#i mean i contemplate going to the er MULTIPLE TIMES A WEEK | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whenihaveyouromione · 3 years

Text

When I Have You - Chapter 33

Read on Fanfiction.net or ao3 if you’d prefer!

Feel free to follow the Instagram account for this story - whenihaveyou.romione

-------

Chapter 33

Ron looked despairingly into the Gringotts bank account he and Hermione had set up when they’d moved in together. It had been easier that way — paying all the funds as one, such as rent for the flat and withdrawing Galleons when they were going out. At the time, earning his own money and now on a level playing field with Hermione, he’d been okay about it. But now… well, now was more challenging.

Money was going into it on a weekly basis, but money was also coming out every time he took the payment for the ring out. And someone like Hermione, who was good at keeping track of all that kind of stuff, would eventually notice. Surprisingly, she hadn’t yet. Or, if she had, she hadn’t said anything. Perhaps she thought he was just using it to buy other things for himself and didn’t think anything of it.

That was good in a way, but it bothered him, too. As the weeks wore on, as everyone was still talking about Percy and Audrey’s wedding, he was beginning to think this whole plan had been the wrong plan. He should have just gone with what he could afford and gotten it over with. What did a ring really matter in the scheme of things? Hermione didn’t care about that kind of stuff. She would have agreed to marry him regardless of what he offered in return. He knew that, and yet… he’d let his desire to do it ‘right’ take over. And it had been very, very wrong.

He frowned. That was what came with growing up poor, he realised. He finally had the money to buy something nice and so he went all out.

And now look where he was. With a debt to pay and nothing to show for it in return — not even the ability to call Hermione his fiance.

“How much this week, Mr Weasley?” the goblin asked, snapping Ron from his thoughts.

Ron looked down at the goblin, then back into the vault. “Er, ten I suppose. As usual.”

“And send eight of it via owl to Hogsmeade?” the goblin continued.

“Yes,” Ron said.

The goblin gathered ten Galleons from the vault and stuck eight into a small bag. She passed the other two to Ron. He placed them into his pocket.

“Is that all?” the goblin then asked.

Ron nodded. “Thanks,” he said, and he watched as the goblin closed the door. It was a small vault compared to the Lestrange one they’d broken into once, or even Harry’s, but it still contained more gold than the Weasley family ever had.

And it was theirs.

He and Hermione were doing alright, he supposed. Maybe just not good enough to be taking ten Galleons a week out of it without one of them noticing.

“The money will be sent via owl this evening, Mr Weasley,” the goblin said. “As per usual.”

“Thanks,” Ron said again, and he jumped back into the cart that would take him back to the surface. Their vault wasn’t too far underground, but it was still a decent journey back to the entrance. And no matter how short it was, it was unpleasant.

Once he reached it, climbing out of the cart, Ron had to stop for a moment for his eyes to readjust to the light.

There were a few hours of daylight left, which meant that the shops in Diagon Alley were still open. He had a few Galleons to spare, so he may as well make the most of spending some of it. At least he would have an excuse if Hermione found out about the money this week.

He strolled past the goblin guards, some of them wishing him a good evening. Ever since the war had ended, he found them far more pleasant than he ever remembered them being, which was surprising considering he’d contributed to the near destruction of the place. Perhaps it was his new outlook on magical creatures thanks to Hermione, or perhaps the goblins were much happier now that their lives weren’t being threatened every day. He couldn’t really tell, but either way, he didn’t hate the visit to the bank as much as he once had.

Tucked into a little corner near the entrance via the Leaky Cauldron was a florist. From the front door to the back of the shop, the tiny space was decorated in so many bouquets and bunches and designs that Ron had difficulty even entering.

And the moment he did, he was greeted by a young woman who reminded him very much of Madam Rosmerta in her younger days. But she spoke with the mystical voice of Professor Trelawney, which really ruined her good looks for Ron.

“Can I help you?” she asked, smiling.

“Yes, I want the biggest bouquet, or whatever you have, for two Galleons. The nicest ones, too.”

“Of course,” the woman said, and she swept to the back of her shop, disappearing amongst the flowers.

“Is it for someone you love or someone you wish to scare?” she asked.

Ron stared for a moment. Then shaking his head, said, “My girlfriend.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Ron stared for another moment, opened his mouth, closed it, and then said, “Something nice.”

“Of course.” The woman then swept in and out of vines, elaborate chain bouquets, picking this, plucking that. Ron decided he was safest waiting at the counter. Last time he’d been in here, this woman hadn’t been there. In fact, on the multiple occasions he’d thought to buy Hermione flowers, they had been put together by a kind, normal witch.

After about five minutes, she came to the counter where she laid a bunch of unrecognisable flowers on a bunch of red paper. With her wand, she cut a piece of white ribbon and then waved her wand again. The flowers were immediately bunched and wrapped, and then tied.

“Two Galleons, Sir,” the woman said.

Ron dug into his pocket and passed over two Galleons.

“Have a good day, Sir.”

“Thanks,” Ron replied. “Er, you too.” He left quickly, hurrying down Diagon Alley with the flowers clutched in his hand to the entrance to their flat. Hermione would be home from work by now.

He made his way up the stairs with an aroma of smells making the short journey pleasant. Those who lived in the neighbouring flats always cooked something nice and it made his stomach growl in anticipation. Unless they went to the Burrow for dinner, he and Hermione didn’t eat as well as the neighbours ever did.

He used his wand to unlock the door and was immediately greeted by Hermione’s beaming face right in front of him. She was so close, he was forced to take a step back through the door.

“I was beginning to wonder where you’d gotten to,” she said, and her eyes fell on the bunch of flowers still in Ron’s hands.

He passed them to her. “I got you these. I thought you might like them.”

Hermione accepted the flowers with a small smile on her face. She then looked back up at him. "What are these for?"

"Because I love you, and I wanted to," Ron said. "Though, the lady in the shop today was really odd. Probably won't be going back if she's there."

"They're beautiful," Hermione said, and then placed them on the table, almost discarding them. Ron might have been upset had he not bought them for her because he was feeling guilty to begin with.

Instead, he said, "What's got you in a good mood?"

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, though there was no hiding her apparent excitement over something.

"Well, you almost knocked me over when I came in, and you just threw those flowers to the side like they were nothing. You seem happy about something, and I don't think it's just because I came home."

Hermione watched him for a moment, as if contemplating something. A smile still played on her lips, though her expression had turned serious.

"Out with it!" Ron demanded. "Did you get made Minister for Magic or something?"

"Of course not," Hermione said, and she led him over to the breakfast table. "I just… I have a proposal for you."

"A what?" Ron asked, his head snapping to her as she all but pushed him into the chair.

"A proposition. An idea. A thought. Whatever you want to call it." Hermione sat in the opposite chair, though Ron now watched her warily.

He didn't think she meant the word proposal literally, but it was all that was on his mind these days. He couldn't really see what else she might have meant. Had he waited too long? Was she becoming frustrated with not getting married? After their unexpected talk at Percy's wedding, had she decided to take matters into her own hands?

"Well?" Ron asked after she didn't speak. "What do you want to say?"

"I've been thinking," Hermione began, "ever since we talked about it at Percy's wedding."

Dammit.

"What about that?" Ron asked, feeling his chest tighten a little. If she got too far into things, maybe he should just blurt it out over top of her. He wanted to do it.

"Big decisions," Hermione said. "The next step. I have been thinking about the first one."

"Oh?"

"Why don't we get a house together?"

Ron paused. His eyes scanned the flat they were sitting in, with the bedroom off to the side, the living space, the kitchen… he looked back at her, not sure whether he felt relieved or disappointed that she hadn't suggested marriage.

"But… we have a house." It was a dumb comment, because he knew what she meant, but…

"Not one that's ours," Hermione said. "Not one we've bought, not one with a garden, lots of rooms… not one for the future."

The future.

The words sounded good to his ears. A confirmation that everything he was doing, everything he had planned, really was worth it. Even if he had to wait a little bit longer, they still had a future. A long future, he hoped.

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” Hermione continued, and she seemed delightfully happy that Ron couldn’t help but smile. “Even before we discussed it a few weeks back. This place is cramped — even for the two of us — and… well, I really like the idea of planning the future with you, and I think this is a good first step.”

“A big decision,” Ron said.

“But a smaller, big decision.”

They were silent for a moment. The idea of living in a bigger place with Hermione was greatly appealing. They’d always known that this flat wouldn’t be forever, and if he was being honest, he’d always imagined getting a place somewhere secluded, somewhere in the middle of nowhere. A bit like the Burrow or Shell Cottage.

They could do magic freely without the risk of Muggles seeing, and, well… it would be a good place to raise children, and he was extremely confident that that was one of the things Hermione was alluding to when she spoke of the future.

“What do you think?” Hermione asked. “I know it’s convenient here — it’s close to everything, but we can Apparate, Floo, all that kind of stuff. Wherever we live, we’d arrange connections to everywhere important via the fireplace.”

“Yeah…” Ron said. “That would be nice.” He smiled at her, suddenly feeling delusionally happy. He loved living with Hermione. Waking up next to her everyday, or stumbling into the kitchen on weekends after she’d already been up for an hour, seeing her messy, unbrushed hair, in her pyjamas… cuddling her at night before they fell asleep…

There was nothing more calming than knowing she was always there.

It seemed like the next step, naturally.

“Let’s do it!” he said after a moment. “A house of our own. One we can add our own touches to.”

Hermione’s smile widened. “This is so exciting!” She then flushed, sheepishly taking out her wand. “I’ve, um… been looking already. Just a little bit.” And before them appeared some newspapers — reminding Ron from when he was back in Grimmauld Place and they were looking for this flat.

Ron liked the sense of normalcy to it all. Three years ago, he had been convinced they’d all be dead, so to be sitting at a table talking about something as simple as a house was the best feeling.

“You wouldn’t be the Hermione I know and love if you hadn’t already researched this,” Ron said, drawing some of the newspapers towards him. He paused at the first one, his smile faltering for the first time.

“What?” Hermione asked. “I know it’s in a Muggle area, but I thought —”

Ron shook his head. “It’s not that. Wherever you go, I go. It’s just...” It hadn’t occurred to him until he saw the large number in the advertisement. This was going to cost money. Money he was already spending on an engagement ring.

“We can afford it,” Hermione said gently, seeming to understand his hesitation. “It’s alright.”

Ron looked up from the paper to her. Why was it that whenever he thought something wasn’t going to work, he could just look at her and it didn’t matter anymore?

Wherever you go, I go.

“It’s going to be tough until training’s finished,” Ron said.

“But we can manage. I’ve done the calculations. It’s okay.”

Ron nodded, and Hermione reached out to grab his hands. He squeezed hers tightly. “Then let’s do this,” he said.

How could he say no? Even if it meant he had to take another look at the ring repayments to ensure that they really could afford it. And what if he couldn’t? What was he supposed to say to Hermione then?

She smiled at him again and suddenly, his decision was easy. Who needed to be married? He had everything he wanted sitting at the table with him.

And it was just about to get a million times better with their first big decision.

10 notes · View notes

offtopicoverload · 3 years

Text

Hope Dumps Noah

I have no logical explanation for what this is, but @bubblybabynailpolish had an anon bring up Noah + Hope = Jade + Beck from Victorious a while ago, and it’s been living rent free in my head for weeks so here’s some bullshit. It’s loosely based on that one episode where Jade gets Tori to win back Beck except gayer and more litg and exists purely to appease the gremlin that is early 2010s me yelling in the back of my mind. And thanks to Anne for answering my weird asks, this is what they were for lmao

T Rating (fluff and angst, some elements of the show kinda? i tried at least)

Hope x MC (Rosie)

~10k (got super carried away but didnt wanna make multiple parts so take it as you will. on the bright side, it'd be longer if i edited properly but im tired so no)

Rosie’s front door shakes on its hinges, a pounding, thundering sound echoing from the other side, berating the wood as it quivers and quivers. Her head flies up in surprise, half expecting an army to spill into her flat, battering ram in hand as they shout orders. But no such event occurs, and she leaps up from the sofa in the corner, pocketing her phone and hurrying across the room before yanking the door open. She immediately freezes in place, meeting bewildered, watery eyes standing on the other side of the threshold.

Tears are streaming down splotchy cheeks, a throat bobbing as it fights to maintain some sort of composure, even as bones tremble beneath skin, shivering regardless of the heat of the building. “Um, uh, hey?” Rosie tries awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot in the doorway and gripping the knob with pale knuckles.

“Can I come in?” the words waver as they leave messy, tear-muddied, brightly stained lips, pouring out like broken shards, creating their own trail alongside tears. Red eyes glance down the hallway, paranoid as they search for something, even in the late night, “I don’t - I don’t want to be out here where -” a sniffle “- where people can see.”

Rosie blinks a few times, her mind still slowly working to process the situation that’s just presented itself to her. But dark eyes are glimmering with shed and unshed tears, pleading beneath lashes and shadows from poor corridor lighting, and she startles into action, “Yeah! Yeah, er, yeah,” she mumbles, moving aside and holding the door open in invitation.

The threshold’s crossed, hurrying inside the flat with arms crossed, making a beeline for the upholstered sofa backed against the wall and dropping down onto it. Rosie closes the door, locking it carefully, neurotically, slowly, just to give herself time to think, to make sense of what to do with one of the last people she ever expected inside her flat: Hope.

Hope’s sitting on her sofa, curled in on herself to take up as little space as possible, cheeks covered in the remnants of despair that Rosie can’t even explain, let alone prepare herself for. Hope’s sniffling in her living room, palms running up and down her biceps to calm herself, her throat struggling to stifle sobs she’s ashamed of. Hope’s crying in her flat, gaze pinned to the floor to avoid the world, makeup streaked and smudged on all of her features, features wracked with inexplicable pain.

Rosie turns from the door, brushing her clammy palms on her sweatpants over and over again, a distractionary stimuli to calm the nerves slowly bubbling beneath her skin. Nerves she hasn’t felt in months, and was determined to never feel again, not after weeks and weeks of the constant feeling of insects crawling beneath her skin, burrowing and biting and squirming. She glances up, finding Hope’s eyes trained on her, hesitant and terrified from across the room, the flat’s lights reflecting in them, her damp cheeks shimmering in the warm colours.

Rosie forces her lips to curl in a tiny smile as she approaches, somewhat slow and cautious, until she can fall into the cushions beside Hope, bloodshot eyes never straying from her movement. Rosie risks a hand on her back, gently skating up and down her spine, an attempt at comfort she doesn’t have a reason to provide. But she provides it anyway, praying it’ll help, it’ll keep the tears from dripping down Hope’s jaw and dampening her top.

Only it doesn’t, only Hope begins to crumble, falling against her and burying her face against Rosie’s shoulder, sobs shaking her shoulders, trembling like the door on its hinges. Rosie wraps her arms around the quaking body clinging to her, murmuring a few quiet assurances, an offer of a lifesaver in the raging sea drowning her. Her hands draw circles on Hope’s vulnerable back, shapes to distract herself with, to ground herself with.

Hope bawls and whimpers and sobs and shakes for what feels like forever to Rosie, a forever that’s odd and uncomfortable, a forever that she doesn’t know what to make of. It’s not that she’s necessarily upset with it - she’s done this for girl friends in the past, she knows how to help a heartbroken woman - it’s just who she’s helping. She hasn’t seen Hope since the finale, since she walked away with her hand clasped in Noah’s, since Rosie split the money with Arjun, just to appease the audience.

He was sweet, sure, but they just didn’t fit. She didn’t feel like he was her other half, her perfect match, a missing piece in the puzzle that constructs her life. She didn’t see herself sacrificing things for him, didn’t see herself working for her relationship with him, didn’t see herself with him, point blank. And Rosie doesn’t do things she can’t see, can’t envision, can’t rationalise.

Which is exactly why she has no idea what to make of the woman dampening and wrinkling her sweater, face pressed to her shoulder and hands fisted in her shirt. “Hey, it’s okay,” she murmurs against Hope’s head, her breath hot where it brushes skin, a shiver running through Hope at the exhale.

This is unfamiliar territory to Rosie, unknown ground as she slowly steps into no man’s land, wary of land mines sitting beneath the dirt. Land mines of glares and scoffs and dismissals, land mines that sat in every corner of the Villa. Maybe in another life this would be normal, be commonplace, but not in this one.

Not in the world where Rosie kissed Noah in the Villa’s lounge that fateful day, that day that she’s regretted ever since. It wasn’t meant to mean anything, it was only supposed to help Priya and Bobby. It wasn’t supposed to cause the end of the world or hurt Hope as much as it did. It wasn’t supposed to confuse Noah as much as it did or leave him dragging things on for ages. It wasn’t supposed to be anything at all, anything but a blatant mistake.

But it was, it was so much, and now here they are, months and months later. Hope hasn’t spoken to Rosie since the finale, and Rosie didn’t even mind. She’s barely kept in touch with anyone, the only people she speaks to being Chelsea and Priya, since they’re always first to reach out. Even in the Villa, Hope would barely speak to her, and it hurt for a while. It hurt that they had been so close and were suddenly so far, but she always forced that hurt away. It was her own fault, it was her actions that led to Hope hating her guts.

Except, maybe she doesn’t hate Rosie’s guts. Maybe she doesn’t want her dead or wish she was never born. Maybe she still thinks about when they were friends like Rosie does. Maybe there’s a reason she’s crying in Rosie’s arms in this moment, that she showed up at Rosie’s door, that she sought out something only Rosie could presumably offer.

Hope swallows thickly, her head turning until her cheek’s resting against Rosie. “We broke up,” Hope croaks, stifling another sob as she forces her voice out again, “I - I dumped Noah.”

“Oh, um…” Rosie fumbles, her hand tracing the length of Hope’s spine beneath her heavy, navy, patterned sweater, “I’m sorry,” she whispers, the words still warm as they settle on Hope’s skin.

“It’s my fault,” she whimpers, turning her face back to Rosie as another tremble courses through her, a barely suppressed noise of anguish dying in her throat.

Rosie resumes her reassurances, her small whispers into Hope’s scalp, her tight hold on Hope’s quivering body. She cycles through every calming technique or phrase she can think of what must be a hundred times over, until Hope quiets, until Rosie stops feeling tears on her neck, until steady, even breathing fills the flat.

She swallows to stabilise herself before asking the all important question, one she’s a little nervous to hear the answer to, “Can I - Can I ask why you’re here? And, uh, so upset? If it was your decision?” she trips over her words, a flower of nerves blossoming in her stomach, and she wants to stamp it out, to stop it from pulling her in once more.

Hope pulls away from, her face set in malleable stone even with tears glistening on her cheekbones, sparkling in the overhead lights Rosie had on, diamonds tumbling down her skin, soft enough not to cut. “I didn’t know who else to go to. I - I didn’t know what to do,” she confesses, her head bowing and eyes staring into her lap.

“Okay,” Rosie nods, a palm still skating up and down the length of Hope’s upper arm, “That’s okay. You don’t have to know. You can just stay here if you want?” she offers uneasily, shifting awkwardly in her spot.

Hope’s eyes flicker up to meet Rosie’s, a cautious hopefulness in them, “I can? It’s not, like, weird?” she mumbles, averting her gaze once more.

“Not if you don’t think it is,” Rosie counters as coolly as she can manage.

Hope shakes her head adamantly, “No, no, I’d… I’d rather not be on my own right now.”

Rosie smiles in what she hopes comes across as encouraging, “That’s cool. You want me to stay out here? We can watch a movie?” she proposes with pinched brows and squinted eyes.

A gentle, hesitant smile quirks Hope’s mouth, “Yeah.” She pauses, contemplative and nodding distractedly, “That’d be great, thanks.”

Rosie rises from the sofa, crossing the living room to flip off the lights and grab the remote and a pile of blankets sitting in the corner. She drops them beside Hope in a heap, crashing onto the opposite side of the sofa a second later. She flicks through streaming services until Hope points out some random romcom, Rosie turning it on as Hope relaxes into the sofa with one of the blankets.

Rosie doesn’t pay much attention to the film, playing with her box braids distractedly and only having a loose grasp on the cheesy plot, but she notices every time Hope laughs, the sound becoming more and more relaxed as time goes on. Rosie sinks into the cushions, her legs folded and arms wrapped around her torso, head lolled against the back of the sofa.

It’s hard to tell when her eyelids fall shut, or when the movie ends, or when Hope moves, but Rosie wakes up to a dark screen flickering through backgrounds and ads for streaming exclusives. She wakes up to Hope’s head resting on her shoulder and a blanket splayed across her lap, as if Hope was worried she’d be cold without it.

She blinks a few times in the dark, taking in the scene around her and slowly processing what her night has become. She only wanted to sit on her phone before going to bed early after her long day at work. She didn’t expect a crying woman to show up at her doorstep or to watch a bad movie until too early in the morning, or to fall asleep in the living room. A sigh shakes her chest, and she reaches for the remote, turning off the telly and settling back into the sofa, Hope shifting beside her with the adjustment.

---

Rosie wakes up to sunlight pouring into her flat and a deserted sofa, blankets the only remnants of Hope’s night spent in the living room. She slumps forward, head in her hands as she adjusts to the too-bright sun and the noise of London already filtering inside, honks of car horns and a hum of people on the streets providing a familiar soundtrack to her wake up.

“I want to get him back,” a voice declares, the words wavering slightly as they fall from lips set in a frown.

“Hmm?” Rosie hums groggily, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she lifts her head, blinking to clear her vision. She finds Hope standing across the room, arms crossed and expression determined as she meets Rosie’s gaze.

“I want to get Noah back, I want to tell him I’m sorry for the breakup,” Hope repeats, her voice sturdier now.

Rosie nods, her mind still foggy but the haze slowly clearing, “Okay. That’s good,” she rationalises slowly, rising from the sofa and stretching her muscles; she’s made a point to avoid sleeping on the sofa normally. She stalks into the kitchen, falling into her usual morning routine easily.

Hope follows behind her, eyes widening, “It is?” she sounds surprised, stopping a ways away from Rosie, feet on the wood.

“Yeah, if you were happy together,” Rosie nods again, turning to her kitchen appliances. She starts with coffee, collecting beans and supplies meticulously as always, setting them out in a particular pattern beside the fridge.

Hope crashes into a barstool at the counter behind Rosie, her voice coming out softer now, “We were,” she confirms.

“Okay,” Rosie shrugs. “So go get him back,” she turns, forearms dropping to the counter beneath her to support her weight. She watches Hope curiously, expecting some explanation or excitement or something of the like, but Hope’s gone silent, her lip slipping between her teeth to worry the skin. Her gaze is trained on the pale countertop, hands clasped tightly in her lap. “Hope?” Rosie asks gently.

Dark eyes fly up to meet her own, snapping up too quickly, “Yeah?”

“You okay?” Concern wells in Rosie’s gaze before she can prevent it, her upper body unconsciously leaning forward to inspect Hope and find what’s suddenly irking her.

“Yeah,” Hope nods.

Rosie isn’t quite convinced, her brows knitting together, “You sure?”

Hope’s eyes flicker around the kitchen for a minute to avoid the deep eyes watching her before her shoulders slump, defeated and exhausted, “No,” she mumbles dejectedly.

“What’s wrong?”

A heavy sigh lifts Hope’s shoulders, twitching them lightly “I don’t think he’ll talk to me, not after yesterday.”

Rosie pauses. She hadn’t really considered that, just assumed Noah would be as torn up about the breakup as Hope had been, that he’d been jumping in place if Hope said it was a mistake. Her fingernails tap at the counter as she considers, weighing her options before diving right in, “Do you want me to try?”

Hope’s eyes dart to Rosie again, still just as surprised as earlier, as if everything Rosie does is entirely unbelievable, “You’d do that?”

“I guess?” Rosie gives an awkward shrug, averting her eyes and turning around to continue making coffee. She grabs milk from the fridge before finishing the process, pouring everything into a mug, “Yeah, sure,” she mumbles when she faces Hope again, swirling the dark liquid in a whirlpool.

It’s a long, almost painful amount of time before either of them utter another word. “Thank you,” Hope whispers the words, a tiny break in the quiet of the flat, of the bubble that’s formed in the kitchen.

---

The next day, long after Hope leaves her flat, long after Rosie made eggs and coffee for the both of them, long after Hope gave Rosie a quick hug in thanks, Rosie grabs an Uber to the other side of the city, to the library Noah works at. She strides into the building with her hands knotted in the pockets of her jacket, nerves clamming her palms as she scans the open area she’s found herself in. It’s relatively empty, only a few people sitting and working or browsing shelves idly in the middle of the day.

She searches a few aisles, glancing down empty passageways and passing shelf after shelf loaded with books. A few patrons give her odd looks, some outright glaring at her for her behaviour, but she eventually finds Noah in a back corner, restocking a few shelves in practiced motions, a cart loaded with books parked beside him.

“Hey,” she greets from down the aisle, waving slightly with an uneasy smile when he glances at her in surprise.

He adds the books in his hands to the shelf before turning to face her properly, his expression slightly stunned, “Hey,” he greets back, his tone puzzled as one hand falls to the book cart to lean against.

Rosie ventures further into the aisle, her eyes darting around as she attempts to figure out how to broach the tender subject of a breakup from only two days ago. She stops before him, folding her arms and rolling up and down on her toes, “So…” she starts, looking up at him from beneath her lashes in hopes that he’ll understand what she’s getting at.

He doesn’t, only blinking as he looks at her expectantly, waiting for an explanation for her presence. She sighs, one hand fiddling with the tips of her braids nervously, rolling them between the pads of her fingers, “You and Hope broke up?” she eventually asks, meeting his gaze with as much confidence as she can muster.

His eyes go wide, his jaw falling open, “Um, yeah, but I - Look, you’re really amazing but I think I need a little time, you know, and if you’ll wait, that’s great, but I don’t want you to feel obligated or anything, but again, you’re amazing, I just…” he trails off as he takes in the confusion on her face, a blush growing on his cheeks.

Then it clicks, “Oh!” she startles. “No, no, I - mate, I didn’t come to hit on you,” she clarifies, somewhat taken aback by the conclusion he so quickly jumped to. “I’m not here to ask you out, no,” she reiterates.

He nods swiftly, muttering a few apologies under his breath before clearing his throat. “So, um, why are you here then?” he asks, careful and wary of saying something else wrong.

Rosie shifts on her feet, hands falling back to fidget in her jacket pocket’s, “Well… I kinda got the impression that Hope regrets the way things went down and wants to try again,” she forces, drawing herself to her full height, still a few inches shorter than the man before her.

Confusion flickers on his face, “How’d you get that impression?”

“I talked to her.”

The confusion grows, a crease splitting his eyebrows, “She talked to you?”

“She showed up at my flat,” Rosie answers casually.

“Why?”

She shrugs, mumbling out an “I dunno” in response.

“And you’re fine with that? And you’re helping her?” his arms cross over his chest as he asks, staring down at her intently, intimidatingly.

“Yeah,” she shrinks under his gaze, drawing her jacket tighter to block out the sudden chill coursing down her spine.

Noah’s lips twist, though in frustration or anger or upset, Rosie can’t tell. “Why?” he repeats.

Rosie sighs, shrugging again at the lack of a better answer, offering her best explanation, “She was really torn up about it.”

“She dumped me,” he states calmly, matter-of-factly, dismissively.

“I know.”

He watches Rosie carefully for a moment, taking in her appearance as she shuffles on her feet, unable to conceive of where this conversation is going next. “Do you know why?” he finally asks, Rosie stilling at the question.

“No,” she admits reluctantly.

“I got lunch with Priya, alone.”

“Well, yeah, that’s not great,” sarcasm soaks her words, coating her throat as the syllables escape.

Noah blinks at her, still stern and calm, “Because Ibrahim and Marisol had to cancel.”

“Oh,” Rosie freezes, her body tensing uncomfortably. That changes things. She swallows thickly, eyebrows raising and curving together, “Does she know that?”

“I tried to tell her.”

“Maybe she’ll listen now.”

“She never does,” Noah shrugs, his demeanor unchanged and unaffected.

She looks to him in disbelief, “That can’t be true.”

He heaves a heavy sigh, his guard finally cracking as his arms fall back to his sides, disappointment radiating from him like warmth from a fire, “For my birthday she got me The Old Man and the Sea,” he looks at Rosie as if he expects her to understand what that means.

“Okay…” she squints. She knows enough about literature to know it’s a classic, that most students have to read it at one point, herself included. “Why’s that bad? You’re a librarian.”

Noah’s lips curve in a slight frown as he straightens impossibly taller, “I hate Hemingway,” he nearly spits the name, a frown splitting Rosie’s own lips at his obvious displeasure.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

---

Hope shows up at Rosie’s flat again that night, her features fraught as she hurries in, hugging herself tight with her coat. She drops onto the sofa after she enters, Rosie following a beat behind and folding her legs on the cushions, Hope nearly vibrating in her skin as she watches Rosie expectantly.

When Rosie only meets her gaze, she sighs exasperatedly, “Well? What’d he say? He didn’t text me or anything,” she leans forward, eager to learn.

Rosie shifts under the excitement presented to her, excitement she knows is about to die, “He, uh, he wasn’t really on board with you guys getting back together,” she mumbles, avoiding shining eyes.

Hope visibly deflates in only a heartbeat, her bottom lip poking out as tears well in her eyes, every part of her depressed and hurt, “He wasn’t?” Her voice is small, painfully so to Rosie’s ears.

She forces herself not to cringe at the tone, at the way Hope’s fighting tears once more, “No, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, you’ve done a lot,” Hope sniffles, wiping at her nose and blinking back tears to calm herself, to prevent another onslaught of sobs on Rosie’s sofa. “You’ve done a lot,” she repeats, eyes trained on the fabric of the cushions beneath them, staring intently just to have something to focus her energy on. “Did he say why?” she finally asks after a minute, breaking the brief silence that had settled over them.

“Er -” Rosie squirms, fidgeting nervously, “He said he didn’t think you really listened to him,” she draws out the words, not wanting to speak them.

Hope is absolutely appalled, her jaw falling open in horror, “That’s - That’s not true!” she eventually manages the words, her mouth fumbling them.

“I know, but -”

“I listen!” she insists, hands flying up to grip Rosie’s forearm desperately, in search of confirmation that she’s a good person, a good partner, “Why would he say that, Rosie?” she’s panicked as her grasp tightens, falling away only a second later, “Why would he say that?” she repeats, softer now, a whisper.

“He said for his birthday you got him a Hemingway book,” Rosie chances.

Hope’s arms fold over her chest protectively, “He didn’t have any Hemingway.”

“‘Cause he hates Hemingway,” Rosie explains as gently as she can, Hope immediately slumping again, any retorts or defences forgotten.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

It’s quiet, Hope staring at nothing and Rosie staring at Hope, waiting for something to change, waiting for her to get sad or angry or maybe just leave all together. But she doesn’t, meeting Rosie’s eyes with a fire inside her own, “I need something else.” She’s determined as she sinks into the cushions, thinking raptly of some solution. “What if I get him a gift?” a lightbulb seems to explode above her head as she sits up again.

Rosie blinks at the quick change in mood, taken aback at the grin sitting on Hope’s lips. “Like what?”

“He likes Greyhounds?” Hope proposes with a tilt of her head and a quirk of an eyebrow, “He always said he’d love to have one.”

“You’re gonna buy him an entire dog?” Rosie asks in shock, her tone stunted and sharp.

Hope scowls at her in irritation, “He likes them!” she defends, “He’s talked about them a lot, and it’ll show I listen, right?”

“I guess?”

“What do you mean you guess?”

Hands fly up in self-defence and attempted placation, “This is your relationship, I don’t know him or what goes,” Rosie gestures in the air separating her from Hope, working to diffuse the tension.

Hope huffs, crossing her arms and collapsing into the cushions behind her, “Fine.”

---

Hope spends the next few days looking up shelters and breeders, trying to decide on a puppy or an adult or even an elderly dog, researching proper care for a Greyhound and what they need. Rosie doesn’t see or hear from Hope until her phone’s ringing incessantly as she gets out of the shower, scrambling to answer it and silence the buzzing, “Hello?” she asks without even reading the Caller ID, fumbling to turn on speakerphone.

“Hey!” Hope’s voice crackles through the speaker, bright and energetic. “I found one!” she announces, clearly pleased with herself and her findings.

“Hmm?” Rosie questions distractedly, tightening her towel wrapped around her body and grabbing skin and hair products to set them on the bathroom sink.

“I found a dog! I went to a shelter!”

Rosie nods, only realising afterwards that Hope can’t see her, sighing as she coats her face in moisturiser. “That’s great,” she hums again.

“Can you come over tonight? And we bring him to Noah’s flat? Please?” her voice is begging as it rings through the phone, Rosie glancing to it as Hope draws out the vowels of her plea.

“Uh, yeah, I think I’m free,” she mumbles, her mouth twisting as she applies products.

She’s reaching for the end call button after a long silence when a quiet murmur surprises her, “Thank you,” Hope whispers into her phone from the other side of the line.

A small smile curves Rosie’s mouth, “No problem.”

---

“You’re the worst,” Hope groans as she tugs on a leash, glaring at Rosie and her amused smile beside her.

“Says the one that dragged me into this,” Rosie grins, popping her eyebrows for effect. She’s refused to assist with the dog the entire time, forcing Hope to try and wrangle the full grown animal.

It darts forward down the street, yanking Hope along, “Hey!” she chastises, Rosie laughing unabashedly from behind her, jogging to catch up. “You could help, you know! He listened to you earlier!”

Rosie smirks, “Oh, I know. This is much more fun, though,” she teases, falling into another fit of laughter as Hope digs her heels into the pavement, working to pull the dog back.

He doesn’t listen, carrying on in the direction of the library. Noah wasn’t at his flat, so they’ve been forced to take a short detour to find him without waiting. “At least he knows where he’s going,” Rosie comments, still grinning.

Hope shoots her a scowl, “How lucky,” she spits through gritted teeth, her jaw tight as she uses all her strength to keep the dog from running off into London’s streets.

Rosie sighs as Hope nearly trips over her own feet, crouching down and whistling sharply. The dog turns, bolting for her, nearly tackling her to the ground until she grips his fur to keep upright, cooing over him the entire time. Hope’s gaze is a mix of disappointed, annoyed, and mildly impressed as Rosie grins up at her, scratching the dog behind his ears.

She pops back to her feet, stealing the leash from Hope in one smooth motion, “You’re welcome,” she hums, setting back off on their path, the dog following obediently on her heels.

She hears Hope groaning about it behind her until she catches up, muttering a ‘thanks’ under her breath, much to Rosie’s enjoyment. The rest of the walk is relatively quiet, only a few good natured ribbings from Rosie or complaints from Hope filling the space as they work their way to the library, street lamps illuminating much of their path in the dark evening.

Noah spots them before they spot him, the pair distracted as Rosie laughs at Hope’s grumbling, Rosie nearly walking into a post as she struggles to stay upright. “Stop it!” Hope chides, slapping her shoulder, which only makes Rosie laugh even harder.

“Um, hi?” Noah calls out to them, earning their gazes simultaneously. Hope stiffens, Rosie sobers, and the dog slobbers onto the pavement beneath their feet.

Rosie passes the leash back to Hope, taking a step back and away from their reunion, much to Noah’s confusion. “Hi,” Hope greets back, his eyes settling back on her.

“What are you guys doing out here?” he asks, his tone slipping into something adjacent to wariness, maybe light caution.

A bright smile curves Hope’s mouth and she sticks her hand out, offering the leash and the dog attached to it, “I got you a dog!” she announces eagerly, “I know how much you’ve always wanted one, so…” she trails off at his expression.

His eyebrows are drawn tight, lips working to form some words, “You got me a dog?!” he balks, his expression soon slipping into anger, almost a snarl, with his eyes blazing. Hope taking a step away from him, blinking rapidly as her mind audibly whirs.

“You always said you wanted one!” she explains, a spark igniting in her own dark eyes, threatening to start a fight.

“That doesn’t - What were you thinking?!”

Hope’s jaw sets tight, but it’s not enough to hide the shimmer in her eyes, “You like them, I know you do! And you don’t think I listen, but I do, so I’m proving that to you!” she counters, her voice raising.

Noah looks baffled, his hands flying and mouth opening and closing as he searches for words, “He won’t fit in my flat, Hope! He’s big and - and has a ton of energy!” he gestures wildly to the dog that’s found his way to Rosie, sitting in front of her as she scratches behind his ear.

“I thought that’s what you liked about them!” Hope’s own arms are waving, in both exasperation and irritation. One hand rises to fidget with her braids, tugging on and fiddling with a few.

“Yeah, for when I’m in a house, not a tiny flat!” Noah shouts back, “I can’t have him! I don’t want him!”

Any fire that had been blazing in Hope’s dark eyes dies out at that, at the way Noah’s glaring at her, at the way he’s dismissed her peace offering, her attempt to fix things between them. “But -”

“You can’t just -” he huffs sharply before trying to school his expression into something calmer, “You can’t just do these things without asking, it’s like you don’t even care what I think.”

Hope looks horrified, like her world is turning to ash right before her, and maybe it is, maybe this is the end of everything for her, “That’s not - I care! This is how I care! I - I pay attention and try and do things for you!”

“I don’t want you to do things for me!” Noah counters, hands balling into angry fists at his sides.

“Why not?” Hope asks indignantly, head tilted back to meet Noah’s gaze directly, her chest puffed out in a show of confidence.

Noah flounders, his jaw snapping shut, visibly rolling with tension as he searches for a reason, exploding when he can’t find one, “I just don’t! I can do things myself, Hope, I don’t need you railroading me like you always do! I’m tired of it, it’s not worth it!” he accuses, his last words effectively severing any chance at reconciliation.

Hope slumps, her shoulders sagging and face drooping, every muscle in her body going lax, as if she’s melting from heartache. Noah exhales sharply, his own shoulders dropping, losing some of the tension keeping them upright as he drags a hand through his hair, playing with it to calm himself further.

Rosie keeps to the side, not sure of her place, not sure if she’s meant to intervene, and only watches Hope stand with her head turned to the ground, braids blocking her face from view as she remains frozen, unmoving, her feet stuck to the ground and her body tense. “I’m sorry.” The words are barely audible, fractures of the typical strength in her voice, before she turns on her heel, dropping the dog’s leash and running away with tears in her eyes.

Noah deflates as she leaves, his hands balled up tight to steady himself, his face scrunched up in thought and frustration and likely a dozen other emotions as he struggles to process them. He slumps forward, his previous fight and irritation dissipating into the air, the dog still sitting at Rosie’s feet, tongue lolling and a whine echoing from him.

All the while, Rosie struggles for words, for a reaction, for something appropriate, but all she can think about is the way Hope collapsed before him, like the sight is imprinted on her mind. “Come on, mate,” she finally breaks the quiet, “You didn’t have to be that harsh,” she comments, deep creases in her own forehead and between her brows.

“I didn’t mean to be,” Noah mumbles, head down in shame as he stares at the ground, blank and empty save for the rise of his chest with each breath.

Rosie steps closer as the silence drags on, scooping up the abandoned leash and glancing over her shoulder and finding Hope long gone as she does. Her hand rises to his shoulder, gripping it loosely, “I know,” she shrugs weakly, squeezing the muscles beneath her palm. “Sorry about the dog,” she offers.

Noah laughs a little, but it’s splintered on the edges and lacking any real joy or amusement, “It’s fine. My mum’ll love him, I’m sure.”

Rosie nods sagely, retracting her hand carefully before gesturing over her shoulder, “I’m gonna, uh, go after her,” she mutters, turning on her heel and hurrying after Hope.

She finds her slumped against a wall half a block away, staring at nothing with tears streaming down her face as her lip quivers with barely restrained sobs. Rosie skids to a stop beside her, earning Hope’s attention momentarily, before she turns back to staring at nothing. She’s hollow, her gaze empty, barely there as she drifts through her mind and the storm that must be filling it like a hurricane. Rosie doesn’t say anything, only leans against the wall beside the destitute woman, eyes trained on the glimmers coating her cheeks, lit by street lamps around them.

“I just,” Hope finally begins after a long, painstakingly silent moment, “I don’t get it.” She sniffles, “I - I know we weren’t perfect, but I just… I thought we meant more than we must have.” Her voice falls apart on the last few words, cracking and splintering into a tiny, fragile whisper.

Rosie nods in understanding, pulling Hope into her arms without uttering a single word, holding her close and letting her fall apart once more, shaking under the weight of Rosie’s arms around her, burying her face in her shoulder. Her hands fist in the fabric of Rosie’s shirt, an anchor to attach herself to as the hurricane blows and wrecks and destroys her insides.

Hope’s tired of letting go, of giving in or giving up, of letting her world dissolve in her hands because fighting’s too much of a risk, a hazard, a danger to her. She’s tired of ignoring the things that rub her the wrong way, that send a cold chill down her spine, that fill her skull with a swirling mass of dark and awful thoughts. She’s tired of all the hurt and the fighting, of the way her skin turns a sickly green every time someone gets too close, of the headaches and nausea that accompany one of his unbothered shrugs.

She’s tired of it, she’s done with it, she’s not going to fight anymore, not when he doesn’t fight for her. Not when Rosie is the one she’s been leaning on, not when Rosie is the one that’s been consoling her, not when Rosie is the one that’s been nice, and caring, and sweet, and gentle, and there.

Hope shifts, freeing her face from Rosie’s top as the tears come to a stop, but keeping her head resting against her shoulder. “Why couldn’t it have been like this?” she whispers into the air, a quiet pondering that’s directed more to herself than the woman wrapped around her.

“Hmm?” Rosie hums, pulling back to look down at Hope, finding her gaze distant as she stares into the space before her, eyes piercing into the street stretching before them. “What do you mean?” Rosie murmurs down to her, finally drawing dark eyes to her own.

They’re averted just as quickly, Hope pressing her cheek even further into Rosie’s shoulder, and Rosie swears she sees some colour rush to Hope’s face. “I dunno,” she mumbles, gaze trained on nothing in particular. “It’s just… easier. Comforting. You let me do this and you’re sweet about it.”

“Noah seems pretty sweet,” Rosie mumbles awkwardly, still unsure where the line is, how Hope feels about him, how she wants to feel about him and their relationship.

Her shoulders raise in a miniscule, half-hearted shrug, “Yeah, but he doesn’t really get it. He doesn’t get it when I’m upset or mad. He’s too calm,” her lips twist at the statement, displeased at the memories.

Rosie snorts, above her, Hope’s eyes darting upwards, “What, and I’m a raving madwoman, is that?” she grins, the tension of the moment falling away with ease.

Hope’s mouth curves at the edges as she slips from Rosie’s grasp just enough to slap her arm, a common reaction to the older woman’s antics, Rosie feigning pain and rubbing at the spot instantly. “No!” Hope chides, “But you get it,” she settles back against Rosie, “Or at least you get what to do. Noah would try and fix it or tell me to ignore it or whatever, but you just let me be.”

Rosie shrugs, some heat rising to her cheeks as she glances towards the empty street beside them, fumbling for a response. She defaults to finding somewhere that will bring Hope some sort of solace, “Okay, let’s get you home,” she sighs, ignoring the heat on the back of her neck to the best of her ability.

Hope removes herself from Rosie’s hold entirely this time, stepping back and folding her arms while shifting from foot to foot. “Can I stay at your place tonight?” she asks with a twist of her lips, looking to Rosie from beneath her lashes.

“Sure,” Rosie grins, slinging her arm over Hope’s shoulders to guide her through the streets to her car, Hope leaning into her with ease as they trade some small conversation.

---

A day later and there’s a knock on Rosie’s door from across the flat, a short, sharp knock. She sighs, grabbing a dish towel and dusting off her hands before exiting the kitchen and the mess of ingredients within it. Another knock sounds on the wood, impatient as it continues on and on, Rosie hurrying to reach the door.

She jerks it open to find Hope on the other side of the threshold, beaming with her fist still poised in the air and a bottle of wine in her other hand. “Hi!” she greets, stepping past Rosie into the flat and scanning the open area curiously.

“Hey?” Rosie tries, shutting the door behind Hope and leaning against it, arms crossed and towel in hand. “Should I have been expecting you?” she asks, cycling through her day in her mind to double-check.

“Nope!” Hope turns, still grinning, “But I brought wine!” she offers the bottle proudly, swinging it for emphasis.

Rosie nods, one brow raised, “I can see that.”

Hope’s smile dims, slowly falling away as Rosie doesn’t say anything more, evidently a sign of annoyance. “Sorry,” she bows her head. “I shouldn’t have come, should I? I’m sorry, I just didn’t know what to do tonight,” she confesses, her words rushing in a hurry to explain herself.

Rosie pushes herself upright from the door, stepping away from the threshold and closer to Hope, “I take it you usually spend evenings with Noah?”

Hope only nods in response, head still down in embarrassment and resignation. Her arms are slack at her side, the wine bottle dangling loosely in her grasp as she awaits Rosie’s harsh words telling her to leave and not come back.

“Well, I’m making dinner right now and I always make too much,” Rosie states, no edge in her voice, no malice in her words, “Take your shoes off and it’ll be done in about a half hour.” Rosie turns, striding back into the kitchen and leaving Hope to collect herself.

She joins Rosie a few minutes later in her socks, her smile repaired as she drops into a barstool across from Rosie, placing the wine bottle on the counter, a glimmer in her eyes as she presents it, pushing it across the counter. Rosie laughs in response, nicking it and pulling out wine glasses. She pours a drink for each of them, Hope draining hers rather quickly as she talks about her day, Rosie stealing a few sips as she cooks.

Rosie presents the finished dinner with a flourish to Hope, earning a laugh as she takes the plate. Rosie rounds the kitchen, dropping into the stool beside Hope and taking a swig of her wine. “So what’d you do today?” Hope prompts curiously, cutting into the chicken Rosie made and taking a bite.

“Usual stuff. Trained today, the new player’s are adjusting pretty well, and then ran a few errands. Usual stuff,” she shrugs, taking a bite of asparagus.

“That’s fun,” Hope hums encouragingly, smiling wide when Rosie glances to her. She nearly chokes on her food at the sight, coughing and laughing at the same time as Hope watches in confusion and concern, “What’s happening? Are you okay?” she turns in her seat to face Rosie directly, hands hovering, unsure of where to land.

Rosie waves her off, still working to catch her breath and stop laughing, something made infinitely more difficult by Hope hitting her on the back to presumably help her dislodge something. “I’m fine!” she croaks, working to suck in deep breaths.

“Are you sure? What happened?” Hope asks again, hand on the back of Rosie’s seat, just in case.

Rosie chuckles briefly before pressing her lips together, forcing neutrality that barely holds together, “You were just very serious in your excitement over groceries.” She bites her tongue to keep from laughing again.

“Is that really it?” Rosie nods to confirm, suppressing more giggles. Hope’s eyes roll, a groan escaping from her throat, “You’re the worst.”

Now Rosie can barely hold it back, dissolving into giggles as Hope scowls, picking at her meal as Rosie struggles to find air. “Says the one eating my food,” she grins when she finally catches her breath.

“What’s that mean?” Hope turns with a glare.

Rosie draws herself taller, even sitting down she’s got some height on Hope, “It means you showed up at my door unannounced and stole all my hard work,” she accuses coolly.

“I brought you wine!” Hope frowns, gesturing to the bottle in her defence.

Rosie raises an eyebrow, a knowing smile on her lips, “Who’s the one drinking it all?”

That shuts Hope up, Rosie earning a scowl as they turn back to their dinners, Hope staying quiet until Rosie brings up her job. Then she’s beaming and telling every detail of her workplace she can think of, every coworker that’s weird or mean or nice or funny, every aspect of career that she loves.

The conversation flows alongside the wine, until the bottle’s empty and the pair’s slouched on the sofa, facing each other on opposite ends. Hope fumbles for her phone, pulling it out and wincing at the time, “I need to go home.” She turns, standing up what must be too quickly because she drops back to the cushions.

Rosie shifts forward too, folding her legs before her, “Did you drive here?”

Braids jangle as Hope nods, her eyes falling shut as she slowly leans back into the cushions again. Rosie sighs, finding it much easier to stand than Hope, and grabs a blanket, draping it across her lap, “Just stay here.

Hope’s eyes squint open, looking up at Rosie with dilated pupils, “You sure?” she mumbles, her words slurring together from the alcohol that had coated her tongue.

“Yeah, you’re not getting in a wreck on my watch,” Rosie hums, collecting their glasses and the empty bottle before striding into the kitchen. She puts the glasses in the sink and the bottle on the counter beside it to deal with tomorrow, then retraces her steps to the living room.

Hope’s curled up on the sofa already, the blanket tucked under her chin, and Rosie smiles at the sight and absurdity of a drunk Hope asleep in her flat. She shakes her head, turning to her bedroom and stalking inside, collapsing on the bed as soon as she can, passing out as soon as her head hits the pillow.

---

Hope continues coming to Rosie’s flat a few times a week, sometimes with an offering of wine or takeaway in hand, sometimes with nothing more than herself. They watch movies and talk and laugh about stupid things from the Villa or stories from their lives until their tired from long days or it’s three in the morning and they still don’t stop talking.

Sometimes Hope sits in an armchair and responds to emails while Rosie paces the length of the flat with her phone pressed to her ear, talking down one of her players or fighting with managers. Sometimes there’s not a single word spoken between them, sometimes all they do is talk, sometimes Rosie makes dinner, sometimes it’s late enough that they’ve both already eaten, sometimes Hope shows up after Rosie has already gone to bed, sometimes Hope even beats her home in the afternoon.

There’s no pattern to any of it, there’s no rhythm, nothing concrete to Hope’s appearances, but Rosie soon finds that she doesn’t even mind. It’s actually kind of nice, to have someone around without any expectations. It’s kind of nice that Hope brings her soup when she gets a cold, or how Hope somehow always has wine on hand for when they need it, or how Hope tidies the flat when she’s especially busy.

It’s a casual night tonight, popcorn and drinks sitting on the coffee table as a movie plays across from them in the dark. Rosie picked tonight, a drama about a hockey team one of her players always recommends, since she couldn’t think of anything else but was not definitely not watching another of Hope’s romcoms twice in a row. They’d been snacking all night, splitting a pizza in the evening as Hope worked on some project and Rosie scrolled her phone, a silence seeping into the flat.

Rosie watches the film in a similar silence now, watches the flickering of light as it reflects and refracts off every available surface in the room. A contented sigh vibrates in her throat as she settles further into the sofa, pulling the blanket she’s enthralled within tighter. She sinks into the cushions, shifting her legs and letting her knees brush against Hope’s thighs.

Speaking of, she can see the other woman watching her in the dark, eyes trained on Rosie’s features, inspecting them carefully as blues and yellows and reds and dozens of other hues play in her dark irises, glinting off and mixing with them. Rosie glances over, finding a crease between Hope’s brows as she stares at something below Rosie’s eyes that she can’t quite place. She smiles softly in the dim lighting, teasingly, “What?” she asks, “Something on my face?”

Only she doesn’t get the chance to ask the second question, because suddenly there is absolutely something on her face, something that she doesn’t think should be there and was not at all anticipating, but honestly doesn’t entirely mind. Hope’s lips are on hers, soft and nice and there.

Hope’s kissing her. Hope’s kissing her, and it’s tentative and cautious and careful, like Hope’s gaze was a moment ago, and it all makes sense in an instant. She blinks, stunned and shocked, until her lashes flutter shut and she’s kissing Hope back. She melts into her, a hand rising to cup Hope’s cheek and draw her closer, a hand fisting in the front of her shirt to close the space between them.

When they finally break for air, a sigh slips past Hope’s lips as their lips separate, still brushing against each other, their breath mingling in the small gap. “Um, what…?” Rosie whispers against the lips on hers, unable to find a conclusion to the question.

“I - I don’t know,” Hope whispers, just as quiet, “Sorry,” she murmurs, pulling back.

Rosie watches her go, hurt welling inside her gut at the regret evident on Hope’s face, “Why?”

Hope shakes her head, like she’s frustrated with something, though Rosie doesn’t know what. “Didn’t ask,” is all she says, leaning away and turning back to the film still playing.

Rosie’s following her retreat without even realising, chasing after Hope unconsciously. “Didn’t mind.”

“Really?” Hope’s eyes snap to her, wide with clear surprise at the admission.

“I mean, maybe a little warning next time, but…” Rosie shrugs, unbothered.

Dark eyes glimmer, lit by the films rainbow of lighting, “Next time?”

“If you want.”

Hope shifts, facing Rosie head on, “Do you want a next time?” she asks carefully, emphasising the importance of the question with wide eyes.

A smirk lifts the corner of Rosie’s mouth, “First time was pretty good, so yeah.”

“Only ‘pretty good’?” Hope teases, leaning closer again, close enough for Rosie to see faint specks sparkling in her irises.

“Yep,” Rosie nods, resolute as her face solidifies into sharp stone. “Not about to stroke your ego.”

Hope groans, “You’re the worst.”

“Says the one that kissed me first,” Rosie teases right back, her smirk only growing at Hope’s annoyance, however played up it may be.

“Shut up,” Hope whines.

“No thanks,” Rosie grins, ready to start a spiel about everything she’s learned annoys Hope in the past few months, everything that earns a groan or a sigh or an eye roll, everything that makes her glare or scowl or slap Rosie’s arm even though it doesn’t hurt. “I think I’m -”

Hope’s kissing her again, only this time it’s deeper, filled with fire as Hope’s hands slip around to cup the back of her head, pulling Rosie ever closer and holding her there. Rosie’s own hands slide along Hope’s body, landing on her thighs and tugging her forward on the cushions, until their bodies are pressed together, with lips locked together. A groan slips from Hope’s throat, Rosie humming at the noise and sending her hands exploring in search of more sounds, palms grazing Hope’s exposed navel, muscles twitching beneath skin.

Hope splits them apart, her forehead pressing against Rosie’s gently, her panting breaths sending a shiver down Rosie’s spine. “What are we now?” her words only amplifying the effect.

“Whatever you want us to be,” Rosie answers easily, the question seeming unnecessary, “You’re kinda taking the reins here.”

Hope pauses, her hands clasped behind Rosie’s neck and thumbs brushing her skin idly. “Are we already dating?” she asks after a long moment.

“What do you mean?”

“We do a lot of coupley stuff,” Hope shrugs a bit, her lips twisting in contemplation, “We hang out all the time and I stay over and you make dinner and we watch movies,” she lists off.

Rosie pulls away, putting enough space between them to take in all of Hope, “Do you wanna carry on like this?”

Hope blinks, like she wasn’t expecting that question, “Yeah,” she answers, a little indignantly.

“Okay,” Rosie nods along, “Do you wanna call it dating?”

Hope stalls, eyes falling away as she considers, her voice coming out smaller than before when it finally does, “...Yeah.”

“Then we’re dating,” Rosie smiles sweetly at her, Hope’s expression softening at the sight.

Until it sharpens quickly, determination building in her eyes, “We have to go on a date,” she states evenly, matter-of-factly.

“Does that make it official?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Rosie shrugs, falling back against the arm of the sofa casually, a wicked grin splitting her lips, “But you’re taking me out,” she warns.

Hope’s brow furrows at the declaration, the surety of it, “What? Why?”

“You started this, now it’s your problem,” Rosie smirks as Hope frowns, her eyes narrowing into a glare in the dark of the flat.

“You’re the absolute worst.”

“Says the one taking me on a date,” Rosie wiggles in her spot, falling back further and slipping her feet into Hope’s lap, Hope harrumphing and shoving them off with a scowl, much to Rosie’s amusement.

---

Hope drags Rosie out to a cafe in the morning, grinning the entire time she avoids telling Rosie where they’re even going, laughing at all of Rosie’s off-base guesses and humming ‘warmer’ when she gets something right.

She holds Rosie’s hand the entire time, occasionally swinging their interlocked digits between them or fiddling with Rosie’s fingers, as if they’re the most fascinating thing Hope can conceive of. And maybe they are. Maybe the way their hands fit together is strange, maybe the way they’re so close in size is odd, maybe the way Rosie squeezes her hand or traces circles along her knuckles idly is puzzling.

She pulls Rosie to a stop at the mouth of an alley, earning a confused expression in turn as Rosie looks around, “What are we doing here?” she spins in a slow circle, taking in the desolate street around them, a backroad with a small boutique, a pawn shop, and an auto body place. “Are you going to mug me?” she asks with twisted lips when she faces Hope again.

A laugh bubbles out of Hope and she swats at Rosie’s arm, a pleased smile curving Rosie’s mouth. “No!” Hope chastises, before pausing, her jaw clamping shut. “Close your eyes,” she demands a beat later.

“Okay, you’re definitely mugging me.”

“Just do it,” Hope whines. “Please?” she smiles, sweet as candy, Rosie immediately giving in with a roll of her eyes. “Perfect,” Hope squeezes Rosie’s hand tight, gently tugging her further into the alley.

“This is a very elaborate ruse to mug me, you know,” Rosie comments, eyes still squeezed shut, a hand on her lower back leading her.

Hope huffs exasperatedly, “Would you stop it?”

“Just saying. You already know where I live and when I have work, you don’t have to mug me.”

“Stop it or I really am gonna mug you.”

Rosie grins victoriously, reveling in the way she doesn’t even have to see Hope’s face to know how irritated she is, that she can tell from voice alone, “Knew it.”

“Shut. Up,” Hope’s teeth are gritted as she glares at Rosie with her dopey smile and closed eyes.

“Fine, fine,” Rosie concedes, “Just leave my money alone.”

“Just your money?”

Rosie faces Hope regardless of sight, “What’s that meant to mean? You want my phone, too?”

“Just checking if you’re available then,” Hope teases playfully, still gently leading.

Rosie pauses to consider, “Depends,” she finally lands on.

“On what?” Hope challenges.

“What you want out of me,” Rosie answers carefully, “I’m not mugging people with you.”

Hope barely suppresses an eye roll, “You’re the worst.”

“Aw, you really care,” Rosie coos, her hands clasping above her heart dramatically.

“I care about your money.”

Another victorious smile, “Knew it. Golddigger.”

“Arsehole.”

“Says the mugger.”

A sigh’s Rosie’s only response as they come to a stop somewhere, Hope’s arms draping around Rosie’s shoulders and her lips pecking Rosie’s. Her hands instinctively land on Hope’s hips, “Okay, open your eyes,” Hope hums.

Rosie obliges, blinking a few times to adjust to the sunlight, smiling down at Hope as her vision clears. “This it? Lotta theatrics. Coulda just stayed in for this view,” she teases.

Hope shakes her head exasperatedly, but it’s not enough to hide the smile on her lips, “Look around.”

She does, lifting her head away from Hope and finding them on a busier street the alley emptied onto. There’s a little café right in front of her, somewhat secluded from the rest of the street, with fogged windows and blurs of colour inside. No one’s moving in or out of the building, and it’s small enough that only a few patrons could possibly be inside.

Rosie’s eyes fall back to Hope and her smile, “What is this place?” she asks softly, bewonderment lessening the edge of her tongue at the quiet little escape she’s been led to.

“My favourite café. It’s really small and has the same regulars and everyone’s super nice and wonderful.” Hope bites her lip, as if she’s hesitating or nervous about something, “I found it after the show, when there was so much attention everywhere I went, and no one even knew me, so I started coming all the time.”

Rosie nods along, staring into Hope’s eyes intently to ground her, to show she understands. And she really does. She understands how hard it was with the editing and the pressure of the show. She understands how bad the backlash online was at times, when people would shit on them for anything. She understands how necessary it was to find a place to withdraw, to have people that didn’t care and just let her continue on with her job.

“Well, let’s go,” Hope’s arms retract from around Rosie’s shoulders, hands sliding down to grip Rosie’s and pull her along to the café. She swings the door open with a grin, a bell ringing above their heads. Not a single patron glances their way, most typing away at laptops or scrolling their phones as they sip drinks and slowly pick at food.

Only an employee takes notice, waving at Hope with a welcoming smile as he wipes down a countertop. She gently leads Rosie to the till, immediately falling into a conversation with the man as Rosie scans the menu and the shop. There’s booths on one wall, most empty, small tables filling the front, and a mural of different climates and natural environments on the wall opposite the booths.

“What do you want?” Hope asks, turning to Rosie as the employee stands waiting, his hands on his hips and a slight smile curling his mouth.

She smiles back before glancing at the menu and the dozens of items written across it. “Um,” her eyes scan over drink after drink, the letters whirring together. “Iced vanilla latte for now?” she tries, meeting the employees eyes.

“Ooh, me too!” Hope chimes, squeezing Rosie’s hand excitedly.

The employee - Chris, on his name tag - smiles even brighter, “Coming right up.”

Hope tugs Rosie away before Chris has even turned all the way around, pulling her along to a booth and collapsing into one side. Rosie follows, settling across from her, their hands still loosely linked together on the table, Hope’s thumb tracing the lines of Rosie’s palm.

Something sparks in the back of Rosie’s mind at the contact, in the pit of her stomach, in the thump of her heart, and she can’t quite place it, but she knows she likes it. She knows she likes this moment, too, the way Hope looks so at ease and relaxed, the way Hope brought her to her hidden spot, the way Hope tried to make breakfast before opting for the café. She likes the way this is going, they way they work together, even from before they realised there was something more to them than platonic movie nights. She likes how casual it was, how easy it came about, how relaxed she is as long as Hope’s there.

And she likes the way they just fit. They fit like one another’s other half, their perfect match, the missing pieces in the puzzles that construct their lives. And she can see herself sacrificing things for the woman sitting across from her, can see herself working for this relationship and all its inevitable flaws, can see herself in this moment forever, without a doubt in her mind. And Rosie doesn’t do things she can’t see, can’t envision, can’t rationalise.

But she can see Hope’s smile, can envision countless Sunday mornings spent at this little café, can rationalise the way her heart flutters at every laugh. This makes perfect sense, every detail and every second is reasonable and real and means so much more than Rosie ever thought they’d mean.

#litg fanfic #litg hope #litg noah #hdn #hopefully this shuts the gremlin up #that bastard #but deadass that anons a genius #id also like to make it very clear that i have no problem with noah he seems chill its just hard to write a breakup without making someone #seem like the bad guy #yknow?

24 notes · View notes

archival-account-2 · 4 years

Text

definition and refinement; in the heart of an artist. | keiji akaashi [headcanons]

❛ 𑁍 pairing: keiji akaashi x female!artist!reader

❛ 𑁍 scenario: in fukoradani academy; in the art club (school studio); in the volleyball court

❛ 𑁍 warning: none because it's a fluff; y'all haven't seen the coffee sachets i consumed

❛ 𑁍 note (i): my head isn't a healthy headspace because the brown coffee + sugar + black sugar i consumed today; y'all better expect like a train is gonna hit you off the rails because i didn't went easy with this one; of course, i tried to keep keiji akaashi in character, so please patient as i am adjusting his personality with my writing style (it’s fun writing new things)

❛ 𑁍 requested by: @schoneelise

🡪 you are one of the school prominent artists not because you're the vice president of the art club (your senpai is a third-year) but because you're presence is always defined no matter where you are.

🡪 did someone saw that cutie in a red berret? yeah, that's you, sketching in one of the notebooks you brought.

🡪 oh, did someone also saw that dolly in a skirt with van gogh's starry night masterpiece? yep, defintely, that's you, admiring your juniors' art in their studio while giving them advice.

🡪 anways, moving on; your senpai, (s/n), is very good friends with kotaro bokuto, the colleyball captain of the fukorodani volleyball club. (s/n) comes to their friend's practice by themselves but one day, you're intrigued with the way they were acting.

🡪 it was as if they were jittery and were kept on their toes. did something happen without your knowledge?

(s/n): they almost had it... they almost had it!

(y/n): ... senpai?

(s/n): if keiji didn't mess it up, he could have-

(y/n): sennpai, are. you. okay???

🡪 your kind concern reconvened your senpai's attention toyou, who almost looked petrified. (s/n) apologized for their erratic behavior and explained the situation.

🡪 long story short: fukorodani would facing off against the schools in tokyo in less than one week, and they don't have enough time to practice the new combo they conjured up.

🡪 you, being the supportive type, decided to come with your senpai. they were more than happy to have you tagging along. besides, it seemed like you needed something to be your next inspiration.

🡪 wow. the tension in the court... is just... wow.

🡪 boy, did the sound of balls bouncing off the floor and walls made you rethink your decision. what if you're going to lose an arm? what if you're going to get a concussion? is the place even safe for behaving people?

(s/n): relax. they know where they're gonna hit.

🡪 you're almost believing your senpai when a ball narrowly missed your head by a hair. a hair... a. hair.

🡪 poor you... you almost dropped your art things on the floor and fainted right after that.

keiji: not that high, bokuto-san. you almostt hurt (s/n)-san.

(s/n): actually... you almost obliterated my vice president, (y/f/n).

🡪 you were, by all means of surprise, a forgiving type of person, so you kindly and simply brushed it off with a shy wave of dismissal and a smile.

(y/n): no, it's fine! in fact, it kinda impressed me that it can go that fast and strong. er, good job!

🡪 let's just say, the volleyball captain became very fond of you at the very instant.

🡪 and his vice captain? he's intrigued, to say the least.

🡪 after one strenous match (that scared you most of the time and had to shift multiple times), they finally had a break. your senpai walked over to kotaro and chatted with him, shooting the breeze as the other players attended to their needs.

🡪 while the game was nearing to an end earlier, you finally moved to the most comfortable spot: almost to the corner, underneath a window. you set your artist's satchel beside you in peace (at last) and made new sketches that were inspired by your new surroundings: the court ceilings, the net from your perspective, the rapid movement of rubber shoes, the accelerated ball and it's awesome momentum.

🡪 you were having your own fun in your own newfound place, and you like the fact you had something new to draw about.

🡪 now, during the ten-minute break, keiji akaashi, the vice captain, noticed that you were gone... well, that was until he saw you sitting by yourself.

🡪 you were sitting cross-legged; your sketchpad on your lap; your mechanical pencil scraping the paper as it draws; your head bending down with your eyes focused on the task at hand.

🡪 keiji walked over to you quietly, making sure his tall presence won't startle you. but since you were so immersed, you didn't even pay any attention to anything else. so, he stood before you, bent over, and looked down at your sketchpad.

keiji: it's really pretty.

🡪 you almost threw your pencil five feet in the air from the sudden, accidental scare.

(y/n): oh, um... thanks... but does it really?

keiji: yeah.

🡪 from then on, you and keiji hang out like good buddies every other time after his practice and after your duties in the art club were done for the day.

🡪 however, on one hand, it would be you who would come by the court and proceed with your habit to sketch the surroundings. but, on the other hand, it would keiji who would finish early and drop by the art club (without announcing his presence because of his frequent visits), watching you work behind your back as you work on an easel or laptop (for digital arts).

🡪 of course, during the times you two would spend the time, keiji would give you meaningful advice on how to make your pieces more attractive and more aesthetic-looking.

🡪 surprisingly, they worked so well! in fact, so well that your (s/n) would tease you about keiji being the better mentor than themselves.

(s/n): i guess (y/n)-chan doesn't need me at all... she had found a better teacher... much worse, he's in the volleyball club. oh, the horror!

(y/n): but you taught me the fundamentals, though... senpai, you're being melodramatic again.

🡪 in case you haven't noticed it yet, you're the type of artist who can quickly adapt to another artstyle without sacrificing your own. you are a fast learner type and that was because you believe improvement knows no speed.

🡪 you always work hard to make your pieces expressive, eloquent, and emotional. with your ardent passion to adapt to functional styles, it's no wonder why you can cope up with keiji's suggestions without thinking about it.

🡪 keiji, in turn, would be surprised. but he would only retain that notion only to himself. he couldn't bear to admit that verbally.

🡪 he's not big on evoking emotions or feelings easily; he prefers to keep a calm, relaxing, and unmoving personality everytime he's around crowds.

🡪 but there was one thing he couldn't do: he couldn't stop his own eyes from expressing from what he truly felt in the inside.

🡪 whenever he saw you drawing something that seemed better than he liked it to be, keiji would give you a nod of his head and simply motioned for you to continue with a wave of his hand. but then you would give him a quick-second glance, and his eyes said, 'it's really amazing. please do more'.

🡪 other times, when you eagerly show him your work, a side of his lips would tug slightly upwards. but it would quickly disappear as it appeared. you didn't fail to spot it, though, and you felt super proud you're able to make keiji elicit an expression of happiness.

🡪 so, one day... your art teacher dropped the bomb: you, art students of the art club, have to draw still-life.

🡪 but not just any still life. no, it had to be still life with the theme, "classically contemporary".

🡪 well... well.. you need to think fast or else your grades will drop to a 'c-' or a 'b+'. and you're a straight 'a+' student in arts, so you can't let this drop-

keiji: what's going on with that head of yours?

🡪 you're hanging out in the court this time, and keiji was on a break (thank heavens; kotaro just made them run twenty-five laps around the gym as 'cool down').

🡪 you explained you thick dilemma and keiji said you shouldn'y overthink it too much because that'll "bench you out until the time is up".

🡪 you took his solemn advice with a grain of salt and thought it through as the second round of practice commenced. before you knew it, you finally made your decision and you're excited to keiji about it.

🡪 but the question is: would he like it?

(y/n): akaa-

keiji: keiji.

(y/n): um, keiji! i finally know what i'm going to do!

keiji: good. can you tell me what it is, then?

(y/n): can you be my model?

🡪 him? akaashi keiji? a model? for someone's project? esepcially that 'someone' was you?

🡪 gosh, he really didn't know how to respond, so he just simply looked at you with the most unreadable face ever. it made you contemplate if you had upset him or something...

(y/n): keiji... um, you know... it's fine if you don't want to my subject. i can just go and ask some of my other friends if they want.

🡪 next day rolled around and you still haven't asked any of your friends yet. that's because you had a hunch they had found their own models and muses in the earliest nick of time.

🡪 sad to be you right now.

🡪 so while the others were working with their newfound partners, you were simply minding your own business by setting the 'still life' background/setting of your work, thinking it might lighten the load while you're still looking for the right person.

(s/n): (y/n).

(y/n): y-yeah? senpai?

(s/n): why is keiji dressed like he's about to revive a shogunate?

🡪 good lord.

🡪 it had to be kotaro's idea.

🡪 it just had to be.

🡪 akaashi-freaking-keiji cannot just waltz inside the art studio dressed in a yukata with a semi-real sword strapped across his waist. no, no, no, no, nope-

🡪 it looked so out of his element, to be honest. like... he wasn't born to wear it because his face conveyed the most unamused expression to ever live. he looked like he was forced to get inside the costume. but how could anyone coerce this serious man to even wear that?

🡪 but you know what?

🡪 he looked really dashing, to be honest.

🡪 really, really dashing.

(s/n): ... this is the art studio, not the drama theater.

keiji: i know. i'm here for (y/n)...

🡪 did. you. hear. that. right?

🡪 or what he just said rendered you deaf?

🡪 anyways, anyways, anyways. here's the breakdown of how the hell akaashi keiji ended up wearing a yukata with the matching sword.

🡪 he admitted to kotaro that you asked him to be your model. kotaro nearly gave him the most memorable slap ever because he lowkey rejected you. as his punishment, kotaro got in contact with one of the drama peeps he's friends with and ordered to his friend the most amazing yukata they have in the closet with matching sword. (so it was definitely his idea; no wonder why akaashi looked slightly pissed). while akaashi thought it was a waste of time and called kotaro out for being impulsive, he also thought... what's the freaking big deal?

🡪 what is he overthinking about? there's nothing to put his mind heavily on the matter. the only thing he's going to do is sit still and look handsome for the artist. is that the hardest job in the world?

🡪 his answer came to him when he sat down on a stool and posed for (y/n): it's not the hardest job at all. besides, he's not always on energizer bunnies and he's barely hyper when he's sitting down. so... i think he's doing a great job~

🡪 (y/n), in turn, is having the best fun of her life.

🡪 she's sketching one of her bosom friend for one her important projects.

🡪 she's taking her sweet, sweet, sweet time sketching keiji on the digital easel and before they both knew it, the draft was done!

🡪 it only took them seven hours, though.

🡪 keiji missed his volleyball practice and it was past their curfews.

🡪 but neither of them mind. while some students really did stay put (wow, the dedication), keiji and (y/n) decided to go home at once.

🡪 but only after keiji changed into his uniform again.

🡪 he cannot be seen in a yukata.

🡪 his dignity relies on his appearance somehow.

🡪 once he's done, both of them walked home since their houses were just walking distances.

(y/n): you actually looked really nice in the yukata, keiji.

keiji: thank you, (y/n). although it was just forced on me.

(y/n): nonetheless, you appeared very dream-like back there.

🡪 something blossomed in keiji's chest. was it deep appreciation for the meaningful compliments? was it earnest regard to how he had behaved and look for your project? whatever it is... he's not going to deny it in any way. but then again, he's not going to say anything about it.

keiji: is that so?

(y/n): gosh, yes! you're a lifesaver back there, you know.

🡪 you spent the night polishing the whole thing and it continued for the rest of the week.

🡪 keiji, being an understanding and considerate type, didn't step in your way except when to remind you about eating lunch and going home earnestly.

keiji: (y/n), eat your lunch first.

keiji: (y/n), brush your hair before sitting down.

keiji: (y/n), time to go home.

keiji: (y/n), rest your eyes.

🡪 one week after your final draft, you passed it to your teacher just in time.

🡪 of course, to compensate to keiji's volunteerism and efforts to keep you alive (barely) last week, you treated to lunch on you.

keiji: i have my own bento, (y/n).

(y/n): but mine has more meat than that,

keiji: ... fine. let me have it, please.

🡪 after a hearty lunch, keiji walked you to the art club. (of course, there was no competition but the grades matter-)

sensei: all of your artworks deserve to be in a museum. but, to be honest, out of the rest, i think (y/n)'s piece deserved a seat right next to da vinci's.

🡪 god bless keiji for being there or else you could have lost all senses then gained a concussion from fainting.

🡪 your still life, turned out, to be the one that stood out the most.

sensei: how did you pull this off, (y/n)? who... who taught you?

🡪 you squinted at your work and noticed the changes you never paid attention to at all. while you retained your own original art style of 'still life', there were some compositions that seemed brand new.

(y/n): keiji-kun taught me.

🡪 you said it with so much pride that keiji actually smiled.

🡪 smiled.

🡪 he smiled the most genuine smile he could ever muster.

🡪 (damn, kotaro is missing in action right now.)

🡪 you got the highest grade among your classmates + your (s/n) congratulated you wholeheartedly. they even said, "you might even be the next president in the art club!"

🡪 you laughed and accepted their compliment.

keiji: maybe next time, you should draw me in a hakama.

🡪 now, should you? only kotaro knows the answer.

❛ 𑁍 note (ii): y’all want actual fanfic of this thing??? dm me/ask me, comment and reblog this, then, so i would know. hope you like this~

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #akaashi keiji #keiji akaashi #keiji x reader #akaashi x reader #haeyllasephone req

45 notes · View notes

angst-king · 3 years

Text

Misery loves Company pt 2

Ito had become worried as her son had slept all day, it was six thirty now, she was making dinner. All day she’d been having a bad feeling about Eijirou, that what he was going through wouldn’t end well but. She shook this off and reminded herself that Eijirou was tough and that he’d be okay even with this nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach. Even though she knew Eijirou wouldn’t have much of an appetite, he needed to eat something, and soup was better than nothing. Putting some soup into a food thermos which could hold the perfect amount of food she knew Eijirou could stomach, she grabs a spoon and heads up to the teen’s room.

Coming up to his room, she could hear the muffled sound of coughing, thick wet coughing. Knocking on the door, she peers in and is confused as she sees Eijirou on the floor shaking and coughing next to his bed. “Eijirou? Sweetie, are you okay?” She asked as she set down the thermos and spoon onto the nightstand. “M-mom, h-help” Was all his raspy strained vocal cords could get out as he gasped and sputtered. She rushed down to the floor beside him and asked. “What's wrong baby? Why are you on the floor?” She pulled Eijirou close to her and he continued to shake. “S-so much p-pain momma, i-i can’t breathe-” He coughed hard and Ito grabbed the bucket just in time for him to vomit. When he’s able to talk about it he whimpers and grunts. “I-it feels like someone’s sitting on my chest, poking me with a taser and yanking on my bones, while I'm in the freezer section of the store.” This made Ito nervous, she quickly reached to feel Eijirou’s forehead and pulled it away just as fast. He’s burning up! It's like over the hours he’s just gotten worse! His coughing is getting longer and more frequent, and he’s in so much pain that he can hardly move on his own. He looks pale, very pale. Her alarm bells are ringing louder and louder as Eijirou is clinging to her with a weak grip. She can hear him struggling to breath, she can hear his wheezing and congested breaths, he’s panting. What she didn’t know was that while Eijirou was sleeping, he’d had a seizure, which was a reason for why he was so shaky, he also was cold. Well that was the bad fever talking but he felt cold nonetheless. Snatching the thermometer and uncasing it, she asked Eijirou to open his mouth. He's too weak to keep it in his mouth on his own so she has to hold it steady under the boy’s tongue for him. “ 39.4” Her eyes widened as his temperature went up two degrees! She needed to get him to the hospital, she knew he wouldn’t like it but she had to, this wasn’t something they could just let him sleep through.

“Eijirou sweetie, we need to go to the ER. I know you don’t like it but we have to.” She says moving with urgency and purpose, she picks him up and sets him on the bed and grabs what she needs. She knew they were gonna strip him of his pajamas and shoes there so she didn’t even bother to grab him shoes or socks. She grabbed his medical bag, the list of his medications and records, she went into her room and grabbed her phone, purse and keys. She put on shoes before coming back to carry Eijirou who wordlessly agreed to going to the ER. He only nodded when she said they were going to the hospital. His limbs loosely dangling, she did her best to not jostle him around as she took him to the car. Buckling him up she puts his medical bag in the back seat, her purse on the floor of the passenger seat and turns on the house alarm.

She’s impatient as the garage door takes its time opening itself up and she makes it a quick task to get out and close the door without staying in the driveway a second longer. She’s on the road, she’s not speeding but she’d definitely be using the speeding limit range to the fullest. Eijirou is coughing up a storm, luckily there are trash bags for instances like these. Ito was trying to keep calm, trying to keep her adrenaline from making decisions for her. It didn’t help that mid car ride Eijirou had another seizure, she knew how to handle those seeing as there wasn’t much she could do she kept an eye on him as she drove.

When she pulled into the ER parking lot, she swiftly found a spot and parked. Unlocking the car doors she gets out, grabs her purse and Eijirou’s bag from the back before getting Eijirou out of the car. “Come on hun, lets go'' She says trying to hide her worry in her voice even though Eijirou is half conscious. Shutting the door with her foot she is almost running with the boy in her arms. Dashing into the ER the doors open and she calls out “HELP I need help please!” A nurse comes over, all eyes are on them but Ito doesn’t care. “What’s wrong ma’am?” The nurse asked hustling over to her, Ito explained to her “My son has Cystic fibrosis, CIDP, and epilepsy and he’s been having a bit of a flare up for a week and he just got so much worse today. His fever is 102, he’s coughing more than usual, he can’t move there much on his own, and he says it feels like someone is sitting on his chest and pulling on his bones. He’s had two seizures today, and he’s barely alert. The nurse nods and calls for another nurse to grab a gurney. “Okay ma’am, what’s your son’s name and how old is he?” “His name is Kirishima Eijirou, and he’s14.” “Okay- set him on the gurney, we’ll take him to a bay room, follow us.” The gurney arrives and Ito places the boy on that, he’s a bit curled up still coughing and shaking hard. The other nurse takes the lead and pushes Eijirou to the bay area. Ito isn’t far behind the nurse she’d met with as they go down the hallways. The nurses grab a doctor and things get moving. Giving the doctor the run down after he introduces himself to Ito as Dr Shidori, the nurses are hooking Eijirou up to multiple wires, lines, and machines. While this is going on Ito is asked multiple questions about EIjirou like. “How long has he been having a flare up for?” “When did he start going down hill?” “has he eaten or consumed anything during his flare ups” “what medications and treatments is he on?” “Is he allergic to anything?” Ito didn’t have trouble answering their quickly asked questions as the staff moved like a well oiled machine.

Ito felt two different feelings tugging at her, wanting to stay with her son, and needing to leave him. She wanted to stay not knowing whether he’d live or, staying to keep her son calm and to let him know she hadn’t abandoned him but. She felt so out of place though with the rush of people around her, in a way feeling useless, able to do much of anything but stand there and watch and answer questions or give permission. She didn’t really know what to do about this, there were so many emotions running through her, anxiety, hope, hopelessness, sadness. Finally her answer was given to her when the room began to slow down and the doctor began to explain things. They allowed her to sit in the chair next to Eijirou's bedside. “Alright Mrs Kirishima, we’ve got some time to talk.” The doctor started, Ito nodded, brushing back her hair behind her ears. “First things first, Eijirou needs to be hospitalized, from what you’ve told me this isn’t the first time he would be hospitalized. The flare up he is having is proving that one, his stomach isn’t absorbing his food and that means he’s very vitamin, minerals and elementally deficient, which means his immune system is weak also. I’m sure you understand this right?” He asked before continuing, Ito nodded once more so the doctor kept going. “We can not do the same type of monitoring as an inpatient long stay hospital can. You know why and you know that places that you’ve taken Eijirou to before will be able to observe him, do better testing and care for him….Another reason I mention this is because cold and flu season is starting a little earlier than what I’ve expected and it would be safer for him to be admitted they get him all better before hand or see what needs to be done so we’re not just releasing him back out to get tens times worse to the point where it could be too late. We can do some of his breathing treatments and stuff here, but it won't be as efficient. I will have a nurse call in to the local children’s hospital, and they will get things sorted out from there.” Taking in a deep breath, Ito sighed “okay, when do you think he will be transferred?” “I will have a nurse call and will get right back to you with that answer” Ito could understand why the doctor didn’t have an answer for her on the spot and could appreciate his honesty. “Now about Eijirou, his body isn’t receiving or taking on the medications he’s being given and he’s not taking on food either but we will give him supplementary food seeing as first of all he might not have the energy to eat, second it will boost up his sugar wich he needs but for right now he’s getting everything through IVs. We’ve given him fever reducer, epileptic medication, we didn’t have the type that he is on right now but we have one that works for the majority of young patients his age. He’s also getting potassium which is another reason for his trembling, his muscles were so tense from lack of potassium. We gave him a mix of midazolam and vitamin D as well. We’re just here to monitor his condition and give him as much help as possible till he’s transferred.” Ito sighed for what felt like the millionth time, she hated having to have her son be hospitalized in a long stay facility but she knew it was gonna be good for him.

All she could do was nod, when the doctor left them be for the night in the ICU. She contemplated making a phone call, it was about ten pm now, much later and Ito was restless. She didn’t know if she should call Emily or not? The other definitely deserved to know but she didn’t know whether she should call her now. Maybe she should call when she’s got more information so she doesn’t have to call Emily twice? Why wait though? Eijirou just had a medical emergency, he could die tonight! Ito knew she wouldn’t be sleeping any easier if she didn’t at least try to call Emily. Grabbing her phone, she called her wife. She didn’t hope to hard for her wife to pick up. Knowing most of the time it was a varying range of hit or miss, and it was mainly miss.

A little shocked the woman had picked up, she smiles hearing Emily’s voice. “Hi babe, d’you call to say goodnight?” “u-um no actually, we need to talk….it's about Eijirou.” Ito’s voice trails and Emily can hear in her voice this isn’t good news at all. “O-okay, well I’m here, what’s wrong with Eijirou?” The military woman sighs, Ito explains to Emily that their son is getting sicker and is going to be admitted to a long stay hospital for a while to see if they can get him better. When Ito was done Emily spoke softly,“i-I’m sorry you have to go through this with him a-alone babe. I-I wish I could be there I really really do.” you could hear sympathy but also regret. There were many days and nights where Emily contemplated her career path. Why would she join the army when she had a chronically ill son at home!?! Why didn’t she stay to help? Why put all of this on poor Ito who took the job of being a parent and business woman just to go back to her home country and join the military?!

It seemed selfish but this was her dream. Emily from a young age wanted to carry on the legacy of going into the military for her family. She had the dedication and spirit for it and when opportunity struck she took it but. She contemplated her choices. It was a year after Eijirou was born when she started to really contemplate going into the military and was given the chance. Ito and her talked it over numerous nights and Ito supported her the entire way there when the decision was made. Emily knew she’d be leaving her wife and son behind eventually but they didn’t know what she’d be leaving Ito to deal with as Ejirou’s sickness didn’t show up completely until he was six. Emily had left a year before then and when Eijirou was first diagnosed with CF and epilepsy it broke her heart, especially since he would be hospitalized for a long stay for the first time. She knew that for both Ito and Eijirou that being hospitalized and not being able to see the other as frequently as they would’ve before can be a bit traumatic. Still Ito always reassured Emily that she didn’t have to give up on being in the military for them, that they were fine.

Ito could hear the regret in her wife’s voice and spoke gently. “Emi, you have nothing to be sorry for. I know that you always feel bad for leaving me with Eijirou but. We made this decision together, and I don’t ever want you to feel bad about this. This was inevitable once we found out Eijirou was chronically ill and sure things would be a bit easier if you were here but, we’re doing great. I know that you wish you could be here in person to support us but, we feel your support all the way from North america...We love you so much Emi, you’ll be able to facetime him, and who knows, maybe you might be able to see him in person.” “Th-thanks Ito, i-i….I just hope he gets better, or I’ll at least be able to see him soon...I miss you both so much.” her voice cracking at the end Ito could tell her lover was crying. It hurt her to hear the other so upset, and she could understand why the woman felt this way. “Hey babe, I’ll update you when I get more information okay….I love you” “Okay love, I love you too.” They hang up, Ito puts her phone into her purse and gets herself comfortable in the hospital so she could try and get some sleep.

In the morning a nurse came in to check on Eijirou as well as inform Ito about the long stay at the hospital. They discussed the hospital, about how long Eijirou would stay there and who they’d talk to about treatment plans. Truthfully Eijirou’s stay duration would depend on how his body responds to treatment and Ito knew this, this wasn’t new information so luckily the discussion wasn’t very long, Eijirou would be admitted in by tomorrow morning. The day was rather boring, calling her work to tell her about her son being hospitalized as a way of keeping them informed and ready for any random call off days. Since she had the time, she headed home and backed a two week stay bag of clothes and things she knew he could take with him to the hospital.

Conversations with doctors, filling out papers and making sure everyone was on the same page, Eijirou was soon transferred to Tokyo’s children's long stay hospital.

#chronically ill Kirishima #chronically ill BNHA au #no quirks #polyamourus pride

4 notes · View notes

captainillogical · 5 years

Text

Devil’s Ballroom Ch.8

A year after the events from the earth’s final attack, Little Homeworld is finally complete, and there’s a new jazz bar where gems and humans mingle and drink. - As you’re typing back a reply, someone pulls the stool out next to you and takes a seat. You see a sliver of pink out of the corner of your eye as you try not to actually Look. Oh god. It’s her. God can’t help us now.

Spinel/Reader

collab with my lovely wife @firstofficertightpants

(i’m sorry. i have terrible chapter pacing skills so the next one will be the last, not this one. thanks for all of ur patience p: )

Immediately you accidentally elbow Alex in the face as you try to get out of his grip, and he yells out in pain and drops you onto the ground.

"Wait! SPINEL!" You shout and run towards the direction she went, but you don’t see her anywhere. "SPINEL!!!" You shout again, eyes frantically roaming in every direction around for her, a couple of people stop to stare at you. She’s much faster than you, and could be leagues away by now.

You can't believe she would just run like that, without explanation. She was staring at you and Alex like.. did she seriously think that you and Alex.. oh god. She thought you were with Alex.

Okay. You try not to panic as you stand there, awkwardly. You feel a hand on your shoulder.

"What the hell was that?" Alex says beside you. You can't speak for a moment, and when you do, your voice comes out hoarse.

"Er.. I think some horrible misunderstanding just happened." You say, defeated. You look up at him, and you're trying to not be visibly upset. He looks down at you, and makes a face.

"That was her? She could've said hi, sheesh.. she even left cookies here." He shrugs, looking at the spilled cookies on the ground.

"Dude. How are you so fucking stupid." You say, nearly about to smack him again. He gives you a confused look. "Are you shitting me? She came to give me those cookies in thanks for yesterday, and what does she see? You kissing all over my face."

He still gives you a blank look.

"Ohhhh my god. You are such a fucking moron." You retort, staring at him for several solid seconds until a look of sudden realization hits his facial expressions.

“Oh. OHHHHHHHHHHHH.” He covers his mouth, and has the audacity to look mortified.

“Yeah.” You cross your arms. “Thanks for that.”

“I uh.. man, I just wanted some Y/N love, I’m sorry. I just got so carried away.”

“I’m pretty sure she thinks I’m like, romantically involved with you.. Oh god what if she thinks I like men?” You cover your face in your hands, groaning into them. “I never told her that I liked just girls..”

“You told her about your crush on Harper though? What about that?” He raises his eyebrows in question.

“Yeah but I never told her about any of the other shit, and I haven’t exactly like.. given her any signals..”

“But you flirt with her all the time! And she flirts back! I know, because you’ve told me everything, multiple times.” He bends down and scoops up the container, and picks up the cookies and places them all back inside.

“Alex, I really hate to break this to you, but girls flirt with each other all the time. Most of the time, it’s over compliments, and sometimes it SEEMS genuine, but really, they’re just being nice.” You say. “Unless you’re super bold, with girls you basically have to be frank with them about your feelings and intentions for them to realize you’re serious. I myself prefer to kinda be sure that the other person likes me back, before I stick my neck out, you know? Because getting the ‘Oh, I thought we were just friends’ shit fucking hurts.”

“I’m pretty sure she likes you, dude.” He says to you like you’re an idiot.

“I’m not so sure about that.” You say, because you refuse to believe anything unless the cold hard facts are slapping you in the face.

“For someone so smart, how are you so stupid?” He sniffs one of the cookies, and looks like he’s contemplating taking a bite. You scoff. “You know what? Don’t answer that. It doesn’t matter. My point is, even I can tell she likes you.”

"Coming from you, that means nothing to me." He immediately looks up, completely offended. “What? I mean, seriously. Do I have to remind you of all of our middle school and high school years? That should explain itself.”

“Okay when you put it that way, YEAH, I was stupid, but this is different. This is me absorbing someone ELSE’S love life, and even I’m not that much of a fool.” He sighs, and mournfully tosses the cookies into the bin closest to you. “I think you need to like, give her a call or something and explain yourself. She looked really upset.”

“Yeah, I..” You pause for a second to pick your screwdriver back up. You don’t even want to work anymore. “You’re right. I’m just nervous.”

“Just do it before you overthink it.” He replies.

“Ugh, okay.” You pull out your phone, swipe over to your contacts, and press the call button on Spinel’s name. Immediately, it goes to voicemail.

Of course.

You leave a voicemail for her to call you back as soon as she hears this, and you also shoot her a text.

“She’s not answering.” You say.

“Of course she’s not, I mean, I wouldn’t either. Give her a while and try again later, she probably just needs some time.” He says, and also pulls out his phone, typing something on it real quick. “Also, give me a minute, mom needs to call me about something for tomorrow.” He steps a couple feet away from you to take the call.

You stare at your phone, and for the first time in a long time, you really don’t know what to fucking do other than just stand there. What if she’s so upset, she never talks to you again? Will she give you a chance to hear you out? And are you ready to talk about your feelings with her?

Lord.

You haven’t really thought about them too much yourself, if you’re going to be honest. You’ve been keeping this all super casual in your mind, because it feels irrational to grow feelings for someone this quickly, considering you’ve known her for less than 2 weeks. But.. you admit, the more you push the thoughts away, the more you understand that you might like her a lot more than you originally considered, and denying them will just cause you issues like that one time when you were 19.

You sigh out loud. Off to the side you can hear Alex arguing with his mother about some errands she wants him to run tomorrow, and for a brief moment you consider just going home, but then remember that not even Mr. Smiley can cover the rest of the shift. You have a good two hours left, you can survive, hopefully. You make yourself busy with fixing the part you were previously working on - but you’re having a hard time concentrating. After a couple minutes, Alex taps on the side of the wall, and you peek your head out to look at him.

“Look, I hate to do this to you right now, but mom wants me to go grab a few things from her office, and pick up an order from the print place before it closes.” He pushes his curly dark hair out of his eyes, half leaning on the wall next to you. “I can probably be back by the time you’re done with your shift.”

“Hmm.. alright.” You mumble, trying to keep your mind on more positive things. He leans closer to you, stretches out his arm, and pokes you on the cheek.

“Don’t hyperfocus on this. Shit will be fine, you just gotta give her some time to get back to you, okay hun?” He gives your cheek a little love smack and stands straight, heading out already. You watch him go.

“Super easy for you to say..” You say to yourself, and busy your hands.

Most of the rest of the shift passes quietly, and you receive no messages from anyone. You hate that you can’t do anything, not really, so you send Spinel another text. She still hasn’t seen the other one, and it’s been nearly two hours.

Y/N: Can we talk? Please.

You aren’t in the mood to text anyone else, so you put your phone back into your pocket, and start all of your closing duties. The next twenty minutes goes by in a heartbeat, the crowds of tourists long since dissipated. There isn’t a lot to do. Once you clock out and grab your things from the breakroom, you feel your phone vibrate so you pull it out quickly to see who it is. You try and fail not to feel disappointed that it’s just Alex.

Alex: she wrapped me up in some other shit so like, im runnin hella late

Alex: im sorry

Alex: its gonna be a while, ill let you know when im done and ill just come over to ur place

Alex: if thats ok

You type out a couple replies to him, and sigh out loud. It’s for the best really. You don’t exactly want him to talk to you about all this stuff right now anyway. You head out, lock up the place, and walk in the general direction of your home.

By the time you’re home and settled, Alex has given you an update, and it’s been nearly four hours since you saw Spinel with no response. You’re seriously starting to worry, because she’s never not replied to your messages like this. You go to send her another text, and realize that she still hasn’t opened any of your messages. You send her another inquiry, and pop up your chat with Steven.

Y/N: Steven.

Y/N: I need you to answer asap.

You see that he’s online, and you wait for an answer. It only takes him a minute or two to get back to you.

Steven: Hey Y/N, what’s up?

Y/N: Have you talked to Spinel in the last couple of hours?

Steven: Not since this morning, why?

Y/N: Can you call her just to check up on her? I’m worried about something.

Steven: Yeah hold on.

You wait for several long minutes for him to get back to you.

Steven: Her phone’s just going to voicemail, which is pretty weird. Maybe she accidentally let it die? I’ll let you know when she answers back.

Steven: Are you guys okay?

Y/N: Uhh, I’ll get back to you on that.

Steven: Hmm, okay.

You go to lay on your couch face down, and scream into the cushions.

Apparently you fall asleep that way, because the next thing you know, you have to peel your drool covered face off the couch cushion. You blink away your sleep-heavy eyes, and blearily check your phone. It’s 5am.

The only message you’ve received is one from Alex saying he stopped by, but left since he saw you were sleeping. Okay wow, he could’ve woken you up into a better sleeping position. Your neck feels like shit.

You’re trying to ignore the growing feeling of dread in your stomach, pointedly not thinking about how Spinel hasn’t texted you back yet, and how long it’s been. You grab a glass of water from the fridge, trudge up the stairs into your bedroom, and flop on your bed. You pass out again nearly instantly.

When you wake up again, the sun is glaring into your window, and you groan. You roll over and pull the covers over your head. Fuck the sun today. You grab your phone from your nightstand, and notice it’s almost 1pm, the fuck? Why the fuck did you sleep so long? You look at all your notifications, and pretend that you’re not looking for a specific one from someone.

Spinel still hasn’t texted you back, and STILL hasn’t seen any of the messages you’ve sent her. You are starting to panic a little, so you shoot Steven a message.

Y/N: She hasn’t said anything to me at all, has she answered you?

You message your dad and friends back while waiting a few minutes for Steven to reply. It takes him a few minutes to get back to you while you're laying in bed.

Steven: Her phone is still off, and she hasn't replied to anything I've sent her. I'm gonna ask Lapis to check up on her since they live in the same building. I'll get back to you when I get an answer.

It's been like twenty hours since you've seen her, and you're worried. There's no point moping around though, so you get up and get dressed for the day. You make and eat breakfast, even if you don't normally. You need a distraction from your thoughts, so you give your dad a call to check up on him, and ask him when he's coming home this week. He talks to you about his long days in meetings after meetings, the silly shit he got up to with a coworker last night after drinking, and the new hobby he's thinking of picking up when he gets back home. You guys talk for a long while, and maybe it's something you really needed, because you momentarily forget about what you were so worried with in the first place, until your phone buzzes. It's ringing actually, and your phone screen lights up with Steven's name. You tell your dad you've got to go to take this other call, and answer Steven. You sit there, phone in hand for a moment, before putting it to your ear.

"Y/N?" You hear him ask, although a bit muffled.

"Yeah. Anything?" You reply, trying to keep the nervousness out of your voice.

"She's uh.. She's on homeworld with the Diamonds right now? Maybe they worked something out with whatever event they were planning." He says into the receiver, completely casual like this is no big deal. Like that answer didn't just shatter your morale.

"Hm, okay. I appreciate you telling me this." You want to hang up and cry.

"Why didn't Spinel tell you she was going? I mean, she doesn't need to let me know since I go back to homeworld frequently.. are you guys okay?"

"Uhhhhhhhhhh." You say, unable to form an answer that isn't too revealing. "I'm not sure. But I'll let you know if anything changes."

"You know you can talk to me, right?" He says, gently. You appreciate that he cares, but it's best if he doesn't interfere.

"I know. Thank you, Steven." You reply, holding back any emotion that will give you away.

"I'll talk to you soon, okay? See you, Y/N." You say goodbye as well, and hang up.

You sit at your dining table for several solid minutes without moving, staring blankly at your phone, mind swirling with thoughts.

Okay. Alright. You can do this.

You refuse to cry, and you pinch your arm to get the prickling feeling away from the edges of your eyes. Fuck. Okay.

So she just.. left. She left, when she was fighting with the Diamonds literally yesterday about something awful they said to her, so awful that she had an emotional breakdown over it, and couldn't even TALK about it with you afterwards.

She left for homeworld to escape you.

You, specifically.

Because of a misunderstanding.

You probably sit there for a good twenty minutes absorbing everything, weighing the gravity of the situation. Afterwards, you get up and distract yourself with chores. You refuse to put any more thought into this, and just figure you'll wait.

At around 6pm, Alex comes over, and the two of you play Minecraft for the rest of the night, and he pointedly doesn't ask about Spinel at all. You're thankful that he's here in person, for once, because you don't know what kind of stupid shit you'd do without him here.

He spends the night and crashes on your couch, and you lay awake for most of the night, restless.

When you wake up, Alex has coffee and oatmeal ready for you, which is pretty funny because he never makes food. He's usually awful at it. He's sitting at the table sipping his coffee and drawing in his sketchbook, and he looks up when you make your presence known.

"Wow, you kinda look like shit my guy." He says, taking another sip of his coffee, and setting the mug down.

"Thanks. Had insomnia pretty bad last night.." You trail off and move to grab a mug from the cabinet and pour yourself some coffee. It's a black coffee only kind of day.

You sit down on the opposite side from him, and slowly drink your coffee. It smells good. You're worried Spinel hates you and never wants to see you again. You pull the bowl of oatmeal towards you and take a bite of lukewarm mush.

"This is kind of awful but thanks." You say as you shovel more into your mouth, and consider adding more brown sugar to this.

"I ain't no Gordon Ramsay, but I try." He doesn't look at you as he shades the back leg of the deer he's sketching. You watch him bite his tongue in concentration, and you take another sip of coffee. It's kind of burnt tasting, but whatever. You've had worse. "What do you want to do today, anyway?"

"Mmm." You eat another bite of oatmeal. "Can you please pick? Cuz I'm kinda braindead right now and I don't really feel like concentrating." He looks at you with mild concern.

"Last time I got to pick, you banned me from picking out what we do for a solid year." He furrows his eyebrows, twisting his pencil in hand.

"Yeah, well.. I don't really care right now." You shovel more food into your mouth.

"Fine. You said so, okayyyy, so no complaining later." He rolls his eyes and huffs, pencil scratching against the paper. Your phone buzzes several times on the table, and you reluctantly grab it. One message from dad, and.. two from Steven. You open up Steven’s messages first.

Steven: What did you do?

Steven: She doesn't want to come home.

Your stomach feels like lead. Alex notices you immediately.

"Uh. What's wrong?" He asks, leaning over. You tilt your phone away from him and you can feel the tears coming. You swallow, trying to get your face to cooperate.

“Um..” You feel your voice wavering, so you take a steadying breath. Looking down at your phone again, you struggle to form any kind of coherent words at all. You push your phone over to Alex, he reads what's on your screen, and looks back over to you with a serious face.

“For real? Are you kidding me?” He says, and you can hear the frustration in his voice. “I’m gonna give her a piece of my mind.”

“No,” The words finally find you. “Let me deal with this, please.” You give him a half hearted smile, and pull your phone back to yourself. With shaky hands, you text Steven back.

Y/N: Listen, I didn’t do anything, but..

Y/N: I’d prefer to get this sorted with her in person.

Y/N: I don’t want to play the messenger game

Y/N: I want her to hear it from me.

You don’t have to wait too long for his reply.

Steven: Okay well, I don’t know how well that’s going to work

Steven: Considering she refuses to talk to me about any of it

Steven: Let me know if you end up wanting me to do anything?

Steven: And I’ll message you if anything happens on my end.

Y/N: I appreciate that. Thanks.

You sigh and look up at Alex, who’s watching you with his chin in hand, leaning on the table.

“Anything?” He inquires.

“Nothing.” You say.

“Well, let me clean up the mess I made and let's go out. Mom let me have the car today, so we can go wherever. You said I can choose and no take-backsies, just give me a few minutes, alright?” He stands up and takes the both of your plates to the kitchen, and you watch him for a moment before deciding to get up and get dressed.

You head up to your bedroom and open your closet, rummaging around for something cozy. You grab a soft long sleeve shirt, and sweatpants, because who gives a fuck honestly. You’re looking inbetween all your sweaters for your favorite one that you’d like to wear today, before realizing that Spinel still has it. Instantly, your eyes fill with tears at the reminder, and you let yourself cry quietly in frustration where no one can see you.

After a few minutes, you wash your face in the bathroom and get dressed, settling for a different sweater. You take a couple deep breaths, and head downstairs to Alex.

You spend the rest of the day with Alex, and he takes the both of you to Empire City to browse the mall and window shop, and he buys the both of you dinner. You feel like he’s being extra sweet to make you feel better and you appreciate him so much for it, but Spinel’s on your mind literally all day and you can’t distract yourself enough. He gives you a big hug after dropping you off at home, and before leaving he makes sure that you’re okay. You’re not, not really, but he helped you not spiral further downwards today.

The next day you only work a half shift, so you get to sleep in and you take full advantage of it. It has now been three days since Spinel disappeared with no word since, and you’re beside yourself with worry. But you can’t let this stop you living your day to day life, so you do what you do best and keep on with your routine.

The fourth day goes quickly as you work a full shift, and you’ve got quite a few things to do before your dad gets home tomorrow. You’re excited to see him, as he’s been gone for nearly three weeks now. The house will be back to normal, and way less lonely.

Your dad comes home the fifth day and you spend the entirety of it with him, and you don’t think about Spinel at all. The both of you go to the movies, and then to the beach to have a relaxing afternoon as family bonding time. When you guys head home, you make him his favorite steak and potatoes and he talks about all of the things he had to do and how much he missed your company while he was gone. You think he notices that your mood has slightly been off today, but he doesn't ask about it.

The sixth day, Steven sends you a text about her still not being home, and you wonder why you even bothered opening the message. At this point you’re no longer despondent, you’re now just frustrated with the growing feeling of anger building inside you.

By the tenth day, you’re rightfully pissed. You gave her more than enough time to get over whatever feelings she felt - and she’s not taking any of your feelings into consideration. She left you to deal with the aftermath of what she assumed to be true, and never even gave you the chance to explain yourself. You haven’t sent her a text since that last one you sent over a week ago, and you think you’ll send her one more.

Y/N: Whenever (or IF, I guess) you decide to pop back in on earth, I’d like to have a chat. :)

Steven hasn’t said anything much in the last week, either. You kind of feel like he’s avoiding you because of this, but it doesn’t matter now. If she never wants to come back, that’s on her.

Two more days go by - pretty uneventfully. You spend most of your time at work, or playing minecraft with Alex and the occasional Harper when she’s actually in a motel versus camping. The two of them haven’t asked about Spinel at all - and you know they’ve talked about it extensively in private. You’re secretly relieved that you don’t have to talk about her, though.

Two weeks pass, and you give up entirely. Life goes on.

One of these late afternoons you’re lying in bed after work and texting your friends, and for a moment you think about shooting Spinel a last message. You don’t think she’ll come back to earth at this point, but you want your sweater back if she ever visits. You swipe over to your chat with her to let her know this, and your eyes glance at the ‘seen’ icon at the bottom, timestamp dated nearly 36 hours ago.

Huh.

Wait. What the fuck.

You sit there for a moment, frozen in shock. Shock that quickly turns into boiling anger, and you find yourself texting Steven faster than you realize.

Y/N: So she comes back and you say nothing, yeah?

Y/N: Remind me to not do you any favors for a while.

Eyes stinging, you go back over to shoot Spinel an angry message, but before you can even type out half a sentence, Steven rapidly texts you back.

Steven: Hold on for a second, okay?

Steven: Let me explain something.

You don’t really care at this point.

Y/N: nah man.

You get up from bed, pocket your phone, and waltz downstairs. You put on a sweater, toe on the nearest flip flops, and head out the front door. Dad’s at work currently, so you lock the door and head over to little homeworld. You walk briskly over to the bar you met Spinel at, and after a small hold up with the bouncer, head in and move directly to the counter, facing Bismuth.

“Hey Bis,” You say to her, and she glances over to you from her current patron, and smiles at you.

“Y/N! It’s been a minute. How’ve you been?” She replies, facing you.

“I’ve been alright,” You lean a bit over the bar. “I actually just have a question, if you don’t mind.” Bismuth looks at you inquisitively, and you continue. “What’s Spinel’s address? She never gave it to me.” You smile sweetly at her.

“Hold on, let me get a pen and some paper.” She says as she sets down her glass, and grabs a pen and some receipt paper from the register. You watch her scribble something down, and she hands it to you.

“Bis, I ever tell you that you’re the best?” You take the piece of paper from her hand.

“Only once,” She grins. “But I could stand to hear it again.” You laugh at that, and pocket the note.

“Thanks for this. I’ll pay you back later, promise.” You wink at her, and turn to leave. You hear her chuckle and pick the glass back up from the counter.

“I’ll keep you to that!” You hear as you leave the building, pulling out the note again to glance at the address.

It’s over a mile away, and you figure now or never, and walk towards the general direction of her place. You try and fail on calming your nerves on the near 30 minute walk, and by the time you get to her apartment building, you’ve worked yourself up into a whirlwind of emotions. Also you’ve pointedly ignored your phone this entire time, and you’re pretty sure you’ve missed 5 calls and dozens of texts, but you knew that if you looked at any of it, you’d lose face and chicken out.

Spinel’s apartment is on the 9th floor, and you marvel at the technology side of the building for a bit. These gems really knew how to build stuff. You take the elevator up, and once you’re on the floor, you take a sharp left to the odd numbers side of the building. You reach her door and stop, almost touching the frame to knock on it. Although it’s pretty quiet in the building, you can hear a faint voice, or voices, coming from inside her apartment if you listen closely enough.

You take a deep breath, and let it out. You take another three, and consider leaving altogether. You steel your nerves, lift your arm, and knock on her door frame twice.

You think you hear the voice quiet down as you stand there, waiting. Several seconds go by, and you can hear your own heartbeats.

For a sec you think that she won’t come to the door, but after a few more moments you hear quiet movement towards the door you’re standing in front of. You make a point to step to the side, so whoever is answering the door can’t see who’s standing there through the peephole.

Very slowly, you see the door handle turn, and the door swinging open several inches. You watch Spinel peek her head out the door, her phone in her hand, and turn to make direct eye contact with you. She freezes instantaneously, like she expected it to be anyone else other than you standing there.

Her hair is in a messy bun, and your eyes trail down to notice that she’s wearing your sweater.

This pisses you off immediately.

#spinel #spinel x reader #spinel su #spinel self insert #steven universe #my fic #devils ballroom

146 notes · View notes

bladekindeyewear · 5 years

Text

Boots reads Homestuck Epilogue part... one..??

Alright, let’s do this. As I’ve said, the page after this one is all I’ve seen, I’m diving in unspoiled. Also I gather from some of the non-spoilery chatter I’ve heard from my friends -- one of which warned me this sort of thing was coming a couple weeks ago, and I believed them (but didn’t want to) -- that this first epilogue-upd8 may not be the only epilogue-upd8, which isn’t surprising either given how Andrew works.

Alright, let’s go. Hope my stomach can take it!

So, Page 1, the mock-AO3 page that’s the only thing I’ve seen before posting this. The content warning is EXCELLENT, and gives me hope that this will be the usual Hussie-caliber and more humorous than heartwrenching. :)

It also makes some serious sense that there would be multiple epilogues; from the sound of the summary, this one might focus more on John and then leave ample opportunity to discuss the others.

Let’s click page 2 -- oh, or contents: “Prologue”, this being a chapter list for this is another way to do it. Clicking Prologue.......

Okay wow, this is novel format for the moment. Good chance it won’t stay that way.

These first two paragraphs are well-written and ominous, sure -- describing stuff we pretty much already knew was happening, in different words -- but even though the writing isn’t really pretentious, there’s still a good chance Andrew *views* it as pretentious enough to find cutting away to art-style instead hilarious. Onto the third paragraph...

Music and Calliopes the other Calliope is conducting, yeah... Oh, there’s a garbage disposal reference. In regards to a black hole. Like the one I kind of pointed to during Dave’s intro sequence in the Third Scratch theory and stuff in all those big theories. The ones I was, er, wrong about... ahem. Moving on.

“Your name is John Egbert, and you have just had a terrible, deeply pretentious nightmare.”

Pfffffffff :D

I love you Andrew Hussie. Reading on...

YES I see chat colors. Chat colors!!! I need chat colors. Reading reading reading let me get down to them let me

Absolutely nothing of note has ever happened here in the entire history of the planet, which you would know, because you created it.

Baahahahahah. :D

Okay yes I’m at the phone-sterlog.

Uh oh.

I am reading elevated levels of angst compared to usual pesterlogs in this log. Which is to say, virtually any at all, really. THAT doesn’t bode well for the outcome/overall tone of this epilogue. :X --Not to say it isn’t *appropriate*, given they still haven’t fixed/resewn Paradox Space together, but... yeah, *future feels* are popping up on the radar, that’s what I’m worried about. I loved the tone of the snapchats and the feeling that everything was going to be fine, especially given how the ending “not being what I expected” shook me a fair bit, but to look forward to when that may end... D:

Yeah, Rose having some serious visions about some unfinished business they need to get around to instead of just fucking around and living their lives makes sense. :X --or at least some timeline version of them. I’m imagining they’re living varied, excellent lives in a whole TON of timelines of promise that commit our imaginings of their potential futures to virtual canon, really, with the main thread that ties off Caliborn’s stage play almost irrelevant in comparison... that was kind of the whole point of the Ending of homestuck earlier, of that final anime flash, the fact that the victory and planet and *lives* they won meant a whole lot more than whatever Lord English’s irrelevant machinations were.

So... returning to the tail end of that main thread and seeing how *serious* it might be....... yeah. Kinda mildly panic-inducing. :XXX

You move the phone away from your ear and assume an expression you haven’t practiced in years. It is the look of a man who actually has something to do.

Okay that was good.

Ah, he’s twenty-three now!

Let’s click the next link. ==>

Fuck let’s not recount Rose’s substance abuse.

Oh, cool. Er, “cool”. Rose is getting some of Rosejaspersprite^2′s awareness of all her alternate-timeline doomed selves and their lives. No wonder she’s worried about the substance abuse she technically mostly *avoided* in this timeline.

Light explicitly relating to knowledge, good. That’s a nice aspect tidbit to have reiterated.

ROSE: There’s a different scale I’ve come to understand. Another dichotomy that’s less... emotional, I guess? ROSE: Consider, instead of the word “good,” using the word “essential.” ROSE: And what exists at the opposite polarity from essential is... ROSE: Something that is best not to contemplate.

ooh. oooooh. holy shit.

okay NO, BOOTS/BKEW. DON’T GET FUCKING EXCITED.

DON’T get excited.

It only SOUNDS like she’s learned to recontextualize the whole adventure in the rich context of the classpect system, that’s just your wild fanfic-y theoryimagination talking. Shoosh. (Even though she IS very, very, *very* clearly referencing the Light/Void dichotomy with the above quote.) Just... tamp down your hopes, Boots. Leave it at MILD hope. Like cool porridge.

Reading on.

Alright, yeah, this universe exists beyond the timespan of the Green Sun’s influence. Unsurprising, since it was heavily implied. And she doesn’t have access to her expanded Green Sun powerset while *in* such a universe, which was also heavily implied by alt!Calliope or her denizen or I forget the exact conversation where it said she’d have to make the final journey without Green Sun powers or whatever. That’s cool. (Though having it spelled out more explicitly than usual does make it more awkward to have her use her powers for humorous purposes on MXRP in the future.)

OOOH DAVE KARKAT AND JADE ARE IN A PERPLEXING SOCIAL ARRANGEMENT YESSSSS :D

Best news. Okay reading on.

ROSE: You will need to travel back into canon and defeat Lord English.

Yeah I guess.

Again, the way the ending sort of put it was that..... our heroes did have to defeat Lord English eventually? Or set right some prior stuff like doing the stage play? But that part of the point of this whole story -- the Ultimate Reward -- was that it didn’t really matter, because they had earned nigh-infinite branching timelines of promise in a brand new universe where they could go YEARS AND YEARS living their lives in many of the ways they wished, richly enjoying themselves and starting civilizations that would last billions of years, loving and living and experiencing, only “needing” to go finally check off these other responsibilities in a single timeline of promise at the end of an extended period of vacation they chose with no particular urgency. Branching years-and-years of essentially heaven as long as they EVENTUALLY fulfilled that particular endpoint, and they knew it. More or less.

Rose phrases it pretty explicitly, though. John’s powers are the only thing that can warp people through canon like that without restriction, so he was always to be involved, but... *he* needs to defeat him? Does that mean alone?

JOHN: yeah, i had a feeling that was going to come up again someday. ROSE: I’m sure we all did. That is, even those of us without visions. JOHN: i was doing my best not to think about it. i guess we can’t put it off any longer then? ROSE: Now is the time. We are rapidly approaching a point of no return. If the decision isn’t made soon, it will be too late. The issue will no longer matter. JOHN: when exactly is the point of no return? ROSE: Today. JOHN: wow. JOHN: ok then.

Ouch.

That’s slightly more abrupt than the picture of branching bliss I just painted.

JOHN: fine? ROSE: Of course everything is fine here. ROSE: We’re outside of canon now. JOHN: yeah, i know. what does that actually MEAN though? JOHN: are you saying this isn’t really happening? ROSE: Of course it’s happening. ROSE: Just because certain events take place outside of canon, it doesn’t mean those events are non-canon. JOHN: oh. ROSE: In other words, there is an important distinction between events which can be considered to occur inside canon, outside canon, and those which are not canon at all. ROSE: The day we went through that door and claimed our reward, we passed a threshold between continua marked by differing degrees of relevance, truth, and essentiality.

Well okay then. I was wondering why she used the word “canon”. They literally DID escape the narrative literally as *well* as figuratively with that Juju, then, Neverending Story style.

Also, Light being highly tied to canon and Rose having spent so much time outside of it... yeah, I can understand the headaches more, too.

Alright, reading on, it seems Andrew is using Rose to more explicitly explain how he intends all the non-canon stuff he’s presented to us to “matter”, for those who didn’t quite get or fully believe the implied explanation from context towards the end of the story.

Heh, so the idea is that the urgency comes from “it’s been too fucking long since the story ended, and this epilogue needs to come out when an epilogue would still matter to anyone”. That’s kind of brilliant.

ROSE: As long as we live outside canon, everything that happens will technically be “real,” but only conditionally. ROSE: There are certain crucial events inside canon which must happen in order to continue to prop up the legitimacy of events here on Earth C. ROSE: And you specifically, John, have a responsibility to make sure those events take place.

Closing threads closing threads CLOSING THREADS :D !!!!!!

FUCK is this epilogue going to be mostly devoted to TYING UP LOOSE ENDS and clarifying stuff??? :D Like the HUNDREDS OF LOOSE ENDS that were left unanswered because the ending tried to paint it all as sidelined/irrelevant regardless of the fact that they hadn’t been answered/fulfilled, which had previously pretty much traumatized me around Homestuck’s end because I was (1) so used to Andrew expertly tying up almost every loose end eventually and (2) was a theorycrafter with explicit investment in the idea that Classes, Aspects, and most of these loose ends actually DID matter??? :D

Sign me the fuck up!!! :DDDD

...I know it’s doubtfully going to be anything close to all I hoped for, but still. Answers, contextualization, and John tying up loose threads. Like that final frog warped in front of Jade as a child. That’s good, that’s VERY good. I’m excited instead of nauseous. :D

--and yeah, reading on, Rose makes more explicit what I said earlier that the justification Andrew’s painting for this is “we have to wrap up all these loose ends before everyone forgets about Homestuck.” That is hilarious.

Okay, so the juju is a big plothole. Heheh. We’ve heard it called that earlier.

...Oh. Oh huh.

Rose is pretty much explicitly talking about the stage play consisting of a bunch of non-canon ALTERNATE VERSIONS of themselves that mean the original versions of them living happily in the new universe won’t actually die. Holy shit. I mean we theorized that for a TIME with some of them but THOSE loose ends (like Roxy still having her mask on) were closed up toward the end... So instead, having it put THIS way (preserving our ideas of them living full lives post-victory), and not only that but having John DO all this stuff RIGHT NOW to fix things retroactively with some really well-written contextual clarification we’re bound to get to help with the closure... god DAMN. This is really good. This is going to make a LOT of people feel a whole lot better about Homestuck. Like me. :D

...Pff, some other girl is getting punched by John in the face again. :D Don’t worry, Rose isn’t saying that this is the Vriska punch at the beginning of the whole Retcon arc and that this epilogue somehow happened in the middle. (I hope.)

...Yeah Rose implies heavily that John is gonna die his heroic death if he does this? Or it’s meant to make us THINK she’s implying that. Yeah. And she feels pretty fucking horrible about what she’s asking John to go through regardless, so. (Yeah, everyone looked pretty genuinely dead but a few at the end of the stage play, but it was pretty uncertain.) Either way, she’s acting like John isn’t going to “come back”, even if he lives through this.

Stupid feels.

Clicking the next link. ==>

Hiiii roxy and callie!!! :D

Yes how polite of them.

“Ultimate self”? Yeah, a sort of synthesizing of all the offshoots of her Heart and Mind, pulling it all together and realizing the full person she is and sum of her whole experience across all timelines, pasts and futures. Yeesh. Pretty uncomfortable for someone who ain’t a hypersprite.

...Roxy and Rose aren’t as close? Is it because of the substance abuse, because of the Light/Void dichotomy literally-or-metaphorically distancing them (with how disparaging Rose just was about anything that isn’t relevant), or something else?

Ah, Kanaya hogged her until she got “sick”, that explains some of it too.

A bell tower? (DOOONNNNGGG)

Fffff interpersonal relationship mildangst. Fuck

You and all your friends have dispositions affected by your classes and aspects. You think you know what that means in your case. But what about her? You can only speculate. Void is a place where things sink and disappear. Where they linger forever, but cease to exist. You aren’t actually sure if your feelings for Roxy ever really faded, or if they just grew numb with time and distance. Is it the same for her?

Holy fucking shit. What a big middle finger to everyone who told me aspects didn’t matter to their personalities. :D

...Though, I think he has it kind of backwards, since he still doesn’t totally understand all this business. It’s easy for those in canon, introduced to this subject, to think that the classes and aspects affect their dispositions, to an extent where the reality (at least I contend) is that it was their natural dispositions in the first place that the classes and aspects were actually describing. The power that was latent in their very personalities and tendencies to action all along.

Reading... Ah, yeah, a choice. Was pretty sure this terminology would be important earlier. It depends on what SORT of choice this is though... see, so far, Rose hasn’t given John a lot of really EXPLICIT motivation to go through with this, other than some mumbo-jumbo that would supposedly be “bad”. And it doesn’t even address the black hole in his nightmares. And here, we have Roxy and others explicitly encouraging him with regard to the fact that he can choose NOT to do this if he wants to.

The main question it brings up (to the future of this epilogue, how it’s going to be considered afterward, etc) is if this is the sort of Choice that John would always say yes to -- in which case it’s more canon than anything else -- or if he will end up being on the fence enough for a Terezi-style Mind-split. Because this would be the PERFECT out to have him “die” in canon. See, if he’s on the fence ENOUGH about going, then he creates two timelines that even both potentially have promise within the confines of this universe (since universes hold more than one timeline of promise, according to one of the Calliopes I think)-- One where he lives here, happily ever after with everyone, and another where he completes his Heroic death in canon to fix everything. It would let Andrew kill John in this epilogue while still letting him live out eternity with everyone else outside “canon”.

He’d get to have his John-death and keep him too! Seems plausible enough.

Anyway. Reading... it looks like they know more about this decision that Rose has told them, including the consequences Rose might have been dreading. And likely know that IF John might die doing this, that it won’t be in a way that he regrets.

Oh wow, that whole Meat or Candy sequence is GREAT. Silly to the core, and yet perfectly emphasizing the debate that... well, I mean, think about what Andrew’s been telling us all along.

He keeps TRYING to tell us that non-canon stuff is fine. Trying to use that huge ending sequence of Homestuck to try and tell us that the fact that everyone is FREE from this story and its confines, free for everyone to imagine COUNTLESS ways things played out afterward for ALL these lovable characters in carefree futures, is almost MORE important than any of these stupid loose ends. But some of us were really cut by that ending, the insistence that the actual final battle “didn’t matter” and that this escaped-from-canon existence was the true victory. But if Andrew just upped and drew a bunch of bonus pages to start explaining more story, THAT would cheapen the escape-from-canon ending he wanted even as it satisfied those of us who wanted ends tied up, who wanted questions answered. He had to find a very careful, very well done way to give us BOTH. To write out the real “ending” of “canon” for those of us who needed it, without compromising the ESCAPE from the very necessity of it that was the essential point he WANTED to make with Homestuck’s story from the very beginning. To carefully keep the endless branches of post-victory possibility and play intact while still, separately and with explicit hedging and qualifications, give us the potential results of one last canon thread to tie up the lingering questions that he so dearly wants us to recognize still “don’t matter” as much in the vast scheme of things.

And he’s doing it. And it’s WORKING.

Holy SHIT.

I am excited for Homestuck. I am excited for Homestuck for the first time in years, and my nausea is gone.

I’m not going to start theorizing again; that’s over. But I’m definitely going to keep reading as the new Epilogue chapters come out, and do so with a spring in my step.

To Be Continued. :D

#Homestuck #Homestuck Epilogue #Homestuck Liveblog #bladekindeyewear #blastyoboots

279 notes · View notes

monsters-demons-and-ai-oh-my · 5 years

Text

What We Lost and What We Have

I decided to also post the fic on Tumblr since I’m desperate for feedback, and I’m really excited for this AU and I want to know if other people are too... because I really want to know if there’s an audience for it... (also on AO3)

-+-+-+-+-+-+-

May 18, 2000, the night Sam learned 3 things.

John had cheated on Mary. Kelly Kline was dead. And his younger half brother Jack was born…

Nearly 17 years later their family never really recovered. But after a panicked phone call from Jack’s uncle Castiel, their family will never be the same.

“It’s Jack, there’s something wrong with Jack…”

-+-+-+-+-+-

Next Chapter

Complete Tumblr Chapter Archive

-+-+-+-+-+-

Chapter 1: Exes, siblings, and drunken mistakes

May 18, 2000

Sam had just turned 16 two weeks earlier.

Up until that point, the worst thing that had happened to him was being dumped at his sophomore winter formal and having his CD player stolen out of his locker by Bela, the opportunistic klepto of a foreign exchange student from Pre-Cal the same night.

They were celebrating Dean moving into his first solo apartment the night they got the call.

Sam had gone upstairs to get a head start on his summer reading list but he could hear the rest of his family laughing and talking over the game through his cracked bedroom door.

He'd barely even heard the phone ring and his mother getting up to answer it, only taking note after he heard the volume on the television being lowered dramatically.

"What'd you say Mary?" his dad asked, the smile still in his voice.

"I said, do you know a Castiel?" Mary repeated.

"Castiel? I don't think so, maybe someone from the shop, Dean?"

Dean must have shaken his head because he never heard a response.

"Well whoever he is he sounds really upset," Mary sounded concerned.

He couldn't make out what his mother asked the man on the phone but then…

"Castiel Kline?"

There was a deathly silence, curiosity got the better of Sam, he closed his book and went down the stairs. John had gone white as a sheet.

"He says you knew his sister…" Mary turned to look at John, eyebrows raised, "and he really needs to speak to you."

John had nearly snatched the phone from Mary in his haste apologizing profusely.

Sam had stayed hidden by the stairs his entire family looking on as John walked quickly to the kitchen.

Dean looked confused, Mary looked shell shocked. Neither moved.

But Sam did he tiptoed quietly to the kitchen door staying just outside it eavesdropping on one side of John's phone conversation."

"What do you mean she…? Calm down, I can't understand what you’re saying, slow down. What happened?"

John was pacing the room, running a hand through his hair panic in his tone and posture bent like everything teetered on the voice on the other end of the line.

"How can you be sure it's… he's… Kid, I didn't even know she was... I met her once... she never told me!"

Sam heard footsteps and jumped, his mom had finally unfrozen and moved towards the kitchen. She was shaking slightly, her mouth set tightly, eyes watering, he stepped guiltily out of her way.

"John… what's going on?"

The screaming started less than a minute later. Dean eventually pulling him away back toward the living room.

And that night Sam had learned 3 things.

John had cheated on Mary.

Kelly Kline was dead.

And his younger half brother had been born…

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

April 21, 2007

Another night he'd never forget.

Dean had said John had gotten in a car accident when he called him at Stanford, a stupid little fender bender.

The other driver had come around to John’s driver side window pissed off ready to give John a piece of his mind only to find him slumped over, pronounced dead by paramedics on the scene five minutes later, an apparent heart attack behind the wheel.

"I know you don't give a shit about him anymore, but at least come to his fucking funeral."

The years had not been kind to the brother's relationship, but even Sam thought that was uncalled for. He wasn't going to leave Dean alone to deal with the aftermath.

He'd been in the middle of preparing for finals but he’d still come.

Dean hadn’t been big on lawyers ever since the bozo divorce lawyer who’d drawn up John and Mary’s papers had cheated them out of 6k.

He'd missed John’s service but not the burial. Listening to some preacher go on about what a great guy his dad was would only have brought up inappropriate angry thoughts. He knew Dean would be angry he didn’t show up, he would have been angrier if he’d laughed.

So he'd sat in his car until everyone started to leave. One or two great aunts and uncles he’d never met, guys who worked at the auto shop, sundry friends and neighbors. Mary had spotted him and came over knocking softly on the window and giving her son a silent hug before leaving.

When he finally got out there were only three people left.

Jack was six-years-old and tow-head then, - like he’d seen Dean in pictures at that age - hiding on the far side of Castiel, watching them nervously as he was led away from the graveside hand in hand with his uncle.

It had been a weekday so the boy had thankfully been with Castiel at the time of John's death.

His brother was standing at the graveside when Sam approached him, hands stuffed in his pockets swaying side to side. Like he was getting ready to fill in the hole himself if the gravediggers didn’t get there soon. Because it was something he could do with his hands and emotions, taking out his grief on the dirt.

It made Sam a little wary to approach him but he barely looked up and over when Sam came up beside him.

“Hey.”

They’d stood there in silence Sam mentally stumbling over a thousand things to say in his head.

"Well, dad’s... dead.”

He imagined Dean was probably silently seething.

“Maybe I should have asked dad to die at a better time so it fit into your busy schedule.”

Emotions neither one was ready to confront kept them from moving.

“Same time next year?”

Dean had said it sarcastically, and looking back Sam wished they’d had a better story but that was how their little tradition began.

Outside of major holidays or birthdays, it was one of the few times they made an active effort to see each other. Sometimes catching up, other times just visiting the site. Rain or shine, just the two of them.

Until today.

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

April 21st, 2017

“It’s almost fucking summer,” Dean muttered, his breath puffing in the early evening air. He rubbed his hands together before handing Sam an even colder beer. Sam huffed and took it, and making no comment about how that would do next to nothing to help, or about how it was a trashy brand he hadn’t seen since pre-law.

“If it makes you feel better the weather channel says it’s the coldest spring in over a decade..” Sam sipped his beer and grimaced, it reminded him why he’d never been much of party-er in college.

But as Dean once put it “our family were salt of the earth people,” and he wore that fact like an aesthetic badge, like hipsters and the wannabe actors in Cali. Sam grinned a little at the thought.

Dean poured out 79 cents worth of beer for John before cracking open another bottle to drink himself.

“Happy ten years dad,” Dean smiled humorlessly. “Still managed not to burn your shop to the ground…”

He’d been waiting when Sam got there standing and looking down in the exact same way he did ten years previously. Rocking back and forth, processing, contemplating. Sam searched Dean’s back for something to say. A navy canvas covered back.

“You got a new jacket…”

“Huh?” Dean sipped his beer like he hadn’t heard him.

“I’ve always seen you wear Dad’s old leather one,” Sam insisted.

It took a ridiculously long time for him to respond, like Dean had settled on an unspoken rule that he had to wait until Sam's breath completely dissipated into the cool morning air before he could reply.

“Yeah well, maybe it’s too cold today, like you said ‘coldest spring of the decade,’ ever think of that Sammy?”

“It’s just a cool front, it’ll be in the seventies by tomorrow Dean,” Sam said flatly.

Dean fell silent again for a long moment.

“It’s been ten years… it got old, I got a new one, do you need me to psychoanalyze your henley now?”

Sam rolled his eyes in defeat letting the subject drop with another swing of dishwater beer.

If Sam remembered one thing about growing up with his brother it was that Dean was a creature of habit. Dean had never been big on school but he’d insisted on using the same backpack all throughout middle and high school, and one look at the parking lot told Sam he still drove dad’s old Impala, he’d repaired both items multiple times. Dean didn’t get rid of things because “it got old.”

“ It’s been ten years… ”

Maybe it was time for a change.

Sam swallowed in the charged silence, “ change... ” he’d been putting off talking to Dean about that.

He’d done something on impulse. He’d been roped into going out for drinks with his fellow junior partners in his firm after winning a case. Sorting out some accounting error that got at least three people fired. He hated those cases, making sure that companies weren’t liable for random bullshit that meant nothing in the long run. They’d had three like that in the same month. So... after a few drinks… he’d gotten sentimental, started thinking about his life choices, thinking about all the things he hadn’t done yet, the things he regretted.

Sam really should have asked Brady to stash his phone before they got to the bar.

But the secret he’d been keeping reared it’s deceivingly unassuming head before he had a chance to open his mouth..

The silence was broken by a distant but harsh sounding cough.

Dean glanced over his shoulder posture immediately stiffening, eyebrows raising, “What the hell…”

Sam at least had the good grace to look guilty.

Castiel looked about the same as Sam remembered him save for a few lines on his face. The same constant vaguely worried look was made more prominent by whatever he was talking to Jack about.

Jack, on the other hand, had changed a lot. He’d maybe been eleven the last time Sam had seen him. Since then his hair had considerably darkened with age from blond to sandy brown and he’d shot up half a foot. There wasn’t much of John visible in Jack’s face and if his resemblance to his uncle was anything to go by the Kline genetics were strong in him.

He looked a little washed out, blowing his nose in a tissue as they approached, a small bouquet of yellow flowers in his free hand, looking up from his conversation with his uncle to give Sam a cautious smile. Sam looked quickly away.

“I was uh… meaning to talk to you about... this…” Sam looked sheepish.

“Oh you were going to talk to me,” Dean scoffed, “Sam what are Jack and and and… saint Castiel doing here!?”

“I invited them?” Sam scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

Dean looked lost for words mouthing silently for a moment, "Okay Sam so explain this to me."

Sam huffed now he distinctly didn't want to answer him, "Dean could you just…"

"No no no please tell me," Dean seemed to puff up with indignation and betrayal, "what exactly possessed you to think that was in any possible way a good idea? because it's beyond me!"

“Six beers that did not taste like piss ,” he didn’t say.

"Is there a problem here?" Castiel and Jack had finally reached the grave. He kept himself a little in front of the teenager, protective. It was painfully familiar, even the look of nervous confusion on Jack's face.

"No, not all," Dean snorted, "I just thought… some things were sacred."

"He's dad's kid too, he has as much right to be here as we do!" Sam raised his voice done with his brother's verbal assault.

Said kid just coughed awkwardly.

Dean didn't even glance his way, "yeah sure, any other day he can have a goddamn picnic here if he wants, but not today… he's never come to-day…"

"I’m right here you know," Jack piped up annoyed.

"Dean, you're acting like a child," Sam was beginning to get pissed off. Dean was embarrassing him in front of people with one of his stupid hissy fits.

"Yeah well, maybe I am," Dean reached down to pick up what was left of the six pack, the remaining bottles rattling ominously.

"You see I thought… I thought maybe this meant something to you, that I still somehow knew you," Dean shrugged, "but you're right Sam, we're not kids anymore…"

And with that Dean left, returning the wary look he got from Castiel with a sarcastic smile.

Sam just sighed not following, instead turning his attention to Castiel and Jack.

Any of the anxious hope Jack’s face had held when they first walked up had gone, replaced with an unreadable expression.

Castiel looked shaken.

"I'm really sorry about him, he's just…" Sam trailed off he didn't have an honest excuse.

"No it's fine," Castiel sighed looking harassed, feathers ruffled so to speak by Dean's tirade.

"Maybe we shouldn't have come," he gave Jack a significant look that rubbed Sam the wrong way. He felt like he had to defend his brother.

"He's not usually like that it's just…" Sam trailed off feeling lost. He didn't even know why he was doing this, he'd invited them on a stupid drunken whim, and he barely spoke to Dean anymore. He was basically defending two strangers from one another. He didn’t feel like explaining his brother’s temper tantrum. He should have stayed in California at least there the people made sense.

“I’m sorry you drove all this way from…” Sam pulled up a blank.

“Indiana, Midway, Indiana,” Cas huffed, crossing his arms and looking colder than it was possible to actually be wearing at least three layers.

“Right,” Sam awkwardly swung his arms at his side, examining the freshly pruned grass for weeds.

He had cases he needed to get back to, they were barely two month’s out from a major merger and the firm had yet to finish writing out the paperwork. He spared a glance toward Jack.

Jack seemed to shrink into himself still half hidden behind his uncle’s coat, coughing quietly into his sleeve.

“You okay?” Sam tried.

“Hotel AC…” the kid muttered not looking him in the eye. “We um… we got in late last night, been hanging around there all day.” His free hand was tucked into his patterned jacket pocket, the one with the flowers tensed into a shaking fist, crinkling the plastic, biting his lip, like he was trying not to cry.

Sam felt bad for him, wanted to say something reassuring, but he knew if he looked over an inch he’d see Castiel, glaring at him like he’d just stabbed the kid.

“I um… I’m supposed to meet Mary at six…” Sam said lamely.

He heard no objections, "good to see you again," he sighed before walking away.

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

Dean stared down into his glass, swirling the amber middle shelf spirit; he’d tossed the cheap beer in the fridge before going out in search of something stronger.

He didn’t want to be alone and sober in that house… not tonight.

He took a long swallow from the glass then knocked it back against the bar counter, “fuck you Sam.”

“You got a ride home tonight Dean-o?” a familiar voice prodded sounding amused.

“You offering Gabe,” Dean gave the bar owner a thin smile.

Gabe chuckled topping off his glass, “just asking, I’d hate to have to sick the big guy on you for your keys…”

Dean glanced over his shoulder spotting the glum musclebound bartender. He was scrubbing at a table in harsh rapid spirals, treating sticky beer and peanut bits with all the intensity of someone cleaning up blood from a murder they committed.

“Where’d you find that anyway,” Dean snorted taking another mouthful of whiskey, “haven’t seen him around before.”

“Gadreel is just one of my many, many, siblings,” Gabe leaning back against the bar and shrugging, looking pleased with himself - though that was likely just his resting face -.

Dean squinted, besides brown hair, he didn’t see the resemblance.

“Gadreel?” Dean huffed into his glass, “ I get Gabriel, there’s tons of Gabriel’s, but where do you get a name like Gadreel?”

Gabe pretended to busy himself scrubbing out a lowball glass surreptitiously, “Our Dad was a religious nut, and his name started with G so he decided all his kids should have G names too. Actually, now that I think about it…” he paused to examine his reflection in the glass, “he may have just been an overall nutbag”

Dean opened his mouth to say something snide, then remembering he was named after his grandmother he decided to mind his own damn business and went back to his drink.

“Mom would have killed me if I didn’t get little bro the job,” Gabe paused eyeing Dean like he wanted him to ask why.

Dean let him hang for a long minute draining the rest of his glass and wiping his mouth before asking.

“Yeah, why?”

“Gadreel used to be a security guard for some big designer store downtown,” Gabe poured a drink for himself in the glass he’d just cleaned coming around the counter with the bottle to join Dean, - the bar was emptying out for the evening - .

“He let the wrong person in, the store got robbed, and he copped accessory charges for shit he didn’t do, ended up doing a stint in prison for it, it’s hard to get a job after that.”

Dean snorted, that sounded about right. The world was like that. You thought you knew how things worked one minute and then one friendly gesture later it spit in your face.

And Dean was beginning to think Sam was one of the most worldly people he knew.

“So how's that going for you, working with your brother,” Dean snorted at the concept, imagining Sam working at the shop was like imagining hiring a dog as a bailiff for one of Sam’s courtrooms, a terrible yappy one with a penchant for biting you in the ass.

“It’s fine, he’s a little stiff, ee-mmedially kills the mood if anyone tries to ya’know actually talk to him, but one look from him is all it takes to keep a hot-headed drunk in line so,” Gabe shrugged, “all things considered it’s a good trade-off.”

“Hmm…” Dean gave an unconvinced huff of a laugh.

“You ever work with family Deano?”

You could never completely tell with Gabriel, whether the man was actually trying to be a friend or just trying to get his patrons to buy more drinks. Dean hadn’t been in the mood to talk when he’d arrived but after four whiskeys the sun was burning low on his inhibitions.

“My dad…” Dean threw Gabe a bone tapping his glass in his general direction, “we uh… we worked together at his auto shop from when I was sixteen until a few years ago.”

Gabe poured him another glass, “Last call… I knew you worked at an auto shop, didn’t know it was your dad’s…”

“Yeah… he left it to me when he passed, it’s not like Sam would even know what to do with it even if he actually wanted it.”

The bar owner had the good graces not to comment on his dad’s death.

“Sibling problems Dean?” but apparently not the good sense not to ask about his brother.

“My brother’s a lawyer out in California, kid works in some big corporate firm and yet can’t breathe without letting me know how much more righteous he is, how that works I’ll never fucking know.”

Gabe snorted, “I got an older brother like that, Michael, real piece of work.”

Dean’s eyebrows rose.

“He goes by his middle name, first name is actually Gary,” Gabe quickly explained.

Very biblical name Gary...

“Yeah, well one idiot brother is enough for me,” Dean muttered darkly.

Today had been about six steps to far, Sam had never been as close as Dean was with their dad even before the divorce and after… he barely spoke to John from the time he moved out of the house until John’s eventual death.

Still Dean thought that even if John meant nothing to the man anymore that maybe this… thing they did... that it was their thing, meeting and going to pay respects at John’s grave. That they could just go there and deal with whatever shit they had about what had happened and just not be alone.

But inviting a kid, THAT kid… clearly what Dean thought and what Sam thought was very different.

He had no idea what their yearly meeting meant to Sam, if anything, and that terrified him.

Dean sat not saying another word clutching his glass so hard he was afraid it would shatter. Gabe seemed to lose interest after a while getting up and moving away to chastise his own brother.

“Hey, man go easy on the tables you’re gonna wear thru the varnish…”

Dean quietly got up, peeling a wad of cash out of his billfold and laying it on the counter, he was done talking for tonight. He headed out of the bar weaving slightly to call a cab.

The house was just as dead quiet as when he left it, he flicked on the lights, it didn’t really help anything, just threw the closed doors of his parents and Sam’s empty rooms into sharp contrast as he stumbled up to bed.

It was two in the morning when his cell rang a few hours later, bringing his throbbing head back into the land of the living, he saw Sam’s name and shut it off annoyed going straight back to sleep.

Only minutes later, the landline rang.

Dean kicked off the covers swearing under his breath before stomping downstairs to snatch up the old yellowed relic, ready to unleash a tirade at Sam.

“Do you having any fucking clue what time it is!?”

“Dean?”

It wasn’t Sam but the voice was vaguely familiar, “who’s this?”

“It’s… Cas… Castiel…” the man sounded shaken, “Samuel gave me your number.”

Dean’s still half drunk brain was at a loss, there were strange unidentifiable sounds in the background. He stayed silent in bewilderment.

“I um… I’m at the hospital... It’s Jack,” his voice cracked.

“There’s something wrong with Jack…”

#Supernatural #SPN #fanfiction #Sam Winchester #Dean Winchester #Jack Kline #Castiel #family drama #father death #car accident mention #heart attack #sickfic #kinda #whump #emotional whump #Gabriel #Gadreel

10 notes · View notes

jjoooonn1127 · 5 years

Text

Set Free

Word Count: 2.3k

Genre/tags: Oneshot, Barista!Lisa, Ghost!Jisoo, Slight Angst

Pairing: Lisa x Jisoo

Notes: Feel free to give constructive criticism!! This is my first-ever oneshot so it’s not the best but I’m pretty proud of this :) Also I turned this in as a narrative story for my English class lmao

Lisa let out a sigh of relief as the last customer walked outside and she wiped down the counters. 9:00 PM; finally. The workday was finally over, and she was the only one left in the coffee shop. Or, at least, so she thought.

“Hello?” She heard a female voice, not much older than herself, from the other side of the room.

“Oh, sorry, ma’am, we’re closed,” She began in response, turning towards the source of the sound. But, to her disbelief, there was nobody there. ‘That’s weird,’ she thought, ‘I could’ve sworn that I heard somebody.’ After looking around for a few minutes, she concluded that it was probably just her imagination. It’d been a long day, and the overtime she’d worked had probably begun to take its toll on her mind and body.

The young woman finished making sure everything was back in place, grabbed her keys, and left the building, remembering to lock the door behind her. She pulled her long bleached hair out of her ponytail as she walked to her car. It was a long day, but something’s gotta pay for her rent and college tuitions. But something still felt off, particularly with the voice she heard. Lisa had convinced herself that it was her imagination, but still; it felt so real, and present. Was she absolutely sure nobody had just, walked in and walked back out?

She shook off the thought as she unlocked her car. Work was over- it didn’t matter what she heard, because she was going home, anyways. Right?

The next day, Lisa came back in at 11 o’clock in the morning. Today was a Monday; it’d be considerably slower today, which was both a good and a bad thing, in her opinion. She just hoped that everything would go smoothly today. It should- it usually does- but there are some exceptions, and she didn’t want to have to deal with that.

Fortunately, the day went quite smooth. She took her lunch break at 3, grabbed herself a croissant, and walked back to the breakroom. It was a simple room- just a table, a few chairs, and a microwave- but she liked the solitude provided in it. She was the only one working today, but, to be fair, it was a Monday. Chances are, there wouldn’t be any customers during the time she was eating, and even if there were, she would be able to hear them enter.

After a few minutes, she heard the familiar jingle of the door. She quickly rushed back into the service area. “Hello, welcome to-”

“Hi,” the other person smiled. It was another girl, who looked to be in her early twenties, with long, dark hair. She was standing near the counter, but not too close- it seemed as if she was going to order, but not yet. She stared at the menu overhead with great focus and contemplation, her dark eyes shimmering more than a lake at sunset.

“Do you need a minute to choose?” Lisa asked, preparing to take the girl’s order.

“Oh, uh… No, it’s okay,” the other girl shook her head. “I’ll-”

“No, it’s fine, I can give you a minute if you need it.”

“It’s okay, I don’t need it, I know what I want.” The other girl chuckled for a second as Lisa nodded. “I’ll get a Matcha Green Tea Frappé”

“Alright, miss, that’ll be $3.50. Will you be paying with cash or a card?”

“Cash. And you can call me Jisoo.” The girl slid four dollar bills across the counter. “Oh, and keep the change.”

“Oh, thank you!” Lisa smiled as she put the cash in the register, and began making her order. “So, what brings you to our little town?”

“Nothing; I’ve actually been here a while.”

“Oh, really?” exclaimed the blonde-haired girl, amused. “How long?”

“Longer than you’d think,” Jisoo responded, a bit of a somber and mysterious tone lacing the words.

“Ah… Alright.”

Lisa gave her the drink, and the two continued to talk. They actually found that they had a lot in common, despite Jisoo’s occasional peculiarity. She was quite nice, and Lisa found her presence enjoyable- you could even say they were becoming friends. She also noticed that Jisoo felt comforting and familiar in a way- like a protective and nurturing friend. However, after about thirty or forty-five minutes, Lisa heard the phone ringing from the breakroom. “Hold on a second,” she said, rushing back to the room. But as soon as she arrived, the phone stop ringing. “Dang it,” she muttered to herself, walking back to the counter. “Well, they’ll call back.”

Strangely, though, when she returned, Jisoo was nowhere to be seen. ‘She must have left…’ thought Lisa. She felt a twinge of sadness amongst her confusion. For some reason, Jisoo had left behind her drink.

And, strangely, it was completely full.

Jisoo continued to come back, more and more frequently each week- and, eventually, each month. Whenever she showed up, it was always at the same time, too- around 3:15, and only on weekdays. Yeah, she was puzzling sometimes, but Lisa came to know her as one of her best friends. They talked a lot, getting into pretty deep subjects and exchanging personal thoughts, feelings, and experiences. Eventually, in fact, Jisoo stopped buying drinks and began showing up just to talk to her new best friend.

One Sunday night, a few months later, as Lisa was closing up, she found something in the back room. An old scrapbook. ‘Huh,’ she pondered, ‘I wonder when this is from. Or whose it is.’ She didn’t want to snoop, but something about the scrapbook just pulled her in. It had some sort of energy- energy that she couldn't resist. She couldn’t help but flip through it.

The pictures in there looked to be a few decades old, at least. They were grainy and also a bit worn-out but in otherwise fairly good condition. As she looked through, she saw nothing strange. It was a family scrapbook, with multiple photos which included a father, a mother, and two young daughters. The family looked slightly familiar, though Lisa couldn’t quite put her finger on it. As she watched the daughters grow, though, she gasped. Why did the pictures look so familiar?

One of the daughters looked remarkably like Jisoo, and as she watched them grow up, Lisa realized, she was Jisoo.

And why did Jisoo seem so familiar when they first met?

Well, thirty years ago, in 1989, two young women- sisters- died in a terrible car accident. Lisa remembered reading a book about the event at the library a few years ago. And, well, these photos were undeniably some of the same ones she’d seen.

Lisa vigorously shook her head, continuing to flip through ‘No, this isn’t real. Jisoo is dead. Is Jisoo dead? Is this even her? Or is this… Is this all a dream?’

Alas, it wasn’t- and that was definitely Jisoo. The blond girl didn’t understand this. Were ghosts real? Thoughts, ideas, and overall anxiety raced through her mind. Her vision began to become blurry, and she felt a wave of nausea, but she couldn’t do anything about it before… she blacked out.

“Lisa? Lisa, are you okay?” She groaned as she heard the voice echoing. Her head was pounding, and she had no idea where she was, or what had happened.

“You’re awake?” The voice asked. She groaned, again, in response. “Okay, good. Now, I know you’re confused, but I can explain. At least, once you get up.”

Lisa rubbed her eyes and eventually sat up. As her vision cleared up, she saw a face. An all-too-familiar face. She wanted to say something, but she was too shocked- she didn’t know what she would say, anyways.

“Lisa, I know this might be kind of scary, but please don’t be afraid. It’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you.”

Lisa squirmed in her position “But… A-aren’t you…”

“Yes, I’m dead. But that doesn’t change anything, really.”

“You died thirty years ago, what-”

“We’re still friends, though, aren’t we?” Jisoo stared into her eyes- er, well, more like her soul, to be honest.

“Yeah, but… W-what the heck happened? What’s going on?”

The dark-haired girl sighed. “You found my scrapbook.”

“W-well yeah,” Lisa said,“I did, but-”

“So now you know.”

“Yeah, I do, but what’s going-”

“Please….” she gave Lisa a chilling touch on the shoulder.

“...What?”

“Please set me free.”

“What do you mean?”

“Every night, I relive it. Every night.” Jisoo took a deep breath. “It’s because I’m bound to death. This isn’t hell, but it’s my own personal hell.”

“Bound to death…? J-Jisoo, are you alright? Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I couldn’t. And, no, I’m not really.” She paused. “The only thing that’s made things worthwhile in the past few months, has been you.”

Lisa’s eyes watered. She had been best friends with Jisoo for months, and not only was she a ghost, but she was ‘bound to death’, whatever that means. And she helped her, and could help her further. “So… What happens if I set you free?”

“Well, right now, I’m in a bit of a purgatory. Something went wrong when I was going to the afterlife, and I became a ghost instead of going where everyone else goes it’s not as uncommon as you might think. But, for some reason… Everything is limited for me. I can only spend a certain amount of time in the ‘real world’, and I’m always connected to the scrapbook.”

“Isn’t that how ghosthood normally works?”

“Well, not really. Most of the time, as a ghost, you can roam free, and do whatever you want. But for some people, like me, things are limited. It’s like the universe wants to torture us, and we keep reliving our deaths. We have no escape. We’re bound to death. But… If a living person sets us free, then we can be free. We can be like normal friends, and I could leave this stupid place. It’s almost like being alive again.”

“What if you went to the other place, though? To the afterlife, or whatever?”

“Well then, I’ll still be free, and at peace. Except… I won’t get to see you.”

Tears began to spill a bit from Lisa’s eyes.

“No! Don’t cry! The chances of something like that are slim to none.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. If you just follow these instructions, I’ll be able to come to the real world, and we can keep being friends. And I’ll finally get to escape death.”

“Please, set Kim Jisoo’s soul free. So mote it be.”

Lisa finished saying the words, and a powerful wind began to fill the breakroom. Papers flew off of the table, flyers were torn off of the corkboard, and everything seemed to swirl around Jisoo’s figure, which was now glowing a bright blue.

“IT’S…. HAPPENING…” she struggled to get her words out. She knew her soul would be forcefully ripped from the scrapbook, but she thought it would feel refreshing, if anything, rather than draining. She felt physically exhausted, and increasingly detached from this world, too. But… that would subside soon, she was sure of it. You have to lose something to receive something… right?

Right.

“Jisoo, is it working? How do you feel?”

“I….” Jisoo began, but the roar of the circling winds within the room drowned her out. Lisa held onto the table, gazing at the situation in both euphoria and horror. ‘This is scary, but Jisoo’s being set free. Jisoo’s being set free. She’s being set-’

But, then, all at once, everything stopped. The winds relented, the paper all fell to the ground, and the center of the room stopped radiating a bright blue.

But where was Jisoo?

“Are… Are you there?”

No response.

Lisa waited for a few seconds, then repeated herself, louder and more concerned this time.

“Jisoo, please, are you there??”

Still, no answer.

Lisa ran out of the breakroom, searching frantically for Jisoo. 'She has to be here somewhere. She has to be. I did everything right, didn’t I?’

She hurried outside, still looking for her friend. ‘I did everything she said, she has to be here somewhere,’

Break room?

No.

In the shop?

No.

Outside?

No.

She kept looking. Rushing back to the breakroom, she found the scrapbook in the pile of documents, and yanked it out, flipping through the pages once more. Nothing changed, and Jisoo was still nowhere to be found except for in the photos. ‘Please. She has to be here. She has to.’

She checked every possible place, and even drove home in a frenzy, wondering if she could be there. But, still, her best friend was not in the bedroom, the kitchen, living room, bathroom, or any other possible place.

She was gone.

It was a week later. Lisa had scoured everywhere for her best friend, but she soon realized that it was all in vain and gave up.

She’d been crying. A lot. Nothing could replace Jisoo. When they met, it was just a nice, seemingly meaningless conversation in a coffee shop; but it grew to be so much more than that. Jisoo was her best friend, her confidant, even- dare I say it- her soulmate. Nothing could replace that.

As she sat next to the lake, Lisa remembered how Jisoo’s eyes looked when they first met. More shimmery than a lake at sunset. Yes, this setting was beautiful, but Jisoo was even more so, physically and intellectually. She felt heartbroken and absolutely terrible; she’d messed up during the ritual, she knew it. Jisoo was sent to the afterlife instead of to this world.

She knew she could never forgive herself. Jisoo had already suffered enough; she deserved to be free, to explore the world as long as she wanted to, to “live”. To be free, in this world. She once again felt the familiar warmth of tears, running down her face in a bitter cascade of sorrow and yearning.

And, as she brooded over her fault and meditated on their friendship, Lisa could have sworn she heard a voice. A familiar voice, that said, ‘It’s okay.’- even though there was nothing there.

10 notes · View notes

thatbloodymuggle · 7 years

Text

jealousy

requested by anon: could you do a jealous marauders preference?

james:

James had always been a prideful teenager. He was one to boast and felt no guilt showing off all of his good qualities. Teachers knew it, you knew it, he knew it. Of course, anyone who posed as a threat to his ego would immediately be put under his watch. Due to this, it was no surprise he was the jealous type. So when he was told by his friends that the guy standing with you several yards away was in the middle of asking you to Slughorn’s Christmas Party, he didn’t exactly react well.

“Who was that back there in the hallway?” he pulled you from your group of friends hanging around the couches in the common room to a more private corner.

A faint smirk tugged at your peachy lips at his spiteful tone, though you were careful not to let it show, “Whatever are you talking about, Dear Jamesy?” You bat your eyelashes at your boyfriend.

His jaw locked as his eyes narrowed ever so slightly at your cocky stance, “You know exactly who I’m talking about, Y/N. The one Sirius said was asking you to the dance-- the one you clearly rejected,” he paused, studying your face, “You did say no, right?”

Rather than answering his question, you shrugged whilst tapping your finger to your chin in a mock look of contemplation, “Well I mean, it would make sense for me to say yes. Considering I haven’t been asked yet, and all.”

You could practically see the annoyance radiating off of him which only increased your amusement, much to his dismay, “You think you’re so funny,” he quipped. “What makes him think he can ask you? Everyone knows we’re a thing,” he grumbles with a pout evident on his lips.

Your eyebrow raised again, though this time you don’t bother hiding the amusement on your face, “James Fleamont Potter, are you jealous?”

“Should I be?”

A smirk made its way onto your face at his response, “I suppose not. But you know if I run I could probably catch him before he gets to the Ravenclaw Common Room and tell him I’ll reconsider the-”

Your teasing was interrupted by his chapped lips colliding with your own soft ones. The initial shock quickly wore off as you melted into his kiss, your cocky demeanor retreating almost instantly. Before you even got the chance to pull away, your moment was interrupted by an outside voice.

“Oi Prongs, Y/N! This is a family room so it’d be much appreciated if you could keep the PDA to a minimum!”

Sirius’s barking voice sounded throughout the room, causing multiple heads to turn to the source of noise. Laughter chorused throughout the room as you and James simply locked eyes. He pecked your lips quickly before whispering, “We’ll continue this later.”

sirius:

“Y/N, truth or dare?”

It was nearly midnight and you should’ve been finishing up your essay for Slughorn due tomorrow, but here you were sitting in the Room of Requirement engaged in a childish game of Truth or Dare with several stolen bottles of fire whiskey and a dozen Gryffindors.

Your eyes rolled as you turned to face James who had called out your name, but you couldn’t help but giggle at the sight of him. A couple of turns back James had ended up trading clothes with a very reluctant Lily leaving him in silk pajamas which showed off far more than you’d like to see. It seemed he was too drunk to care, however, as the goofy grin never faltered.

“Dare.”

A few of the drunker Gryffindors in the room hooted at your answer, provoking another roll of your eyes. You had heard the truths asked so far and would frankly rather streak down the hall in search of Filch’s cat than answer some of them.

James’s lips twitch into a smirk as he stares you down. You can’t help but feel uneasy under his gaze as you are sure it means nothing but trouble, “I dare you to kiss the most attractive person in the room.”

Rather than rolling your eyes for the millionth time that night, you decide to have fun with the dare. Everyone watches in anticipation as your eyes land on your officially unofficial non-boyfriend male friend, Sirius, who stares at you with a cheeky grin.

It was well known among your smaller group of friends that you and Sirius and gotten together a few times. After a couple of dates here and there, the two of you had decided not to get into a relationship as the both of you had quite horrible commitment issues. Yet, no matter how much you denied it when brought up in conversation, you remained loyal to each other.

Devising a plan in your head, you crawled forward a foot so your face was hovering mere inches away from his. Just as he began to lean towards you in anticipation of your touch, you darted to his right and planted a sloppy kiss on Remus.

Laughter erupts throughout the room at your actions, Remus chuckling softly as well as he rubs off the lipstick smudged on his face. You grin with a cocked eyebrow at Sirius's narrowed eyes.

“Lighten up, Padfoot. It’s not like she’s your girlfriend or anything,” James teases his best friend with a knowing smile, hence deepening his frown further. The night continued for a little while longer before people started clearing out leaving you, Marlene, Lily, and the Marauders.

Lily stood from the dusty ground, stretching out her sore legs, “I think I’m going to head back. I at least want to get some sleep before class tomorrow,” she proclaims as Marlene follows suit.

“Me too. I’ll escort you,” James scrambles onto his feet, eliciting an eye roll from Lily.

Peter, not getting the hint that James wants to talk to Lily, stands after him to follow. You watch as the group of four walks out, leaving you, Remus, and Sirius. Remus’s eyes dart between back and forth the two of you, tension thick in the air. “Well,” he sighs, “I’d better get going too. Goodnight guys,” he waves whilst stepping out of the room.

You make eye contact with Sirius as he leaves, neither of you saying a word until the sound of the door shutting rings through the almost empty room, “What the fuck was that, Y/N?”

Your eyes roll yet again, though you can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt, “It was a joke. It wasn’t anything legitimate.”

“Oh, so now it’s funny to go around kissing other guys? Sorry, didn't get that part,” he snaps moodily.

“Oh come on, Sirius. Do you really think I’d actually kiss Moony of all people? You know I wouldn’t do that to you,” a frown etches its way onto your face.

The hardened look on his face quickly softens as he sighs, “You’re right. I’m sorry, Y/N. I guess I just got riled up a bit,” he takes his pinkish lip between his teeth, “Besides, it’s not like you’re not allowed to do that if you wanted to. It’s not like we’re official or anything,” he grumbles the last part.

A small pout rests on your face at his response. No words are uttered between the two of you as you gently lean forward and press your plump lips against his. His body responds instantly as you move like two puzzles pieces that fit together. You eventually pull your lips from his, resting your foreheads together. “But we could be,” you whisper.

Heavy breaths are exchanged between the two of you as your eyes never leave one another until he finally leans in once again, this time making the kiss short and sweet.

“I think we are.”

remus:

You were sitting in the Great Hall surrounded by all of your Gryffindor friends after a long day of classes and work. Three of the four Marauders were present at the long, wooden tale piled with an incredible amount of delicious food that was the perfect end to your day. James, Peter, Sirius, and you found yourselves to be the center of attention in the grand room rather quickly due to Sirius and James’ unnecessarily loud laughing, though you weren’t really bothered by the stares. You were in the midst of telling a story about a friend you had made earlier that week when the final Marauder finally showed up after serving a detention (curtesy of James).

“He’s just so cute,” you gush to the three boys. “I can’t wait for you to meet him.”

Already grumpy after having served an undeserved detention, Remus couldn’t help but frown at your words upon arriving at the table. Your eyes shot to his as he took his usual seat across from you and next to Sirius. “Who’s cute?” he attempted to question in a nonchalant manner.

The boys didn’t seem to pick up on his odd tone, but you did. You cocked an eyebrow at his question, “Dennis.”

Remus nodded, though the smallest of frowns made its way onto his face. From then on he seemed more detached from the conversation, distracted by the millions of thoughts running through his mind. Who the hell was this Dennis? Why hadn’t he heard of him before? Your meal ended fairly soon as the five of you made your way back to the Gryffindor Common Room. Just as you were about to step through the portrait hole, a voice called you back, “Y/N, could I, er, talk to you for a moment?”

The werewolf shifted awkwardly from foot to foot as he subconsciously picked at his nails, a nervous habit. You shot him a soft smile, “Of course, Remus. What’s up?”

Remus’s nervousness only seemed to grow as he took a breath of preparation before, rather uncoordinatedly, spitting out his thoughts, “Look, I know I have no right to be jealous since we’re not technically dating or anything and I don’t know who this ‘Dennis’ kid is but I just-,” he paused for a moment with a sigh before recollecting himself, “Listening to you talk like that about someone else it- well, it kind of stung,” he finished off sheepishly, resembling a kicked puppy.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I know, I know I jus-”

“Dennis is my cat.”

“Of course and I- wait, what?”

A giggle escaped your rosy lips which soon turned into a full blown laugh. Remus’s previously flustered face was dawned with realization as it turned to one of embarrassment. The blush rapidly making its way to his face only heightened your laughter, not helping his situation.

“Oh.”

You finally gathered yourself, your own face now red with amusement, “You must’ve been so blinded with jealousy you missed the part when I talked about how soft his fur is.”

His face heat up even more, if possible. You grasped his larger hand in your smaller one as you sent him a grin. He mumbled something under his breath, though it wasn’t quite audible to your ears, “Come again?”

His eyes darted up to meet yours, “I wasn’t jealous.” Your grin widened at his words which in turn initiated another round of blushing.

“Tell that to your face,” you giggled, poking his reddening cheek with your free hand. Remus swatted your hand away, although the smile on your face reached his anyways.

“Don’t worry about it, I’d be jealous too, I suppose. Besides,” you took your lip into your mouth whilst dropping his hand. You leaned closer to him, your mouth a mere few inches away from his ear. “You’re kind of sexy when you get all jealous. It’s a good look on you.”

You leaned back with a cheeky smile before skipping into the common room. Remus stood stunned for a few seconds before a small smirk of satisfaction took over his face as he followed you into the room. Who would’ve known getting jealous over a cat could end so well?

i love remus’s quite a lot hehe feel free to request an imagine or preference! i do ships as well :)

4K notes · View notes

javionxander25 · 3 years

Text

Now You See Gemma Chan

Moving between blockbusters and indie hits, Gemma Chan has kept one foot in stardom and one in anonymity. But this year, she's going famous full time.

BY ,ALICE WIGNALL 06/01/2021

When is a celebrity not a celebrity? When you’re Gemma Chan, of course – or so says Gemma Chan. ‘I don’t think of myself like that at all,’ she says. ‘My life is fairly low-key.’ What, because you don’t drive a gold Cadillac? She laughs. ‘I don’t live in a mansion, I don’t have an assistant,’ she says. ‘All that kind of stuff.’ Beauty Truths With Gemma Chan by Elle UK Previous VideoPlayNext VideoUnmute Current Time 0:39 / Duration 6:34 Loaded: 25.84% Fullscreen CLICK TO UNMUTE I remain unconvinced, and mount my counterargument, ticking off the evidence on my fingers: one, a starring role in an enormous movie franchise (Sersi in Eternals, part of the world-conquering juggernaut that is the Marvel Cinematic Universe, due for release in late 2020 but Covid-delayed until late 2021); two, a new contract with L’Oréal Paris as an international spokesperson; and, three, another recently announced UK ambassador role with Unicef. Guaranteed blockbuster, cosmetics contract, high-profile charity patron: this is the star-making Big Three; the trifecta of global fame. Come on, I say. This year, your face is going to be everywhere. ‘Er, yeah,’ she says, looking genuinely quite alarmed. MARCIN KEMPSKI Chan's path to this point has been one of steady progress, rather than precipitous acceleration, which is maybe why she finds it hard to contemplate the quantum leap her career is about to take. At 38, and with more than a decade and a half of experience behind her, she’s done it all: BBC bit parts (including Doctor Who and Sherlock) and a breakout TV role in Channel 4’s Humans; high-brow theatre and big-budget films (in Jack Ryan: Shadow Recruit, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and, indeed, a previous Marvel movie, as the sniper Minn-Erva in Captain Marvel. The two characters are unrelated but, as she points out, ‘I was painted blue for that whole job, so it’s not like I’m very recognisable’), but nothing on a scale likely to upend her life. The closest she’s come to that so far is her performance as Astrid in 2018’s surprise smash hit Crazy Rich Asians, which made $238.5m against a budget of $30m and became the top-earning romantic comedy of the Noughties. ‘[Because] Crazy Rich Asians did so well internationally, I definitely felt a shift at that time,’ Chan says. ‘Like, on the Captain Marvel press tour, not being able to walk through [Singapore] airport. Then again, things have settled and the slight craziness of that time has gone away. I do feel like I can – touch wood – go about my life normally now.’ MARCIN KEMPSKI The biggest impact, she says, was professional: ‘Before Crazy Rich Asians, I wasn’t being considered for lead roles in feature films. There [is] a very select group of actors in that pool and I wouldn’t even get an audition, I wasn’t in that conversation. Whereas now... I’m being talked about for certain things and then you may meet the director, or you at least get to have your shot. So that feels a bit different.’ Her most recent project is certainly the kind of job you can imagine being fought over in casting rooms around the world: hey, how would you like to get on a luxury cruise liner with acclaimed director Steven Soderbergh and a killer cast including, oh, I don’t know, Meryl Streep and make an intelligent comedy drama about betrayal, responsibility and enduring love? Who wouldn’t? But Chan was the one who was picked for Let Them All Talk, which was filmed on board the Queen Mary 2 as it crossed the Atlantic from New York to Southampton. It tells the story of a lionised novelist, played by Streep on magisterial form, en route to collect a prestigious writing award in England, accompanied by two old friends and her nephew. Chan is her recently promoted literary agent, who has also bought a ticket for the crossing, in the hope that she can clandestinely find out what her secretive client’s much-anticipated next book is about. I wasn’t being considered for lead roles in feature films ‘Obviously I jumped at the chance,’ says Chan. ‘It was a dream project.’ Though not a stress-free one: ‘A lot of the dialogue was improvised,’ says Chan. ‘There’s a scene, a lunch in New York with Meryl, which was actually the first scene that I shot. So I arrived on set and the restaurant was full of 200 extras; you could hear a pin drop. I went in and sat down, then Meryl came in and sat down, and we just had to improvise a scene. I don’t think I’ve ever had such a clenched bum! I was petrified. There I am, with possibly the greatest actress of all time, and... “Action!”’ There is an alternate timeline, of course, in which Chan genuinely isn’t famous. If she’d followed the path that her early years suggested, her current life would be, if not stress-free, less likely to include head-to-heads with multi-time Oscar winners. MARCIN KEMPSKI Raised in Kent to Chinese parents, she attended an academically selective school before studying law at Oxford. She also played violin to a high standard and swam competitively at a national level. All in all, the perfect image of a relentless high-achiever, bound for success in a stable career – until she took a post-graduation gap year swerve into acting, at first with evening classes, then a full-time course. Even now – when the gamble has decisively paid off – she sounds tentative when discussing her original ambitions to act. She did some am-dram at school, ‘but never thought, I could do this for a job.’ Embarking on her acting studies, the idea of a career was there, but ‘at the back of my mind’. That might be because this period of Chan’s life was fraught: her parents were alarmed that she declined a training contract with a prestigious London law firm, and thought she was making a mistake. Perhaps she still finds it hard to unequivocally state that the path she chose is not one they initially approved of. ‘The key for both of them and therefore for myself, and my sister, was the importance of education,’ she says. ‘It allowed my father to have a completely different life to his father, mother and some of his brothers and sisters. Both of my parents are immigrants who came from very humble backgrounds,’ she adds. ‘They definitely instilled in me a work ethic from a young age and a sense of, “The world doesn’t owe you a living, you have to make your own way.” At one point in my dad’s childhood, he was homeless. My amah, his mum, raised six kids on her own. They had absolutely nothing, they lived in a shack on a hillside in Hong Kong. I’m one generation away from that.’ You can sense the shadow of the lawyer she could have been when she talks, and almost hear the weighing up of pros and cons she has done to determine what steps to take. Of L’Oréal Paris, she says: ‘I have been a little bit cautious when it comes to brand partnerships and things like that. I wanted to wait till it felt like it was right. [I chose] L’Oréal because the brand stands for uplifting women and empowerment and they have a strong philanthropic side to what they do, such as their partnership with The Prince’s Trust.’ MARCIN KEMPSKI She talks about carefully considering joining the Marvel universe, knowing it could mean giving over a share of the next 10 years of her life (‘You’re not signing up for one film, because they have additional films and spin-offs and they cover themselves’). She chooses her words with utmost caution when talking about Eternals: ‘Marvel is pretty strict about these kinds of things and I’ve got an non-disclosure agreement like that,’ she says, miming a massive wodge of a legal document. She insists that alongside this diligence there’s a flip side to her personality: ‘I have a slightly rebellious nature. I wasn’t always the best behaved and, yeah, I do work hard but I’m also quite chaotic. Hopefully I’ve found a bit of balance but when I was younger I was like, “I’ll leave it as late as I can, then I’ll pull an all-nighter.” That’s kind of the person I was.’ It’s impossible to tell if this ‘rebellious’ streak would register on most people’s radars, or if it was only noticeable in the context of her own – or her family’s – high standards. I suspect you’d have to know her very well to find out, and she’s far too protective of her private life to make peeking through the veil a possibility. Despite – or perhaps because of – two long-term relationships with high-profile men (she dated comedian Jack Whitehall from 2011 to 2017, and has been in a relationship with actor Dominic Cooper since 2018), she doesn’t discuss her personal life. It’s not exactly a state secret – she makes mention of ‘my partner’ when talking about what she did in the first lockdown (volunteering pretty much full-time for her friend Lulu Dillon’s charity, Cook 19, delivering meals to London hospitals) and Cooper makes the odd appearance on her Instagram account – but she’s certainly not going to give rolling updates on her romantic life. Anything I share could become a story on a slow news day ‘Over 10 years, you learn the importance of privacy, what you choose to share and what you don’t. When you start out, you don’t even know what is important to keep for yourself – I didn’t anyway – whereas now I think there are certain things that I absolutely know, “That’s mine and it’s private.” For me, my comfort level is to have a clear distinction between what is for me and what I’m happy to talk about.’ I ask if she’s had any bad experiences with the press. ‘Nothing too horrendous, but some experiences of not having my wits about me. I’m aware now that anything I say could become a clickbait headline – well, on a slow news day.’ MARCIN KEMPSKI (As if to prove her point, in the week that we talk, Jack Whitehall makes headlines in multiple news outlets in the UK – and, indeed, around the world – for making an off-hand comment in an episode of his Netflix show that he ‘could have got married’ to Chan, but he ‘f*cked up my chance of that’. And, given that this was midway through a global pandemic, it wasn’t even a particularly slow news day.) What she's happy to share on her social media – in fact, what makes up the bulk of her feeds – are her thoughts on a range of social and political subjects, from domestic abuse campaigns, to equal access to education, to Black Lives Matter, to protesting against anti-Asian racism. Which doesn’t always go down well: ‘Every time you say anything political, if it’s in the most uncontroversial way, you’ll be criticised for it; you need to be prepared for that. Every time I post something [like that], I lose followers, so it’s probably not the best business sense...’. But she’s not going to stop: ‘I want to highlight things that are important to me but without preaching. I’m still working it out, how to be an advocate in the most effective way.’ MARCIN KEMPSKI I ask if she feels hopeful about the future, given the myriad challenges she mentions. She pauses. ‘I’ve definitely struggled and felt hopeless,’ she says. ‘I think most of us have realised how powerless we are in terms of the day-to- day governing of our [country]. There no longer seems to be any accountability; there’s a lack of shame. Things that a minister or an advisor would have resigned for 10 years ago, now there are no repercussions. That’s incredibly frustrating, especially when people’s lives are at stake. But, I do have hope – mainly because of the next generation. They’re more politically aware than I was, more involved. Often in the media the most boorish voices seem to monopolise headlines, but actually there are decent people who want to make things better for their fellow humans. There are more of them than youmight think. During the pandemic, obviously it was a terrible time, but there were things that sprung up on a local community level of people trying to help each other. That was encouraging.’ Every time you say anything political, you’ll be criticised for it And, of course, last year Black Lives Matter protests pushed questions about race and identity to the forefront as never before. How does Chan feel about her own role in increasing representation as a British Asian? ‘I get moments where I think, I wish we didn’t have to talk about race anymore. In the same way I wish we didn’t have to talk about why it’s unusual to have a female lead. Why is it still the exception? Why is it still so unusual to have half of the human race being centred in these stories? It seems ridiculous to still be flagging that as a talking point.’ She talks about a structure that actor Riz Ahmed has described: on tier one, a minority actor will play stereotypical, reductive roles. On tier two, your race is still prominent, but the character is nuanced and well-rounded. ‘And the holy grail is tier three, where you’re just viewed as a human. But, while we’re still working towards that goal of much more equal representation, it’s going to be something that we have to be more consciously aware of, and it is going to be part of the conversation.’ It’s a classic Gemma Chan answer. I can feel the burn of her frustration, and I see how she’s thought through her best approach. She’s got a goal, and she knows how to get there. MARCIN KEMPSKI As for her own goals – well, there’s a packed schedule ahead: when we talk, she’s about to join Florence Pugh and Chris Pine for director Olivia Wilde’s follow-up to Booksmart, Don’t Worry Darling. Then, when the pandemic allows, there are the delayed back-to-back shoots for Crazy Rich Asians 2 and 3, not to mention the release of Eternals. She’s also set up a production company, which is working on a range of projects focusing on ‘women whose stories haven’t been given their due, who are these unsung heroes of history’. She loves producing (‘You get a bit more control’), so much so that one day it might be all she does. ‘There may be a point where I want to take a step back from the acting side and, if the producing is established by then, that would be great.’ Hmm, I think. The thing about being globally famous is that once you are, it’s kind of hard to stop. But if anyone can manage blockbusters one month, normal life the next, it’s someone with a big brain, a ton of experience and her eye on the prize. Someone a bit like Gemma Chan. So, when is a celebrity not a celebrity? We might be about to find out. Gemma is an international spokesperson for L’Oréal Paris and the face of Revitalift Filler Day Cream. ELLE's February 2021 issue hits newsstands on January 7 2021.

Luxury Designer Clothing, Handbags . Like this article? Sign up to our newsletter to get more articles like this delivered straight to your inbox. In need of more inspiration, thoughtful journalism and at-home beauty tips? Subscribe to ELLE's print magazine today! SUBSCRIBE HERE

from https://www.online-digitalstore.com/post/now-you-see-gemma-chan

from Online Digital Store - Blog https://onlinedigitalstore2.weebly.com/blog/now-you-see-gemma-chan

0 notes

zoehodgkins25 · 3 years

Text

Now You See Gemma Chan

Moving between blockbusters and indie hits, Gemma Chan has kept one foot in stardom and one in anonymity. But this year, she's going famous full time.

BY ,ALICE WIGNALL 06/01/2021

source https://www.online-digitalstore.com/post/now-you-see-gemma-chan from Online Digital Store https://onlinedigitalstore2.blogspot.com/2021/01/now-you-see-gemma-chan.html

0 notes

onlinedigitalstore2 · 3 years

Text

Now You See Gemma Chan

Moving between blockbusters and indie hits, Gemma Chan has kept one foot in stardom and one in anonymity. But this year, she's going famous full time.

BY ,ALICE WIGNALL 06/01/2021

from Online Digital Store https://www.online-digitalstore.com/post/now-you-see-gemma-chan

0 notes