and-dean · 4 years

Text

Become That Girl Part 1/2

Dean x reader

Summary : Y/n never was his type. She is the buddy type ; sexy and glamorous are just not her. It’s time to try to change that... To change everything about herself. And maybe, just maybe, this flirty smile will be for her next time...

Warning : Swearing. Suffering and mentions of unhealthy behaviors. Smut. Unprotected sex (you’re smarter than this). Kinda rough sex. ANGST.

Words : 7.7 k

Author note : This was supposed to be a one shot, but there will be a part 2. I will publish it this week (tuesday I hope).

***Want to read more ? => MASTERLIST***

__________________________

Dean's hand brushes that girl's palm and those adorable wrinkles appear on his eyes for her, he gives her these sweet eyes I saw only in these circumstances; his head slightly bending on the side. His flirty smile.

"It's ridiculous" I grunt, taking a sip of my beer.

"Yeah" Sam chuckles.

But I struggle to swallow. The truth is I would give my life, my soul and everything else for Dean Winchester looking at me like this just once. For him to touch my hand that way. For whatever is to come with that girl. The idea of him sinking inside her is like a stab in my chest, but I'm used to that pain.

I know I will never taste his lips, because I'm not that girl, not even close.

I'm the kind of girl guys love because they can be themselves with her, I'm the buddy type. And along the way, I became Dean Winchester's friend. He gives me drinks and teases me all the time on my tastes in music, on my tastes in food, in men... If only he knew.

It was quick for me to fall in love with him. I have never been in love before, not for real ; so I didn't really know what was happening to me at first. I never was the kind of girl that forces to laugh at men's joke, that wear pink or try to look like society wants women to be. I never faked a smile, but Dean, he makes me giggle like an idiot, and everything he says actually interests me. I'm fascinated by him.

He's beautiful, but that's not even what I like the most about him. It's like I just could read him, his soul, the way he hides pain, the way his humor is way darker than people think, that incredible ability he has to be himself, that fake harshness and the size of his noble heart...

He bends to catch the girl's lips and I bite the inside of my cheek to hold back the whine of pain coming up my spine.

My stomach contracts at how empty I feel and I look down at my hands. That void I feel each time I come to the full conscience that I will never feel him on and inside me, it hurts way too much. It’s beyond craving, it’s like a part of me was missing.

"Are you okay ?" Sam asks, probably reading the sorrow on my face.

"Of course" I state. "I'm just tired, that hunt was a bitch."

I want to drink too much, drown my stupid brain in fucking alcohol. The puking and hangover are way better than being able to imagine him with her, his hands on her hair, his tongue around her nipples...

I get up and go to the bar, avoiding to get too close to Dean and her, I don't need to know her smell or voice, my brain would turn it into torture.

"Whiskey please, leave the bottle" I tell the bartender.

He doesn't look at me when he hands me the bottle, not even checking my age or my eyes. He is looking at Dean's conquest and that desire, almost envy, on his face catches my attention despite my will not to look at her.

Taking the bottle, I glance at that woman everyone seems to admire. Dean's back is toward me so I can see half her face, behind his silhouette. She's pretty. A wide smile on her face, bright eyes, sulky hair and makeup ; she doesn't have scars, or bruises like me and her only wrinkles are just highlighting her smile, like she had never worried or frown.

I pour whisky in my own glass and empty it, then do it again. I go back to my table to join Sam, my empty glass in one hand and the bottle in the other, it didn't even pay, but when the bartender will be back on Earth, maybe he'll ask me. Meanwhile, fuck him.

"I'm not holding your hair tonight Y/n" Sam sighs.

"Yeah... don't worry Sammy" I shrug.

***

"Oh... fuck…" I grunt opening my eyes. "Oh ! Fuck !" I gasp before I run to the toilets to empty my stomach in the bowl.

Sam pushes the door and rubs his eyes.

"Y/n ?"

"Shut up..." I whine, pushing my hair out of my sweaty face.

I flush the toilets and get up stumbling, I start undressing, knowing Sammy will just not watch, and he turns his back on me to pee. When I enter the shower, I grunt at the warm water.

"Coffee ?" he asks.

"Yes please, with aspirin in it... What is that ?" I look at my very sore hand and see it's all purple and blue. "Sammy why is my hand all bruised ?"

He chuckles and when he washes his hands the water of the shower suddenly becomes cold for a minute.

"A guy called you babydoll and touched your ass" I hear the smile in his voice. "You broke his face before I could move."

Shit... I bet if someone had done that to Dean's pretty girl, she would have needed a prince in shining armor. Me, I just break faces. I grunt and put my head on the tiles, I'm just not a lady, maybe that's why Dean doesn't want me, even for a quick fuck...

I'm in my jeans and bra when Sam comes back with coffee. He gives it to me and hands me aspirin. He slept in my motel room, that means Dean brought his girl in theirs. I frown and grunt, my eyes still barely open. Sam offers me an amused dimple smile.

"When you're around, it's like having another Dean" he mocks.

My heart breaks.

I know it was not meant to be mean and being anything like Dean can only be a good think but... Am I really so far from being a girly girl ?

I get up and take my clothes, my too long and worn out Led Zeppelin t-shirt and black rangers. I sigh. Yeah well maybe I don't dress like a princess too... Fuck !

The door opens and Dean enters the room with cups of coffee in his hands. Each time that man comes near, something happens, like the colors were brighter, like my blood was warmer… He turns to me and raises his eyebrows, probably seeing what a mess I am, my wet hair all messy, the cuts and bruises on my arms, face and hands.

"You look like shit" he says and a new kind of stab hits my gut. "What did you do last night ? Did you see someone ?"

"Haha ! She met a guy !" Sam mocks and I grunt.

"Really ?" Dean frowns like it was beyond surprising.

"She may have broken his jaw" Sam chuckles and Dean comes closer.

"Did you fight again ?" he sighs, taking my hand to check on it.

He still smells like this girl’s perfume and I'm nauseous. I take my fingers back and show him I can move them fine with an annoyed look. Then I take the coffee of his hand and thank him.

"Hey !" he calls me when I'm about to take my bag to leave.

So I turn around and put a light kiss on his cheek like I do every morning, making him smile like a child. I stare for a little too long at his proud face and walk pass him.

In the car I take my shoes off to put my feet on the backseat, Dean is mumbling the Metallica song, his beautiful strong fingers dancing on the rhythm against the wheel. And before I can look away, I have this vision of him sinking this amazing middle finger inside her core.

Shit... I'm nauseous again.

I guess in this world of blood and violence, coming deep inside a soft sweet angel-like princess must be a relief. I can’t enjoy one night stands anymore, but he can, good for him. It's not his fault if sex makes me feel dirty since I know him, like I was cheating...

Stupid.

I just wish it would happen to me once... Having him. I know how dumb this sounds because I'd probably be dead with grief once he turns to a better girl again, but I would give anything to spend a night with him. I have to stop dreaming, he doesn't even see me as a woman.

I frown and put my head back on the window.

"Hey Y/n ?" he says, looking at me in the rear-view mirror. "Now the hunt is over, we finally have a little time together. We could do our horror movies marathon ? I can't wait to see your face when we wa..."

"You're the one hiding against me Winchester" I state with my usual a mocking grin.

It's not even a lie and he rolls his eyes, glancing at Sam who's still listening to some conference in his headphone.

"I just can't wait to eat all those candies we hid in your room, without Sam lecturing us" he smiles with his teeth showing and my heart melts.

What if I tried...

What if I tried to be the kind of girls he likes ? I mean, I'm nothing special but with a little efforts I could at least become a girl in his eyes... Would he still be able to just stuff his mouth with sugar when he's so close to me in my bed, if he saw me as a real lady ?

I look down at myself and sigh. I will have to change absolutely everything... But maybe this could work.

***

It's only been a few hours since we got back, Dean went to take a shower and Sam went running, which doesn’t make fucking sense after a hunt so rough.

Taking a huge bite of that big double chocolate brownie, I stare at my laptop, watching stupid videos of makeover, style, makeup and how to do your hair ; and if I wasn't thinking of if Dean would like this thing or not... I would probably have died of boredom already.

I should try to work on my attitude too. Swear less, sit straighter, be less loud, spontaneous, stop saying when I need to pee, drink less and try those stupid sweet cocktails when I do, let men defend me. I don't get to skip wax day anymore, I have to look sexy or eventually childishly cute, but not at all like I do right now. Boy !Being a “girl” is no fun at all.

I look at the Pinterest and Instagram pictures of those pretty girls and put my brownie down watching my belly, a diet wouldn't hurt either.

A knock on my door, Dean enters with a cute smile, his hair still wet. I close my laptop and throw the brownie in the trash, sitting straighter already, I pull my stomach slightly in.

"I bought beer" he says and sits on my bed, opening one for me but I shake my head. "Still too hangover ?" he asks and I nod.

During the whole movie, I try to watch my attitude, not spreading my legs to put bowls of candies between them, not making fun of him when he jumps. And when he falls asleep beside me, I just stare at him thinking of how many things I would sacrifice for him. I dare touching his hair and leans to my touch, coming closer in his sleep. I want more.

I need more.

***

I barely slept tonight, half stressed, half exited by my project.

As usual, Dean left in the middle of the night, kissing my forehead to say goodnight. I get up, eat fruits and shit instead of cereals and go running, drinking water, more water than what I usually drink in a week. I read coffee makes teeth become yellow and gives shadows under the eyes, so I will stop it too.

When I take my car to go fucking shopping -I always hated shopping-, I try my best to smile, looking on the mirrors of the car. Sweet and open Y/n...

I manage to hold back my middle finger when a jerk takes the parking lot I wanted. I'm hungry but my body needs to learn to shut up. If I want Dean Winchester to consider kissing me, I have to be perfect. There is no compromise.

I try clothes and I feel like I'm wearing a costume, with those bruises and all, it's stupid anyway. So I decide to go one step at a time. I'll wear normal size shirts instead of oversized and a nice jacket first, I'm not ready for dresses or too colorful for now.

I buy lace panties and push up bras then decide to throw away my other underwear to make sure I wear them, because they're so uncomfortable I will be tempted to go back... I keep drinking water when I buy makeup and nail polish, trying my best to both pull my stomach in and ignore the heavy perfume smell and the employees trying to sell me way too many things. I need girly shampoo and all, because I usually just use Dean's.

Then I lock myself in my room for hours, fighting with my body, waxing with incredible care, putting sticky things on my hair to make them shiny, cream on my skin to make it soft, mascara to make my eyes bigger… I even pierce my own ears.

But the more I try, the more I feel ugly. I always tied my hair in buns-easier to fight, run and look like an FBI agent- but now it’s down, and I look at these models,it seems dull… Same for every inch of my body. Why do girls do that to themselves ! Or maybe I’m the one that is a problem, maybe I’m just disgusting and avoided to see it for years. No wonder why Dean never looked at me.

I stare at myself and sigh. Fuck. Even doing all that, there is about zero chance Dean would ever want me one day, even just for a night. It’s going to hurt way more than hunger and wax, but I have to go further, I have to pay attention when he’s with a woman…

***

“MOTHERFUCKING BITCH !” I yell throwing the stupid scale against the wall.

It’s been three months and I haven’t lost a pound. I’m hungry all the time, from morning to the next morning, it’s even waking me at night. I only eat salad and drink water… I mean, my hands are shaking for Christ sake !

Three months of trying so hard to act like a sweet fragile angel with a weakness for sin : cute and sexy. But I’m still swearing like a sailor when I don’t pay attention and I’m still fat. Hunts are becoming more difficult because I’m weak, and fun times with my friends are more rare, because they only do what I can’t : drink beers, eat burgers, make fun of horror movies, play whiskey poker… I used to love whiskey poker so much ; the night Dean invented it, we were beyond drunk but it was one of my best memories, he ended cutting my hair and it was bad, but I didn’t care at all.

“Are you okay ?” Sam says, opening the door but I close it brutally.

“Sam ! I’m a girl you know ! You and your brother can’t just enter the bathroom when I’m in it !” I yell through the door, hurt that they keep treating me as if I was the third Winchester brother, and worried they would see my ugly fat body...

“Sorry Y/n, I didn’t know you were naked” he states.

“Naked or not, Sam !”

“What’s the problem ?” I hear Dean ask his brother, and put my head on the door.

“She’s just grumpy again…” Sam sighs and I frown.

I do argue with them more often… I didn’t noticed that.

“Sweetheart ?” Dean calls though the door and tries to push it.

“Are you serious !” I cry out pushing the door. “Stop forgetting I’m a girl, you don’t get free access on the bathroom when I’m in it !”

“Okay” Dean just says and he leaves.

I never forbid them to enter, and I have great memories of watching Dean brushing his teeth while I dried my hair, of his intimacy only hidden by a white towel around his waist while I joined him in the hot steam his shower made to talk about anything.

My Dean and I used to be awesome… But in a buddy way. I feel tears fill my eyes but try to hold them back because I really don’t want to do my makeup again. I caught him staring at my cleavage yesterday, and he said lipstick suited me last week. I have to be strong, if Dean gives me that flirty eyes, I would be worth it.

But we don’t talk that much either and… I really miss him in every way, I miss my friend and I feel lost and lonely. The sadness these thoughts bring, mixed with the exhaustion of hunger, and the pain of that unrequited love finally makes me fully burst in tears. My hand on my mouth I muffle the sounds of my sobs, realizing I will never have him, and probably fucked up the only good thing I had : That pure and loving friendship with the Winchesters.

***

I take a bite of my salad and hold back a gag. Not that I don’t like salad, but eating only that is becoming really sickening. Dean looks at me and there is no kind expression on his face, that tender smile I used to see everyday faded along the weeks.

“Take a bite” he says, handing me his burger, cheese dripping on his fingers.

“What ? No…” I shrug. “I’m not super hungry.”

I’m not an idiot, at least not completely : I knew my best friends would notice a change in my behavior. I mean, Dean seeing a change is the all point, but I don’t want to look like I’m trying so hard. So lately I’ve been putting empty pizza boxes on the table from time to time. And my outfits were replaced slowly…

But they’re not idiots either.

“I just want to check something” he says.

I can’t, after all these efforts, if I bite in that thing, I will become even fatter than I am, I can’t afford that…

“I don’t want to, Dean.”

“I made it myself” he insists, practically putting the food on my lips and the smell is becoming too tempting.

“Dean ! No ! I’m sure it’s delicious because your homemade burgers are always a success but it’s a no !” I push him wiping the ketchup that fell on my shirt. “What is wrong with you…”

“What is wrong with me !” his harsh tone surprises me. “I’m super worried, that’s what is wrong ! Do you have eating disorder now or something ?”

“What ? No ! Of course not, you know me !”

“Yeah… Do I ?” he asks before getting up, leaving his plate barely touched in front of me.

“Dean ?” I call but too low, he can’t hear me…

***

I didn’t come out of my room. Not once, since Dean looked at me that way, a sad way, like I had betrayed him or something, just because of a burger…

Who am I kidding ? It’s not because of a burger, my best friend just doesn’t recognize me. I can’t be that girl, I’m just not enough. Curling in my bed, I take a deep shaky breath, I’m really tired of crying so I just stare at the wall, thinking about what Dean must think of me. He must be disappointed, and that’s the worst I can imagine. Dean, my Dean, thinking low of me, annoyed or hurt because of me.

A knock on the door. I lift my eyes to the red numbers in the dark : 10:18 pm. Usually, when one of the brothers knock on my door, they start talking to me through it and if I don’t yell that I’m naked, they just enter. Not this time. The knock is discreet and followed by a heavy silence.

Surprised by that unusual quiet, I get up, arranging the top I was wearing because it went up my stomach. I open the door and my pupils grow, I can almost feel it, seeing Dean’s beautiful eyes in the lights of the corridor.

“Y/n…” he says with his deep voice, his right hand on his pocket. “I’m sorry I was a drag earlier. You need space from us, I get it… Living with guys…” his tone is a little sad but very kind, I don’t know what to say. “Just, don’t change who you are, please. You can eat what you want and wear what you want sweetheart, okay ?”

“I do” I nod to close the subject and ease that worrying on his handsome face.

He bends and slowly crushes the plumb of his lips on my forehead like he always does when he’s worried about me, after hunts, before hunts… when I’m sick or tired or anything. I close my eyes, trying to enjoy this without ruining it with the pain of that stupid unrequited love.

“I just miss my friend” he says low. “I promise I won’t bother you more and knock and all, but could we spend a night together at the bar ? With Sammy ? Like we used too ? I miss that.”

The look on his face is like his brother’s puppy eyes and I feel both relieved and terrified. I miss him like crazy and just want to say yes and follow him running ; but if he leaves with a girl… It might kill me this time.

“Yeah… Okay” I sigh. If he gets with a woman, I’ll just try to observe her. “Can I just have a little time to get ready ?”

“Of course sweetheart” he nods, letting go of me. “Take your time.”

After a few minutes trying to recover from Dean being so adorable, I finally managed to go to the bathroom. Tonight I will really try to look like one of Dean’s conquest, so I stare at it : the only dress I own.

I bought it after I saw Dean glance at a girl in the street during the last hunt. It is the kind of dress I thought I'd never wear, I actually never even thought of wearing one in my life. The dress the girl wore was a little too sexy according to me, even slutty. Women should dress like they want to, but I wasn't ready for that super short red bustier dress, with boobs everywhere calling for attention.

Yet, I have to become that girl, that's the whole point. If Dean likes his women bundled up in skinny dresses, so be it.

I sight, looking at the girdle I have to wear to put that dress on, I empty my lungs and compress my stomach the more I can. Taking the dress, I hesitate, maybe this is too much.... But this is the prize to pay if I want any chance that Dean would look at me ; tonight I'm going to be that girl.

The dress is simple but very sexy. Black taut fabric hugging me tight, with a cleavage like a bra, and straight straps, useless because the dress is so tight it holds me. I look at myself in the mirror and sigh, I'm not enough.

I put makeup, just mascara and lipstick, and right now I have trouble thinking I don't look like a whore, but I try to remember those girls Dean likes wear more makeup and even sexier closes, so...

A knock.

"Y/n ?" Sam says. "If you don't get out of this bathroom, Dean will be drunk before we reach the bar.

Shit, the short dress is so tight that my panties are showing.

"Yeah, go to the car, I'm ready !" I state through the door, taking off my panties.

I have no underwear that would be good with this dress... It is short, but not too much, and it's tight, so no one will see anything when I sit. I look at myself in the mirror and decide I just won't wear panties. I take my black leather jacket and leave the bathroom trying to hide I'm shaking.

***

When I enter the garage, Sam and Dean are sitting on the edge of Baby, with Led Zeppelin playing. The girdle is hurting me but I stay straight, trying to look casual.

The two men's eyes widen and I have no idea how I am supposed to understand their look but I try not to think of it. I give them a shy smile, like I was begging them not to judge. I was waiting for a comment or anything, but they just stay totally silent.

In the car I don't know how to sit, I always put my feet on the seat but there is no way I can do that now, so I just stay there, held upright by this awful prison compressing my ribs and stomach.

Dean checks on me on the rear-view mirror, his face totally neutral, like he was hiding whatever he is thinking... A few months ago, I would have made fun of him, I would have asked him what was wrong with me, I would have told him to look at the road -I always did that when I caught him staring at me in the mirror-, but now, I just look down.

Being sexy is also feeling sexy, the woman on the video said. I'm not really the kind of woman that feels sexy, but I could try. The problem is, each time I try to focus on sexy things to make this work, I end up thinking of Dean, of when his beautiful hands land on me, of his smell and his shoulders, of his mouth... And in the end, I'm felling more horny than sexy. I guess not wearing panties is kind of sexy...

***

The bar is not too crowded but loud, the sound of pool balls shocking on each others, and the manly laughs of men drinking alcohol. Tugging at my dress, I look around to see if any girl could catch Dean's attention : maybe that girl at the bar, but she seems to be with a man. People are looking at me, I'm not used to it, I feel like my lack of underwear is written on my face.

When he passes behind me, Dean puts a hand on my back, sending a shiver all along my spine. He always does that, but I'm usually wearing real clothes.

"What do you want to drink sweetheart ?" he says and I hesitate.

Alcohol is caloric, I can't really afford to drink it. After a long hesitation, I decide a whiskey would make me forget all those eyes on me.

Taking the first sip of the amber liquid, I close my eyes. This taste reminds me of some good memories when Dean and I stayed in the kitchen to talk, slowly sipping and smiling at each other.

"Pool ?" Sam asks pointing the other side of the bar with his beer bottle.

"Yeah I don't know" Dean looks down, making me wonder... He always loved pool.

"Come on Dean !" I smile raising up, the evening is supposed to be about saving my friendship with him.

He frowns like something was hurting him, his beautiful mouth forming a pout, his dark green eyes searching my face. I can't read him. He doesn't look at me like he always did, but not like he looks at those girls either. My smile fades and the air becomes thick.

He gets up slowly and brushes past me when he walks to the pool.

"Okay, but you stay with me" he grunts.

I follow him and notice eyes are moving with me. I know what's happening : I must be embarrassing him, that’s why he acts weird. I swallow hard and watch him take cues, the muscles of his jaw are clenched.

"So Y/n... This dress..." Sam whispers close to my ear. "Is it just to make Dean mad or is there a guy you want to go home with ?"

My heart stops.

"Dean ?" I just say searching his eyes, but he laughs. "Why..."

I can't finish my sentence because Dean gets close to me to give me the cue he prepared. His handsome face still pretty stern, he offers me to start.

The air is still thick and Sam's words turn in my head, bouncing in every directions, banging in my head like a lost bat. What does that even mean ? Dean must be disappointed in me, maybe little a big brother wouldn't want to see his sister wear a slutty dress... Maybe what he meant was that, as Dean wanted a friendship night, dressing like I'm waiting to leave them for a one-night stand is annoying. I don’t know who I am anymore, or how I am supposed to behave.

"Y/n..." Dean calls me from the other side of the pool. "You never lose at this game, even against me... Are you okay ?"

"Yes I..."

Pretty girls don't win against the man they want, they make them feel strong and all those bullshit that polluted my brain. I'm distracted and I have no idea what to think again. Right now, I just dream of becoming the old me again, slap his ass when I win just to mock him, make him pout, drink like him, swear and get rid of that awful pain on my ribs.

"I just need another drink" I finally chose to answer. "Whiskey ?"

He nods in a frown and I leave toward the bar.

When I order a drink, this time, the bartender looks at me, and even if it's not the same place and the same man, I can't help but think it has something to do with how I look tonight.

"There sweetheart" he smiles and I shiver at the nickname I only heard from Dean's mouth. "Tell me... Those guys ?" he points his chin to Sam and Dean.

"What ?" I glower, completely forgetting the have-a-flirty-smile-all-the-fucking-time rule.

"You know… are you with one of them ?" he says with an actually kind corner smile.

"No" I state and his grin spread to his whole mouth.

He is cute, dimples on his soft face, dark caramel-colored skin, warm black eyes highlighted by thick black curled lashes. And the softness on his features finally make me give him back a smile.

"Good because I couldn't fight any of them" he chuckles with a hint of shyness.

I chortle lightly at how right he is without knowing it. I search his face; he seems sincere and kind, there is something calming about him, no violence, no pretention.

"Hi" a man appears behind me. "Can I buy you a drink ?"

I turn to him, confused, and see in the corner of my eyes that the bartender is looking down.

"No" I smile. "Thank you but I already have a drink."

The man sighs and leaves, muttering something that I probably would hate to hear ; and a few months ago I would have made him repeat.

"Daryll" the bartender says.

"Y/n" I state.

"Let me offer you this drink..." his charming dimples appear again. "It's rare enough to see a beautiful young woman ordering whiskey.”

For the first time in a very long time, I could actually picture myself spending a night with that guy and just this feeling is already amazing : It’s like I was free, my heart belongs to Dean but, if he doesn’t want me, maybe I could at least lend my body to a kind man. I look down at my glass and forget that he hits on me just because of the dress for an instant. Daryll is really cute and smiling to him is not an effort.

"Are they your brothers or something ?" he asks, putting his arms crossed on the counter.

"No..." I turn and catch Dean's eyes but look down. "Friends."

"Oh..." he says with a pained look. "One of them is an ex or a crush ?"

I give him a sad smile, not knowing what to answer.

"Okay... Maybe you want me to leave you alone" he sighs but I shake my head, taking a sip of alcohol to swallow the lump in my throat.

“No” I give him a reassuring smile. “It’s not new… Don’t worry.”

But his eyes leave mine to look behind me with a strange expression, something weirdly close to submission.

"Y/n" Dean's voice calls me from behind and I freeze. "Can I just... Talk to you ?"

I take a deep painful breath and turn slowly to see him, his sweltering charisma emanating of him, and just like that, my calming feeling of being able to see myself kiss -or more- Daryll fades. Dean eclipsing the entire world.

"Talk ?" I raise my eyebrows.

He just nods so I glance at the cute bartender.

"I... I'll be back" I say with no joy and he gives me a polite but disappointed smile.

Dean starts to walk and I follow, looking at his shoulders, afraid of the discussion coming. He doesn't stop anywhere in the bar and leads me outside. It’s still warm ; I look up to see the stars shining behind the feeble lamppost light.

“Y/n” he turns around to face me, his bow legs lightly spread like he needed to be hitched to the floor. “What is that ?”

I can’t read his body language.

“What is what ?” I mutter, ready for reproaches.

“You know every man here is trying to find a plan to bring you home…” he grunts.

“Well each time you go somewhere, it’s the same…”

He crosses he arms looking up while he takes a deep inhale. An overwhelming urge to cry strangles me and I decide to leave, opening my purse, I start looking at my phone to call a cab and walk toward the side of the bar.

Dean grabs my arm firmly.

“Where are you going ?” he asks, still pretty stern.

“I just want to go home, De…”

But I can’t finish my sentence because he pushes me against the wall, both hands making sure my shoulder touches the concrete. And before I can register any of what’s happening, his lips meet mine.

Taking a deep inhale by his nose, he crushes those plumb lips made of dream on mine and my body reacts in a thousand ways. Pure electricity roam my skin and muscles, my heart seems to grow twice his size and his beatings fasten so hard my own blood is making me high ; every erogenous part of my body takes fire and a hot slick drips between my thighs instantly.

I don’t move but Dean cups my face and kisses my mouth again, gently taking my upper lip between his. Parting my lips slightly, I feel his tongue graze me. I close my eyes and let him kiss me, he bends his head on the side a little and invades my mouth like he could only breathe through me.

I could stay like this my whole life, completely lost in the perfect feeling of his face so close, in the taste of him… But he’s eager and his hands leave my cheeks to rub my shoulders and down my arms. I didn’t know my body could feel so intensely…

A moan escapes me and his lips leave my mouth suddenly, letting it wet and swollen, open and burning. His nose grazes my ear, sending shivers run all over me, and he starts leaving open mouth kisses along my throat.

By the time his hands reach my waist, I’m shaking. His fingers are like conquerors, winning every battle, pushing boundaries. They go down my ass and squeeze it strongly, crushing me to his own waist.

This is happening.

My inner walls clench at this thought and my head falls back, only held by the concrete. He goes lower, catching the hem of my dress, slowly pulling it up, his nails scratching the back of my thighs. Another moan.

When my dress is just under my intimacy, he harshly grabs my legs and carries me easily, encouraging me to wrap them around his waist. I do.

He doesn’t take us far, just turning on the side of the bar, where the light of the lamppost doesn’t go, pushing me against the wall, his hips eagerly crushing his erection against me. His lips claim me again and, when they do, my body finally allows me to move.

I grab his neck and scratch the back of his head, rolling my hips against him. That craving I endure since I know him finally about to be satisfied. He groans in my mouth.

“Fuck…” he bites my lip, his hips joining the movement of mine, and through the rough fabric of my dress and his jean, his hard length press on my sensible clit.

“Anh!” I cry out, clinging to him. “Oh… God” I inhale, the girdle blocking my lungs in a pain my brain just registers as pleasure, because each of my cell is illuminated with it for now.

“Y/n…” he whines, his teeth teasing my pulse point.

My hands dare going lower, slipping inside his collar to feel the intoxicating move of his upper back muscles. The circle movements of my hips makes my dress slip higher and when my folds come into contact directly with his crotch, sweat breaks through my skin.

“Oh fuck…” I moan, my hips starting to shake.

His hands grab my ass to rub me more against him and I can notice his fingers searching my panties.

“No panties Y/n…” he states in a growl, bending to bite the part of my boobs accessible on my cleavage. “You’re soaking my jeans sweetheart.”

I nod and tug at his hair to dig my tongue between his perfect lips again. His hand falls between us and scrape my inner thigh, at the closeness of his fingers, my walls clench again, like it was trying to catch him. His fingers finally reach my folds and slip between.

“Dean !” I cry out. “Dean… Dean… God… Dean !”

My legs are spread wide to cling to him, so when his thumb find my clit, his middle finger encounter no trouble to reach my entrance, caressing it and pushing on it.

“Pleeease…” escapes my lips in a wail and he smiles in the kiss.

Torturing me, his finger keeps pushing on my entrance without really entering me and I have never felt so empty. I’m pathetically trying to come closer, but that’s impossible.

The tip of his middle finger finally pushes inside me and my pussy flutters. His free hand come up to grab my hair, I gasp but he doesn’t hurt me, he just tugs firmly but slowly at it to have access to my throat. He sucks a hickey on the side of it, and I let him mark me like I was his. I am, really.

His strong finger enters me in one go, making me choke in ecstasy. He doesn’t wait and slips another, grunting when he pushes deep.

I have dreamed of Dean since forever, I have pushed my own fingers inside of me thinking of him… But nothing could have prepared me for this. I’m soaking his hand, nothing ever made me that wet ; and when he crushes his hips on me in a low moan, making his digits go deeper, I can’t help but come.

I’m silent, my lungs crushed by their prison, my blood burning in my head and cleavage. Gasping for air, I feel my walls crush him and electricity shocks my whole body.

A deep growl vibrates inside him. He takes his hand off of me a little too fast and I hiss. His trembling hand attacks his belt but it's too slippery so he changes hand, putting the wet one on the wall behind me, and the other between us to free is aching cock.

When he pushes his clothes down a bit, I can’t help but look down, biting my lips. Here it is, what I crave inside of me all the time, precum nonchalantly dripping of it, red and swollen. Beautiful.

“Dean… Take me” I plead.

“Yes” he groans. “Yes…” he repeats for himself.

He lines his length with my entrance and I can’t help but moan and pant, still looking down to see his length disappear slowly inside me. When he pushes in, it’s harsh and faster than I had anticipated. A sharp pained pleasure makes me cry out loud.

The hand on the wall finds my mouth and crushes on it to silence me. In the deep inhale I take through my nose, I can smell myself.

He’s big. For a second my heart panics, like I couldn’t take him, but my walls flutter and while he doesn’t move, I have time to adjust to him.

“Are you okay ?” he pants in my ear, tickling me with his breath.

I nod despite his strong hand holding my face.

He doesn’t wait longer, withdrawing almost completely before he powerfully pushes in again, making my eyes roll in my skull. A loud scream is muffled by his large palm taking half my face.

“Fuck… Y/n… How can you be so…” but he doesn’t finish his sentence.

Grunting like a wild beast, he starts thrusting in me like he had waited for it as much as me. His powerful body carrying me like I weighted nothing. My ribs hurt but I don’t care at all because it can almost feel his cock between them. It’s like he was everywhere.

I love you, I think loud. Just because I’m used to say that when I think of him.

“Y/n…” he moans, and the hand on my face becomes so strong I think it could bruise my jaw.

I can feel his own pleasure, the sweat on his forehead, the shakes on his chest, the pleas in his groans, and the throbs of his cock deep inside of me. I grab his ass, slipping my hand inside his jeans to dig my nails in it, encouraging him to take me harder, even if I don’t know if I can take harder, simply because I never had it.

When his thrusts turn to hard beats of his hips, I scream in his hand and my toes curl in my shoes.

“Fuck ! F-Fuck ! Fff…” his voice is intoxicating.

Fireworks explode everywhere in my body and I’m quite sure this is an orgasm until the real thing strikes like a lightning.

My stomach contracts like I had a cramp and my thighs squeeze him stronger than I thought possible, my walls milk him and my head is spinning. I have never felt a pleasure so intense and tears soak my face.

“Oh G-G-GOD !” he cries out like he hadn’t anticipated the intensity of my orgasm at all.

He stills deep inside of me and empties himself in a wail, grabbing my jaw brutally and clumsily to crush his lips on mine. His hips start to thrust lazily after he had stilled totally and his behavior changes. He wipes my tears, gently kisses my cheeks and rubs my neck like he was trying to erase the marks his body roughly let on me.

My brain starts to register what’s happening and I look at him, amazed by his beauty and the feeling of him. I didn’t think it would be possible to love him more…

But, when I can’t help but smile to him, the look on his face hits me like a hundred punches in the guts.

He already fucking regrets.

No flirty smile. Not even a kiss.

Regret.

What was I thinking ?

After Heaven, it’s like I was thrown in Hell. I push on his lower stomach to make him withdraw, and he does, my feet reach the floor again. Not looking at me, he puts his now soft cock back in his pants, closing his belt in a disapproving shake of his head.

I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I can taste blood in my mouth. The world is spinning. His cum is dripping out of me, along my thighs and I look down to see it. Grabbing my purse on the floor, I take a tissue from it and wipe my thighs, an intense feeling of shame making me nauseous.

He watches me struggle with it and offers me to take the tissue to throw it away with a movement of his hand. I’m so stupidly in love with him, I have the paranoid feeling he just wants to take that back from me… I give him the tissue and he wipes his thumb when cum reaches his skin.

“Are you okay ?” he asks, like I could be.

I nod looking down, tugging at my dress to hide this body I now definitely hate.

“I didn’t hurt you sweetheart ?” he insists.

“No Dean…” I find my voice.

“Good” he states with that serious low voice of him.

“I want to go home” I say faking a casual tone.

“Sure” he nods. “Let me get Sam and your jacket…”

He gets closer and puts one of those usual friendly kisses on my temple.

I did it. I made Dean want me. But this victory just really doesn’t feel like one…

(To be continued...)

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***Feedback is Gold***

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ofcloudsandstars · 4 years

Note

Amber and orchard for the fall asks!

amber - share an unpopular opinion that you may have.

Hahaha this is like cracking open pandora’s box. I feel like I have too many.

I think my primary one though is I absolutely despise capitalism’s affect on witchcraft. I DO NOT think it’s made it more accessible for people, I feel like the only very minor positive thing is that you can now tell people you are a witch and into tarot cards and they won’t find you as weird anymore. Otherwise people don’t realize how capitalism is a force that actually strips culture of it’s meaning in order to sell it for profit and it’s affects on this practice has left a lot of damage not just to some aspects that are sacred but towards the earth since it’s a practice that works really closely with nature.

(added a read more to spare you poor scrolling souls from my rant lol)

Anyway what crapitalism does is it takes a culture and turns it into an easily consumable concept- almost like a brand, so that as long as you slap something ‘witchy’ seeming together then it qualifies as that brand. It boils everything down to an aesthetic. And no one has to actually believe in it anymore, or practice it or make any effort towards learning it or incorporating it into their lives. As long as they buy into the brand or embody the aesthetic then they count. Sometimes you can try to express that some traditions and materials and such do have meaning (I mean of course they do no one just sat around and made this shit up) people kind of have this nihilistic view that’s fed from this weird modern capitalist society that like: nothing truly has meaning anymore. But it’s like they are feeding this consumerist culture by repeating this mindset and gaslighting others when they appropriate magical practices or other cultures that are still very much alive and still tended to (often by indigenous people still being prosecuted) that are focused on working with the earth.

Then you see this ripple effect on places like instagram or the big mainstream like magazines and shit and do not get me wrong cause there are a lot of cool and creative people that practice this that are on there but there is so much cashing into this field now and oversaturation that comes with seedy and shady background stories that show creators being completely disingenuous because they really just want to make money. And then going back to my point that this practice works closely with nature, capitalism exploited the fact that we like working with certain herbs, woods, crystals etc and is overharvesting and mining and tainting the very tools that we want to work with, with greed, pollution, child slavery etc. And it’s irritating cause you can make your own tools and don’t have to import anything and you can tell everyone how bad some industries are but they don’t listen cause they are buying into capitalism’s lie that they can sell you anything at a price, even if it’s sacred. Then if you try to defend your point they tell you that this is the only way it can be accessible to everyone, but it’s NOT accessible to everyone, it strips it away from people that could be working with these tools for generations and protecting the climates that these guides and resources for the tools grow in. It also disempowers people in their craft to begin with because witchcraft is about finding that connection to your own power and magic and the bridge with the universe’s power and magic and when you venture down into this practice you will find tools and guides local to you and find ways to make your own magical tools but capitalism disempowers us by telling us that we are not legit until we can put a price tag on it. So people don’t believe in their ability to find the sacred in themselves or nature, they just keep consuming whatever herb bundle or tool capitalism spits at them because it’s the only way to feel legit in this culture.

And then since it’s seen more of a title or aesthetic and less of a way of life or set of ethics or practice, you have people interested in this spiritual or witchy community that don’t do any work or want to work on themselves that bring their shadow baggage into it. So you get racism seeping into it, homophobia, I also am so fucking confused how TRANSPHOBIA has made its way into here like transfolx are magical by just existing they are walking manifestations and works of alchemy like wtf; and like if you guys were friends with any queer people and hung out with them, they get the idea of magic, ritual and manifestation so well cause so much of their daily life already embodies some of that. But that’s a whole other topic. I vibed well with my queer friends on this and they were the only ones I could talk to about it before witchcraft became mainstream.

Then in general it’s seen as like radical if you tell people that are supposedly practicing witches that our energies should be focusing on restoring balance and we should put our energy towards healing nature or towards human rights (since humans are apart of nature) you will literally have witches being like: don’t tell me what to do!!! Like!! Gurl wtf lmaoo I don’t know how people claim to be empaths or into this but they don’t see that maybe if there was a so called “Great Awakening” to “Empower Ourselves” that’s probably what the fucking point was? Not to say that you need to spend every waking moment protesting (another contribution of capitalism- showing some kind of documented proof on social media that you stand for something instead of little daily actions embedded into your everyday life) but you can find ways to change your daily patterns to make space for the societal change that’s coming to bring in a more compassionate world and better community. But since we are so indoctrinated in this consumerist culture, so many people don’t know how to incorporate their values into their everyday lives anymore. It’s all about quantity and showing off on social media. And that negatively impacts witchcraft cause witchcraft is a daily practice you do little things for everyday that just gets embedded into your everyday life, but people get confused and think to be legit it’s something you gotta buy into or show off as proof with stylistic rituals and of course for many people that’s exhausting or financially inaccessible.

And for the sake of clarity cause the internet hates using critical thinking sometimes, of COURSE you can have a fun and flashy craft I’m not saying you can’t, but there is a massive imbalance here I am pointing out with how people are developing insecurities because they cannot attain this aesthetic overnight without dropping a shit ton of money. Yes witchcraft is very aesthetic-heavy but that’s because it’s a really creative practice that people pour their creativity and energy into and capitalism saw a way to put a price tag on it and now it’s confusing everyone else that’s mistaking this as something else to consume in exchange for money.

And then I hate that I feel often I cannot talk about this cause instead of people using their critical thinking braincells and realizing how bad capitalism is, they somehow turn this conversation into thinking that I just don’t like when a culture becomes mainstream cause not everyone should enjoy a culture or whatever and it’s like fucking hell of course I would LOVE more witches and to have more people into celebrating nature or finding their own magic and connecting to the universe and whatever, but capitalism isn’t helping at all. It’s separating us from it’s connection and the meaning behind it’s practice. (Also one day I dream of living in a witchy town or community so yeah, the more the merrier, but right now with capitalism, this method is not the way to get into this practice lol).

You really see the negative effects of capitalism marketing witchcraft because people now treat it as like this commodity they can jump into without finding a way to genuinely connect with it cause it’s all just a gimmick until the next zeitgeist. This either manifests in two ways where they think they can just buy a book or read some posts and not do any work on themselves or thinking on stuff like cultural appropriation so when they start experimenting they might bring harm to themselves by evoking spirits that do not want to work with them, or taking in some sacred herb or substance that can fuck them up leaving deep psychological damage or death- or they can harm others in a myriad of ways.

Then the other way it manifests are people feeling like witchcraft is suddenly inaccessible because you need money to practice it because capitalism put that veil over their eyes. It’s now another thing gatekept by money. So they try to reclaim it by being like: it’s just a title you can slap on yourself; but they give capitalism more power because that’s what capitalism was doing all along by stripping the meaning. Stripping it down to a concept that only matters as a label that evokes a brand or idea but not an actual practice. In a way it’s very counter culture to not buy into the aesthetic or put in effort anymore. Even if you want to put in effort you feel like you are not good enough cause you will never fit capitalism’s standards of quantity and money to spend to showcase it on the internet to feel legit. So people develop this no-effort approach to it. And ONCE AGAIN for clarity for the internet’s lack of critical thinking and jumping to conclusions I am NOT referring to anything like spoony witchcraft or energy based witchcraft (I am an energy witch primarily thank you very much) I am talking about people calling themselves witches but then when you want to sit down and chat about the craft they have a blank stare cause they were never serious and sometimes judge you for how much you cared about it cause they don’t really believe in it anyway. Not even cause it’s woowoo it’s cause capitalism doesn’t make you believe any anything anymore. The only thing it wants you to believe in is money and what you can consume with it.

And then when people online try to talk about this and point out it’s a practice these guys get angry with you like you are gatekeeping but it’s like BITCH it’s a FREE FUCKING PRACTICE like GO TALK TO A TREE go COLLECT A ROCK YOU FOUND IN THE CLEAR STREAM OF A BABBLING BROOK and maybe you’d CALM THE FUCK DOWN. Capitalism making it seem like you gotta buy all this shit to be seen as legit is not what this practice is about and it makes me upset how there is like this massive group of people that want to access this culture but are so lethargic about actually doing anything because they are disenchanted and it’s really because they are mentally bogged down by capitalism’s grip on it making them feel like they aren’t shit cause they can’t afford all that bullshit that ain’t gonna help them anyway so they just call themselves witches to get them 2 drops of serotonin and feel included but never really go anywhere beyond that cause capitalism strips the fucking joy and meaning out of everything. The only reason why this bothers me is cause I could be staying in my lane drinking my herbs and shit and chilling but then people either judge me for the effort I put into my practice’s aesthetics thinking I am shallow and buying into this or they think I am being reckless and dangerous believing in something not real by practicing a craft that tbh has a lot of dangerous aspects to it so it’s not rated E for everyone. Like you can fit it to what you want it to be since it’s your journey but it’s always been a bit edgy in some ways and it’s annoying when you get people judging you now for your lifestyle or they wonder why you are so invested cause they don’t get it.

Anyway that was a rant but you asked for it lol.

orchard - share one thing that you’d like to happen this autumn.

Get some more weed

Thanks for the asks lol. Kept the last one short haha but it’s true I have been trying to manifest for a while after my quarantine rations went out. Here are the autumnal asks if anyone else wants to ask or reblog them!

#capitalism

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quickspinner · 4 years

Text

On commenting and feedback

Hey friends...so something’s been bothering me a little and I want to talk about it for a sec. I want to be clear I’m not making this post to call out anyone in particular, this is an entire trend I’m seeing and I just...kind of want us all to take a breath for a second.

Every so often I feel like there’s a wave of posts that goes around about how important commenting and reblogging is to support writers. And that’s absolutely true. A fandom that doesn’t interact with its content creators dies a pretty pathetic death, it’s absolutely true.

But the tone of a lot of these posts have started to bother me, especially as I see newer writers pick them up, and I just want to put some things in perspective here, and leave some thoughts for both the writers, and the readers.

Readers, your comments are absolutely valued and extremely motivating for creators to receive. At the same time, there’s no contract that says writers are entitled to a certain level of feedback. It is not on you as a sole individual to reach an invisible standard of interaction that will cause them to create more. And if you’re sweating and freaking out and guilting yourself over commenting--then don’t. Find the level of interaction you’re comfortable with that, and accept it, and don’t feel guilty about it. If writing a comment for me causes you agony and robs whatever joy you took out of my story, then I don’t want it. I truly don’t. Just leave the kudos if you can. There’s lots of helpful advice out there on how to comment if you want to but aren’t sure what to say, and when in doubt, read the other comments and feel free to add “what they said!” or use them as a model for your own comment. But absolve yourself of the guilt. Do your best.

Writers. My friends. My colleagues. There’s nothing wrong with wanting validation and feedback. Yes, it is absolutely disheartening when you put a lot of effort into your work and you don’t receive the level of reaction you are hoping for. You put yourself on the line and you did something scary and you should be very, very proud of that. At the same time, no one chained you to the desk. No one forced you to pour out your soul. No one guaranteed you a certain number of comments of a guaranteed minimum length. Sometimes you throw out a line out there and nobody picks it up, and you feel sad and alone, but that’s not the fault of whoever was on the other side. You chose to put yourself out there, I hope because there was just something inside you that had to come out. And the best you can do is make that choice with your eyes open. Just like there are plenty of good published books in the world that never made the bestseller list for reasons completely unrelated to the effort put into them or the quality of their content, sometimes you publish something at the wrong time, or to the wrong audience, or in the wrong place, and it just doesn’t hit the way you want it to.

And I especially want the young writers and the new writers to hear this: you know what? This problem has always been there, and it’s never going to go away. I’ve been publishing fic off and on since I was 18 and the major form of feedback was leaving messages on a website’s guestbook. It’s always been a problem. As writers we’re hungry for feedback. We want to know someone is on the other end. The supply is never going to equal our demand. Regardless of whether or not that is fair or the way things should be, that’s the way things are. You’ve got to find a way to be at peace with that, or you’re going to be frustrated and discouraged forever. It will get better as you grow in your craft and grow your audience - and as it does, it will take more and more to satisfy you. So just, take a minute before you lash out because you feel your effort isn’t as reciprocated as you feel it should be. I’m all for spreading awareness of how much writers crave feedback and what a boost it is for us to receive it, but we don’t have to throw a temper tantrum to do that.

I encourage you to think about your piece a little bit before you publish it and calibrate your expectations. Every piece has it audience and some of them are going to be smaller than others. Sometimes that is not “fair;” by which I mean, an audience’s response is not necessarily proportional to the amount of time, effort, and emotion put into a work. As of the time I wrote this, my silly little piece that I wrote for fun in an afternoon has literally three times the number of notes as the fic I have put the most heart and work into, despite the one being extremely short and the other being multiple chapters. I’m not particularly bothered by that, it was entirely predictable (although sometimes it’s not; sometimes audience is very, very unpredictable). Things that are funny or sexy are almost always going to get more attention than things that are deep and angsty, things that are short are frequently going to get a bigger audience than things that are long. Just consider your expectations.

It also takes time to build an audience. I recently reblogged a post of mine from early last year when I was newly returned to tumblr that had 9 total notes and it quickly shot up into the 70s. Same fic, not a word different, it’s just that over the last year I’ve built a bigger audience. So consider that, as well. As you’re trying to build that audience, do you really want your brand to be ‘that author who’s always complaining about people commenting’? There are some things in life where you have to get angry to effect change. I don’t feel that fic feedback is one of them.

“But how am I going to improve?” My friends. Expecting to improve your writing from internet comments on your work is like fishing with a deep sea trawler. You might get some good stuff but you’re going to dredge up a lot of trash in the meantime, and it’s probably not worth your effort and the toll on your confidence to wade through it. Find yourself a group of people, either in real life or online, who you trust to give meaningful feedback. Sometimes that’s super easy, and sometimes it’s not. But it’s completely worth it to find people who both challenge and encourage you, and it’s a lot less discouraging than inviting internet trolls to beat you over the head. Be specific, too, in asking for the type of feedback you want. I myself am extremely sensitive to criticism, so I choose to ask for it only in very limited ways, from very specific people. To continue the previous metaphor, use a fishing pole in the right type of water with appropriate bait, to make sure you’re getting the kind of feedback you want.

But you want to know a secret?

It’s okay to not care about improving. It’s okay to just enjoy what you’re doing. So if you want to improve, by all means try. But if you just think you should want to improve, when in reality you just want to write a fun story, that’s totally okay too. Sometimes you have to give yourself permission to not necessarily be the best that you can be. Let yourself write the fun silly crack once in a while; not everything has to be a V. Serious Undertaking.

I’ve rambled on long enough, so let me just conclude with this: It’s okay to want validation. It’s okay to encourage people to comment, to tell them how much their comments and reblogs mean to you, to ask them to leave you feedback whenever they can, and give helpful tips about ‘how to comment if you’re not sure to comment.’ It’s not about the request, it’s about the tone. It’s not okay to browbeat people, accuse them of killing fandom, to tell them that they’re the reason that you aren’t writing more/anymore, because that’s patently untrue. You are responsible for your own creative process, and if it can’t thrive without constant reassurance, then that’s not an audience problem, my friend. That’s a disease that’s terminal for your writing.

And finally, remember to support your fellow writers and creators. Nobody gets it the way fellow creators get it, and if we can’t depend on each other for support, we’re certainly not going to get it outside our own community. If you do feel compelled to reblog one of those rants on commenting, I hope you paused before you did it to go leave comments yourself. Creating content doesn’t give you a magical exemption from supporting others. None of us can hold up the fandoms and float our ships all by ourselves. Do as much as you can to support your fellow creators, and if you can’t, then that’s okay. Just extend the same grace and courtesy to your own readers, okay?

#quickrambles #unpopular opinion maybe #on writing #on feedback #readers thank you for your support

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jade-green-butterfly · 2 years

Text

Today...is a very special and important day for me, folks~💝 =UwU= Two years ago, a certain special troll became the highlight of my 2020 during rough times and immediately won my heart from the moment I knew he would have his own destiny and journey to find others like him...and his family. Since the first Trolls movie, I have always admired dearly him from afar and the moment I saw him during the Trolls World Tour trailer, my heart literally poured out him and I have truly loved him for just being his wonderful, lovable self ever since~💘 ;//v//; And that certain special troll, is none other than Cooper~💗✨🌈

I have always been a big fan of him and he’s always been my favourite troll to begin with but every time I see him and hear him, my heart always beats so much for him, making it aflutter and words cannot describe how special he is to me...how he means the whole world to me~💞 🌈 💗 🌈 💞 I mean...can you blame me? >//w//`< How could I resist and say no to such an adorable face to go with such a darling like him?? 💖 💖 💖 Cooper is more than just the goofball that we all know and love...he’s my goofball and so much more...the most amazing troll with such talent, a unique voice and a dazzling yet loving royal family to go with him...Cooper is also the prince of my heart, who deserves all the love and happiness in the world...and I feel so blessed to be the one to give it all to him, along with my heart~😍 💝 💝 😍 April 24th 2020 was the day I drew Cooper for the very first time, and when I started shipping myself with him. And together, him and I have remained strong and inseparable ever since! 💕 n//v//n We’ve had such happy memories together - becoming part of his world and family, sharing one another’s lives and music, even officially marrying and creating our own dear little life together~✨ 💗 💚 💗 And I wish to keep on loving Cooper forevermore~💓 Which is why I dedicate this very special piece above (with a textless version too) to us, inspired by my gorgeous commission of us both humanized with our sweet son, Toby done by the lovely @blooeyedtroll, who I deeply and gratefully thank for helping bring my beloved OTP to life, along with @gloryraiin, @x-elyssa-x, @groovinyeen, @queenabstract, @the-bisexual-small-potato, @angoraram, @nanite-city, @umbrellascribbles, @iamallybee, @happyplaces and many more for all the beautiful commissions and gift art you have given me over the past two years, and for putting all your fantastic work and effort, and heart and soul into every single one which I absolutely love to this very day~💞 🌟 💙 💜 💚 *mega-cuddles* I can’t thank you all and the rest of the Trolls Fandom enough for how amazing and welcoming you’ve all been to me when I first jumped onto the bandwagon, and I am so happy I did too! 💖 =^.^= Thank-you all so much for everything, including all the dear friends I’ve made and all the loving supporters I have gained - bless you all and don’t stop being awesome~! ✌✨💕 And finally, thank-you ever so much for everything, Cooper...my cupcake king and sweet jellybean~💘👑 For always being there for me, making me feel such love and happiness I never could imagine~💝 🌈 😍 I am truly blessed and the luckiest lass alive to such a wonderful darling like you in my life and by my side~💗 😇 U///w///U

🎊💗♓💚♎💗🎉~Happy 2nd Anniversary, Cooper...my beloved prince, my one & only...I love you so much with all my heart, more than life itself...and I will keep on loving you so, forevermore and beyond~🎉💗♓💚♎💗🎊

*~Reblogs are also deeply appreciated as well, so please do reblog as well as like! Thank-you kindly!~*

Cooper (c) Trolls/Trolls World Tour/DreamWorks Animation

Trollsona Jussy/Justina Butterfly/Princess Jussy & Cooper’s Prince Design (c) @jade-green-butterfly (Me~!)

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hopelessromanticspoonie · 4 years

Text

Helping Hands - Chapter 9

series masterlist here chapter summary: We learn of Tony's condition after the mission, and Haley makes a few deals. chapter warnings: Mention of injury and behavior indicative of abuse a/n: Thank y’all for sticking around! And extra thanks for @yespolkadotkitty for Betaing this chapter and making it so much better than it was!

It’s one of the most difficult feelings in the world to watch someone you care for in pain.

But, for Haley, it’s something else entirely to watch them suffer and know that she can end it, but has been forbidden to.

Without a snarky comment to pull his lips into his signature smirk or his eyes twinkling with ideas buzzing around in the billionaire’s brilliant brain, Tony looked small. Unimportant. Just a man with grey hairs peppering his goatee and deep, dark bags beneath his eyes. Wires disappearing beneath the blankets on his chest beeped out his restful state, timed to her foot tapping anxiously against the tiled floor.

“It’s just some bruising and a concussion. He’ll be okay, Hales,” Nat assured her from her place next to Tony’s head.

A plate appeared in front of her, a sandwich and fruit artfully arranged upon it, and she set it on her lap mechanically. Steady, large hands settled on her shoulders and she reclined back in the chair until her head rested against Loki’s sternum.

Quietly, she murmured, “He’d heal faster if I-”

“Absolutely not. You promised Stark, did you not?”

Any answer would just affirm his statement, and the guilt churning in Haley’s stomach was too heavy for her to answer him. If only she hadn’t promised, then she could be handling a rapidly healing concussion and Stark would be chewing her out right now. But her word was all that she had in this world, aside from her abilities, and she wasn’t going to face losing the trust of the only souls she had to call her own.

Which meant she sat there at his bedside, picking at her sandwich under Loki’s watchful gaze, as Avengers filtered in and out to check on their fallen leader.

“Absolutely not.”

Were those the only two words in his vastly overinflated vocabulary? Haley stood up and crossed her arms over her chest, facing Loki across from Tony’s bed. “I’ll stay on the jet. For real. You can make me a suit like Tony’s so that I’m protected.”

“You won’t need it if you don’t leave the Quinjet, Little Mouse.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “You expect her to listen, Tony?”

Loki’s hands flexed at his sides and he shook his head with a look of fierce determination that stabbed into her stomach and ripped her heart out from inside her ribcage. “Out of the question. I won’t allow it.”

She unfurled her fists from her hoodie to count out her attributes on her shaky fingers. “I need to start earning my keep around here. I heal faster than all of you combined, even with super serum. Nat would’ve died if I hadn’t have helped-”

“And if I would have allowed you to continue, you would have foolishly died instead!” Loki’s rage filled the small room, forcing Haley to flinch back in shock and clench her eyes shut as she waited for the blow that was sure to follow such fury.

It was Steve’s calm, level voice that lured her to open her eyes again. “Our lives are not worth yours.”

“And I’m not saying they are! But I can get you all healed to a point where you’ll make it to medical assistance, like I did with her. That’s all.” Her large eyes darted around the room, searching for an agreeing face amongst the thin frowns and furrowed brows. Everything in Haley wanted to stand down, shrink into a corner and hope for the confrontation to just blow over, but this was too important. “Please. I can’t stand by and watch the closest thing to family that I’ve had leave, not knowing who’s going to come back.”

The silence is interrupted only by the beeps of Tony’s heart monitor that grate on Haley’s frazzled nerves. She could’ve fixed it. She could fix them. Just given the chance. Please, please, give me the chance.

“Only when necessary,” Tony finally spoke up, revealing the train of thought he’d been chasing since the conversation had begun. “You don’t get yourself killed saving us. If it’s our time, it’s our time. No dragging on like the last season of Friends - no one wanted that. You got me?”

Loki growled, a feral sound that chilled her bones, and stormed out of the room.

That’s my decision to make. She nodded, squashing any look of triumph from her features, and stared back at his somber face. “I got you.”

Sleep wasn’t happening tonight.

That was made abundantly clear after hours of tossing and turning. Loki had avoided her for the rest of the evening, and the cold shoulder from someone who typically offered such warmth nagged at the back of her mind.

Would doing this, joining the Avengers, crush whatever they’d begun to build together into choking dust that couldn’t be salvaged?

Groaning, Haley sat up in bed and rubbed the heels of her hands over her weary eyes. “FRIDAY, what time is it?”

“It’s 2:17 AM.”

Highly unlikely that Loki was still awake at this hour, unlikelier still that he was out of his room. But still, she had to try.

After shoving some socks onto her bare feet and her hoodie over her tank top, she quietly slipped out of her room, creeping down the hallway as quickly as possible so as to not wake the Avengers who managed to find some rest. Many, she knew, were plagued with nightmares. It seemed to come with the territory. They couldn’t save everybody, and when they could, it sometimes meant making choices that haunted the shadows of their darkened rooms.

But Loki’s didn’t seem to be bothering him. Not tonight. At least not in the sprawling living area. She forced herself to ignore any - hopefully premature - disappointment and went to the kitchen, hoping to find his tall and dark figure gleefully arranging a plate of sweets for them to share. But it was empty, too.

Might as well make the trip worthwhile. Why pass up the opportunity to indulge in delicious treats? Tilting her head back and forth thoughtfully, she bit into a brownie that Pepper had brought in for the team - a thank you for getting Tony out safe and sound. Would she ever get used to the sweet explosion of bliss over her tongue? Sighing, her shoulders slumped and she set a cup of milk into the microwave and got it going. Hot cocoa sounded nice right now.

Well, that was until she accidentally tipped the almost boiling milk onto her hand, pulling a curse from low in her throat. “Fuck.”

“Let me see.”

Haley didn’t turn at the insistent, silken voice, watching the shadow of Loki’s head darken her reddened skin just before she felt the heat of him at her back. Long arms, encased in a gray hoodie that matched her own, slid into her vision so his hands could carefully cradle her injured hand. Any angry, stinging pain that had annoyed her more than anything was lost to the scent of him, cinnamon and mint and perfumed smoke, washing over her senses in a soothing embrace.

It took a few deep inhales to find her voice again. “It’ll be okay. Healing is kind of my thing.”

Strong hands dropped to press into the countertop on either side of her, white knuckles revealing the slightest bit of effort it took to make the marble begin to crack in protest. Or perhaps that effort was made in order to not ruin the cool surface.

His voice was tight when he muttered, “That it is.”

Thankful for once for her slight build, she turned in the cage of his body, facing him. He was entirely too close, entirely too handsome with his tumble of midnight hair over his shoulders and searching emerald eyes inches away. Her heart raced against her ribcage that flexed with each rapid breath, and greedy fingers splayed over his chest to find that his did just the same. The flick of her tongue over her lips drew his focus downward, and her stomach clenched at the sudden darkness of his steady gaze.

One tries. Two. She cleared her throat and tried once more for what little courage she had. “I need to do this, Loki.”

Steel arms wrapped around her to pull her into his chest. His voice rumbled through his throat and against her forehead when he replied, “I know.”

“Help me?”

Molten comfort flowed out from the press of his mouth over her temple. “Promise me one thing?”

That tone of his voice, pleading, broken and vulnerable beneath the demand, crawled into her soul and commanded it to listen as he placed his hopes at her feet. “What?”

Large, needy hands skated up her back to curl around her neck so his thumbs could press underneath the edge of her jaw and hold her attention to his heartbreakingly earnest expression. “If the situation comes between your life and theirs, or mine,” he swallowed with the barest twitch of his chiseled cheek, “you save yourself. Promise me.”

There wasn’t any way to deny him. Not when he looked as if her answer held the very key to his next bated breath. “Okay.”

Rewarded with a soft brush of his lips over hers, a sigh of relief laced with chocolate flooded the space between them. She’d promise him anything if it meant she could bask in the sweet mint of his breath that raised goosebumps over her neck when he pulled away to study her reaction to the flick of his silver tongue against the seam of her mouth.

Eager to explore the newfound sensation, to lose herself in Loki’s strength and passion, she tilted her chin up slightly in a silent offering of more. Even if she didn’t know what that was, she wanted it. Wanted him.

Desperation lined his lips, held her between the long line of his body and the rigid countertop behind her as he kissed her again, pouring every bit of vulnerability he was unable to verbally express into the card of his fingers through her short, unruly hair. She melted into his heat, clinging to broad shoulders and following the mold of his mouth to teach her how to ease the ache of their anxieties. She learned the flex of his thigh in between her legs, and when the intensity that clenched her stomach sank lower and became unfamiliar and too much, he stopped.

Searing need turned to calming, chaste affection, kissed over flushed cheeks and above dark lashes until he leaned his cheek against the crown of her head while they both caught their breath.

Emboldened by the pulse in her swollen lips, she whispered the beginning of her own demand, “Loki?”

“Hmm?” His voice was rough, low and deep, and she liked it. One day, she’d discover why it sent an electric shiver down her spine.

Her forehead scrunched against the column of his neck. “No more silent treatments, okay? Talk to me.”

He stiffened almost imperceptibly against her, remaining rigid despite the steady draw of her hands up and down his back. “What you ask of me is not so easy, Little One.”

“I didn’t say it was. But shutting me out isn’t going to make the decisions you disagree with any easier to handle. Talk to me, okay?”

One of his hands glided down so his thumb could rub over the curve of her shoulder, and his heavy sigh ruffled her hair. “I will try.”

And both of them knew that was as good as they were going to get.

~~~

Series taglist: @kneel-before-queen-loki @alexakeyloveloki @from-hel-i-with-love @cleocc @cateyes315 @coldbookworm @rjohnson1280 @bambi-butt @skiddleskaddle @lokis-high-priestess @myraiswack @ilovetardis @midgardian-mistress @lisaspageofstuff @kathrynwynterbourne @bluestaratsunrise

Little Bit of Loki taglist: @myownviperroom @darealbellabelleoftheball @boubouinscarlet @iamverity @rt8815 @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @ms-cellanies @rosierossette @thathedonistgirl @lokixme @hellethil @myraiswack @birdgirl90 @cateyes315

Whole Shebang taglist: @just-the-hiddles @yespolkadotkitty @vodka-and-some-sass @he-is-chaotic-she-is-psychotic @nonsensicalobsessions @myoxisbroken @brokenthelovely @polireader @wiczer @littleredstarfish @the-broken-angel-13 @arch-venus25 @xxloki81xx @jessiejunebug @tinchentitri @sllooney @devilbat @vikkleinpaul @bouquet-o-undercaffeinated-roses @angelus80 @wolfsmom1 @kthemarsian @toozmanykids @princerowanwhitethorngalathynius @sabine-leo @peterman-spideyparker @wegingerangelica @bluefrenchfries604 @catsladen @snoopy3000 @silverswordthekilljoy @villainousshakespeare @kitkatd7 @nonbinarylowkey @lots-of-loki @is-it-madness @kangaroobunny

#loki #loki fanfic #loki x ofc #fluff #slight angst #marvel fanfiction #loki fanfiction #hopeless writes #helping hands

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secondhand-trash · 4 years

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Harvest Moon: Plus Ultra!- A New Beginning

A/N: finally starting this series for real and I’m so pumped!!

Description: When you found yourself barely able to breathe amidst the mundane routine that you were stuck in, a letter from your grandparent’s semed to be the answer to your call for change. As you left everything you knew behind, it was time for a new beginning in a faraway town.

Word count: 2169

Tag list (dm to be added to the general tag list or to be tagged in a certain character’s arc):

@redbeanteax @mrsreina @blu-that-one-nerd @lady-bakuhoe @sparkncharge @todobunhon

(back to the home screen of Harvest Moon: Plus Ultra!)

Dear (y/n):

Hello, we hope that you are doing well!

It has been a while since you last visited the ranch and many things had happened. Don’t worry, the large fields at the front of the house that you used to love running through is still here and Henry the chicken is still well and alive. All the animals are doing great in face and the crops are growing as nicely as ever.

Everything is going fine but we are growing old and we feel like it is harder and harder for us to carry on with the chores of running the farm as each day goes by. A month after we write this letter to you, we would be retired from all the work and set off on a trip across the world to all the places we have wanted to visit but never had the time to.

It was a tough decision but after thinking of the many possibilities together, we decided that this is for the best. The only thing left for us to handle is the future of the ranch. We thought about selling it but after spending so much effort and such a long time on these grounds, it pains us to think that this place that is so tied in to many of our wonderful memories would be gone.

While being on the phone with your mom, she told us that you were starting to feel tried of your life in the city and the stress is starting to weight on you. Although we get that this is a huge decision, but how would you feel about taking over the ranch after we retire? You used to like being around the farm so much and even though running it on your own might be tough work, we feel like the farm would be safe in your hands. We know that this is a lot to ask of you, but we support whatever decision you make and we hope to hear from you soon.

Take care of yourself, a healthy body is the greatest asset you will ever have. Don’t forget to go to bed early and drink enough water!

Love,

Grandma and grandpa

Folding the letter in half along the neat edges that you had opened and folded back together for countless times, you put it back into your bag and sighed. You had been on the bus for what felt like an entire lifetime but you were still nowhere near your destination. There was nothing to see when you looked out of the window, just endless trees and greenery that didn’t seem to have a stop to it. The car went smoothly ahead on the road, with occasional bumps and turns as you got further and further away from the city.

The city. It had yet to settle in your mind completely that you were actually leaving that place. Not a vacation, not a trip that you had to go back from. You were leaving, and there was no turning back. You could still see the concrete walls and the busy streets at the start of the ride, but the plain view of nothing but green from where you were now was a huge contrast for what you were still living amongst merely hours ago.

The city was bustling and filled with adventures around every corner but in all honesty, you were tired of it. Your apartment was a box and the cubicle you spent most of your time in was no better. Always going from one place to another, with no purpose but to make ends meet. You wouldn’t not die without your job but you did not want it either. You were not alive but you simply weren’t dead either. It was boring, and the last bit of passion inside of you kept screaming at you to break out of the cycle that you were trapped in but you simply did not know how.

That was when the letter came and it was like seeing a ray of light shining through the windows of your 80 sqm apartment. Your initial reaction when you held the envelope in your hand was to just stand there in shock. You could not believe that your grandparents were finally retiring. From what you remembered, it was like they had more energy and liveliness than everyone of your family who were way younger than them. It was a true call from reality to think that they were getting old too. You also thought of the ranch that they pour their heart and soul into managing. You remembered how you used to beg them to let you help with the work around the farm whenever you visited them as a child.

It had been way too long since you had been around the fields. You still remembered the feeling of being covered in sweat and dirt but still got back to the house with nothing but satisfaction in your chest. The smell of grass in the morning as you rode on the back of a horse and the things you had learnt through taking care of all the animals still fresh in your head.

That was how you took probably the biggest risk in your life and say yes to their offer. Now you were on the bus to Yuuei Town, days after you quitted your job and headed for a new start in somewhere you had never been to since you were still in middle school.

It was horrifying to think of to say the least. But you had made your decision and there was no turning back. This was your one chance of getting a whole new life and you would be damned if you didn’t take it. Many things could happen, and a lot of them were far from being good, but you were excited for your new beginning.

The sudden break of the car let out a sharp squeak from the tires and your body fell forward as it hit a stop. You looked out to see that you were no longer surrounded by trees but under the open sky, the tiny sign of the bus stop being the only thing man-made you had seen in a while.

“Yuuei Town”

Quickly getting your many luggage and your bags, you got off the bus and took a deep breath. Cold air filled your lungs and you felt alive once again. It had been too long since you had last gone anywhere remotely rural, even the air felt different. You did not quite remember which way was the correct one to your grandparent’s- well, perhaps you should call it your ranch from now on but you still tried your best to go on the right road with the little instruction that you were given.

You weren’t sure if they had renovated the roads or your childhood memories had betrayed you, but it took way longer than what you expected and a lot of going back after realising that you made the wrong turn for you to finally get to where you were supposed to be.

It brought you a sense of comfort to see that the ranch was still the same as what you remembered it as. The farmhouse was in a distance with the fields being in front and the barns for the animals were at the back. It had been a while to say the least, but as you walked past the wooden fences it was like going home after a long journey away.

The door to the farmhouse was unlocked and with a light push, you poked your head inside. Your grandparents had already left for their first destination by the time you arrived, as seen by how all the furniture were covered by a white plastic cover. Sliding a finger along the window frame, you scrunched your face together when you saw just how much dust was covering everything. It would take a long while for you to clean everything up, you sighed as you put your luggage down onto the floor.

You didn’t even know where to start with all that. Feeling absolutely clueless as you faced the lifeless house, the anxiety you had regarding this decision was starting to appear once more. You were on your own now, with no one to help you and no one to go to if you come across any trouble. It would take you days just to get everything settled down and not to mention getting the hang on how to actually get everything running...

You were scared, and you wondered if you really made the right decision.

It was as if the universe wanted to tell you to stop worrying when you heard a knock at the door. Opening the door, you were face-to-face, actually no he was nowhere near being your eye level, with a white mouse in full business attire. He(?) had a soft smile on his face and behind him was a man with stacks of files on his hands and a pair of rectangular glasses sat neatly on the bridge of his nose alongside with a girl who was very, very pink from head to bottom.

“Hello! You must be the new owner of the ranch, your grandparents told me about you before they left and I decided to come welcome you.” The mouse reached his hand out, “I’m Nezu, the mayor of this town. I will be in the Town’s office if you need anything.”

Shaking Mayor Nezu’s extended hand, you did not have much time to process the fact that the town’s mayor was a mouse before he continued. “This is Iida kun who is the secretary of the office,” the man behind him bowed and you did the same in response in absolutely panick at how formal he was, “and this is Ahisdo san who runs the stable in town.”

The girl grabbed your hand and beamed, “Nice to meet you but Ashido is too formal, you can call me Mina!”

“Ashido san! You are going to intimate them!”

You managed a chuckle at the exchange between the two people. Mayor Nezu cleared his throat to stop them from rambling and he continued. “I’m sure that there’s a lot you have to do to settle down. Yuuei Town is not very big but you can get everything you need in the town square. Please do get to know everyone around when you have time, everyone is very friendly and I’m sure they look forward to meeting you! I brought Iida kun and Ashido san here with me today so they can help you with some basics on how to get around the farm and other things you should know...”

They taught gave you all the information you needed about the town and tips on how to run the farm. It was a lot to take it and your mind was so close to wandering away only to be pulled back at the last second on several occasions. After what seemed like hours of talk with phrases that you had barely heard of before, countless bickering between Iida and Mina, and several moments where you wonder if mice can kill when you sensed the rising danger in Nezu’s tiny eyes as the two argued, they finally left but not without telling you that you were always welcomed to go to them for help if you need anything. Mina also very eagerly offered to take you to the best (and only) restaurant for lunch next week as Iida yelled at her to keep up.

Like that, they were gone and you were alone once more. It was weird to hear just how silent the house was when seconds ago it was filled with people talking. You definitely felt better when they were around but now that it was just you, you were starting to feel lost once again.

This would not do, you had to start somewhere. Your searching eyes landed on the same window frame you touched when you first entered the room. This place could use some ventilation. Taking a deep breath as if you had decided something, you pushed the windows open.

The evening breeze hit your face and you looked out to see that the sun was setting. Everything you saw was under the lovely golden hue of the descending sun. Leaning onto the wooden frame, the last bit of warmth landed on your face, creating a perfect balance with the soft wind. The grass moved along with the movement of the wind and its ruzzling passed into your ear.

From some reason, for no good reason at all, the sight in front of you gave you the sudden relieve that everything would be okay.

Everything would turn out to be okay.

Leaning back, you turned around to look at the mess that was your new home and rolled your sleeves up for first of the many days of hard work ahead.

#bnha imagines #bnha imagine #bnha x reader #mha imagines #mha imagine #mha x reader #harvest moon au

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faelune-home · 4 years

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FFXIV Write 2020 #15: Ache

(A/N: I say on my last prompt post that I inadvertently have a theme going in my pieces, and this prompt just enables me to keep working with it lol XD

Not every prompt is gonna lean into it, but most of them have halfway into the month now. The only thing I would say is unfortunate it that I’ve said my miqo WoL is a cheery positive character but most of these being focused on loss or sad things has presented her as more weepy or frustrated :’’D I’ll need to balance these out with cheery miqo!Fu fics after the month lol

Well loss and sad feels are the thing right now, so let’s look at heartache! Aka, I’ve written myself into the corner that is no WoLShipping cos my WoL is more focused on her duty and the pitfalls that mean relationships would be a lot harder when you have so many responsibilities :’) All WoLships are anchored for miqo!Fufu. If I ever want to do shippy stuff, I’ll have to AU it off my WoL timeline rip

Mostly smaller spoilers to the end of Heavensward, 3.3/.4 era, but the actual timeline placement of this one, I’m actually not sure, it could just happen after 3.4, but I could have it happening in 4.1 or 5.3 when the game also has story downtime.

Word count: 1953

@ffxiv-writers)

The low attendance in the Rising Stones made for a quiet atmosphere. One could hear a pin drop, or a door creaking open, as happened to the returning Fufu, dressed in a short ruffled dress gifted to her by the Scion’s own receptionist earlier that day. She only hoped to sneak in and hurry to her room, avoid any chatter. But her luck was against her, as a waiting Alisaie and Tataru jumped to attention at her arrival.

“Well, you’re home earlier than expected,” the lalafell giggled, “No-one here would’ve questioned if you’d enjoyed a longer dinner with Ser Aymeric.” The miqo’te flushed, averting her eyes from the grinning girls.

“There was no need to go any longer, it was just dinner,” she said.

“Just dinner,” Tataru scoffed, shaking her head. “Someone as hopelessly smitten as you just shrugged it off as dinner when he’d get to his knees for your any request?” Ignoring Fufu’s cry of umbrage at the suggestion, which itself drew a laugh from the younger girl in the room, Tataru jumped from her chair and declared, “You two wait right here. I will be back with tea and we are discussing the evening events.”

As she marched off for the Stones’ kitchen, Fufu just sagged, grumbling, “But there were no events.”

“She’s not going to take that as an excuse you know,” Alisaie smiled, “And even if you went off to your room, she’d just drag you back here or insist on having the conversation there instead.” The woman sighed, knowing the elezen’s word to be true. Resigned to the badgering to come, Fufu took her seat at the table beside Alisaie and placed her head on the surface, earning a sorry pat on her shoulder.

“I have to confess, I don’t see why it was only dinner,” the red mage hummed, eyebrow arched and a cheeky smirk spreading on her lips, “I did promise profusely not to go off and get shot with another poison tipped arrow to spoil this one like I did the last. With extra reassurances to my brother of course.”

Fufu pouted, but didn’t protest, which allowed Alisaie to continue, “Not to mention all the small tasks and missions were handed to every other soul here, leaving you a free bird for the day. Therefore, you had all the time in the world to engage the man in any affairs. More than just ‘dinner’, if you get me.”

Giving the girl a side eye, the miqo’te mumbled into the table, “Where did you learn about anything like that?” Alisaie simply smiled and leaned back in her chair, content to not answer.

To her credit, Tataru returned at this point, holding a tea tray. As she began setting up their cups on saucers and sliding a plate of bite sized biscuits into the middle, the lalafell said, “Y’know, as well as making sure everything here was all cleared up, we called ahead to make sure he wasn’t busy. Bless the Twelve for Lucia helping to negotiate his work in his stead.”

“I’d say you all have too much time on your hands if you’re this invested in playing matchmaker. You’re taking precious focus away from Ishgard’s workings and the rest of Eorzea,” Fufu monotoned. Alisaie rolled her eyes and countered, “That you say your part is to care for all of Eorzea vs his own single focus on Ishgard betrays that you are far too overworked and you deserved a break.”

The miqo’te frowned, idly running her fingertip around the rim of her freshly poured cup of tea. Tataru finally sat herself down, saucer in hand and declared, “There! We’re all set. Now tell us what happened?”

Fufu took a sip. “We had dinner. Went for a walk around the Hoplon-”

“Oh, that would’ve been nice,” Alisaie interrupted, taking a biscuit and ignoring the sharp look Tataru shot her way.

“...And then I left.”

Tataru coughed on her tea, hissing back a curse at the heat. “Wait, that’s it?” Even Alisaie tilted her head, confused.

A nod. “Yup. Dinner, a walk, then home. I told you nothing much happened.”

“W-well, what did you talk about? Surely you didn’t eat in silence,” the shorter woman stumbled, bewilderment writ upon her face.

Fufu shrugged. “Yeah, we talked. He said Ishgard was adapting well, though a few old guard types were still being stubborn about the change in policies, and the dragons coming and going into the Firmament. He was happy with how that’s been going, and pretty surprised when I said I was helping out there. I figured Francel might’ve brought it up.”

“And as nice as that is to hear, truly, I don’t think that’s what Tataru is looking for,” the girl said, seeing the quivering pout on the frustrated woman’s face.

“You’re absolutely right. Where is the romance? The sweeping declarations of courtship and love? You have had wider mooneyes than any miqo’te for this man since day 1 and now you tell me you had the best opportunity to be forthright and honest with him and you didn’t take it?” Tataru jumped to her feet onto the chair, hands slamming down on the table, making the tea shake. “And as I said before, he is just as obviously infatuated with you right back. Even if you somehow bit your tongue, surely he must’ve said something.”

Fufu carefully regarded the other woman, taking another sip. “I think you’ve been indulging in too much local gossip.” As Tataru near comically brought her head down against the surface, Alisaie frowned and stared intently at the keeper, eyes narrowed.

“You are being awfully cagey about this. Normally you’re much more full of life, or at least trying to be cheery even in a bad situation.” The Warrior noticeably avoided looking at the girl. Finally deciding to put her foot down and see to her friend’s uncharacteristic behaviour, Alisaie put her cup on the saucer, pushed it far away and asked, “What happened?”

An ear flicked. “I already said.”

“And you’re clearly leaving something out. Did he say no? Or did someone else say something? I know you’re not usually the type to let other people’s words bother you, but if it got to you this time--”

“Nope. Nothing like that,” Fufu clipped back, reaching to take another sip of her tea only for Tataru to grab hold of her arm, stopping her.

“Even if people did talk, it’d be more good than bad. At least the good would outweigh the awful, people would be delighted. Imagine the buzz across the lands; ‘The Warrior of Light and Ishgard’s own Lord Commander enamoured toge-’”

The cup slammed to the table, tea sloshed out onto the wood as the woman snapped, “And that’s the problem!”

Both girls jumped back at the outburst. Fufu lowered her head to her hands, letting out a watery sniff.

“You mean,” Alisaie tested slowly, watching for the miqo’te reaction, “the attention?” Her head shook, still buried in her hands.

“No,” she sighed, lifting her head again, her eyes glistening. “The problem is who we are, and what we do. He’s the Lord Commander of the Temple Knights and one of the Speakers of the House. Ishgard’s fresh out of a thousand year long war and people still struggle with the shift. There’s dissenters in the ranks and the lowborn people still don’t trust his words even with the efforts of Hilda and the House of Commons. He doesn’t have time for relationships, and neither do I.”

She stood, tail curling and lashing. “I’m the Warrior of Light. I’m needed in so many places and I know you’re arguing that I need a break sometimes, I’m not refuting that, but with how many problems the realm has going on that need me at a moment’s notice, I can’t dedicate any time to another person that wouldn’t already be part of the Scions.” She took in a breath, trying to calm herself.

“Neither of us has the time or the energy. He has his duties to Ishgard, and I to the rest of the realm. When would we even find the time for each other? And I can’t imagine the worries he’d go through whenever I have to go off on another dangerous mission halfway across the star. Even with every promise under the sun that I can handle it and I’d come back safe, I wouldn’t resent him if he worried all the same.”

She finally collapsed back into the seat, sliding down into a depressed slouch. A heavy silence spread over the table, the tea chilled fast in the pot.

“I see,” was all Alisaie could add.

“He did ask though,” Fufu said quietly, making the others perk up, curious. “During the walk through the Pillars. He sent off his guard that came with us for some privacy.”

A sad smile inched across her lips, as she recalled, “And it was so sweet. Calling me things like ‘the fire that warmed Ishgard’s hearths’, ‘the lost sun returned to her highlands’, and ‘his own shining light of hope’.” She giggled when she saw Tataru’s eyes light up.

“But I told him my piece, ‘cos I’ve thought about it for a long time, and I couldn’t see any way for me to commit to him so long as there’s Ascians and Primals and the Empire breathing down our necks,” she sighed, “He took it well at least. He understood. I hope.”

“He should,” the elezen nodded firmly, a hand on the woman’s shoulder, “He’s a reasonable man, and after hearing all you’ve laid out, I’m sure even he can see the pitfalls of such a relationship. But perhaps he has the good patience to wait for you, whenever we finally bring a modicum of peace to the lands.”

“Oh he better!” Tataru huffed, hands on hips, “If he decides whenever you’re ready for some tender love and care that he’s not interested, then we will personally be marching to Ishgard and giving him a piece of our minds.” She thrust an open hand out, and to Fufu’s amusement, Alisaie took it and they shook, such serious looks on their faces that she couldn’t help but laugh.

“I didn’t ask you both to be my wingwomen!”

“You don’t ask for a lot of things, so often you have to be told what you need,” Alisaie smirked, picking up the plate of biscuits and bringing them to the slouching woman, adding, “Speaking of which, take one of these. They’re quite good and after that tirade, you look like you could use a pick-me-up.”

Fufu smiled, doing as she was told. And as she let out a pleased hum of approval, Tataru gave a shrug and said, “For someone who’s normally not fussed about all the work you have to do as the Warrior of Light, it’s a touch odd to see you complain about this side of it. Oddly refreshing I’d say, but odd all the same.”

Her ear flicked. “I know. But just ‘cos I don't mind the work doesn’t mean I don’t also see the burden in it.”

“Well, we try not to let you shoulder that burden entirely on your own. Just because we can’t help with primal fighting doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t pull our weight elsewhere,” the younger girl smiled, leaving them the plate and taking hold of the tray, saying, “It’s a shame teatime didn’t work out and most of this has gone to waste, but I’m glad for the chat at least.”

“Yeah,” the warrior nodded, “I appreciate you two listening, even if I didn’t want to talk about it at first.”

Tataru laughed. “But of course! What are friends for?”

#ffxivwrite2020 #ffxivwrite #alisaie leveilleur #tataru taru #keeper of the moon miqo'te #my wol #my writing #fufu faelune #aymeric de borel #he's not featured physically but he's a main focus it feels right to tag him too lol #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #aymeric x wol #unfortunately anchored rip

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thetimelesscycle · 3 years

Text

Tales of Arcadia Wizards Fanfiction: Hope Dies Last - Chapter 4

A common goal fails to foster cooperation, and questions without answers continue to perplex.

A/N: In which I am forced to try and include some actual plot and civil conversations are in short supply.

Chapter 4

A Puzzle Incomplete

To say that Merlin was furious would have been as wild an understatement as the claim that Arthur was not especially fond of magic. He was not certain there was a word for the incandescent rage boiling just beneath his skin, threatening to dissolve carefully constructed walls that had not crumbled in decades. It took a conscious effort to keep a lid on that fury as he guided his exhausted apprentice to lie down once again, the boy having spent what little strength he’d regained in a few scant minutes. Shivers still wracked his slender frame, his body reacting to the invisible wound festering beneath the surface, though at this point Merlin was more worried about his state of mind.

He had never seen Hisirdoux display such raw terror before, not even at the sword point of Arthur’s knights. Then again, Galahad had only threatened to execute him, not tear his soul to shreds and leave him with the tattered remains.

The worst part was he did not think there were meant to be any remains. Whoever had attacked his apprentice had done so with the intention of destroying him completely. They had come dangerously close to succeeding, thwarted by the boy’s own magic, which raised more questions than it answered. If Hisirdoux had encountered a creature powerful enough to wound him in this way, how was he still alive? How had a child whose own enchantments still flummoxed him fended off that sort of danger?

He wasn’t going to get any answers from Hisirdoux right now, that much was clear. His apprentice was mumbling restlessly in his sleep again, nonsensical words, the delusional arguments of an overstressed mind.

“Tell me you know how to fix this.” Archie had settled himself behind his familiar’s shoulders, one paw draped over the boy’s arm, but his eyes were fixed on Merlin, plea and demand both in that gaze. “Tell me you can help him.”

“I intend to do everything in my power, Archibald.” It wasn’t quite the same lie he’d told his apprentice, trying to soothe the boy’s panic before he did himself further injury, but it wasn’t the whole truth either; He was already doing everything in his power, it simply wasn’t enough.

“That’s not a ‘yes’.” The tiny dragon gave him a look that could almost have been called threatening. “He thinks you’re capable of anything, you know. Maybe it’s time you lived up to the legend.”

Not gracing that barbed statement with a response, he tucked the blanket back about Hisirdoux’s shoulders, pausing just long enough to rest a hand on the boy’s clammy forehead as he renewed his stasis spell for the umpteenth time. That done, he took his leave, refusing to acknowledge Archie’s lingering stare as he slipped out of the room.

Morgana was waiting for him when he reentered the workshop, pacing back and forth with long, sweeping strides, a book held open in her hands. She whirled as soon as the door opened.

“How is he?”

Straight to the point. Her and Arthur were very alike in that way. He didn’t answer at once, drifting across the room to the cluttered workbench by the stained glass windows. There was a fine layer of dust there that had gathered over the past two days, the designs he had been pouring over what seemed a lifetime ago now sitting discarded and forgotten. He sensed Morgana’s impatience as he lifted the page of sketches and idly examined its contents, dropping the weighted truth into the tense silence.

“Slipping away.” It was an inadequate description for what would happen if he didn’t find a way to stop the dark magic from finishing its work. What was confusion and spontaneous panic now would devolve into raving madness as Hisirdoux’s very essence continued to crumble. The boy was already losing memories, the spell he had cast only slowing the process, not preventing it. “I have no doubt this was an attempt to kill him.”

“Why?” Her outrage echoed his own. Where his bubbled beneath a thin veneer of self-control, hers revealed itself in a flash of righteous fury, the room rattling briefly as she paced closer. “He’s a child, Merlin!”

“That I cannot say.” His suspicions, founded on his knowledge of the type of magic it took to cause this kind of injury, seemed ludicrous. Hisirdoux was not trained enough to be a threat to anyone yet — besides himself — and certainly not enough of a danger to warrant such wanton cruelty. The being who had attacked his apprentice under Arthur’s very nose had done so with purely malicious intent. To hurt someone in that way, to threaten not only their life but their existence beyond the mortal plane as well... that was an act of pure hatred. More perturbing still, Hisirdoux appeared to have been the only target. Not even Archie had been wounded, despite the fact the pair of them shared the same bed. “Though I intend to find out.”

“I will help in any way I can,” she asserted, coming to stand on the opposite side of the work table. “What about Douxie? Is there anything he needs? Anything we can do?”

“He needs a proper healer.” Morgana scowled, and Merlin’s own glare deepened out of habit. It was a tall order. Neither of them had a gift for healing magic, formidable wizards though they might be, and those of Camelot’s dwindling magical community who were proficient in the healing arts had been some of the first victims in Arthur’s war against magic. Such individuals were typically well-known and notoriously bad at keeping themselves hidden, driven as they were to put their skills to good use. Hisirdoux had shown some aptitude for minor healing charms using his runic bracelet, but not to the level required to mend someone’s shredded spirit; Certainly not when he was the victim.

“Did he tell you what happened?” Morgana was on the hunt. He’d seen that look enough times to recognise it. “A name? A face?”

“No, not yet.” He could have pushed. It was clear Hisirdoux remembered something, and was deeply disturbed by it. Perhaps that was why he’d chosen not to force the matter. Further stress right now would only make things worse. He also had the image of his apprentice reeling away from him in abject terror ingrained in his mind, and wasn’t in any great hurry to repeat that experience. “We’ll have a chance to ask some more pertinent questions when next he wakes. In the meantime, we should continue our efforts to keep the castle secure.”

“You’re worried about Arthur.”

“He is a rather more likely candidate for assassination than my very green apprentice.”

“You haven’t even considered the possibility that you were the target, have you?” He came up short, casting her a piercing look. Morgana rolled her eyes. “Of course you haven’t. He is your apprentice, Merlin. If anyone wanted to draw you out, Douxie is by far the easiest way to reach you.”

It made a disturbing amount of sense, much as he would prefer to deny it. Anyone with even an inkling of familiarity with the royal court would be aware that he would go to Arthur’s aid as required, but the king had an enchanted blade and dozens of trained knights at his beck and call. He would not fall without a fight. Hisirdoux, on the other hand, couldn’t even fend off an enchanted broom. It was entirely possible, even probable, that anyone trying to strike down the Master Wizard would see his apprentice as the weak link in the chain.

Except, that would suggest that the person responsible believed he would set everything else aside to assure the welfare of his student. That assumption was to his advantage; Or, it would have been, had he not spent the last two days doing exactly that. Without the constant renewal of his stasis spell, Hisirdoux might not have survived long enough to regain consciousness. Putting aside his other duties had seemed the right thing to do at the time, weighed against the unnerving thought of no longer having apprentice and dragon constantly underfoot. Morgana was forcing him to face the fact his enemies may have depended upon him making that exact decision, and consider the very real possibility his eyes had deliberately been drawn away from some greater danger.

He wasn’t in the mood to entertain that thought, or to acknowledge the stark fear nipping gently at his heels, so he deliberately set them both aside. There had been no further attacks; It seemed reasonable to assume Hisirdoux was the only target for the time being, as perplexing as that was.

“There is no point speculating until we know more,” he said aloud, knowing the silence had stretched a beat too long. “Better to concentrate on securing our defenses and finding someone to help Hisirdoux.”

“You won’t find anyone in Camelot. You know that.”

That she was right didn’t make him any less aggravated by the observation. “What do you suggest, then?”

“I could try.”

He had not been expecting it, which was the only reason it took him more than a second to formulate his reply. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“I think enough damage has already been done without bringing Shadow Magic into the mix, don’t you?”

“I’m not going to hurt him!”

“No, because you will not be using your dark arts anywhere near him. I forbid it.”

She clenched her fists around the volume in her hands, the room rattling again as she stared him down in muted fury. “You know you are part of the problem, don’t you? If you didn’t spend so much time dismissing and demonising that which you don’t understand perhaps Arthur would not feel so justified in destroying every form of magic that does not serve him.”

“Rubbish.” He waved the words away. “We both know where Arthur’s hatred of magic stems from. It has nothing to do with me.”

“You are blind if you truly believe that.”

“And you are wasting my time with pointless arguments in the midst of a crisis. I have better things to do right now than have this discussion with you again.”

He turned towards the door, only to have it come aglow with magic as it slammed shut.

“I am not Hisirdoux to be dismissed whenever you don’t feel like listening.”

“More’s the pity.” He swung back around to face her with his condemnation. “I did at least think you had enough regard for the boy not to delay my work.”

The glare she fixed on him could have quelled Gunmar himself. Merlin simply glared right back, raising an imperious eyebrow in that way he knew she hated.

“Waiting and hoping you’ll think of something is not the answer, Merlin, as you well know. You just don’t want to admit it.”

“What I refuse to admit is that diving headfirst into the Shadow Realm is a viable solution to the problem at hand. Because it isn’t.”

“You don’t know that.” She gestured with the book in her hands. Not one of his library; He had never encouraged this exploration of dark magic. He didn’t even know where she had happened across it, only that he deeply regretted not having snatched it away to cast into the fire years ago. “You don’t know Shadow Magic. How can you be so certain it won’t work?”

“Common sense, girl.” She glowered at the title, a humbling she had earned with her adamance. “Double the poison does not make a cure.”

“There is nothing there to cure.” She slammed her hand palm down on the table. Out of the corner of his eye, Merlin marked Archie emerging from the bedchamber, though whether he intended to intervene or simply wanted to be closer to the unfolding argument was debatable. “Whatever magic did this to him destroyed parts of his soul. They’re not there to be mended, they’re gone. He’s not a torn cloak, Merlin. You can’t just tie the pieces that remain together and hope it’s enough to cover what is missing. Even if you get him back on his feet you will stretch him so thin you’ll be lucky if he doesn’t kill himself the first time he tries to cast a spell!”

“And how would you know that, hmm? What extensive well of experience are you drawing your theories from?”

“This.” She lifted up the spell book, shoving it at his chest. He seized it on instinct, and she took the opportunity to pluck several more volumes off the table and toss them in his direction as well. He caught those with magic, which was preferable to his face, and watched her storm closer whilst struggling to contain his own rising ire. “You are so convinced that your way is the only way that it has never even occurred to you that I chose to study Shadow Magic for this very reason. For when other means are not enough. You have no idea how it works because you think it is beneath you. I do know. I can use it. And I know that if we have any hope of restoring Douxie’s soul the Shadow Realm is our best chance. Somebody tore that boy to pieces, Merlin, what’s missing doesn’t exist in this world anymore, but that sort of dark magic leaves a trail. I can save him if you will just trust me.”

“And when what you save is not Hisirdoux? When you patch him back together with dark magic and corrupt him entirely? What then, Morgana?”

“I know the difference.”

“No, you think you know the difference, and I will not wager my apprentice’s life on your arrogance.”

“My arrogance? You are the old fool who can’t see past your own self-importance to what your inaction has cost us all! You could have stopped Arthur years ago if you so chose, but you needed him to keep you safe so you could continue your all important work, at the cost of the hundreds of innocents you abandoned. The only reason your apprentice ever needed saving was because you were too much of a coward to stand up to your king!”

“How dare you—!”

“Stop it, both of you!” The outburst was such a surprise that Merlin was actually struck to silence, turning in tandem with Morgana to stare at the small dragon glaring at them both with a baleful expression. “What you seem to be forgetting is that this isn’t your decision to make, it’s Douxie’s. He is the one who has been hurt here, and you deciding what is best for him without bothering to even ask what he thinks is not going to help matters at all. When he wakes up we will all have a civilised discussion on what the best thing to do is. Until then, perhaps you two Master Wizards can put your heads together and properly figure out who was responsible for this. Before they do the same thing to someone else.”

The ensuing hush was awkward, to say the least. Archie refused to back down, standing with wings flared and lips curled back in a faint snarl as he tried to look as intimidating as a dragon that didn’t come up to one’s knees could. Merlin was the first to turn away, stalking back to the table to set down the books Morgana had flung at him in her fury. Unfortunately for him, years spent as his student had taught her to read his silences better than anyone else, and there was disbelief in her eyes when he turned back to face the pair of them.

“You already know, don’t you?” she accused.

“I suspect,” he defended himself. “That is not the same thing as knowing.”

“Yes, yes, it’s completely different,” Archie pressed impatiently. “Who do you suspect is responsible then?”

He had not been ready to disclose this much to anyone just yet. Sadly, he could not see a way out of it without inciting another argument. It was a small miracle they hadn’t already woken Hisirdoux with all the shouting that had been going on, and he didn’t want to subject himself to Archie’s righteous anger should it start up again. Instead, he adopted the stance of a teacher once more, marching back and forth as he spoke, “The ability to injure someone in this way is not common. Shadow Magic might allow you to tether a soul to a traumatic memory, hold it in place, twist it until it bends to your will, or rip it from its mortal flesh entirely, but it does not allow you to cause irreparable harm. This is something older, darker. This is the Arcane Order.”

Morgana exchanged a glance with the familiar, then asked the expected question, “What is the Arcane Order?”

“You mean who,” he held up a finger to emphasise his point. “They are a trio of ancient wizards who protect the balance between the magic and the mortal worlds by rendering destruction on those they perceive to be a threat. If you want to blame anyone for the world’s growing mistrust of magic, Morgana, the Order should be at the top of your list. To say that they are responsible for the deaths of hundreds would likely be understating the bloody mark they have left on history. Part of the reason I aided Arthur in uniting Camelot was because it was becoming abundantly clear I could not continue to fight them on my own, and the divisions amongst the mortal kingdoms made them easy prey. The Order has been quiet since Arthur came to power; I might have known they were planning something.”

“Why Douxie, though?” Archie wondered aloud. “Why not Arthur? Why not you?”

“I do not know.” It grated to admit that much. Morgana’s theory might hold some merit, but he still didn’t understand why the Order would not have come for him directly. He was not an easy mark, but he was not unreachable either. “If it was the Arcane Order, then I do not even know how Hisirdoux survived. These are beings older than nearly any other that walks the earth. Hisirdoux is a child. It doesn’t make sense.”

“We are missing something,” Morgana agreed, leaning across the table to emphasise her next point. “So let me look for it.”

He folded his arms, making his disapproval known. “We are going in circles, Morgana. The answer is still no.”

“But—!”

“Enough!” He called his staff to his hand from across the room just to add the force of slamming it on the ground to his words. “I need to go make sure our king is kept informed of this potential threat. If you want to make yourself useful, try searching my library for a solution that won’t simply kill the boy faster.”

“Kill?” Archie’s head shot up, eyes wide behind his glasses. “He’s dying?”

Merlin took that as his cue to leave the room. Let Morgana be the one to break the bad news. If she was doing that perhaps she wouldn’t feel tempted to go rooting through every scrap of forbidden knowledge Arthur had not yet managed to destroy.

A doubtful outcome, but a wizard could hope.

Right now, that seemed like all he could do.

Story Canon Notes:

"Hisirdoux had shown some aptitude for minor healing charms using his runic bracelet..." - Not strictly canon, but Douxie's role in the Trollhunters game is team healer, which at lease loosely implies he has some sort of remedial spell in his arsenal. His (minor) injuries also disappear between scenes in Episode 8, and I assume he was going to attempt to use some sort of healing spell on Merlin before Merlin stopped him.

#hisirdoux casperan #tales of arcadia #toa wizards #toa merlin #toa morgana #Hurt/Comfort #Angst #Fanfiction #toa archie

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not-close-to-straight · 4 years

Text

Free As I’ll Ever Be (Three)

This chapter is a little more intense than the first two, Ian finally opens up about what he’s going through and feeling, Lip talks some sense into his brother and Mickey draws slightly pornographic things to make his boyfriend ex pen pal smile.

TW for show typical discussions and depictions of depression/bipolar disorder/ alcoholism

MASTERLIST HERE

Enjoy!

************

-- What the hell makes people good pen pals? Just super long letters? Well here, here’s a super long letter for you. Give me a goddamn pen pal badge or something.

Mickey couldn’t believe Ian hadn’t bitched about being called Firecrotch, and wondered idly if the lack of comment meant Ian had gone back to shaving or--or man-scaping or whatever the fuck the dancers at the Fairy Tale called it. He didn’t like that shit, didn’t like to pull Ian’s pants down and just see skin, what the hell was wrong with some pubes? Who willingly laid down and got their balls waxed?

-- Debbie and Fiona only ever scream at each other now. Debbie is pregnant and Fiona was pregnant and got an abortion and both of them hate each other. We almost lost our house, did I tell you that? Carl bought it back with very sketchy money and now Debbie is trying to live somewhere else and sleep with some cancer lady I think.

--Frank is all over the place. He was in Puerto Rico or something and fell in love and she died now he can’t handle losing her? He’s really into Debbie and the baby, I think it’s some weird ‘the world needs more Gallaghers’ crusade which is fucked up, since he doesn’t give two shits about the kids he already has.

-- Lip’s been fucking one of his professors and an ex girlfriend found out and turned them in and now--

“Fuckin--” Mickey tossed the letter aside and scrubbed at his eyes. “I don’t care about this shit. Jesus.”

Yeah, he’d told Ian to be a better fucking pen pal, and yeah Mickey would kill someone before admitting he’d been excited to get another letter that was more than one sheet but fuck he didn’t give a damn about run of the mill Gallagher bullshit, nobody cared about that mess so why the hell was Ian writing a whole bunch’a nothing and wasting his time?

And it didn’t even sound like Ian, it didn’t sound like Ian, not how he usually talked all expressive and noisy and wide eyes and earnest expressions. It felt like Ian after the break, after the medications when his eyes were flat and his voice was empty and every word felt like he was reading from the worlds most boring script.

The letter didn’t sound like Ian, it was just an info dump, random facts and little effort and line after line of absolutely nothing.

...but it was better than staring at four walls, and it was physical proof that Ian had thought about him for at least long enough to write the letter and address it, and Mickey felt real fuckin’ pathetic for thinking those were valid reasons to turn the page and read on.

But he turned the page anyway, and read right the fuck on.

Three pages front and back of nonsensical Gallagher shenanigans and Mickey read it all, even jotted down notes on his own sheet of paper like a goddamn nerd so he’d be able to write a good reply back. And he tried, he did. He tried extra hard to engage with the information and ask the sort of questions that would make Ian react cos after the psych ward Ian had whispered-- ‘You gotta help me remember how to feel human, keep me looped in to conversations. Otherwise I don’t even feel real ’ and damn it Mickey was gonna try.

He was gonna try.

But halfway through the line-- ‘the worst fuckin’ people can be real weird about grandkids, you saw how Terry was with Yev’-- Mickey gave up trying and crossed it all out.

-- Fuck me, I don’t care all about all that shit. I don’t care about those people. Debbie’s just another South Side teenage mom and you know damn well Frank is running a long con. Fiona thinks she’s better than everyone else in that fuckin’ neighborhood but she’s the exact same. Lip actin’ like the world is ending cos a married woman wasn’t gonna give up her life for him is bullshit and whatever the hell Carl is doin’ will blow over. Things never stay changed at your house for long, it always settles into the same shit over and over.

He tapped the pen at his thigh a couple times, then blew out a deep breath and wrote a few more lines.

--I don’t care about them. Tell me about you.

-- Tell me why you didn’t look at me.

************

--Mickey,

--Sorry that was boring, I don’t know what to say to you anymore. Don’t know if I ever knew what to say to you. What do you want to know about me? That I’m taking my meds? That I’m not psycho anymore? That I’m never gonna take your kid from you and your wife and run away again?

Ian blinked when he saw he’d tore through the paper on the word wife. He was angrier than he realized about Svetlana, angrier than he realized at Mickey. That didn’t make any sense of course, the medication might make shit fuzzy but they gave him enough clarity to know Mickey had only been trying to help him when he was manic, so why-- why was he so angry?

--I don’t know what to say to you, Mick. Talking was never our strong point. All we ever did was fight and fuck, when did that stop working?

-- Why didn’t I look at you?

Ian thought back to that first day at the prison, how Mickey had stared right at him and smiled, shown off that god awful tattoo and said he’d been thinking about Ian, how Mickey had sorta laughed like it wasn’t a big deal, like it wasn’t the end of their story, like life wasn’t fully and royally fucked from here on out.

Mickey had stared right at him and smiled and it had burned through to Ian’s soul. He’d spent half his life waiting for Mickey Milkovich to look at him like that, and then it had happened through a glass wall in the prison and--

--Damn it. Ian was writing before his mind even caught up, the words landing on the paper angry and hurried and raw.

-- Couldn’t handle seeing you through the glass. Fuck this is so much worse than when you were in juvie. Fifteen years you’re supposed to have, not just a few months. You won’t be out in a few months and tracking me down to fuck beneath the bleachers, you won’t be getting out for over crowding, this is real fuckin’ serious and you kept smiling like everything was fine and every thing is not fine because this is my fault this is my fault this is my fault.

The letter derailed from there, jumbled and rambling and disjointed and Ian wrote for pages, pouring out all the things he’d kept bottled up forever, everything he couldn’t tell his family because they’d worry, everything he wouldn’t even admit to himself cos maybe it all meant that he wasn’t anything near okay.

He wrote about the way he only remembered half of what happened in his manic state, how sometimes he’d been so sure everything was fine and then he’d wake up in a panic because for about three seconds of sanity he knew something was wrong. He barely remembered taking Yev, didn’t really remember being found, he didn’t remember how or why he decided to surrender himself to the psych ward but oh he remembered Mickey holding him and how good it had felt, how grounding it had been to be held so tight for just a minute.

--Can’t trust my own memories. Was it real? Was it just what I thought was happening? Am I hallucinating still? Sure seems like it must be because who the fuck would think Mickey Milkovich would want to be goddamn pen pals? What the fuck is happening? No way this is real. Keep reaching for my pills and counting them out to make sure I took them cos this is goddamn surreal.

-- So tired of being numb, Mick, sometimes it seemed the only thing I could feel was you but these days I’m tempted to burn my hand again just to make sure I’m still alive, I’m so damn tired of being tired and so damn tired of being empty and I can’t even trust my emotions, my feelings, can’t talk about them cos what if they aren’t actually true? What if my pills aren’t actually working and I’m batshit crazy and everybody knows it but me?

-- Some days I have to convince myself I even left for the army, some mornings I wake up in my bed and think none of it happened and that it's the day of your wedding and I’m only hours away from asking you to leave with you and you telling me no.

--What does real even mean, for love or romance or boyfriends or whatever? Can’t be love if it was pity, can’t be love if I was crazy, can’t be love if we were only fighting and fucking that’s not love and if it was how’m I supposed to know when I don’t know myself one day from the next--

The pen snapped in Ian’s hand and spilled ink over the bottom half of the fifth or maybe it was the sixth page and Ian stared down at the liquid in surprise, yanked from spiraling thoughts and run away emotions by the noise and the mess and the jerk back to reality.

And then slowly slowly, carefully carefully Ian reached for his medicine box and counted out the pills to be sure again he’d taken them today. Slowly slowly, carefully carefully, Ian picked up another pen and forced his hand to steady so he could write just one more thing.

-- I couldn’t look at you that day, Mick. Couldn’t look at you and couldn’t look away from you and you kept wanting something I couldn’t give. I couldn't promise to wait for you cos I couldn’t even promise I’d be alive that night.

-- I don’t know who I am anymore. You don’t know who I am anymore. And I don’t know where to go from here.

***********

It took Mickey a full week to get through Ian’s letter

He kept trying to read it and then putting it away, kept picking it up and getting scared overwhelmed by the pain and panic so obvious in the words, kept trying to get through another page and giving up because it hurt to know Ian was so lost.

It took a full week but he finally made it through and when he got to the very last line, Mickey laughed a little, laughed and sniffed and briefly thought about breaking someone’s nose because none of this was fucking fair.

Ian didn’t know who he was, but it wasn’t like Mickey had any idea who he was anymore either. Writing letter to his boyfriend? Saying ‘I love you’ all the time and looking forward to mail call like a little bitch? He had actually stayed out of a fight yesterday cos he kept thinking about time off for good behavior and how Ian would only wait eight years, even though he knew good and well Ian wasn’t going to wait at all.

Who was Mickey Milkovich to be grasping at literal crumbs of attention from someone who clearly didn’t want much of anything to do with him?

Mickey didn’t feel like he knew himself at all these days, but he sure as hell knew Ian. He knew even when those gorgeous eyes were blank, even when Ian’s voice was flat and shoulders hunched and skin too pale-- Mickey knew his Ian was still there somewhere.

So instead of trying to write back anything sensible, instead of trying-- and most likely failing-- to put everything into words like Ian had done, Mickey jotted down a couple sentences and spent the next fifteen minutes working on a picture for Ian. It was just a sketch and it wasn’t gonna win any art contests but he knew it would make the redhead smile and for a whole bunch of reasons, Ian smiling was all that mattered.

And just before putting the letter in the ‘outgoing’ box, Mickey tore the envelope open and added one more line so Ian would know he was goddamn serious about this whole thing.

The block went into lockdown over another bullshit fight and Mickey went to his cell without argument, without even looking twice at the guards he passed.

Eight years so long as he behaved himself, and damn it, he was gonna behave himself.

****************

-- The fuck you mean you don’t know who you are anymore, THIS is who you are, I know exactly who you are. Sometimes you get lost beneath the shit, but you’re still you alright? Cut it out with that dramatic girly bullshit.

The picture was hilarious and crude-- the Gallagher house, run down and crappy looking with a dozen stick figures in the background. At what was supposed to be a mailbox was Ian, drawn over tall and with a ridiculous amount of red hair sticking up from his head. Stick figure Ian had a big smile and was holding a letter, and down between his legs was a fairly detailed, hilariously pornographic dick hanging halfway to his knees, complete with bright red pubes.

There was a big arrow pointing to stick figure Ian with a note, “This is your dumb ass excited over a letter” and for the first time in a long time-- maybe the first time since that last night with Mickey at the dug outs-- Ian laughed until his sides hurt, laughed and laughed as he taped the picture up above his bed.

-- Sometimes I dunno how to talk to you either, but that doesn’t mean I want to stop trying.

-- And if you burn your hand again, I’m gonna break outta here just to beat your ass for being fuckin’ stupid, see if you feel THAT motherfucker.

-- I’m not gonna let you be hurt again

-- Stay alive, bitch.

Ian hung the letter up next to the picture, grabbed a permanent marker and circled the last line with thick black ink.

--Stay alive bitch.

*************

“You’re writing Mickey again?” Carl was counting out money on the kitchen table, and Ian pushed a pile aside with his pen so it didn’t fall over onto his note. “So what, you guys love each other again?”

“Um.” Ian’s eyebrows rose when the kid wrapped a rubber band around a thousand dollars and tucked it away in his shoe. “No? I mean yeah I’m writing him again but um-- I dunno if we love each other again. Dunno if we ever really did. Why?”

Whatever Carl said in response was lost behind a clatter of pans, and Ian closed his eyes in brief annoyance when Lip gave one of those too loud sighs that usually meant he was squaring up for another argument.

All they seemed to do lately was fucking fight and Ian didn’t have the energy for it this morning.

“Something on your mind, Lip?” he asked tersely. “Aren’t you supposed to be at college wiping floors for sorority girls or something?”

“Fuck you.” Lip winged a dish towel at him and Ian slapped it away with a scowl. “And you’re wrong about Mickey, alright? Don’t say that shit about him.”

“You don’t know fuck all about what me and Mickey are doing.” Ian retorted as Carl wisely cleared his money from the table and made himself scarce. “Don't you have better things to do than stick your nose in my business?”

“Okay look.” For once, Lip didn’t look like he was spoiling for a fight. Instead he looked tired and maybe even a little sad and that was so unexpected Ian didn’t really know how to take it. “You gonna listen?”

“...I’m listening.” Ian sat back in his chair and made an effort not to look so pissed off. “What’s up?”

“I’m the last person in the world who wants to say anything nice about a fucking Milkovich.” Lip muttered. “But I’m telling you, you’re wrong about Mickey, about him not loving you. That guy is nuts about you, why else would he be writing you letters?”

“We got some shit to figure out.” Ian waved a dismissive hand towards the letter. “It’s-- you know, guilt maybe? Doesn’t mean anything real.”

“Anything real.” Lip pursed his lips and nodded a few times. “Yeah alright. So when you left for the army, it didn’t mean anything real when Mickey spent weeks tryna drink himself to death? When you came back and started slipping, it didn’t mean anything real when he screamed at us that he’d take care of you, that he’d hide the knives so you wouldn’t get hurt and that you were family, that he was gonna look out for you?”

“That’s--” Ian frowned. “Well we were sorta dating so--”

“This is a kid who once tried to kill Frank when he caught you guys together, right?” Lip pressed. “Well when we went to the police station to get you and Yev, he told the cop that he was your partner, your lover, your family. Mickey said all that shit out loud in front of a whole bunch of people, and you think he doesn’t love you? You think that’s not real?”

“But it--”

“For fucks sake.” Lip laughed but it wasn’t a good sound. “He was willing to kill fucking Sammi for calling the MP’s on you. He’s in jail for what, fifteen years?”

“...eight with good behavior.”

“So fifteen years. And you can’t sack up enough to go see him?”

Anger, flaring hot and familiar because it was the only thing Ian could always feel these days. “I went and saw him when he went in, and then went and saw him just a few weeks ago. He didn’t want to see me.”

“Yeah well, go again.” Lip said flatly. “Go again. Try again.”

“I’m not--” damn it he hated admitting anything to his family. “I think my meds need adjusted again, I’m not doin’ real well right now, Lip.”

“And you think Mickey is?” he challenged and Ian grimaced away from it. “He loves you in some hard core south side Milkovich way and if you can’t see that? If having Mickey fucking Milkovich announce to the entire world that he is your partner and your family and then go to prison for you, write letters to you and draw whatever the fuck that picture is in your room? If you can’t see that all of this is him saying he loves you?”

Lip shook his head. “You don’t deserve him. Thought hell would freeze over before I sided with that family, but I’m telling you, you’re doing him wrong.”

Ian stared down at the letter he’d started, at the random information he’d put into it, all the bullshit he knew Mickey wouldn’t care about and all the lines he’d crossed out because he was still exhausted from writing the last letter and didn’t want to turn this one into another admission of everything awful he felt every single day.

You’re doing him wrong.

“That lady professor really fucked you up, huh?” Ian said instead of everything else he wanted to say. “She broke your heart and now you think you’re a love doctor? Going to give everyone advice on how to fix their happily ever after?”

“No.” Lip denied, and then, “Well yeah. Yeah, she fucked me up. But no, fuck you with that love doctor shit. Mickey came out in front of his dad after all that shit about the Russian and how Terry made you watch while they-- ” he cleared his throat. “--when all that happened. You know he loves you. You owe it to him to at least acknowledge it. I mean, did you ever even apologize to him for leaving with Monica? You think that didn’t fuck him up?”

“If we’re talking about who owes how many apologies, pretty sure there’s more tally marks in Mickey’s column.” Ian said bitterly. “He put me through hell for a real long time before he decided to be a half decent boyfriend. He got married and had a kid instead of just admitting he was gay, I had to leave for the army then come back and threaten to leave all over again just for him to come out. That doesn’t seem like love.”

“So what, that means you get to fuck with him now?” Lip grabbed a beer from the fridge, then grabbed one of those stupid fake beers for Ian and tore the cap off, slid it across the counter to him. “You guys were basically kids back then. You came out to us and what, I asked a couple obnoxious questions and then let it go? Fiona didn’t even blink when you told her. It was literally life or death for Mickey to come out, and you kept pushing him anyway. He could’a died, Ian. If not Terry it could’ve been one of Terry’s friends that beat him to death for being gay. Life or death and you told him to choose so the minute he could, he chose you.”

Ian was quiet, and Lip pressed, “He chose you, Ian. Over and over and over even after you were dancing at that club and cheating on him, even after you took his kid. He chose you and you won’t see it. That doesn’t look like love?”

Ian was quiet, and Lip shrugged, “Then fuck you, man. If I was Mickey I wouldn’t write your ass at all. Leave him alone to rot in there, don’t string him along and sit here telling people he never loved you. That’s bullshit.”

Anger again, but Ian didn’t know if he was mad at Lip for the lecture or mad at Mickey for-- for something or mad at himself, so he gripped at the table until his knuckles turned white and asked through clenched teeth, “Why the hell do you care?”

“Cos I’ve been drinking a lot and saying whatever I want lately and it feels really really good.” Lip drained the rest of his beer pointedly. “And since every time we talk lately we end up throwing punches, I figure I might as well say it all now when I’m drunk enough not to hurt when you try to break my nose.”

“You’re wrong about me and Mickey.”

“Maybe.” Entirely unperturbed. “But since you look like you’re ready to kill me, maybe I’m right after all. Think you’d be half as pissed off if I was wrong?”

“... you act an awful lot like Frank lately.” Ian muttered. “Get drunk and start talking shit and think you sound good and wise when really you’re just talking out of your ass.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not right.” Ian wasn’t looking so he didn’t see the hurt in Lip’s eyes, the resignation in the slump of his shoulders as he opened another beer. “Even fucking Frank makes a good point every once in a while.”

“Sure.” Ian gathered up all his papers and shoved them into his back pocket, grabbed his jacket off the hangar and hurried into it. “I’ll see you later.”

“Where the hell are you going?”

“To see Mickey.” Ian paused halfway out the door and asked, “Really? He called me his partner?”

“Partner, lover, family.” Lip repeated. “In front of all those people right before he sat in the backseat with you and pretended none of us knew he was crying.”

“Shit.” Ian swallowed hard. “I’ll be back later. Put the fuckin’ beer down, Lip.”

Lip only lifted the bottle in salute, and kept right on drinking.

**************

SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THE CHAPTER!

**************

@the-southern-sweetiepie @lele-hemmo @elliotkaingrey @castiel-beyond-and-forever @pootie-and-the-snoots @stutteringandmumbling @girlnic @miss-macca @a-procrastinating-blogger @supmorg @eversomniator @korrababy @idontwanna-wakeuplonely @megahuffledor @pixiebomber @kit-02 @quertsod @layweebookfreak

#ncts fics #gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian x mickey #lip gallagher #shameless us

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astrogone · 4 years

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❝ @ mutuals, send me a 🍓 and I’ll compliment you! ❞ / pt. 4

🍓 @glrchmp: Zacharie, you and your blog are absolutely? Phenomenal?! I honestly have not got into the playthrough of Shield / Sword yet while I do not have Switch, but of course, Leon has my heart instantly, and seeing someone so so passionate of him makes me very delighted. I absolutely adore what you have thought of him and written with him so far, and I always highly look forward to read and learn more about your Leon. It was such a wonderful moment going through your blog and seeing how would you portray Leon. Everything about him is so well thought and detailed, it is just incredible. To be honest, even if I haven’t got into the game yet, I already had a thought that Nintendo could not ever do Leon justice like how you would portray him. I hope you have at least some pride in your work because, seriously, what you touch turns into a wonderful art, and I am so grateful that I had stumbled across your blog. Anyone should, actually. You are a gem as you are a lovely person to have on my dash. I do hope we can interact more soon and have you shove me into more of the Pokéworld ( because I will admit, I’m not too hot with the lores and whatnot, and I’d love to get Deep with it, if ya get me there ) but if you are busy or anything, I’m more than okay to wait. Give you the time and space you need. For now, just seeing you on my dash makes me happy— as long as you are content, I am too. <3

🍓 @mtchstck: Alex, first of all [makes over 100 fire / hot puns such as how your blog is hot, your writing is spicy—]. Second of all, my goodness, please know that you and Livvy are out of the world, like we truly do not deserve you two. Your developments, writings, graphics, artworks— everything that you would come up with are incredible, and just... The time and effort you would put in these delightful creations... There is so much passion in your work and I just do not know how you would come up with any of these stuff. Livvy is such an interesting and fun character to learn about, and you probably get this a lot, but I do want to tell you how much I love that you write her with life in her. In a roleplay forum I was in for most of my roleplay life, I had seen so many young muses around her age being written with these traits that were just slapped onto them or given them a tragic background for the sake of it with bare to no developments and meaningful thoughts behind them. Yet with Livvy, everything about her feels natural because you care, and it just makes me so happy to see that there are people out there like you who would hold a lot care for their muse’s characterizations. You are just so talented in everything you do and I highly admire you. Honestly, what a spark of delight and inspiration you are to have on my dash. <3

🍓 @arsonbeast: MJ, we haven’t done much together yet, but, my gosh, you! Are so cool! Honestly. I still remember our conversation during around the Fourth of July and recalling about it makes me think that you’re such a very fun and hilarious person to interact with ( and I would love to interact with you more but I’m so Fucking Slow, but... you know ). I don’t know how to explain it, but I can really sense your energy from your texts alone and I get so delighted whenever I see your posts on here / text messages. You just have a really chill vibe that makes me feel comfortable, which says a lot with me having anxiety, welp, but... Just know that you have my heart and soul. Also, I highly adore your writings with MJ— the way you would word your sentences, MJ’s dialogues, etcetera, it really captures the personality of him and it’s so much fun and exciting to read them! And his faceclaim? Epic choice, my dude, I love that a lot. I can not truly wait to see more work with him, and once I finally fucking figure out who to write / plot with him, it’ll be Over for you, so you better watch out for my dumb ass coming at your way with that, lmfao... You’re awesome as Hell, dude. <3

🍓 @fatedriven: Neo, at the moment, we are just silently supporting each other from our tiny corners ( I am too slow and often chaotically losing my energy to reach out but! I will! Get to you soon, I Swear ), but I do want you know that I am! So so! EXCITED to interact with you more! And I ADORE all of your muses and everything in your blogs dearly MUCH! I swear, everything about your blog and creations and so forth are downright gorgeous. Stepping into your blogs for the first time was like having my eyes blessed with the sacred lights, no kidding at all!... Your muses are so unique and different from each other, it takes my breath away to see how much passion you have for all of them. Also seeing your writings? Truly poetic, oh my gosh. Your blogs are just so so delightful to go through. I love your ideas, your portrayals, and everything, like. You’re already one of my inspirations as seeing your work makes me feel motivated to work and develop on my creations, so thank you for taking the time and effort in sharing your creations on this Hellsite. They are truly amazing and I just can not wait to see more from you, as well as, again, interacting with you more. <3

🍓 @destructiveglitch: Myers, where to even start... I do not ever believe words would be enough, but as it is what I can offer, please, despite anything and what anyone would say to you, try to remember that whatever you create, your creations will always bring light to this universe! Every edges and corners and the insides of your creations from your muses to artworks and headcanons and writings and so forth? So well done. So so good to get into anytime, any day. And seeing your art improvement with the “silence, bottom” artworks? Incredible. It truly does show much you had improved from years of creating, and while you may experience feeling negative about your creations, I do want to give you a gentle reminder that this world is truly blessed to even look at your work. Just... the passion and dedication you have in your creations make me feel beyond delighted, and I love whatever you would post on my dash, even it’s just a silly thought. If you ever end up writing a novel or make a comic or whatever, you better let me know and I will pay to even read about it. Your creativity is too good for us. I am beyond grateful to have stumbled across your blog. You are just so sweet and fun and cool to have around, and I can not wait to make more fun memories with you. <3

🍓 @forcefuried: Tian, you are extremely delightful to interact with and have on my dash and Discord. Just. Every time I would see your post or text message, I get so giddy and hope you are doing okay. You deserve all of the goods out there. You hold nothing but kindness and even when we have recently interacted, you make me feel at home already, and it’s... a rare thing when I have anxiety, so, I just love how open and honest and sweet you are to not just me but others as well. I have said this before, but i will not hesitate to say this once more that I am beyond grateful that you decided to check up my blog and gave me a follow because, otherwise, I would probably not get to see the absolute beauty you have in your blog. The passion in everything you create is amazing and with every thoughts, headcanons, writings, and such that you would come up with? Always a breathtaking moment. There is so much details and dedication in everything, and how you would take the time to research and pour your soul out is so admiring. You are the reason I should get into the rest of the old S.tar W.ars films as I had watched only one of the old ones, honestly, lmfao, but yeah, you are so sweet and creative, and, gosh, this world just can not get enough of you. <3 🍓 @gloryshound: Nee, wow, honestly, what did I do to deserve you? While we are starting to interact more, I must say that I truly am in love with your writings. The details, the wordings, everything about them are so great. It just catches my emotions, make me feel and think for these muses, and it really amazes me to see how you would give each muse their own voice in your writings, and I personally believe it is not that easy to do that, especially when you have a lot of muses to write at once. I find it so interesting just reading what are the themes / main focuses each of your muse have, and it makes me think how determined and willing you are in exploring more of these themes / main focuses with their respective muses, and I think that’s really neat. I love when people actually take a step back to see the potentials in the characters and use them to make more of they are given from the media. It shows that they care, and I do love when people take the time and effort in placing so many thoughts and developments in a character. You are one of those people and I hope you know that your creations are highly inspiring to many people, including myself. I am so happy that we got to meet and I highly look forward to interact with you and all of your lovely muses more. It is gonna be so amazing! <3

#( happy happyyyy belated strawberryday everyone!!! love you all so so much!!! <333 )#˚* ੈ✧ ‧ ( ooc . ) i am alive ; i am awake #glrchmp #mtchstck #arsonbeast #fatedriven #destructiveglitch #forcefuried #gloryshound

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