#just me venting after another unnecessary rough day
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Living Legend | Chapter Six: Cairo
Content warnings: uncensored cussing, canon events and triggers
Media: Moon Knight S1E3 “The Friendly Type”, references to Primeval S3E9 and S3E10
Word count: 1,834
Sarah was surprised to learn that Lagaro was the ‘associate’ and ‘family friend’ that Layla had talked about. After collecting a handful of items from Sarah’s flat, Layla had brought them to the woman’s home. Introductions had been unnecessary and Sarah had made a beeline for the toilet to give herself a few minutes to calm down.
She left twenty minutes later.
Hey, she was having a rough few days.
“And then I, uh, I- I found him, with the scarab, living twenty minutes from our old place.” Layla was venting. Lagaro gave her a hand signal, and she abruptly sat up straighter, pasting on a fake smile. The camera flashed. “Now he’s, uh, he’s probably going to get himself killed running around Cairo.”
“Himself, and my best friend with him.” Sarah grumbled as the camera took another picture.
“That’s why you look so unhappy to be going home.”
“Anxious, maybe.” Layla corrected, looking annoyed. Lagaro opened a desk drawer and placed something on the top- a jar of… marpoles? “It’s been ten years.”
“Not worried you might’ve burned too many bridges, all those stolen relics and cheeky antiques?” Lagaro asked as Layla opened the jar and took a bite out of a marpole.
Sarah’s eyebrows raised at this new information, and Layla took the passport from the printer as it finished. “I don’t steal. They’ve already been stolen- that’s what people forget. I take them off the black market and return them to their rightful owners.” She continued, beginning to laminate the paper. With a cheeky smile, she admitted, “I might keep a few to pay the bills.”
“Clever you.” Lagaro assented. She picked up the laminated sheet. “Not so innocent anymore, eh? I wonder what your father would think of his little scarab now.”
Placing a pair of special magnifying eyeglasses over Lagaro’s eyes, Layla replied, “Hmm. We’ll never know. I can’t believe he let you teach me how to do all of this.”
“Ha! The man indulged you. You think his dig sites were any place for a child?” Apparently satisfied with the passport, she got up. “Archaeology- one big mess of obsessive bookworms.”
“Whatever happened in that desert is lost to the sands.” Layla answered as she selected a binding for the passport, and Sarah sensed that it was a hard subject for her.
“It’s a hard thing, exhuming the pain of the past. Easy to get stuck… fixate on what’s hurt us.” Legaro noted, pressing the entire item together.
Sarah willed herself not to think back to her own past, her own hurts. Swallowing a lump in her throat, she stood up, plucking a marpole from the jar and stuffing it in her mouth whole.
“Great. Then I won’t do either.” Layla returned.
Lagaro stamped it. “Like you aren’t already. I miss him too, is all. But that’s your baggage, not mine. Just… avoid your old haunts. Call me sentimental, but I worry about you.” She sighed, handing off the passport. “It’s your turn, Sarah.”
Twenty minutes later, her own fake passport was in her purse, and they left Lagaro with a parting kiss on the cheek from Layla. Sarah was used to the motorbike by now, and she didn’t mind it (Layla was a fast but safe driver), but she looked forward to the 10/11-hour flight that awaited them. It would give her some time to sleep.
Egypt’s familiar heat enveloped Sarah comfortingly, and she let out a pleased sigh as the sun already burned into her skin. Most of the country was dry, but Cairo was humid thanks to the Nile and nearby Mediterranean coast.
She had been here before, on many digs and expeditions and trips. It never got old. Although this time she didn’t feel the usual swell of excitement in her ribcage that she had all the times prior- the heavy weight of stress and worry canceling out her typical eagerness- she still felt somewhat rejuvenated by the African sunshine.
Layla procured them a hotel room, where they both showered and changed and left their belongings before venturing out again. Sarah let Layla take the lead in picking their way through the vendors and streets, knowing that a native would always be a better guide than a seasoned traveler.
It was completely unexpected when the sky began to darken, and the women looked up at the sky to see… the moon eclipsing the sun, of all fucking things. It was an annular- that was the name, despite it not being a yearly event- and only a ring of golden red light was left around the shadow of the moon.
“Fifty quid says Khonshu’s got something to this.” Sarah muttered after a few moments of staring up at the celestial event.
“You’re really calm about this.” Layla noted.
Sarah shrugged. “When you’ve seen what I’ve seen… Egyptian deities causing eclipses really doesn’t compare.”
Layla tore her gaze from the sky, meeting Sarah’s eyes. “What can you have seen if that’s the case?”
Sarah chewed the inside of her lip. “If I told you without proof, you’d think I was mad. And I’m sorry, Layla, but I don’t know or trust you enough yet to tell you everything.”
Surprising her, Layla only nodded. “I understand that. In a way, I’m… I’m kinda relieved you’re not just spilling your whole life story to the first person who asks you about it. I’m not the type of woman to use someone’s past against them without good reason. As long as you don’t hurt Marc, or help Harrow, or hurt children or something… we’re good.”
Sarah offered her a small smile. “Likewise.”
Layla paused by a wandering vendor, exchanging rapid Arabic with him. After a few moments, she handed over some money and received two plastic bags filled with brown liquid, straws sticking out of them. “Here. It’s sugar cane juice.” She said, handing one to Sarah.
She took it in surprise. “Oh- thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”
“It’s no problem. Besides, I couldn’t let you wander around Cairo all day on foot without anything to drink. If you drop dead I’ll have to explain it to your boyfriend.”
“My boyfriend?” Sarah frowned, taking a sip of her juice. It tasted basically like very sugary water, but was cool and pleasant.
“Yeah, Steven. I think I’m finally starting to believe that he’s a real person and not just a very complex alias.”
Sarah nodded in understanding. “If you get the chance to get to know him, I think you’ll like him. He’s a really sweet bloke, very caring and supportive. He’s also not my boyfriend.”
“Really? You two seemed close.”
“We are. We’ve got a lot in common and we’ve known each other for about four months. But we’re just friends. Really. He’s never seemed interested in me, and…” she trailed off, allowing her mind to turn back to her ARC days. “…well, I’ve got feelings for someone, but I haven’t seen him in a long time. He left and went on this mission, and it was a dangerous one, and he wouldn’t let me come with him. We tried to follow afterward but I… got separated from the group, and that’s why I started working at the museum and met Steven.”
“And you’re not over this other bloke?”
Sarah shook her head, closing her eyes to imagine the last time she’d seen Danny’s face. “No.”
“Well, I hope you find each other someday.” Layla said, and Sarah knew she meant it.
“I hope so too.”
The silence that ensued was broken when the soft expression on Layla’s face dropped into a scowl, her eyes fixed on something over Sarah’s shoulder. “There he is.”
Sarah turned around immediately, and very quickly picked Steven/Marc out of the crowd. “Please tell me you mean to confront him.”
“But of course.” Layla led the way, blazing through the crowd with Sarah close behind. “I hope you like attention.” Remarked Layla, strolling up beside him. Sarah came up on his other side, catching the irritated look on his face. “Right guy, right place, but you’re not Egyptian.”
“Layla, what-” Sarah could immediately tell from the accent that this was Marc, and she frowned, wondering if Steven had had a chance to surface again since two nights ago. “-what the hell are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here, and neither should she.” He gestured to Sarah.
“Why?” Layla demanded. “Because my name pisses off a few people in Cairo? Who cares?”
“It’s not the locals that I’m worried about.” Marc returned, eyeing someone or something on the rooftop of a building behind Layla. Sarah directed her gaze there, but could see nothing and no one. Khonshu, probably.
“Come with me. I’ll help you find what you need.” Layla told him.
At last, Marc relented, and when they reached the women’s hotel Sarah was just finishing her juice. “Get changed. Nice, but not too formal.” Layla instructed her as they entered. “You can borrow something of mine, if you need to.”
Layla took almost no time to gather an outfit from her luggage, stepping into the loo to change. Marc was standing at the window, staring out into the sunny cityscape.
“Everything alright?” Sarah chanced to ask, holding up two tops side-by-side, trying to decide between them.
“Everything’s fine.” He replied gruffly. “Are you both okay?”
“Yeah, we’re fine. No major injuries from the jackal, and we haven’t run into trouble since.” She answered. “How’s Steven?”
His broad shoulders stiffened slightly. “I’m fine physically, so he is too.”
She shot him a glare. “That’s not what I meant, and I think you know it.”
Marc looked into one of the mirrors in the room, glaring at his reflection. After a moment, he spoke again. “Steven doesn’t like being locked up in my head, but what he doesn’t like even more is that you’re here, in danger. He knows you can take care of yourself, and with Layla and I with you you’re more than likely to survive anything that comes at you, but he really hates the thought of anything… coming at you.” The corner of his mouth twitched in the barest hint of a smile. “He says he can’t wait to tell you what the inside of the Great Pyramid of Giza was like.”
Sarah literally dropped both tops in shock. “You were in the Great Pyramid of Giza?! What? Why?”
“You see that eclipse earlier?” She nodded, and he continued. “Khonshu did it, to summon the rest of the gods. ‘The Ennead’, he called them. The summit was held inside the pyramid. Don’t ask me for more than that; I’m not gonna know which details you’d like to hear.”
Sarah nodded understandingly, a little disappointed but mainly thrilled at the thought of hearing a firsthand account. Layla emerged from the bathroom and Sarah went in after, getting dressed. She dressed similarly to how she usually did on digs and excavations, but forewent the sunhat and braided her hair back.
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I really wish I could just live in my little fantasy world all day, just do whatever I want. Interact with whoever I want and kick out those who just harm me for good. BE whoever I want. Without thinking of the consequences and worrying about the future the whole time.
#I'm just really tired of living#and seeing everything in my life go to shit#I'm eating way too much to feel any kind of happiness#and therefore gain more and more weight#I don't even have the strength to draw atm#just me venting after another unnecessary rough day#vent post
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Secrets | Joshua
Joshua | Secrets
Words | 9,180
Notes | Bodyguard!Joshua, mentions of alcohol, mild cursing. Angst/Fluff;
I’m back-ish with a very rough (I think) piece, mildly edited. I’m excited but nervous to be posting here again and I don’t know how often it will be that I will be posting but.... here’s this; my first svt piece in 8 months. This is a repost since... the tagging system on this site... yeah...
The fake smiles and peach Bellinis, the overdone cologne and extravagant attire, the crystal chandeliers and table decorations all brought a sneer to your face when you assumed nobody was paying close enough attention. The solitude didn’t bother you so much, it was nice to not feel like you were being suffocated for at least ten minutes; ten minutes of breathing to yourself was all you ever asked for. Always being tugged this way and that for photo ops got exhausting. The photo ops weren’t even the most taxing part, it was the fake relationship you had to keep up with one of the most prominent up and coming jewelry designer’s son, who you had happily dated at one point.
Big chunky bracelets, rings that looked too heavy for fingers, necklaces layered to the hills, and earrings that may have ripped anyone’s earlobes open was the type of gaudy jewelry you always had to put on display with a disgusting fake smile while your now-ex-boyfriend dripped with confidence, somehow, that made your skin crawl. Being in his direct vicinity all the time to keep up the image of this perfect shining couple for the sake of jewelry promotions quite frankly made your stomach turn, but the perks may have made it worth it—occasionally.
Some of the more elegant jewelry picks, a lump sum of money, some days wiping that egotistical smirk off his face were a few things that made it all worthwhile since you were frequently the one being interviewed at events about the jewelry line while still not being the heir. That boiled his blood in a way that genuinely turned your lips up in an almost unnoticeable smile. The couth you had to sit there in front of him and take all the questions with such grace—you could feel the way his fingers dug into your hip when he sat with you a bit friendly, but it was all for show. The two of you were business partners now, and that’s really all it boiled down to.
But you’d had your run-in with his less than stellar attitudes, at galas and showcases when he lost his temper with you being a show-stealer, and often forcefully kept you around to keep the cameras on him. That’s when you found Joshua. You’d found him and his specific skillset in a newspaper ad—it was unlike you to read the newspaper but you perused the ad section for job listings, animal adoptions, and all kinds of other things when you came across his blurb:
Full or Part Time Bodyguard. Trained in hand to hand and weapons combat, CPR certified, available for any/all events. To Inquire, call Joshua Hong.
While you had entertained the idea of a bodyguard for a while, it never really became a necessity until the business partnership you had was getting a bit more aggressive. There was little you could do to complain, because leaving was always a viable option, albeit they begged you to stay for publicity purposes—they being the family after hearing of your falling out. But Joshua became a harsher reality as the partnership became most hostile.
When you first saw Joshua at a consultation, he was the last type you’d ever suspect. You wouldn’t say he was far from intimidating looking, but he didn’t radiate a whole ass-kicking like you had expected. He was quieter with soft eyes but very professional. He spoke to you matter-of-factly, laying out all your options and drafting contract ideas in case you wanted to go through with hiring him. You figured it couldn’t hurt to have him around, particularly at events where anything could have gone unnoticed in such a large crowd, especially with the way you were treated.
Bringing Joshua to the table for a showcase rocked the boat a bit. It turned into an escalation by your ‘business partner’ about how it was unnecessary to have a bodyguard and that it would only bring suspicions about your relationship, to which you retaliated, “As if you harshly pulling me around isn’t enough.” His parents could do little to object. You had Joshua there with you, or you were out of the deal, which would bring their publicity and the whole story of a budding couple getting into jewelry design together to a screeching halt and they would undoubtedly lose the following and media support they’d gained because of it.
Joshua became even less favorable by the end of the first confrontation between him and the egomaniac. He was demanding you around at a photo-op, even sternly in front of the photographers—most of which by now were suspicious of the condition of your relationship because really how dare he talk to you like that much less in public—and often grabbed you by the arm and placed you exactly where he wanted you when he wanted you to be there. It was in Joshua’s contract to tolerate minor things like that, but he ground his teeth at just the sight but kept his mouth shut for the duration of the shoot. But when it was finally time to go home, he sure gave a piece of his unsolicited mind.
“Next time, how about you try keeping your hands off,” Joshua commented a bit harshly in the direction of the man who quickly became an enemy.
“Joshua,” you pleaded with him as you were packing your things, but your ex had already turned face to chest Joshua up. He ignored you for a moment, knowing you weren’t in any danger because the only danger to you was currently right in his face.
“I’ll put her where I want, when I want,” was the confident reply.
“Actually, you won’t,” Joshua spat back, eye to eye with the slightly shorter male in front of him. “You will keep your hands to yourself.”
“Mister Hong,” you almost barked, his full name flowing from your lips like a command to a soldier, which was in essence what he was. He choked off the growl in his throat as he turned face to return to you while you finished gathering your things, but not without giving the other man—who looked as if that was a battle he’d won instead of a battle he’d just been saved from—a glare that would make his mother pale. You picked up your bag after Joshua helped your jacket on and you left the building.
He did his best to bite his tongue in situations he knew he should just be quiet and wait for your cue or follow the contract to a T. The first gala was an absolute trip—there were hundreds of people, too many asking too many questions, flashing cameras in your face, people crowding left and right and that same smile on your face even he could tell was fake. But he played the part well—he donned a pressed black suit with a lovely fuchsia carnation pinned on his lapel. The only thing that made him out of place was the clear earpiece he had tapped to the microphone in the clip of your hair. If he was too far to see you, he could at least hear you if there was a problem.
It was obvious enough that it deterred people from asking him questions, or even talking to him really, but he wasn’t the only guard on duty so he spent most of his time playing wallflower, lined up with the others as they observed the gala. It was clear that it was strictly forbidden to interact with you under circumstances not outlined in the contract, by direct request of the family of honor. You figured it was fair, as the whole reason you were there was to portray an image and Joshua wasn’t part of it.
Most gala’s he spent gritting his teeth as he stood tall against the wall, watching the way your partner manhandled you just within the boundaries of the contract until it was finally over when he would follow you close out of the venue and take your hand to step you off the curb to let you fall into the passenger’s seat of his car brought around by valet just to get in and grip the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grasp and silently take you home, and be paid out on your doorstep—what soon became the routine.
But the routine changed when you grew a little fonder of Joshua when you lingered to leave when you were no longer in need of his services, when sometimes you sat in the passenger’s seat of his car to just sit and process, or to vent, or to just enjoy being in the company of another without the stress of a business agenda. When you finally talked freely about interests outside of this partnership you had with him. When he walked you to your door and had a little more to say, irrelevant to being paid—things as simple as sleep well, or stay safe, or until next time, things other than thank you for your business. When it seemed as though he was growing fonder of you, too.
And then, the door once cracked opened a bit more when a late conversation turned into a disagreement turned into something else.
You knew he’d been disgruntled with the inability to do anything about the situation, with the way the boundaries were teased and tested and Joshua’s investment in you continued to grow beyond the confines of said contract. It brought on a lot of tension between the two of you, as if there hadn’t been tension on car rides home after parties or showcases or reveals or fundraisers—it didn’t really matter, he took you to and from almost every event.
He was quieter than usual, something you tried to ignore as you tended the bruise against your arm from where you’d been grabbed multiple times throughout the night, mostly minding your own business and exchanged your attention between that and the passing of the city outside the car window. The air conditioning was cool on your skin, soothing on your feet from being pressed in heels all night that you’d slightly kicked off in a bit of relief before he finally broke the silence.
“When are you going to let me give him what’s coming?” Joshua asked you, his tone a little urgent, and startled you a little bit in the deep leather bucket seat of his car. “It’s been five months and time and time again you let him tug you around like a rag-doll and only half the time can I see the discomfort on your face, but a hundred percent of the time I can hear it when you grunt or wince or yelp.”
You sighed heavily—this wasn’t particularly a conversation you wanted to have.
“He’s within the contract,” you replied.
“Any malicious touch should be outside the contract,” he growled.
“Well then it’s a good thing you didn’t write it,” you replied as he pulled up to your place, shutting the car off after throwing it into park to walk you up to your door like he always did. You had a bottom floor apartment, which made slipping your heels back on and stepping out of the car less of a battle since you wouldn’t have to climb any stairs. Even though he was a bit put off with you, he still rounded the car to gently take your hand to pull you up from the seat, double-checking to make sure you had everything, and walked you up to your door.
“I wish I had,” he finally replied as you turned the key in the handle to tumble the look to unlock your door. “I wish I had because he would have stopped testing the both of us months ago.”
“That’s not your call to make,” you replied, grabbing the envelope that sat on the table just inside your doorway which already had a predetermined amount enclosed with his name written in fine script across it the same way that it always did. “I hired you to do a specific job, you agreed to adhere to the contract; if you don’t like the contract, we can discontinue this partnership at any time,” you finished.
Part of you couldn’t decide if he hadn’t heard anything you said, or if he was just taking his time to reply, because his gaze was effectively all over your face, refusing to reach up for the envelope. You could see the look in his eyes that generally meant he was thinking, but what came next you almost couldn’t prepare for.
Both his warm hands cupped your cheeks, tilting your head up towards his just enough for him to gracefully take your lips with his. Your back softly hit the frame of your door as his envelope crumpled in your hand, and you found yourself instinctively leaning up into his mouth while your free hand momentarily cupped the back of his neck before you came to and nudged him away.
“Joshua…” you muttered a tad breathlessly, breaking the kiss. There were a million things that should have been going through your mind at that point, starting with how unprofessional all of this was, continuing with the image you had to maintain and how this whole thing would interfere with that, and finishing with grappling with your feelings that were turning your stomach over like a fish on deck.
One of his hands had slipped away from your face to hold you steady, warm and wide on your hip, but the other continued to tenderly stroke against your cheek while you looked at each other. His envelope was still clutched in your hand against his side, your other hand sliding away from the back of his neck and down his lapel—you could push him away, you should push him away. You wanted to tell him how many problems this would cause, how complicated this just made everything, but somehow all you could think about was the glitter in his eyes, the mint tones of his breath, and the taste of his pomegranate chapstick.
He must have known it wasn’t a good move because he collected the envelope from your hand without much more delay for thought—your door was already open so he didn’t have to wait any longer as he bid you goodnight, reminded you to sleep well, and turned to be on his way. You found his name stuck in the back of your throat, dying to come out, but also dying to stay in. The implications of the situation swirled in your head, and you gave a rickety exhale before finding your feet enough to retreat through your door.
Business continued as usual, Joshua attended with you as usual, but the only difference was that you were getting progressively more infuriated with the way you were being treated as another month passed. The jig had to have been up, the publicity you were gaining from keeping up the relationship lie had to have faded by now, but the numbers didn’t lie. Joshua was still at your side, in the background, observing, wherever he needed to be to ensure his job was done correctly.
You had taken a nasty fall on one of the sets of a photo-op because of an impatient and tugging hand of the typical problem male. Joshua lurched from against the wall as you cursed, the floor hard against your knees, and you stayed on the ground for a moment while your nails clawed against the tile, pushing away the sting. A sweet voice whispered your name, and you knew who it belonged to, along with the hand that was extended in front of you. You stared at it for a moment before sitting up enough to dust your hands against each other, and daintily place one in Joshua’s large and warm one. He slowly lifted you to your feet, wanting to check your knees which were hidden behind a floral maxi-dress.
“Pathetic, can’t even get up on your own,” your ex-boyfriend spat in your direction, and the sigh that left your lips could have been a call from hell itself.
Your gaze turned up slowly, away from the ground, and up to his face like the inferno was ready to take him through the earth’s crust. There was a snarl turning at the corners of your nose, and it was clear as day you’d had it up to your eyeballs. Your hand gripped Joshua’s with all the strength you had, and he could only look at you, waiting for your cue, waiting for you to cut him loose before you brought your free hand up and clapped it against the side of the face of your unruly business partner. It was a sound that rang through the room, and by the sound of the cry that exited just a moment after, you caught him upwards on the jaw and probably snapped his teeth together.
He yelled profanities at you, but the exhaustion of his antics were clear in your eyes. Joshua snarled at him when he attempted to approach, but you almost begged for it.
“Do you want another?” you asked him, a tinge in your voice that startled even Joshua. The blood from your split knee was trickling down your leg at this point, you could feel it go, but your one hand clutched the hand it held unwaveringly.
The way your voice softened when you turned your head to speak to Joshua was like night and day. “My knees are bleeding,” you informed him, feeling them quiver as you continued to stand, bruising imminent. He didn’t hesitate to place your hand against his shoulder to slide around his neck and lift your legs out from under you. Your wicked ex-boyfriend took a step, but Joshua was quick and turned to check.
“Try me,” he growled and waited for an advance that never came before he turned to take you out of the room. One of the photography hands followed the two of you out with a first aid kit but stood aside to let Joshua take care of you. You pulled the dress up past your knees—it was worse than you thought. He requested some water to begin to clean your leg before cleaning the split that was already black and purple and swollen to the hills.
“You must have gone down pretty hard,” he commented, gingerly tending to said wound, but diligently nonetheless to get it cleared away enough to assess. At that point, all you cared about was the bloodstain on the knee of your pretty white dress. The pain was ignorable, your ex was ignorable, Joshua was mostly ignorable, but the pain you felt in your pride from letting him treat you like that which manifested in the stain on your dress was not. You looked at the stain with such disdain as you held it in your hands.
“I’ll get you a new dress,” he muttered after noting the look on your face.
“That’s not the point!” you yelled back harshly. He looked at you calmly, knowing your outburst wasn’t directed at him.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied quietly and turned his gaze back down to bandage your knee, at least well enough to complete the shoot because he knew you weren’t going to leave without finishing it.
And so you did; the blood on your dress could be edited out, so that posed little concern. What did concern you, however, was the attitudes in the room and how they would shift. From then on, every move was checked with Joshua, both your eyes and your ex-boyfriend’s eyes meeting him if he ever even reached for you. Something in the way you’d whole-hand clapped him and the look on Joshua’s face after the fact—he had to have known at that point that he wasn’t ‘safe’ anymore. It was as if he could see that Joshua had been unclipped from the figurative leash.
You finished the shoot with no further altercations but definitely needed help with some of the positions as your knee was unable to bend certain ways anymore, for the time being. When the shoot was finally over, you stayed on the set couch for a lingering moment as Joshua gathered your things and brought them over to you, but not without clipping shoulders with the trouble-maker himself.
He had your duffel over his shoulder, creasing the jacket of his suit but refused to let you take it when he was able to get you on your feet again. You looked up at him with a scowl, almost as if to say that you could carry it yourself, but he gave you a skeptical look, not skeptical that you could carry it but that you were injured and he would just as well carry it for you.
You paid the photography crew your respects before beginning to hobble out of the set and eventually out of the building. Joshua offered you his arm as a crutch multiple times that you refused, stubbornly, until he’d finally had enough.
“Please take my arm, or I’ll carry you out of here,” he almost threatened as a gave a smile to the man at the security desk while you passed him, who gave you a curious look as you limped. You wanted to growl, but begrudgingly took his arm anyway; admittedly, it relieved some pain. He put your duffel in the back seat once finally arriving at the car and then opened the passenger’s door for you. Gingerly you lifted your damaged leg into the car first before all but falling in after it and let him close the door behind you.
As usual, he turned on the air conditioner a bit high—you needed to cool off after every interaction you had with your ex on any business excursion you needed to attend. You kept your rage entirely inside which boiled your blood and made your face hot and the cool air was quite helpful to bring it all back. Joshua delayed in starting the car for a moment as he looked over to you to make sure you were okay, but you ignored the pain in your knee and looked out the window, waiting for the car to start moving. He sighed, noting the bloodstains on the knee of your dress before finally bringing the car to life to take you home. It was already late into the afternoon, and he knew you’d want time to prepare dinner and shower and other things to relax for the evening, so he didn’t waste any more time.
He took you and your bag up to your front door the way he normally did, only this time with one of your hands wrapped around his arm to steady yourself as you hobbled slowly with your heels in your other hand before you were digging for your keys. Once your door opened, you threw your shoes in and took the duffel bag from him to toss that inside the doorway as well and reached for his envelope on the table, and turned back to him.
Joshua stood tall and respectfully the way he always did, alert with his shoulders square, hands clasps behind his back. Somehow his hair was always immaculate, his suit always pressed with zero hints of wrinkles, too professional; but his eyes looked at you softly, eyes you were looking into deeper and deeper every time you got the chance, eyes that captivated you like nothing else. You clutched the envelope in both your hands, a thought stirring in the back of your throat as you looked up at him.
“Joshua…” you started, trying to get the thought out as the envelope crumpled in your fingers.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied respectfully, only for you to remind him of your name even though you knew he hadn’t forgotten.
“I don’t pay you for this…” you started, crumpling the envelope a little more as you looked down at it, “but I would, if you wanted; I just don’t have any near family and I don’t want to be alone after all that and—”
“I’ll stay, for a bit, if that’s what you need. I’m here to serve you,” he replied, the tenseness in his shoulders dropping a little bit as his hands came forward to cup over yours, stopping you from nervously crinkling his envelope, “And don’t worry about compensating me.”
You weren’t sure how to reply as he finessed the envelope from your hands, setting it back down on the table you always retrieved it from as he walked you slowly back through the doorway of your apartment and kicked his shoes by the door. “Do you mind if I take my coat off?” he asked you, and you were a bit taken aback by the question—he was always dressed professionally, and this was the first time he would be taking his jacket off in front of you. All you could do was nod as you peeled yours off, too, a sweet dark washed cropped jean jacket.
At some point you remember getting him a glass of water, you remember excusing yourself to change so that you could spot treat your dress and assess the damage on your knee yourself as Joshua made himself at home on your couch. It was the first time Joshua would see you in more casual clothes instead of dolled up for some event, but it was fair because you were seeing him cut a little loose too. You remember flipping on the TV to drown out the somewhat awkward silence that loomed between the two of you for a bit, before agreeing on what to order for food. It was still a bit early for dinner, so some mindless TV was in order for a little bit. A part of Joshua had expected something else; maybe some feelings dumping or something similar, but he didn’t mind the fact that you just wanted to relish his company.
That didn’t stop him from consistently looking at you, consistently noting the way your eyes would get a bit glassy before being controlled—you refused to cry in front of him. He wasn’t there to comfort you, that wasn’t his job, and you didn’t want to make it seem like it was. But when you could feel him looking at the side of your face a little too hard, you turned to look at him with the intention of asking if he wanted to order food, but ended up getting trapped in his eyes again.
You could feel your breath hitch in your throat, meeting his gaze, but he didn’t seem surprised. His eyebrows rose for a split second, hardly even noticed as he looked back at you—your eyes were still a bit glassy from the forced back tears. He wouldn’t dare ask you to speak, much less speak about what was on your mind; he had unclear instructions of what he was there for, but it took everything in him to just sit there and say nothing, do nothing.
He took a leap, and reached over to retrieve your hand closest to him, which happened to be your left hand, and cupped it in both of his.
“I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re going through; I can’t even begin to imagine how hard and taxing it is, how unbreakable your resolve has been, how strong you have been, but I know that you are. I know that you are gracious and kind and patient. I know that you are so much than I get to see, so much more than anything he’d ever deserve.”
It was meant to be comforting, to be encouraging, and it was. Somehow, your fingers threaded between his and squeezed, trying to stave the tears that he had inadvertently pushed up to your waterline, and to avoid having him see them fall, you finally turned your face away from his.
“I’m going to order dinner, what would you like?” you asked, voice cracking a little as you quickly stood from the couch to the dismay of your injured knee as your hand left his. You quickly made your way to the kitchen, grabbing a paper towel to dab under your eyes, trying to save the makeup you had left. Vaguely, you heard him say something about getting whatever—he would eat whatever you ordered for him—and pulled out the small book of menus from nearby places.
Joshua sat on the couch, the lack of your hand between his somehow more intense when he knew you needed some comfort as he listened to you flip through some pages and eventually dial a number to place an order. He didn’t expect you to return immediately, or even within a reasonable amount of time, which was good because you didn’t. You continued to stand in the kitchen and grip the counter, pushing your tears back and back and back while trying not to agitate your leg too much; the burn was real from your rush to get up, so you stood on the leg that was still good and bent the other to give it a rest.
Eventually, he was going to have to check on you. He spent plenty of time glancing over to the kitchen to see if you were emerging yet, but it didn’t happen to be the case, so before too long he pushed himself up from the couch as he quietly cooed your name. You had just been rounding the corner out of the kitchen and he’d caught you by surprise, causing you to stumble over your own feet and crash right into him. His anticipatory hands were able to catch you, for the most part, one able to catch your elbow while the other controlled your fall into his body. Your hands were a little more unceremonious, one furling in the fabric of his white dress shirt and the other grabbing onto his bicep while you crash-landed into his chest, staggering him a bit.
It was the first time you were really getting a lungful of his fragrance, swirling around you like phantom chains. The first time you were really feeling the solidity of his body and how protective it was capable of being. The first time you were really feeling the largeness of his hands as he steadied your balance by hulling you up against him to set you fully back on your own feet, the second time his wide palm was placed against your hip, which brought back many memories of the first time just outside your front door. He could have been able to hear the way you swallowed, looking right at his throat, adorned with a perfectly knotted tie and a finely pressed shirt collar.
And for a moment, you stood there with complete silence looming between the two of you while your hands found a more comfortable place to rest which happened to be right on the curve of his chest while the other continued to hold his bicep. It was always hard to see under his immaculate jackets, but now that it was just his dress shirt and an undershirt, you could see the way your hands curved against him.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he finally spoke, throat shifting particularly with how low he was trying to keep his voice, his bicep flexing under your hand as his hands slid a little further around you.
“Thank you for catching me,” you replied, “so I didn’t have to fall in front of you, again.”
For some reason, that hit him painfully. He couldn’t decide if it was because he felt guilty for making you feel embarrassed about what had happened in front of him, or because he felt guilty for not being able to prevent it in the first place. Although it felt like a sting, he was fully aware that you were making no effort to move from his grasp which was still settled somewhat around your waist until you had decided it was long enough and shuffled out of his grasp.
Joshua never dared pry about what was on your mind, even as he continued to watch you push tears away. At one point, you did close the gap between the two of you on the couch and sat with him, hip to hip, at least until your food arrived. You ate quietly, really just relishing each other’s presence outside of business hours, and sometimes caught him looking at you a little too long which he would dismiss with a soft smile. But dinner was quick, and you were cleaning up almost as soon as you sat down, it felt. And the sooner you were done with dinner, you feared, the sooner he would leave and that just wasn’t a thought you were ready to deal with yet. You had been grappling with saying something, giving him anything about what was going on with you—he already had a pretty good idea and made that very apparent, but you got nervous and pulled away.
You cleaned up in the kitchen quickly and grabbed Joshua’s empty glass to refresh it after he insisted the water was perfectly fine, before joining him on the couch again. This time you’d switched over the TV to just play music which was also perfectly fine because it seemed to ease the tension that was bubbling between the two of you.
“You know, I know we’re not that close, and I know you hired me, but if there’s anything you want to say, or if there’s anything you want me to do—”
“Does that anything include hauling a body away?” you joked, trying to lighten the mood since it had been a little dark since you first invited him in. He seemed to find amusement in your joke because he chuckled.
“I just want you to feel comfortable with me, like you don’t have to tiptoe around me or like you can’t experience emotions in front of me—I couldn’t even detect a semblance of pain on your face earlier although I know it hurt,” he reminded you.
“I do feel comfortable with you,” you replied, driving the point home by subconsciously leaning over to cozy up to him, resting your head against his shoulder as you were already sitting hip to him. He seemed a bit shocked, jarring for only a moment before relaxing into the way you pressed against him. “If I didn’t, I would have gotten rid of you a long time ago.”
“Ouch, so expendable,” he jested, resisting settling an arm around your shoulder. He knew from the last time that there were lines that shouldn’t be crossed, even if you were crossing one right now. It was on you what to do, but he couldn’t just take a moment of physical contact as the go-ahead, especially as you pulled away.
“You’re off the clock; you don’t have to be so alert,” you finally added.
“It’s in my nature,” he replied quietly, his gaze casting from your lap and back up to your face. “I can’t help wanting to jump to your defense, even from the threat that’s in your head.”
“At least that tells me that you take your job very seriously,” you replied just as quietly, your voice fading off a bit at the end as his face neared yours a bit more.
“You asked me to come in because you didn’t want to be alone; I think that warrants attention,” he answered. He had a point, but somewhere in the feeling of his warm breath against your cheeks, that point was lost. You knew what was coming, but somehow didn’t have the mind to stop it, or the want to stop it from happening. Your fingers furled into the upholstery of your couch as he came into your space.
“Joshu—” you tried, but the tender way his lips touched against yours cut that off. There was a familiar touch of his fingertips against the cut of your jaw while his mouth gently slanted against yours. The sigh that exhaled through his nose was exacerbated as one of your somewhat panicked hands took a grip of his tie and tugged, encouraging him to tilt your jaw to his will as he readjusted the kiss.
He broke the kiss for a moment to gauge you, a little too in the moment to remember the first time this happened and what a mistake it was; somewhere in the back of his mind he knew the implications, he knew the conditions of your contract with the jewelry gig, he knew the media was keeping watch on your fake relationship, and he knew how much this was forbidden, but that only made him want it more. And you must have felt somewhat the same, because you leaned in to tease his bottom lip with your teeth, feeling the exhilaration of the fleeting freedom from that fake relationship against Joshua’s lips; the way the stress of all of that melted away at the taste of that familiar pomegranate chapstick. His breath was warm against your mouth, anticipating your next move but you made it clear you were waiting for him as you hesitated while his lip slipped from the gentle grip of your teeth and, tentatively, he took your bottom lip to swipe his tongue against it to delve into another forbidden lip lock.
Breathless, you gave a deep exhale against his mouth as you’d finally come to your senses. Somewhere in your subconscious, you knew the two of you were dancing around this chemistry because you knew it would have to be a secret. You’d had all the forethought in the world after the last time about any time you could catch him away from the crowd how badly you wanted to take the lapel of his coat in your hands and melt into him. The last thing you needed was for rumors to start going around about you and him, but in this very moment, as your lips trailed away from his to kiss against the line of his jaw, you seemed to care not. And you knew you would have continued to kiss down his neck the way you’d thought about more times than you’d like to admit out loud if you didn’t know better. But the way his breath hit the air and the way his head tilted back just a bit just begged for a little more.
“Joshua,” you whispered against the slender column of his neck, or what you could reach that wasn’t covered by his completely buttoned shirt as your lips slid up to his ear, “If you don’t knock it off, next time I might not stop.”
A shiver shot down his spine at just the implications of your words. He knew it was wrong, he knew it was complicated, but now he knew that you felt the same way he did, that you knew he just couldn’t help it. His breath hit the air in a huff, a semblance of a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips but it faded just as quickly as his head came back down to meet gaze with you.
“Maybe I don’t want you to,” he replied, the glimmer in his eyes like the entire galaxy condensed. You agreed on the conditions of your current situation from a simple look, but you could also tell in each other’s eyes how much that didn’t matter. All that mattered was not getting caught. All that mattered was that it was a secret. Even still, something ate at you about the riskiness.
You stood from the couch for the sole purpose of creating some distance before you completely lost your resolve, although it was still breaking the more you looked at his eyes, the features of his face, the curves and sharpness of his jaw, and his mouth which you were already so acquainted with.
It would be tough, but you knew already quitting Joshua would be harder already, so you both vowed to keep it as down low as possible, and that meant entirely in the ground in public of any kind.
That meant you attended galas and fundraisers with even more disinterest than you had before, and the tugging persisted but now you were being bombarded with questions about your fake relationship—you did your best to remain quiet and let the star of the show answer. You continued to work on designing pieces in the comfort of your apartment and develop them into fine pieces of jewelry and you were still raking in design rights left and right from a company you wanted to break from entirely. It was slowly becoming apparent that no matter what happened between you and Joshua, that company would owe you royalties for your designs, and undoubtedly would ask you to continue designing since you were the top contributor much to your partner’s dismay.
To do your best to avoid suspicion, Joshua often stayed behind at times he would have typically accompanied you. He spent more time playing wallflower than he was used to, especially as you were being bombarded left and right by people who wanted nothing more than your attention than to pick your brain about your designs, but despite the new dynamic of his investment, he was still your bodyguard. And the more he got invested, the more he hated seeing you put in that fake smile in the arms of a man he already detested; but he vowed to keep his word, and keep his word he did.
Some galas, you just couldn’t take it. Joshua always had a watchful eye on you when you were seated even while Mr. Self-Important was wandering about and entertaining guests, trying to butter them up for a sale or investment of some kind. Occasionally, you’d meet eyes with him before finding your way to your feet and began to weave through the crowd. It wasn’t unusual for him to follow you, as it was agreed he would be keeping eyes on you at all costs. You made your way through many hot bodies crammed in a too-small room as he tried to keep track of your head bobbing through the crowd before making it into a back room. Still, he followed the sound of your heels against the ornate tile. He followed you quite some time before leading him onto the balcony of a backroom you doubted anyone would be finding even if they were adventuring on their own.
“What do you think you’re doing, taking off like that?” he asked you a little roughly, trying to figure out exactly what was going through your mind to just get up and storm off as if that wouldn’t gather some attention.
“I can’t take it anymore,” you replied desperately, looking back at him as you exhaled sharply. The look in your eyes was enough, an inextinguishable fire burned in your very soul. He almost melted under that gaze, daring to shuffle towards you. You let the fresh air wash against the skin exposed by your evening gown—it was refreshing, to say the least; but the way Joshua was looking back at you made it hard to distinguish the cool air from the fire in your veins.
You begged to step passed him and return to the gala—being out here with him alone spelled bad news for the secrecy of your intermingling lives because you could tell the more that you looked at him, the more you couldn’t stop the way your gaze flittered down to his lips for only a moment before trying to recompose yourself. But you went to step anyway, not quick enough for his wide hands which strongly took your hips and backed you up against the railing of the balcony.
“Is that why you lead me out here? You had to have known I would follow you,” he asked, a ghost of a whisper in the slight breeze as he leaned down to capture your gaze again, bringing your eyes up to his and you could feel your breath caught in your throat, hands anticipatorily on his forearms through his suit coat.
You wanted to protest, you wanted to tell him this couldn’t happen—not here, not now. The way he continued to step closer to you made the lump bigger and bigger, making it even more difficult to get words out before he was leaned in too close, and only then were you able to squeak anything out.
“It’s dangerous,” you muttered against his mouth, the familiar taste of his pomegranate chapstick and the plush warmth of his lips against yours broke any semblance of control and your hands ruffled through the hair on the back of his head. It was feverish at first, as if you’d been deprived of him for so long before the actuality of his lips against yours, of his hands on your body tugging you into him finally set in and you calmed down; as did your hands which combed his hair back into place before sitting daintily across his broad shoulders until he broke the kiss off, hypocritically trying to remind you that you were still in public but it didn’t stop the way he placed gentle kisses against your forehead as you leaned into him.
His scent, which you had grown so accustomed to, seemed to be amplified in the quiet wind as you took a deep breath through your nose while his forehead found yours—your eyes remained closed, and it was the most serene moment you’d experienced at a gala to that day. Everything felt at ease, everything felt simple, everything felt right.
But in the following days, a different kind of panic was settling into you when your boss’s son showed up on your doorstep with the front page of a magazine with a photo of you and Joshua out on that balcony that night. He was red in the face, demanding an explanation from you about how you could be so careless, essentially informing you that he had already had ideas about you and Joshua but trusted that you wouldn’t blow the work you had going. The thought of being caught had crossed your mind on so many occasions, but late-night talks after late-night talk when he stayed over to calm your nerves, to rub your shoulders and shower you with kisses, you concluded—what were they going to do? What did you care about that fake relationship? What did you care about the publicity of a company you had no investment in other than design rights? Regardless of popularity, you would continue to get royalties from every sale of your designs.
“This is simply absurd; this is the last thing I had anticipated waking up to. This ruins so many things, in fact, it ruins everything! All the publicity we had going for this startup, you so selfishly ruined!” he screamed at you while you stood in the doorway of your apartment. For a moment, you didn’t care. He had screamed at you many times in the past, so you looked at him unfazed.
“I’m sorry, I’m the selfish one? I’m the one who demanded we keep up a fake relationship for a publicity stunt to… what… keep the jewelry line directly in the media at all times? I’m the selfish one?”
“You have gotten every last bit out of my family and this business and then you go and blow it, getting caught like a fool!”
Your knuckles were turning white with the way you were gripping them under your crossed arms as you looked at him. Your blood was boiling.
“I worked my ass off to provide your family with very successful designs for their line! Remind me again who’s the selfish one!” you spat back in his face, the burn on your tongue feeling like actual flames with how irate you were at this point. “And remind me, what have you done, at all? Have you made any contributions to this business other than providing the media a pretty face to look at?”
He pushed his hand against the door of your apartment and stepped towards you, enough for you to take a few steps back and unfold your arms in the case you had to defend yourself. And you would have, but the rumble behind you that was deep enough, menacing enough to open a rift in the earth’s crust came from behind you.
“Get out,” Joshua threatened, having been standing just behind the door to listen to the exchange. He wanted you to give you your space to deal with it on your own—you deserved to deal with it on your own; it was your position, your designs, your royalties, your contributions to defend. He was there, however, to defend your being.
“You! You are at least half the—”
“Get out!” Joshua repeated, taking a step forward before ripping the magazine from shaking fingers. “I don’t think I have to tell you again. Your little charade is done, and the only one who will suffer is you and you alone. Now get out, or I’ll escort you out.”
“You’ll be hearing from my lawyer about this—”
“I don’t think that’s the route you want to go,” you interjected. “I own those designs; I am owed royalties on every sale of those designs; whether you like it or not, I have a legal cut of this company which is not contingent on how successful our media façade is. So, if I’ll be hearing from your lawyer about Joshua who has a legal and contracted right to remove you from my property, then you’ll be hearing from mine, who will bury you.”
There was a shakiness in your voice, indistinguishable between anger and nerves, as Joshua escorted him out of your home and slammed the door behind him. You stood just beyond the entryway, safe distance within your house to avoid any conflict, but your shoulders heaved. You could hear the heavy deadbolt flip, locking the door tight before Joshua turned around to face you. He gave you some space for just a moment, but he wasn’t too keen on leaving you standing there looking like the very life had been sucked from your bones for too long.
“It’s over,” he cooed to you, “you don’t have to hide anymore.”
Your gaze crossed the flooring to his feet and ran up his legs, up his body to his face. His mouth housed a tender smile, eyes soft as he looked over you, and somewhere deep in there he could see the relief, the surfacing of tension to let it all go, and for a fleeting moment, you granted him a soft smile as well before he wistfully crossed the floor to take you against his chest.
“I’m proud of the way you stood your ground. You’ll never have to stand it alone again.”
It seemed like a slightly inclined battle for the first month or so. You did hear from his lawyer, and he heard from yours, and it was a winning battle in court to discuss your role within the business. You came to an agreement to keep a position, much to the dismay of your now ex-business partner, and continue working on designs with minimal pressure, and that, the final marker of the decisions, was the nail in the coffin for all the tension to finally free from your body. You stood in a mostly empty courtroom in a fine skirt-suit as you awaited the verdict—you were too relieved to cry, but Joshua’s hand squeezing yours almost elicited those tears.
It wasn’t long before you moved in together to settle down.
You spent long nights sometimes in the studio working on big sketchbooks loosely doodling designs across the entire page. A lone lamp that illuminated a desk behind your easel was hardly enough to sustain healthy eyesight, but it never seemed to stop you especially when you were struggling to push sleep away from those eyes. Often, Joshua slipped out of bed to come find you, well into some hours after he’d retired for the night just to sneak into the studio behind you.
He watched the way your hand effortlessly moved across the page, flicking lines down on the paper to craft those rough sketches he knew would eventually turn into fine pieces of jewelry. You had a knack for it, serious vision for jewelry only the elite could afford.
“It’s not light enough in here for your eyes,” he whispered to you, rubbing his hands along your shoulders and upper arms before he’d dig his thumbs in.
“You tell me that every time,” you reminded him quietly, eyes closing to relish the way he pushed some knots away from your shoulders.
His chuckle was smooth in your ears, dripping down your spine like refined syrup before he pulled up a stool behind you and nestle his arms around your waist, leaving you free enough to continue to work on some sketches, but not without some attempts at wooing you to leave them.
“Come to bed with me,” he whispered just behind your ear, only to place a couple of kisses against your neck and nuzzle against your jaw.
“Five more minutes,” you replied, only to feel his arms tighten around you.
“I fell for that too many times; I’m not so naïve anymore,” he reminded you. “They’ll be here for you another day.”
“And so will you,” you answered.
“Ouch, so expendable,” he teased, knowing that you were teasing, too.
“Joshua,” you whined as he kissed down your neck and across your shoulder, only lightly clothed by a loose-fitting tee that was slouching off to the side anyway. But he wouldn’t stop. Especially not as he got up to flick the lamp off, the only light remaining for vision was the hallway light outside the door, which was enough for him to scoop you from your stool to bring both your legs up around his waist and your arms to dangle over his shoulders. He could feel the sleepiness in your body, but your stubbornness persisted as you protested some more. He carried you from the small studio room and down the hallway to flick the light off with his elbow before he was gently laying you in the cool sheets of the bed you shared with him, sealing off any further words with a couple of sweet kisses against your unsuspecting lips.
Despite all your hawing a few moments prior, the soothing sheets underneath you coupled with the warm body that was settling in next to you settled you quite a bit when he turned you into him and you settled into his shoulder, the same way you did every night.
#joshua hong#seventeen joshua#joshua scenarios#joshua fluff#seventeen scenarios#seventeen fluff#joshua angst#seventeen angst#joshua imagines#seventeen imagines#joshua oneshot#seventeen oneshot
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A Scenario were kai and his s/o are having a bubble bath and just talk. And with wine cause he's just classy like that.💜btw love your writing💜
Today was just terrible for the young yakusa boss.
Everthing seemed to go wrong and with the objective of anger him.
Experiments went wrong, he had to talk with some heroes that were at his back, failed texts, precepts just wouldn't do what he demanded and always messed up and with an cherry on top Rappa insisted on going on a fight with him, Chisaki was already irritaded and with no seconds thoughts overhauled the man before putting him back together.
Moments like these he thanked the heavens for bringing you in his live, because he was clearly certain that without your calm and understanding presence, he would just combust and become an killing machine out of his anger.
He entered the room and was dissapointmented when he didn't saw your figurine waiting from him inside your shared bedroom... His annoyance grew along with his worry when he checked his phone and no warnings about you going out were there.
And it didn't help when it was eleven at clock...
A wave of calm surrounded him when he heard the sounds of water and your humming coming from his closed bathroom.
He knocked on the door; providing any uncomfortable scenes; and shortly after heard your melodic voice saying that he could come in.
"You're an idiot, what if it wasn't me?" He sayed irritaded as he closed the door behing him and saw one scene that he swears it took his breath away.
You, with eyes pleasantly closed, layed on the bathtub surrounded by bubbles hidding most of your figurine as the scent of vannila and lavender surrounded the bathroom.
"We all know that no one would have courage to enter your room at this time of night my love..." you sighed with an smile, your eyes still closed.
He scoffed as he sitted on the edge of the tub, taking a moment to look at your angelic figurine completely relaxed...
"You seem tense." You creaked an eye open worriedly "Rough day?"
"Nothing that I can't handle it." He stated averting his eyes to the door. You hummed while you dried your hands with an near towel and touched his shoulder.
He flinched at the sudden contact but calmed down shortly after.
"Well, you're definitely are tense." You carresed his shoulder gently with one hand while the other scratched near his pierced ear, making him shiver as he threw an glare at you.
"These nails are better be clean." He groaned
"Relax love, my boyfriend demands everday any type of cleaning." You mocked him as he scoffed once again.
"Want to switch places? Hot water helps with sore and tense muscles..." he sighed in annoyance.
"No. Knowing you, you just entered." He said while taking off his mask to breath in the the warm steam that enveloped the entire room along with the smells of lavender and vanilla.
No germs or diseases... Perfect.
"So how about you join me?" He threw another glare at you, arching one of his eyebrowns.
"Wow, someone is grumpy today." You giggled while he groaned "Kai is just an invitation, I'm not forcing you... its not like you would follow orders anyway." You laughed quietly as you layed back on the tub.
How could you possibly offer this? The idea was just so... uncomfortable, embarrassing... but you seemed really relaxed at there.
Ah shit, now he was missing the feeling of your slight scratch in his ear and your touch in his shoulder.
"Honestly? I hate you." He said picking up his mask and marching his way out of the bathroom.
You stared questionably at your door, but you just shrugged off, you're dating Kai Chisaki so his reaction after that ofter Isn't exactly a surprise... You closed your eyes already thinking on an apology to say it to him later.
Chisaki came back shortly after, holding in one hand two glasses while the other holded an very expensive bottle of wine; the ones which costs more than one kidney to pay because he is a spoiled brat.
He placed the itens on the ground before staring you down in annoyance.
"Damn you for making me do this." He sighed as he slowly unbuttoned his black dress T-shirt.
"But I just said that I'm not obli-" hee interrupted you murmuring a 'shut it' as he finally undressed himself and steped on the tub cautiously.
He looked up at the xeiling as he slowly layed down in front of you.
"The water is burning." He complained, never making any efforts to look at you "What's with the bubbles anyway? So unnecessary..."
Oh god... that pink on his cheeks was a clear evidence on what you were suspecting. He was shy! How you wished you had a camera to record this moment.
You giggled as you picked up the glasses and the bottle, serving you both, but in more quantity for him since he looked completely drained out.
"Well, you bought for me remember? I just looked at it because I found it cute, and you just grabbed and payed it for it." You laughed at the memory offering him his glass and with an groan he accepted it.
With one or two shouts, his whole glass of wine was gone, he shugged down like he was an starving man on the dessert looking for water.
"Geez Kai, take it easy." You worriedly comented while he put the glass back to the ground.
"Have a day like I had than you can say something about it angel." He comented with a groggy voice. The wine was really strong oh boy.
"What happened today love? It was that bad?"
"My god, don't even get me started it..." he started to rant about his displeasures and now you knew you could only nod in understanding and agree with whatever he said, taking small sips from your own glass. He just needed to vent for now and you were definitely okay with that.
Suddenly an idea popped into your head as you plaved down your empty glass.
"Kai can I wash your hair?"
His eyes widened for a bit as he finally looked at you, soon after he glared daggers at you.
"Do I look like I can't do it myself?" He groaned as you smiled in hopeless.
"Just offered it, hon." You layed back in your head closing your eyes.
Chisaki stared at you for a while before sighing in irritation, turning on his back as he layed in your form, making you yelp at his sudden movement.
"Tell this to anyone and I-"
"Have a bit of faith in me c'mon!" You giggled excitedly as you picked his bottle and put an generous amount on your palm.
He trusted you with his whole life but he couldn't help it, this situation was extremely new for him and combining with the horrible and exausted day he had, his actions and words were harsh... And he knew he was an completely asshole to you...
And yet here you were, massaging with your gentle fingers his scalp without a worry and even humming an melody.
He stared at his front, completly confused and angry at himself for enjoying this and for threating you like he did...
The slow movement of your delicate fingers made his shoulders sag and his eyes close in pure bliss as he secretly enjoyed accepted the new form of attention.
He closed his eyes tightly when the water dropped in his head, preventing any soap spills from entering his eyes.
"There." You gently carresed his shoulders, noticing that they were no longer tense "Your punishment is over." You giggled when he groaned, but he made no moves to get away from you.
You stared in confusion Chisaki; who had his eyes closed and both of his forearms resting on the both sides of the edges of the bath tub; still not making a move to get out.
"Kai?" You gently traced your fingers underwater on his sides to get his attention, noticing his shiver. He crooked one eye open and looked at you questionably.
"Already done." After a few seconds he finally sighed while nodding, lifting himself and turning to be in front of you again.
Had to take away his little peace of heaven?
"Turn around." He comanded, making you tilt your head in confusion. "Turn around." He said more firmly and you quickly obey.
After a few seconds you feel both of his arms cautiously circle your waist and push you against him. You yelped quietly at the action and questionably looked at Chisaki
He didn't say absolutely nothing, opting to just sigh in relief as he layed down bringing you with him.
You finally relaxed and rested your head on the crook of your boyfriends neck, enjoying this rare moment feeling his steady heartbeat.
"We should leave soon, the skin gets wrinkled if it stays in the water for a long time." You commented.
Chisaki hummed in understatement as he placed an amount of bubbles in the top of your head gently.
"Five minutes, then we're out." He stated returning his tigh embrace.
You agreed and let him seek the comfort he was needing...
(I guess this time I made him too OOC shit Im sorry)
#overhaul x reader#overhaul scenario#fanfic overhaul#overhaul fluffy#chisaki kai imagine scenario#chisaki kai x reader#kai chisaki#overhaul#bnha imagine#bnha characters#bnha villains#bnha x reader#bnha#bnha villains x reader#my writing#ziffer writing#requests
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I’m not sure how much personal stuff I want to share on this blog but venting about some stuff helps me process.
So in light of EB 224 I wanna share a bit about what it was like growing up in the south/bible-belt (Texas) and being who I am (a bisexual, Jewish woman) and my experience with Evangelical Christianity and CRU.
Forewarning: this is not a happy story. these are not glory days. it’s dark. trigger warnings for gas-lighting, manipulation, mental, physical, and emotional abuse, corrective/date rape and semi-forced/coerced marriage, dissociation, eating disorders, depression, anxiety and alcohol. Read at your own risk.
I grew up without much religious influence in my life, my dad wasn’t Jewish (he was agnostic) and my mom is Jewish but not overly concerned with religious beliefs. My grandparents were/are Jewish as well and were WAY more involved in religion, but having survived the holocaust were private about their culture/religion.
At 17 I was accepted on a full scholarship to Texas Tech University in Lubbock, Texas. And if there’s one thing Lubbock is known for is being one of the most religious cities in Texas. Predominantly Evangelical Christian.
My first semester, I lived in the women’s architecture honors dorm and quickly made friends with most of the other girls, one in particular I became fast friends with and we studied for almost every test together and were studio partners for almost every project. I’m still friends with her almost 20 years later (its been rough and complicated) so, to protect our friendship and privacy I’ll just call her Mandy.
Mandy was from a small town up north and her father was an Evangelical pastor and her first priority when getting to uni was to find a bible study group. I was NOT in any way involved in that, because I had no interest in christianity. Some time during Spring semester she started leading her own bible study group and invited me to come with her. I knew she was possibly trying to convert me and I resisted. At 18 I wasn’t very good at confronting people on their motivations but I’ve since talked with her about this and we’ve moved passed it with minimal damage.
I was super focused on my school work and sports and she stopped bringing up the bible study. For a while...
That all changed when she brought a few male friends back to the dorms for a calculus study group before midterms. During the study session I really hit it off with one of the guys. He was a year ahead of me, super smart and I thought he was charming and cute. And it turns out he was the leader of Mandy’s bible study. I’ll call him Vick.
Mandy knew I had a bit of a crush on him and got me to finally come to her bible study, with promises she wasn’t trying to push her beliefs on me but just wanted me to get to know Vick.
She also said that their group was welcoming to people of other faiths and were open to other perspectives and wanted me to talk about being Jewish and The Torah. Which was weird, being put into a group where no one else was like me and I was the token Jewish person, having to represent everyone from a large diverse culture. I tried to explain I wasn’t the right person to do that but she insisted it would be fine because I was charismatic and outgoing.
I should also mention that at this point of my life I was extremely outgoing, I had been in many leadership roles and actively sought those things out. I was very comfortable in front of large crowds and at this point I still had the dream of being a musician.
Mandy knew this, and during her time visiting me over the summer asked me if I would be interested in joining the leadership team. I initially said no because I wasn’t at all interested in the religious aspect of their group, but thought that another leadership position would look good on my resume. So I reconsidered and talked with a couple of my long time friends who said I should go for it. It would put me on stage and I would possibly get to be musically creative. And of course I could always quit if I was uncomfortable.
And that’s how I, a bisexual Jewish woman, became the leader and emcee for the Texas Tech Branch of Campus Crusade for Christ, or TTUCRU.
During this time I had grown a lot closer with Vick. We talked on the phone all summer (yes this was before texting and iPhones) and when I returned for fall semester, we started to date. He was the perfect attentive boyfriend. He came across so charming and mature. He was romantic and sweet. Everything I had ever wanted in a partner. By the time my birthday came around in December we were pretty serious about our relationship. I knew he was the kind of man I could fall in love with.
He was also extremely helpful when I had the new pressure to write and coordinate large meetings for a group of people I knew I had VERY LITTLE in common with. I knew I was bisexual. I knew I was Jewish. But most people didn’t know that about me and there was a bit of an unspoken rule that I NOT mention any of those things. Vick suggested I not tell anyone, and it was easy enough to not say anything. I had a good christian boyfriend, everyone assumed I was a straight christian girl. But the whole time I felt like I was being shoved back into the closet not only when I led the group, but every time I was around CRU members. Which was 24/7. CRU became my only social outlet. It consumed most of my free time. It was stressful.
Other things in my life began to suffer, at this time I was still a collegiate athlete (track and field), and I was majoring in not only one or two but three majors and an unnecessary minor and had to maintain above a 3.8 to keep my scholarship. I was constantly stressed, I started having issues with anxiety and didn’t know how to cope. I had a large public position on campus, because TTUCRU was The Organization to Follow for many students. I had to coordinate with other student organizations and get involved with student politics. I felt a constant weight on my shoulders not only to be a star athlete and student but I had to look The Part.
This is where things get really dark.
(I should mention before I continue that I also had a traumatic childhood. It’s a long story but to sum it up, my mom bullied me into an early eating disorder. She treated me (and my father and brother) poorly and abused us all mentally and abused me and my brother physically. It’s left me with a lot of unprocessed trauma I wasn’t even aware of until I was an adult.)
It also left me as an easy target to be manipulated.
I’m not really sure how to explain how it happened and I’m not sure I ever will be, but after a few months I realized that I was a powerless bystander in my relationship with Vick. I felt like something was wrong and that I had no control over my own life. I couldn’t pinpoint anything, and if I mentioned this feeling to anyone I was usually dismissed as being stressed. Everyone loved Vick. He had been CRU’s Most Eligible Bachelor. I was constantly reminded this by other members, that I should count myself lucky to have a man like him, no matter what.
Looking back its because I know that he was manipulating me. He was charming and could talk his way into and out of things without anyone even knowing he was doing it. He talked me into things I would have not normally done at that time. Including how serious our relationship was. I felt like big parts of me were becoming less and less important, things that had once been very important to who I was as a person were becoming less and less visible. Like I was losing myself entirely. He used our relationship and his ties to religion and used our membership in CRU to manipulate me. By the time I turned 21 our relationship was nearly inseparable from our positions on the leadership team. He controlled what I said during meetings, he controlled my speeches and my prompts. He had offered to organize all our media and sound.
I remember wanting to leave, but I knew if I mentioned it to Vick he would leave me and my identity had been so entangled with him, our relationship and CRU I knew I couldn’t. I was convinced I would be nothing without him, without CRU. There were always subtle reminders of this from the culture of the organization. How women are property. None of my accomplishments were ever my own, everything I did was because of Vick or because I was ‘given the opportunity’ by a man. I was also constantly criticized for my appearance. What I should and shouldn’t wear. The size of my jeans. Comments from full time coordinators about how my ass looked too fat. I looked pale and my hair wasn’t right. Vick enforced this. He encouraged me to lose weight and eat less. My already negative body image issues developed into a really unhealthy mindset about eating. I was determined to not be the girl who “gained the freshman 15″. And every time someone “Wow you look so great!” it felt amazing so I just kept not eating.
Somehow a headstrong outspoken rebellious teenager who didn’t give two fucks about other people’s opinions had changed into a 21 year old whose identity was entirely based on the validation and judgement I got from standing on the stage in an auditorium filled with strangers and people I had very little in common with. But all that started to break down right before finals the spring semester of my junior year.
I had moved into a house off campus and I was home alone with Vick keeping me company and we had been horsing around, playing with my dog and out of nowhere he snapped at me and rage I had only seen turned on other people was suddenly focused entirely on me. I still don’t know what sparked his rage and it doesn’t matter. All I know is that he grabbed me and shoved me, picked me up and threw me on the hard concrete floor. After months of treatment and several x-rays and MRIs, I found out that I had two herniated discs that had resulted in nerve damage causing chronic pain, migraines and muscle damage.
I had to quit playing almost all sports after this injury because between disordered eating, weight loss and this new injury I was trying to recover from I couldn’t physically handle the rigorous training. I also got put on some heavy opiates to deal with the pain and doctors at the time had no problem giving me prescription after prescription for heavier and heavier pain killers. Pain killers like Oxy and Vicodin left me in a pretty vulnerable state to be taken advantage of in many ways. Over spring break that year I went on a couples vacation with Vick where we were going to spend one weekend together hiking and meet up with friends to go sightseeing and to an amusement park.
(this part is extremely hard for me to recall both because of being drugged and traumatic processing) The Saturday we spent alone ended with us going to get drinks at a martini bar that was recommended to us by a friend. I don’t remember having too many drinks or having anything beyond one drink at all. I had purposely not taken any pain medication because I knew it could be dangerous. I heavily suspect Vick drugged my drink. All I can recall fuzzy memories of being carried to his car, being carried and half dragged into our room, and Vick roughly taking my clothes off me and holding me down to sexually assault me. I remember being scared and confused. I remember asking him what he was doing. And I remember saying no.
He did this after years of insisting to me that he was waiting for marriage to have sex. He enforced his belief system on our relationship, no questions allowed. I remember waking up Sunday morning the day we were going to meet our friends and feeling sick, sicker than I’d ever felt before in my life. I remember wanting to hide and not see anyone ever again. I shoved myself into the tightest darkest corner in our washroom and cried before calling one of my friends we were meeting with later to prepare her for the conversation I knew I needed to have with her.
She didn’t believe me.
No one did.
I was shocked and humiliated. People’s reactions ranged from “Vick wouldn’t do that he’s an upstanding member of CRU” to “You were asking for it by (drinking)(being on drugs)(being a tease)(dressing like that)(you consented by just being his girlfriend)”
I confronted him about it and told him that I knew what he did. He didn’t even try to deny it. He said he had been drinking and couldn’t control himself. I was certain it would be the end of our relationship. But in the storm of all of this, the two full time coordinators (two older adult men in their 40s/50s) of CRU called me in for a meeting mid-semester. They sat me down for lunch and fired me because they heard the rumors that I had been having premarital sex with Vick and they couldn’t allow someone like me lead their organization. They then used my sexuality and religion they had previously been aware of against me. They called me a whore and a heathen and dismissed me.
I felt alone. I couldn’t turn to my family because they’ve never been supportive. My boyfriend had just done something unthinkable to me and I couldn’t trust him anymore and most of my friends thought I was a liar or a whore. Rumors started. I got the most judgmental amounts of hate I’ve ever had in my entire life from people who had previously been my friends.
(somehow in the midst of all of that I managed to keep my grades up and not fail or drop out lol)
My friends told me if what I said was true, if I had sex with Vick the only right thing to do was to stay with him. They cherry picked bible verse after bible verse, a book I didn’t even believe in, to prove that I was trash unless I was committed to him. That I had to be his wife (property) forever. And Vick refused to leave me. Seeing him made me sick but after refusing to leave over and over again I gave in when he begged for us to go to couples counselling.
(spoiler alert: going to a therapist your rapist has hand picked with them, isn’t a good solution)
The ‘therapist’ was not-shockingly associated with CRU and the church Vick attended. He made it very clear what my role should be and that even if what I said happened, it wasn’t real. It wasn’t rape. It couldn’t be and that I needed to ‘process what it meant to be a good wife’ so I would be a proper woman for Vick. He used words like immature and selfish to describe my emotional upset.
I remember leaving our second and final session crying and angry. I went home and felt even more alone. I felt pathetic. Vick kept trying to salvage our relationship but he ‘warned’ me that time was running out because he was leaving for an internship over the summer and we wouldn’t see each other.
I was right. I had the whole summer to focus on me and getting into graduate school. I was writing my undergraduate dissertation and finishing up important studio classes to graduate a semester early that fall. I remember having this feeling that I needed to run away and wasn’t sure why. But I didn’t use any of my time alone to process what had really happened. I kept denying it. I was filled with so much self hatred, guilt, and shame.
When Vick came back in the Fall he proposed to me and laid it out like an ultimatum. I either had to marry him or we had to break up. He knew how scrambled my brain was, and used everything he could against me. He promised me that I wouldn’t have anything if I said no. I wouldn’t have him, I would loose all my friends that I was lucky to still have and no one would respect or want me ever again. I was terrified and stressed and still on and off pain medication. I had no support system and no support from my family and no real friends.
I remember going home with the ring and bawling my eyes out. I had a full on panic attack and cried for hours. My mom told me to ‘control myself’ because I was overreacting. She loved Vick and told me what a lucky girl i was to have such a good and supporting man in my life. Told me that I was a stupid girl if I said no. So I said yes. We were engaged for over a year and a half. I kept putting off the wedding and I let him plan it all with my mother.
Vick insisted we take time to go thru CRU recommended engagement counseling and seminar after seminar. I forced me to pray with him constantly. He said I needed to ask for forgiveness for what I had done. He started getting more and more jealous and would accuse me of “mentally cheating” if i looked too long at anyone. He would corner me and force me to confess my “adulterous” feelings. I remember believing him during this time. That looking at anyone, strangers or friends, men or women, was horrible and that I was betraying him if I had any thoughts about anyone else. I felt like a shell of a person. I gave up control over most of my life. I had given up trying to end things and decided to make the best of the inevitable.
I knew I didn’t love him. I knew I wasn’t a christian. I knew I didn’t believe in any of it. And I knew I couldn’t love him after what he did. And I knew before we got married he wasn’t the kind of man who could love me back.
We got married on my birthday and I remember crying for hours beforehand. I insisted I was just nervous and stressed. The only person who ever asked if it was what I really wanted was my dad. An untimely question seconds before I was getting married. I never answered him. I wanted to say no. I should’ve said no. I wished I had listened to the gut feeling telling me to run.
That’s where I’m ending my story because the rest is a bit inconsequential to what I wanted to vent about. I left him after eight months of marriage. I had to reach out to friends finally, despite the guilt and shame. I still deal with a lot of internalized bullshit to this day because of him and the brainwashing (I don’t have a better term, sorry) I got from CRU and his church.
As an aside, I just want to say that this is MY story. These are MY feelings and no one else’s. I know ‘not all christians’-- I have friends and family who are christians. But I wanted to share this because I needed to. For personal reasons. And I know there are tons of other stories out there.
If anyone has any questions or wants to DM me just to talk, feel free! I probably won’t be posting public replies or asks about this though. It’s still kind of hard to talk about publicly. <3
#i dont want to tag this as anything specific#but#tw rape#tw abuse#tw drugs#tw religious abuse#tw ptsd#tw cptsd#tw corrective rape#tw date rape#tw forced marriage#tw gaslighting#tw eb 224#my personal story#tw evangelical christianity#exvangelical#except i really wasnt but i kinda was?#its so complicated#feel free to reply#and feel free to DM me with questions#any hate or bullshit will get reported and deleted#i dont have time for that in my life anymore#:)#BTW this happened almost 20 years ago#im free and much better now!
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Q & Y for Zenny?
Quirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.
It didn’t start off this way but listening to each other sing is one of the quickest ways to get the both of you to relax. If you’ve had a rough day at school, or work, or whatever, he’s the first and only person who will seduce you with his voice. Just hearing that silk smooth melody slip through his lips is heaven.
The reverse is equally so for him as well. Even if your voice is lacking, and it may occasionally sound like nails upon the chalk board he enjoys listening to you. Watching the passion you put into your singing can calm any rage he is thrown into. However, do be careful you don’t awaken to beast within.
You first discovered Zen’s soothing qualities was when you stormed into the apartment after a shit day.When throwing your bag into the couch with far more than unnecessary force you caught a sound floating in from the kitchen. It was a song you had heard many times before, but never from his lips.
Lured into the kitchen like a rabbit with a carrot you moved to hug him. Frail, thin arms wrapping around his warm, pink apron wearing waist. Suddenly startled he stared down at you, “Princess?”
“Keep singing…” And so he did.
Weeks later while discussing plans for another party both Jumin and Zen got into another argument over something you’ve long forgotten by now. They were really opposites of each other.
Seeing your partner storm out of the bedroom where the two of you had been relaxing. You watching TV, Zen on his phone. You groaned, pulling yourself out of bed to follow.
Finding him sulking on the couch he was quick to revive a proper, though gentle, swat to the head. As if to remind him he was acting childish.
“Oww…” He looked up at you with puppy eyes. “What was that for.”
In return you have him nothing more than a disappointed sigh. Beneath your stern stare he slipped into a raving messing about that “stupid CEO-in-line”. When finished venting you let out a small sigh, watching his own shoulders raise up and down in violent huffs.
He was surprised when your arms pulled him into your chest. Then, with a deep breath, filling your lungs with much needed air, you began to sing. It wasn’t anything grandiose, and certainly nothing special compared to the albino in your arms. But, it held a certain charm. It reminded the both of you of better times.
“…Princess,” Zen stared up at you with wide eyes once the song finished. “ Sing that again, won’t you?”
Yearning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?
Zen doesn’t have the best ways of coping with about anything. As much as he may brag about being health positive, he is still a bad boy with a beast lurking within. Your company is usually all that it takes to curve his old behavior. To remind him that he has someone to protect, someone to care for. That he really shouldn’t be drinking around the house or driving his bike at odd hours of the night.
Yet, when you have to return home to deal with a family emergency in a region where your phone access is limited he sulks for the rest of the week. He acts as if nothing is wrong but you can see it in his eyes. The way he clings to you in the airport waiting for the plane. The worried way his finger tips tap against your knee as you sit in his lap. The way he refuses to even look in your eyes. The lack of calling you his princess an just your given name.
He hates he won’t be able to hold you, and hates even more that the apartment will be cold and distant with you. Especially since you won’t even be on the messenger.
Once you leave he is quick to stock up on beer, gas for his bike, and even the occasional bout of junk food. Jaehee is quick to notice and only gives him a slight warning before offering him her support. If he needed to talk, she was down to fangirl over her closest friend. After all, they both were Zen’s biggest fans.
When you finally manged to log on you saw the downward spiral Zen had taken. Scrolling through the chat logs your first instinct was to message Jaehee. To ask her if she had that weekend off. Luckily, your favorite assistant did.
“Can you go check up on Zen for me?” “I think we have some rice and veggies at home. I stocked up on some before I left.” “Would it be too much to ask you to cook him some dinner?”
“It would be no trouble at all.” “As Zen’s fan it is my job to offer him all the support I can manage.” “If his needs aren’t taken care of, then who knows what sort of spiral he will fall into?”
“Thanks Jaehee, you’re the best. “
The next order of business was to call up Zen. You were almost shocked how quickly he picked up. In a moment you were bombarded with questions and words of support. “How’s your parents?” “Is everything okay?” “Do you need me to fly over?” “I miss you, darling.” “Oh, I’m so glad you called. It’s so nice to hear your voice again.” You couldn’t help but sigh, it was like being tackled by a dog who had’t seen you in years. You were only gone, so far, for a few days.
Over the next week or so you texted mostly between Jaehee and Zen whenever you had connection. Making sure Zen’s health was taken care of and that the two of them were having a good bonding time. The thought of getting your partner more friends crossed your mind, but that was a bridge to cross another time. For now you couldn’t help but feel his love across the planet, or even just Korea.
#Anonymous#mystic messenger#mymes#Zen#ryu hyun#Zenny#zen mysme#RFA#mystic messenger imagines#Mystic messenger senario#mystic messenger headcanon#headcanon#head canon#Zen x MC#zen x reader#singing#quirks#yearning#coping#fluff#imagines#jumin#relationship#couple#Jaehee
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Clé: Miroh (3)
Clé: Miroh (3)
Pairing: Bang Chan x reader ft. Stray kids & Got7
Warnings: Slight profanity
Summary: An up and coming singer is introduced to the rough and unfair world of the music industry when she is tricked into a fake relationship with a popular idol. Her entire world has been turned upside down and now not only is she hated by millions of fans around the world but she is now despised by her...boyfriend?
———————-
Auriella, though seen as a bubbly and happy person, did not live a simple life. When she was born, her birth parents abandoned her at an orphanage with nothing but a raggedy baby blanket and her name written on a note. That's it.
Her life in the orphanage was hell, to say the least. Young Auriella was bullied, mistreated and lonely. The other orphans at the home she was in always felt the need to push her around and belittle her in everything she did. Auriella tried hard to fit in and did all sorts of favors in hopes of being accepted, but to no avail. The mistreatment didn't stop until Auriella was taken out of the orphanage by her record label.
Auriella has been through hell and back yet still woke every morning with a smile on her face. She had her group, who she had worked skin and bone for, be taken away from her, been forced to uproot her entire life and move across the world for a group of people she had never met. Nevermind all of the bullshit she had to endure in her childhood. She was far from selfish and this ignorant stranger, Bang Chan, had no right to sit and assume he knew anything about her.
She tried to be nice and civil but enough was enough. Auriella would not sit back and be treated unfairly by someone she sacrificed so much for. Yes, both Auriella and Chan were forced into this situation but Chan had nothing, absolutely nothing, taken away from him. Okay, he moved from a tiny dorm and into a gigantic mansion, free of charge. So what? No. He didn't get to complain. He didn't get to complain because he still had his group and he still had his parents. From Auriella’s point of view, she picked the short stick of the situation. Yet, he had the right to complain? Hell no.
“I was tricked into signing that contract. I was in a pretty successful group back in the states, but you wouldn't know that, would you?” She looks deep into Bang Chan’s eyes. “We just released an album, that I spent a year writing and perfecting by the way, and the next thing I know I get called into a meeting expecting a conversation about the songs I wrote for the album but you wanna know what I got instead?” Auriella was standing now. He wanted answers? He was about to get them. Loud and clear.
“Pray tell, your majesty, what did little baby Auriella get?” Chan continued to tease her despite the tears of anger and frustration he saw rolling down her face.
“A plane ticket and a letter of termination from my group.” Everyone in the room was shocked to hear the young girl’s blunt response.
“What are you-” Chan began to ask but Auirella wasn't done.
“That's right. I was pulled out of the group that I started and shoved on a plane. Why? Because your company wanted you to have more publicity to promote your group.” She made sure to maintain eye contact with the leader while she emphasized to ensure he was getting the point.
“You hear anything odd about what I just said, Chan? Because I did.” Auriella made sure to single him out. He was the only one of the members to treat her unfairly. “All of this was done for you, therefore you are the only one to benefit in any way. I lost my group, so you could keep yours. I had to halt my career, so you could get more attention for yours. I had to move to the other side of the fucking world for you! So no, Chan, this isn't my fault, it's yours.” She pointed an accusing finger at the now silent idol, who continued to stare at the spot in front of him.
“I tried to make the best of the situation because at least one of us would benefit somehow. Even if I lost everything, at least you and your group would be better off. Hell, I even bought this house so you could all be more comfortable. I chose not to fight and throw a fit over this situation because I don't want to be selfish and only think of myself. What do you know about that? Being selfless?” She had lowered her voice now, drained and frustrated from the treatment she had received as well as the unnecessary argument.
Some of the members who were still learning english turned to Felix and Jisung for a better translation of what had just occurred. By the time the two boys had finished explaining, Auriella had vanished. The entire dining room fell silent as the shock set in with the new information that was revealed.
“Like I was saying, hyung, she was forced into the situation too, but what do I know, right?” Changbin said looking at his leader in irritation. He had tried to say this earlier but Chan was quick to cut off his words and deem his input as irreverent.
“Changbin-ah-” Chan sighed, disappointed in himself.
“Don't bother.” Changbin pushed out his chair and walked off towards the staircase leading to his room.
Chan messed up. He knew that now. Not only had he misjudged an innocent girl but he also unfairly lost his temper on one of his members and he knew he had to make things better.
Since dinner was clearly over, the remaining members cleared the table and soon excused themselves to their respective rooms. Bang chan stayed behind though and went out to the balcony to get some fresh air. On days when he felt overwhelmed or stressed, he liked to go out alone to think and reevaluate things that were on his mind.
Chan wished he had given Aurilla a chance. All of the things Chan fought for, Auriella had taken from her and it was her fault. He cursed at her, teased and made fun of her while she had been nothing but nice and welcoming to him and his group. She cooked for them and even bought a large house so that they could more comfortable. How did he repay her? By calling her names and blaming her for something he knew nothing about.
“I am such a dick.” Chan muttered to the dark sky, as he looked to the stars.
“Yes, you are.” A soft voice startles him out of his thoughts. “Glad to know that you’re aware.”
“Auriella..” He stands to find the new voice in the darkness.
Coming into the light and closing the sliding door, Auriella signed and sat on one of the many chairs out on the deck. “I get it, Chan. You fight tooth and nail for your group and to make your family proud and you didn't want to risk a stranger messing up any of that for you. I get it.”
“If I knew..I am so sorry, Auriella. I swear, I had no idea that they did all of that to you and your group. You did so much for us and I just..” The disappointment and shame was clear in the boy’s voice.
Auriella stared at him for a moment. He wasn't a bad person, he was afraid and fragile. Auriella knew the music industry all too well and she was aware of the harsh conditions and rules of it as well. Though Korea was an entirely different place, she had heard enough horror stories of the industry on this part of the world to stay away and be cautious. He was just trying to protect himself and his group from the harsh world that was K-pop.
Thought she understood, that didn't give him the right to treat her the way. She had lost too much and sacrificed too much for him and all he could do was judge and assume. He didn't have to like her and she didn't have to like him but they were stuck. Al they had to do was pretend until their companies took pity on them and let them out of their contract.
“How about this,” She suggested with a smile, a faint outline of her dimple making itself clear. “You stay out of my way, and I stay out of yours. We do what JYP wants until this whole thing is over and we leave it at that.” She said, keeping firm eye contact.
Chan was startled to hear that. “I-i dont-.”
“You don't have to like me. You don't have to be my friend. But you don't get to judge me or assume anything about my life because you don't know me.” Without giving the boy a second glance, the small girl walked off back into the house, her footsteps fading into the darkness.
__________________________________
The next morning, sounds of laughter and squeals filled the large kitchen. After Auriella had gone back into the house the night before, Jisung bumped to Auriella and saw she was upset. After staying up most of the night venting and getting to know one another, Jisung and Auriella had gotten close.
“You're gonna burn the bacon, Han!” Auriella giggled as he bumped his hips into hers, pushing her away from her mixing bowl of pancake batter.
“Me? I have no idea what you mean.” Jisung laughed, his Malaysian accent stronger than ever.
The two were oblivious to the nine pairs of eyes watching them from the entrance to the kitchen. The ruckus of pots, pans and laughter had awoken the group of sleeping boys from their slumber. Meeting each other in the hallway and sharing looks of confusion, they followed the sounds down the stairs and soon found their member and the young girl cooking. Together.
After a few moments of watching and whispering to one another, Minho cleared his throat to break apart the giggling pair.
“Uh..good morning?” Hyunjin greeted in english.
“Good morning! How’d you all seep?” Auriella beamed.
“Umm pretty good. I see you two are friendly this morning.” Felix said, eyeing the two cautiously.
Jisung shared a kind smile with the smaller girl and turned back to the stove.
“Jeongin, honey?” Auriella called out sweetly to the young boy. She was going to need some help setting the table for breakfast.
“Noona?” He replied almost instantly, seemingly out of habit.
The room grew quiet. They hadn't gotten a chance to talk about honorifics yet, seeing as Auriella wasn't a korean but would be living in korea from now on.
“I’m sorry?” Auriella looked shocked. Had he just cursed at her in korean?
Jisung laughed at the girls offended expression. “We need to teach you korean as soon as possible.”
As the group sat down eating breakfast, Chan’s phone rang and his tone changed from calm to serious and down to business. Once he hung up, he cleared his throat to get everyone's attention.
“That was JYP, he wants us to meet him at the company.” He announced.
“Us as in..?” Felix asked.
Chan turned to Auriella, looking in her general direction but still not directly at her, “All of us.”
In the car on the way to the company, the boys told Auriella about basic korean expectations when it came to elders. They told her about bowing and taught her a few polite words to use in vase they ran into any other artists that were older than them. They were taken through a back alley way and into a secret door to avoid being seen and photographed. They didn't need to explain a ‘mystery girl’ to their fans just yet, not until the company was ready for them to.
After getting into an elevator and going up a few floors, the group walked into the room they were told to go to and walked in to find JYP sitting behind his desk.
“Welcome come in, come in.” Auriella was surprised to hear english coming from the man.
“Hi! What’s-” The bubbly girl began to say just as the boys behind her bowed and greeted in korean. Whoops.
“Auriella, remember what I said about-” Felix started.
“No, no it's okay. So you must be the famous Auriella. You're very cute.” JYP said smiling down at the small girl.
“Oh, thank you, sir.” The girl blushed and began fiddling with her fingers.
“Aigoo.” The man cooed. “You'll fit right in here. Everyone is going to love you. How are you all getting along? I hope these boys haven't given you any trouble. “He looked back up to the members behind her, raising an eyebrow.
Auriella didn't hesitate. “They've been great! I think we’ll be good friends.” she smiled big.
Chan let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Even though him and Auriella had talked, barley, he didn't expect her to be so quick to cover his unfair actions towards her.
“I’m glad to hear that!” He exclaimed. “Well, the reason I called you all down her is because I thought you might be a bit more comfortable if you met some more people. Since you're going to be around from now on, I thought it would be nice to introduce you to some other artists here at the company.” He explained.
“Oh, yes! That would be nice. I’m always open to making new friends.” She was excited. If she was going to be stuck in a foreign country, at least she could make new friends and memories.
“Great! A lot of our artists are busy with tours and comebacks at the moment but one of our other groups happen to have a free schedule today and are very excited to meet you.” He said.
“They know me?” She asked shyly.
“Yes, they do and one of the members is your biggest fan, so he's been waiting to meet you.” He confessed with a wink and kind smile.
“Now I cant wait. I love meeting my fans.” She said, feeling giddy.
“Well, come on, they are in one of the practice rooms.”
The group followed JYP down the hall and into a room that had loud music and laughter coming from it. Walking in, there were 7 boys total spread all throughout the room. Some were lying across the floor while some stood against the mirrored wall or in a chair. They all turned their heads towards the door when they walked in.
Jyp said something in Korean to the new group of boys after one of the men turned off the stereo. They all got into a line and bowed to their CEO and the members of Stray Kids did the same to their superior group as well. The tallest member of the group locked eyes with Auriella but quickly looked away when she sent a smile his way.
Auriella, I would like you to meet Got7. They-” The CEO didn't get a chance to finish before an excited male voice squealed.
“Ella!?”
The girl was confused. The only person who called her that was-
“Jack-jack?” The boy in question opened his arms wide towards the small girl as she ran to him and jumped onto him with a loud giggle.
The remaining people in the room were confused at the sudden interaction of the two hugging people.
Felix turned to his leader. “How does she know Jackson sunbaenim?” he whispered.
“I have no clue, mate, but they seem..” Chan paused as they all watched Jackson kisses her forehead and spin her in a circle. “Close?”
Chan didn't know why but he felt his face reddened slightly in envy as Auriella looked up to his sunbae with such a bright smile. She tried to be kind to him and he ruined it. Now she hated him, and it was his fault. She didn't smile at him like that. So bright and happy. How did they know each other? And how were they so close?
Chan had a lot of time to re-think and regret his actions towards Auriella. He tried many times to approach her but each time, she brushed him off coldly. He just wanted to start over. He had unknowingly ruined her life and he wanted to at least try to make that better, but he couldn't do that if she avoided him like the plague.
He wanted to be her friend too. In the short time she was around, he couldn't help but notice is members becoming more and more infatuated with her. Her tiny squeaks when someone would pop up in front of her unexpectedly, how she would turn red in the face when one of the members would keep eye contact a little too long. She was sweet and kind and innocent and she had been handed an unfair battle that she couldn't win; a contract. Bang Chan just wanted to fix the mess he caused. That would be though, considering she wanted nothing to do with him.
“I heard an Auriella was coming but I had no idea it was my little baby! How have you been? Last I heard you were trying to get signed to a record label.” Jackson Wang said as he looked down at the small girl.
“I got signed to one! Ugh so much has happened, you wouldn't believe.” She said with a look. “ Hows mama? And papa? Are doing well?” She started up at Jackson.
“Wait, how do you guys know each other?” JYP asked, his voice full of confusion.
“We met a national tournament. I was on the national fencing team and little Ella here,” He rubbed her head affectionately. “was chosen to sing the national anthem. My family and I were assigned to take care of her while she was in China and she stayed with us and traveled with the team while we competed.” He explained.
“Ah, I see.” The CEO said. “Well, it's nice to see that she already has a friend here. You guys seem close.” He observed.
“You have to meet everyone!” Jacson exclaimed, jumping about. He pulled the small girl by her waist towards his eager group mates and began introducing them to each other.
“Oh, and this is our youngest member, Yugyeom. He’s your biggest fan.” Jackson wiggled his eyebrows as he introduced his two friends.
“I heard you were a fan. I’m so excited to meet you!” Auriella smiled brightly as she held her hand to the taller boy.
“I-it is nice to meet you.” He stuttered, discreetly wiping his right hand on his shirt before shaking the girls petite hand. Yugyeom’s heart sped up the moment their hands touched. The boy had been a fan of her and her group for years, constantly talking about her to his members which led to teasing but he never thought he would ever get the chance to meet her, let alone be signed to the same company.
Jackson saw how flustered his bandmate had become and laughed and put his arm around Auriella once more.
“You can stare at her later, maknae.” He teased before turning to look at the young girl at his side. “You and I have some catching up to do.”
Across the room, the members of Stray kids stared in awe at the unexpected reunion.
“Wow, that's so amazing. It's a small world, huh?” Felix said, amazed.
“Yeah, crazy.” Chan replied, sounding distracted, staring at the group before him but his eyes were distant.
#jyp entertainment#stray kids#stray kids chan#stray kids changbin#stray kids chris#stray kids felix#stray kids han#stray kids hyunjin#stray kids jeongin#stray kids jisung#stray kids lee know#stray kids minho#stray kids seungmin#stray kids reactions#stray kids requests#kpop reactions#bang chan
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Arrow FF | Dinah x Laurel | A Christmas Miracle
Part 3 – The Dance (Click for AO3 Link)
As Dinah trails Laurel down the familiar amber-lit hallway, she has to remind herself that this is not her first trip to this particular Oak Forest complex. Seeing as Laurel lives smack dab between Felicity and Dinah, the convenience of her apartment made sense to conduct meetings of the anti-Diaz club Felicity formed while Oliver was locked up and which thereafter morphed into what Felicity calls ‘an unconventionally awesome three way Womance.’ Dinah also drops in to check on Laurel after particularly rough days, a gesture that while not received with praise is at least silently appreciated judging by Laurel’s tacit acceptance of her continued unannounced visits. There is a modicum of resentment from Laurel that occasionally boils over due to feeling unfairly criticized or annoyingly henpecked due to the wanton villainy that characterized her recent, although Dinah has learned how to assuage those flare ups with honeyed reassurances that she is only concerned because she cares. Usually that works well enough, and it when it doesn’t they just bicker it out until one of them invariably apologizes. Lastly, during their collaboration on the Ace Chemical case, work twice spilled over into Laurel’s home and saw them laboring into the wee hours of the morning double and triple checking critical details tucked away inside the mountain of associated files.
All of this means that Dinah a stranger to this sharp, stylish corridor, nor is she unfamiliar with the cozy confines of the abode lurking behind the door just ahead. And yet the tingling in her extremities and the butterflies fluttering around in her tummy would suggest otherwise. In the wake of their bonding experience at the shelter, the sensations being produced by Laurel’s proximity and their pending nightcap are not unlike those she experienced the night before her junior prom. Only then her date was a six foot two, one hundred ninety-five pound star athlete with whom she was utterly smitten; whereas now...well, at least the last part is accurate if her slightly humiliating reaction is any reliable barometer.
Get ahold of yourself for God’s sake, she tells herself as they approach Laurel’s front door, which displays a lovely ornamented wreath. You’re not sixteen anymore and this isn’t a date. Then she recalls Laurel’s anxious shifting as the invitation was posed, and how clearly it was meant as much more than a friendly gesture of thanks for her help at the shelter. Or is it? Hmm. Laurel certainly was acting like maybe it is, which is probably why I’m as big a bundle of nerves as she seems to be. Holding her hand when we left the shelter didn’t help matters, either. As Dinah remembers how right it felt when their palms meshed and their fingers wove together, she watches Laurel fumble for the key to her apartment with shaky hands, swear under her breath, then glance back sheepishly before returning to her task. The unmistakable hint of an incredibly fragile hope that flared through Laurel’s green eyes hits Dinah square in the chest. Jesus. Is this really happening?
Dinah gets her answer when Laurel finally slides the correct key home and pushes the door open, then hesitates in the doorway before offering a shy invitation that sounds nothing like the arrogant, flamboyant, dangerous vixen she first encountered on Lian Yu. Unfortunately Laurel recovers her confidence too quickly for Dinah to comment upon that brief display of vulnerability then flicks on the light and enters to reveal a sight no one who knows this Laurel Lance could have ever adequately prepared for.
Inside the apartment is a scene that would not be horribly out of place in one of the Hallmark Christmas movies Dinah enjoys indulging in during the Holidays. Festive trinkets adorn virtually every piece of furniture from little knickknacks like porcelain elves upon the bookshelf to dual poinsettias with ribbons attached to the wrapping on the vase on the entertainment stand next to the door all the way up to an exquisite nativity scene upon the coffee table that appears as old as it is gorgeous. Meanwhile a modest Christmas tree is tucked into the corner of the living room, neatly and conservatively trimmed featuring plain white lights and mostly silver ornamentation.
“I like what you’ve done to the place,” she says as she mimics Laurel in shrugging off her coat then depositing it, as well as her other unnecessary garments, upon the coat rack to the left of the door.
Laurel smiles over her shoulder, an attractive blush coloring her cheeks. “Thanks. I might have gone a bit overboard. This is the first year I’ve decorated since...” she trails off then, brows drawing in, an oppressive sadness dimming the light in her eyes as she is transported somewhere in her mind, to another time and place Dinah is not yet privy to. But as abruptly as the gloom descends, Laurel brushes it away with a shake of her shoulders and reattaches a wry smile to her face. “Well, let’s just say it’s been a long time.”
Wanting to ask about what went through Laurel’s head just a second ago and whether or not it has to do with Quentin, Dinah opts instead for a safer track. Some day she will get Laurel to open up to her about all she’s been hiding for so long under those impressive facades meant to distract from a secret anguish no one else seems interested in. Except for Dinah, that is, and not just due to the cop instincts that make her want to dissect criminals and villains to determine what makes them tick. She wants to know because it has been evident to her since she bothered to look past the jagged sarcasm, edgy goth wardrobe, and penchant for violence, she realized there was something significant there screaming to the heavens to be uncovered. Once she knew what she was looking for, it didn’t take a genius to figure out there is so much hurt being bottled up inside Laurel that needs to be vented if she’s to maintain this positive course correction she’s made. The problem is Laurel’s problematic lack of a support system makes any definitive progress unlikely in the near term. Who in her life would she deem trustworthy enough to permit voyage beyond the as of yet impenetrable facade? The answer is self-evident to Dinah. No one. Or not yet anyway. Dinah is trying her damnedest to be that someone since no one else seems interested.
With every one else important to Laurel life occupied with their own problems, such as Felicity and Oliver with their family and Team Arrow and all the peripheral shit that comes along with being the central figures of a Superhero outfit that spans multiple cities and Earth, or simply unconcerned about her welfare because they can’t let go of the past – ahem Rene and John – the burden of caring about and for Laurel Lance has fallen to Dinah alone. And that’s okay. She’s happy to shoulder it. Dinah has always been a caregiver. It’s one of many factors that drove her to focus her military training into a meaningful civilian service. That and Laurel, at least to her, is worth it. If no one else can see that? Their loss. She’ll take this exceptional, infinitely interesting woman over the banal choices for company daily served up to her on a silver platter.
“What got you in the holiday spirit if you don’t mind me prying?” she asks, following Laurel into the living room where her svelte hostess gestures for her to sit.
“Hold that thought and go ahead and make yourself at home while I go get the snacks,” Laurel says in lieu of answering immediately, then glides off toward the kitchen with her typical grace.
Dinah obeys like a good guest, and to keep from fidgeting occupies her hands by trailing her fingers over the smooth lacquered finish of the figurines composing the nativity scene neatly arranged upon the coffee table. The craftsmanship really is amazing, the precision unlike anything she has come across from her limited exposure to Christmas decorations. As a kid her parents opted to celebrate the holidays in a non-religious manner seeing as both were lapsed in the faith they were born into, her father the son of Southern Baptist preacher and her mother’s family ensconced firmly within Reform Judaism. But she had friends who made big to-dos about Christmas and often visited their houses to get a glimpse into a portion of modern life she was denied. She used to marvel at the ornamentation on display and wish she was brave enough to ask her parents to make some allowances. None of her friends had anything like this, though.
The manger is so intricate that she can feel imperfections in it as if it were real wood, the hay hundreds of individually constructed strings upon which a marvelously detailed baby Jesus lay, with ten tiny olive-tinted fingers clutching at the threadbare shawl wrapped round him. Mary and Joseph are almost as meticulous, in their period clothing with accurate complexions and features, as are the equally diverse wise men and the astonishingly life-like miniature lambs tucked in round the manger.
“My great-great-great-something grandfather made that in the 1850’s, I think,” Laurel says, having snuck back in while Dinah was entranced studying the figurines. A bit startled, she looks up to see Laurel rounding the couch with a tray in hand and tracks her progress as she continues on to deposit the tray carefully upon an unoccupied portion of the coffee table. “It’s also the answer to your earlier question. I mean, volunteering at the shelter this year got me thinking about when I was a kid and my parents would go crazy around Christmas. Nostalgia hit me hard, so I started browsing through some of the boxes of Christmas stuff Quentin never got around to unpacking and found this nativity scene carefully tucked away in bundles of padding. It’s exactly the same as the one my Quentin inherited, one of a handful of items that survived the family move from Germany after the war. Incidentally, apparently family origin is one thing that doesn’t really change between Earths where we have doppelgangers.” She pauses for a breath. “Anyway, I wanted to put it out to remember both Quentins by but it seemed silly to have just that, so I put up a few more. Which turned into a few more. Eventually...I looked around and this had happened. Oopsie.” To prove her point, she gestures around the apartment, its festive décor providing a merry backdrop to what Dinah hopes will be just as merry a night.
“Well, it’s absolutely gorgeous so I don’t blame you one bit for wanting to show it off. Or for going overboard on the rest,” Dinah says, savoring the information she has just gleaned. Not only does she now know that they share in a heritage that traces back to Germany before the Second World War and that family histories remain largely intact between multiple Earths when a person exists in each of them, but the most intriguing tidbit is that Laurel had a happy childhood at one point. So what went so terribly wrong to make her into Black Siren? Curiosity surges through her mind that she quickly tempers with a dose of reality by reminding herself why she’s here. “The whole apartment is really nice. I’m very impressed,” she adds, meaning it from the bottom of her heart. “Now that I know you have a knack for interior decorating, I’ll be blackmailing you into sprucing my place up for Hanukkah next year.”
Just because her late parents chose the path of unbelief does not mean Dinah has. There was a time she abandoned her faith, but since moving to Star City she has slowly been building up to the loosely-observant Reformist she is today. That means among other things that she attends synagogue whenever she can, which isn’t as often as she’d like due to her job, and eats as kosher as convenience and finance will allow. She has never been big on tradition, so she prefers to practice her faith in a casual way that appeals to her modern, practical, and privacy-oriented sensibilities. That said, her belief is as strong as it has ever been, strangely enough thanks to the woman from whom she just washed dishes and mopped floors until her fingers pruned up and her back ached like a bitch. If there was ever a sign from God that love and forgiveness possess a singular power to heal the heart, it has come in the form of her constantly evolving relationship with Laurel.
Ignorant of Dinah’s thoughts, Laurel chuckles at the jest she just made, which causes those amazing dimples of hers to peak out. “Can’t wait to see what material you break out to get me to do your bidding. I’m not easily blackmailed, you know.”
“I know. I happen to like a good challenge, which you most certainly are,” Dinah says with a wink that causes Laurel to blush for what seems like the hundredth time tonight.
“I’ve been called many things, but none with ‘good’ attached as a modifier. Eggnog?” Laurel returns as she gently picks up a mug of eggnog and offers it to Dinah, who accepts it with a grateful smile.
Powerless to resist the creamy goodness cradled in her hands, Dinah takes an experimental sip and cannot stop a moan of pure delight from purring through her chest. “Well, get used to it if this stuff is any indication of your talents.” She then breaks off the arm of one of the gingerbread men, snaps the hand off, then samples the dismembered appendage. Eyes sliding shut in rapture, a similar sound erupts from the depths of her chest. The cookie is more like something out of a professional bakery than an amateur oven. It is soft, perfectly chewy with a cinnamony and gingery flavor that coats her tongue with wonderfulness. “Christ alive, Laurel! This is divine.”
Not half as divine as those noises you just made, Laurel thinks, then chastises herself for what feels like the thousandth time tonight. She has always been hyper-aware of Dinah’s casual sensuality and absurd level of hotness, but lately her inability to curb that awareness has proven quite the irritant.
“Where’d you learn to make this?”
Dinah’s question causes Laurel to reemerge abruptly from the haze induced by that sinful moan. “I found it in my dad’s recipe book,” she answers, hastily to avoid any intensive scrutiny of her embarrassing biological response. “I mean, Quentin’s. Not that my Quentin wasn’t…that he didn’t...err, that he wasn’t...” A soft hand touches her to mercifully prevent any further verbal flailing.
Dinah’s gentle smile eases the mortification, but only just. “It’s okay. I know how much he meant to you. It’s not wrong of you to see him as your dad. He was. If any man ever loved his daughter, that’s the way Quentin loved you.”
Tears prick at Laurel’s eyes unbidden and she clamps down on her lower lip to keep from whimpering like some pathetic little girl. That age old cliché that time heals all wounds is nothing but a bunch of bullshit to Laurel when it’s yet to get any easier for her to hear how deeply this Earth’s Quentin Lance cared for her. The gaping, oozing sore his entirely preventable death left behind is a constant reminder of her unforgivable failures as a daughter upon two worlds. When her mother died in an auto accident and took her Sara to the grave with her, Laurel selfishly and foolishly blamed it all upon her father, who was behind the wheel, even though it was not his fault. A truck driver strung out on amphetamines to stay awake ran a light and plowed right into the passenger’s side. There was nothing anybody could have done, but that didn’t stop Laurel from berating her father at every turn until their relationship was in tatters and he could barely stand to look at her for fear of what she might say. When he was gunned down two weeks after her sixteenth birthday, six months after her Ollie died in the Gambit, she blamed him for that, too. Or at least she did until realization set in that all of the tragedies were ultimately her fault. Her parents had been on their way to pick up her from a silly after school program for advanced readers when that accident occurred, Ollie went on that trip with his dad because she was putting too much pressure on him to move away with her for college, and her father was killed interrupting a robbery while out buying ice cream for her because she emerged from the dreary foxhole of depression to actually interact with him for the first time in weeks.
Guilt over her role in those events ate her alive over the subsequent years. Haunted in nightmares, she was stalked from the shadows of her mind every waking hour of the day until she was reduced to little more than a deviant drug addict living on the streets, willing to do anything for a fix so the voice inside her head that sounded suspiciously like her dad would stop blaming her for their family’s demise. Becoming Black Siren cauterized that wound fairly well up til being Black Siren cost her the exceedingly precious second chance at deserving her father’s unconditional love. That day in the hospital, hearing Sara’s plaintive cries, feeling the blood rushing in her ears, unable to curtail the tears rolling down her face, tore it right back open again, as it has remained ever since. And the only person who has seemed to notice her silent suffering is Dinah Drake.
Miracle of all miracles….
As if sensing Laurel’s internal distress over her terrible comportment and her reticence to continue down this line of discussion, Dinah again proves her aptitude with regard to Laurel’s emotional and mental state. A pat of Laurel’s hand precedes returning her own to her mug, and she then adopts a more neutral posture and tone as she indulges in another healthy sip of the eggnog. After a satisfied little sigh, she asks, “So, what brought you to the shelter?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” Laurel says, tone a bit clipped.
One day she will tell Dinah about the months she spent living at place just like the Carmine Kanigher Emergency Shelter. If her wildest dreams come true, she’ll finally be safe enough in a relationship with a woman who can handle the harrowing tale of a broken nineteen year old sexual abuse victim and heroin junkie who escaped her personal hell when S.T.A.R. Labs explosion bathed her battered body in Dark Matter in the midst of an agonized banshee wail. Beaten half to death, face a bloody mess, violated beyond reckoning, angry cigar-shaped burns seared into the small of her back and the back of her neck, in tattered clothes that hadn’t been washed in a month, she stumbled eight blocks in the dead of night until she spotted the little facility tucked in between a decrepit old apartment building and an anachronistic Catholic church that looked more like it belonged in Gotham than Central City.
As she stumbled across the empty intersection, her heart started beating uncontrollably. Two steps out a cold sensation corkscrewed up her spine and she stopped right in the middle of the street, paralyzed. Out of the blue she could feel his eyes boring into the back of her head, could smell the stink of vodka on his breath, and feel a grimy hand clamping down on her hips whilst the other snatched great handfuls of her hair with all the tenderness of a rabid grizzly. Panic descended upon her like a runaway train. Unable to think, reduced to pure adrenaline and fear, she used every last ounce of willpower to force her feet to move and raced as fast as her unsteady legs would take her toward sanctuary, heedless of the cars barreling down upon her from both lanes, horns screaming at the crazy unkempt lady on a suicide mission to figure out the chicken’s motives for journeying to the other side of the road. Only instead of a triumphant arrival, her toe got hooked on the sidewalk, causing her to face plant within a stone’s throw from what would soon become her only safe haven in life, fracturing her cheek and reopening the jagged cut on her lip.
Laurel can remember so vividly how she literally crawled those last five yards to the front door on her hands and knees, panting for breath and keening in manic desperation, can remember how her bare knees were shredded on the unforgiving concrete leaving behind erratic streaks of blood that took the staff four hours to scrub out the next day. How she got up the stairs and through the front door is not so clear, but she does recall smelling fresh popcorn the second she staggered inside, a scent to this day she associates with safety. She also remembers being greeted by the unbearably kind face of a woman not much older than she is right now, and how that same woman nursed her through the night so patiently and with such gentle care that she wept in her arms until she passed out.
That is why she was at the shelter tonight. To at long last pay it forward in honor of Emma Morrison and all of the other men and women who filtered through her shattered life during her brief stay at Central Covenant Emergency Shelter. After all they did to piece her back together into some semblance of a human being, a herculean feat Laurel still doesn’t understand how they accomplished, the least she can do is help out around the holidays at a place that is doing the same thing for people just like she used to be. People who have been chewed up and spat out by the world, whose loved ones have left them by choice or via the grave, who have nothing and no one to care for them during the one season per year everyone should have someone. Even a wretch like her.
One day she will tell Dinah all of this, because there hasn’t been any one else in her life since Emma that made her want to talk about her past, to air out her anguish, to vent her immeasurable pain. Dinah makes her want to, though, and not just because Dinah has proven herself trustworthy but because Dinah had the audacity to get to know Laurel for no other reason than for Laurel’s sake. Against all objective logic, Dinah chose Laurel, and continues to over and over again. Nobody else has done that since her Ollie and her Daddy died. So there will come a day she will sit Dinah down and divulge the ugly truth behind her radically abrupt spurt of holiday volunteerism. But not today. Especially not on Christmas. Talking about those dark days would sully something precious that has been building between them tonight. Something Laurel can already feel slipping away from her, which causes her to react with her typical knee-jerk abrasiveness.
Lids narrowing in accusation, she pins Dinah down with a cold stare. “You were the one who followed me there. Worried I was about to dive head first into the evil end of the pool again?” Still on the defensive, she squeezes the mug between her hands more tightly to rein in her flaring temper. She hadn’t meant to jump down Dinah’s throat, it’s just lashing out is her default response to emotional upset. Once she told Felicity empathy was a work in progress – well, it is one of many works in progress in her life, coping mechanisms included.
To her credit, Dinah does not take the bait other than to calmly reply, “Of course not.” A pointed look from Laurel, replete with an arched brow, inspires Dinah to amend herself with a shy shrug and cute shrug of her shoulders. “Okay. Maybe a little. Mostly I was curious. You pawned a very important case off on an A.D.A. at the last minute, so I thought I’d find out why.”
Laurel does not understand the reasoning. At all. “You have history with Martinez. I thought you’d be fine working with him while I took some evenings for myself during the holidays.”
For the first time all night, Dinah becomes visibly upset. Her nostrils flare, the muscles in her arms and shoulders tense, and her eyes narrow sharply. “Well, you figured wrong. We worked that case together for over two months, Laurel. You should have seen it through instead bailing on me!”
Taken aback, Laurel returns her mug to the tray. Of all the things for Dinah to get her panties in a wad about, it’s this? As far as Laurel knows, Dinah and Martinez get along swimmingly. They have worked several cases together since Laurel assumed her doppelganger’s duties as District Attorney and have only returned glowing praises about the other in both verbal and hard copy reports. Hell, they’ve even gone out for casual drinks a time or two and had a swell time, which irritated Laurel more than it should have considering she only recently retrieved her attraction to Dinah from the realm of impossible dreams.
Strangely enough, it was working on this case so closely that made her reconsider whether her assessment of Dinah’s sexuality was as reliable as she initially assumed. Maybe that’s why she’s so perturbed. Maybe she thought the same about me? I mean, I wasn’t exactly waving my bi flag for all to see. What if working this case together has opened her eyes the same way it has mine? What if…
Going any further down that road without context is so dangerous Laurel veers a sharp turn on the nearest on-ramp leading to attaining what she needs with a sudden desperation that is as terrifying as it is exciting.
“Okay...what’s this really about?” she poses, daring Dinah to try and finagle herself out of giving an honest answer.
“I just told you...”
Laurel waves off Dinah’s sad attempt at deflection as if batting away a pesky fly. “Yeah, yeah. You told me why you were curious as to my so-called pawning off of the Ace Chemical case. I couldn’t help but notice, though, that you’re truly upset about it. And not for the specified reason. This has nothing to do with your investment in this case. Or mine for that matter.”
“Is that so?”
Dinah’s brows shoot up so sharply it feels as if they’re about to clash with her hairline. How did this conversation turn on her so quickly? She’d meant to get Laurel to confess that she dropped the case because her work at the shelter during the holidays had become too important for her to abandon, that she has finally found a purpose for that heart she’s kept so safely guarded with a charming misanthropy she wields like a sword and shield to repel any who seek entry. Only halfway through the sentence it turned into accusation as the abandonment Dinah felt – and yes, she knows that’s irrational; but Laurel makes her irrational, okay! – superseded that initial noble goal. Deep down, she knows Laurel stepping away from the case only hurt her because it meant they wouldn’t be spending any more late nights in each other’s offices or in Laurel’s apartment working into the wee hours of the morning. There would be no more sipping on coffee and chatting about sports during short breaks, no more furtive glances when they thought the other wasn’t looking, no more of their shoulders and hips brushing together as they huddled over a report they’ve both read a dozen times looking for potential weaknesses or loopholes in the prosecution the defense might exploit, and no more excuses to touch Laurel because she’s right there and available and one hundred percent engaged in their hypnotizing dynamic.
Dinah was aggrieved because she wants more of all that, craves it like a drug, yearns for it like a forlorn lover whose partner has been out of reach for far too long. She is afraid that without a legitimate professional excuse to continue this closeness they’ve developed it will wither on the vine and die before ever bearing fruit. And that hurts her, makes her chest and throat physically constrict and her heart ache painfully to the point she feels tears of sheer despair well up from within her very soul. If she cared to examine that phenomenon with any degree of conviction, she knows she would invariably uncover the root cause to be a four letter word that she simply cannot be the one to say first. There is far too much on the line for that, and not just for her but for Laurel, who has probably been hurt more than Dinah has.
And of course Laurel took the opportunity to, in a matter of heartbeats, dissect Dinah’s outburst and arrive at the same conclusion she has. Sometimes the woman’s perceptiveness is downright infuriating.
“From my point of view it is,” Laurel replies with complete confidence. All of the sudden, those spectacular green eyes lose all hints of vulnerability and instead resemble those of a hawk who has zeroed in on her prey. That prey being Dinah. Which sends a jolt of excitement through Dinah’s veins.
Refusing to back down an inch, Dinah harrumphs. “Well, then, since you’re such an expert in the subject of my motives, why don’t you enlighten me as to what they were?”
Laurel shoots her a warning glance that is not so much threatening as out of concern. Dinah doesn’t quite know what to make of it until Laurel responds, then she understands that the concern is for them both.
“You sure you wanna go down this path? ‘Cause there’s no going back once we do.”
Dinah has never been more sure of anything. Four hours ago she would have taken the out being dangled so tempting in front of her. But four hours ago she hadn’t seen Laurel disarmed of the sword that is her double-edged tongue and disrobed of the impenetrable armor that protects a soft underbelly Dinah would wager has been exposed for none asides from Quentin in a very long time. Four hours ago she hadn’t seen Laurel glowing under the adulation of people who clearly care for her as much as she does them. Four hours ago she hadn’t witnessed Laurel giving heartfelt hugs to homeless folks who weren’t the cleanest or the best smelling and engaging them with a mega-watt dimpled smile that actually reached her eyes as she wished them a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year and meant every last word. Four hours ago she hadn’t held Laurel’s hand and realized it felt more right in hers than anyone’s ever has – and that includes Vince. Four hours ago she was not ready to trust Laurel with her heart, because believe it or not she is not as strong as everyone makes her out to be.
But that was four hours ago. Now, things are different. Much different. In such an astonishingly brief window of observation she has seen Laurel express attributes she knew were there along just waiting for the right moment to be unfurled and has at the same time been given a glimpse at a potential future that is so beautiful it takes her breath away. All she needs is for Laurel to make the first move. And if that happens, Dinah is ready and willing to meet her halfway.
Until then, however, she has to maintain the pretense of ignorance, and not just for her sake. Like a skittish dog who has been ritually abused only to be rescued by some compassionate soul, Laurel will need to feel like she is in control of the progression of their relationship or she might panic and bolt. Some might see that as an obstacle they could not overcome, but Dinah is not one of those types. Pride within intimacy has never been her problem. Adaptability is her strength. Take charge or be submissive, so long as she is being shown proper love and respect she can cut either direction depending on the mood. With Vince she liked being a little domineering because he could take it. He had this sixth sense for when she wanted to wear the pants and when she needed him to take the reins. It seems that with Laurel, the sixth sense belongs to her. Maybe time will bear out a different result, and if so she is eager to experience the journey, but if not she is just as happy to be for Laurel what Vince was for her. Hell, it might even be the change of pace she didn’t even know she needed.
For now, though, she can just tell that she’s going to have to give a little bit more than she’s used to, bend a little more readily so that this new, fragile, incredibly thrilling development between them doesn’t break right out of the box.
Crossing her arms over her chest, she narrows her eyes dubiously. “Pssh. You act as if your theory is going to blow my damn mind or something.”
“Maybe it is,” Laurel says matter-of-factly, then softens almost imperceptibly. “Maybe it’s already blown mine and I’m just trying to make sure you’re ready for the fallout.”
Internally, Dinah is squealing like a school girl whose crush is just about to make her dreams come true. She has honestly not felt this way in so long she can’t remember the last time. Externally she utilizes her many years of training, both from the military and the police academy, to maintain a neutral expression.
“Don’t go pulling punches on my account. Not now. One of the reasons I like spending time with you is because you give it to me straight. So if you have something to say, say it.”
Laurel nods, then does not hesitate to accommodate Dinah’s command. “Alright. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Here she pauses briefly, inhales deeply, lets it out slowly, then squares her shoulders before launching into her speech. “So...I think that me handing the case off to Martinez means our collaboration ended earlier than scheduled. I think that hurt you, and way more than you could have predicted. I will concede that you might not understand why that is, exactly. Or if you do, you’re too scared to admit it.”
Getting hot. Keep going. Figuring Laurel might need a bit of encouragement to see this through all the way, Dinah decides to inject a bit of a challenge. Laurel always responds well to those…
“I’m not afraid of anything. Especially a loud-mouthed bean pole like you.”
Laurel’s grin tells Dinah her tactic worked like a fucking charm. She gets herself a well-deserved mental pat on the back as Laurel scoots closer rather than reeling away as most would.
“Getting defensive. I hit a nerve, I see. Don’t worry, you didn’t offend me with that cute little barb. In fact, you just proved my point.”
“Which is?” C’mon. You’ve come this far. Just a little further...
“That you like me.”
Score! 1-0 in favor of Drake. I’m liking the direction this is going more and more by the second.
To really sell her being utterly dense of what is going on here and that Laurel is the one in charge, Dinah furrows her brow in confusion. “Come again…?”
A daring hand hovers over Dinah’s arm, then a long finger begins trailing down the underside of her forearm, which is still bared due to her having neglected to roll her sleeves back down. The touch of tapered nail scores a line of fire into her flesh, leaving behind a trail of heat so intense Dinah would not be shocked to discover on the morning that the line has not faded. The thought draws her eyes down to the tattoo of a flock of birds on the outside of Laurel’s right index finger. The sight elicits an electric buzz low in Dinah’s belly.
Unbidden, she imagines lying on her side upon a reclined chair, Laurel sitting next to her and holding her hand as a carefully selected artist etches the finishing touches into a custom design upon the skin high up on her left rib cage – the side closest to her heart - that appears to be a laurel wreath bisected by a knight’s lance. The image does things to Dinah that cannot account for. Never before has she been stricken with the impulse to get such an intimately personal tattoo to join her Marine Corps insignia, as if she subconsciously is already harboring a desire to be branded as Laurel’s woman.
Shit! Dinah shudders as the image dissolves, leaving her excited and frightened and a little turned on all at once. Thankfully, her return to the present is timely, as she glances up just in time to receive Laurel’s languid response.
“You heard me. You like me. And not just because I keep it so real for you.” Lifting her finger from Dinah’s arm, Laurel slides her hand down until her palm slides into place against Dinah’s. Just like at the shelter, their fingers thread together as if designed to be mated. The expression on Laurel’s face then turns decidedly emotional. “You care about me. For me. Not just because I look like someone you used to love or am a useful ally because of my job, my kickass ninja skills, or my meta powers. In spite of all the hurt between us, you see something in me worthwhile.” She ducks her head, looks up at Dinah through her long lashes. “I can tell because it’s the same way that I care for you.”
Dinah exhales sharply as if punched, just without all the consequential pain. This is it. It’s really happening. All of the tension that has built up since their eyes met across the crowded cafeteria at the shelter has come to a percussive crescendo. On Christmas Eve of all days. Is this my present? Is this what I’ve waited all year for? All my fucking life for? And not even known it ‘til now? Hell yes it is! How she knows, she can’t say, nor would she at the risk of killing the magic. Some things are better left assigned to the mysterious and fickle hands of fate. And since said hands seem to be favoring her tonight, Dinah is more than happy to surrender this one without a fight.
“Laurel...are you saying what I think you are?” she asks after tipping up Laurel’s chin.
Knowing instinctively that this is the moment, the one that will define the rest of her life, Laurel braces herself and summons up every last ounce of her courage. For too long she has pined secretly over Dinah, often times secretly even to herself. There was ample reason, to be sure, but all of those seem to have been rendered moot by whatever Christmas magic is operating to give her the one thing she has wanted more than all else since an audacious, slightly self-righteous, lionhearted woman kept her from murdering a federal judge after she bared her heart on behalf of someone she will always love and was cruelly shot down.
That day Dinah saved more than the life of one heartless judge, she saved Laurel’s too. That was the singular event, the axial minute, the pivotal hour that made her believe she could actually make a go of this good guy shit the other Laurel draped around neck like a cloak of calling. Quentin had started her down this path and his death had kept her upon it by a thread most days. But if Dinah hadn’t gone out of her way when she didn’t have to and all but told Laurel she believed it was possible for her to be redeemed, none of this would be possible. Before then, a backslide was inevitable.
And so Laurel mentally buckles up and floors the gas pedal, if for no other reason than she owes Dinah the truth. Come what may.
“If you think I’m saying every time I’m close to you my heart starts racing like it’s going to jump out of my chest, then yes,” she says, investing her heart into her words as possible never before. She squeezes Dinah’s hand a bit harder, willing her to hear and understand that none of what she is hearing is bullshit, that every last syllable is being wrenched from the bottom of what’s left of her heart. “If you think I’m saying I think about you constantly, then yes. If you think I’m saying I’ve never met anyone like you who makes me feel all the crazy, amazing, scary things you make me feel, then yes. If you think I’m saying I daydream about what it would feel like to hold you, kiss you, and wake up with you in my arms, then hell yes to that, too. Truth is, I’ve felt this way for a while now. I think it started that day outside the Courthouse when you stopped me from doing something incredibly stupid. The way you looked at me…I couldn’t remember the last time anybody looked at me that way, and all I knew was I wanted more. These past few months, I’ve done everything I can to insinuate myself into your life because for whatever twisted reason, I’m drawn to you, and I just can’t seem to help myself.”
For an unbearable few seconds, Dinah says nothing, just sits there staring at Laurel while clenching her hand so hard that Laurel starts to lose feeling in her fingers. Dread rears its ugly head shortly thereafter.
Oh, God. Have I blown it? Have I scared her away? Did I read this all wrong? I’m gonna lose her. Fuck! No, no, no...
“Wow. I, uh...wow.”
When Dinah manages that breathless response, it doesn’t inspire much confidence in Laurel that the panic clawing at her chest and clogging her throat are an overreaction. At this point, addled as her brain is, all she can think of is that she needs to backtrack as quickly as possible and salvage their friendship.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...”
“No!” Dinah’s interruption is a mini explosion that startles Laurel so badly she jumps. “Just...stop right there. That was a lot to take in at once, but not in a bad way.”
The sensation of relief that washes over Laurel is nothing short of blissful. All of that anxiety might have been for nothing after all. If so, that means Dinah does feel the same as her. And if that is true, it means they might actually make a go of this. There is so much on the line here, so much to lose, that the thought is almost terrifying. Almost. An overpowering urge to kiss those hypnotically plump lips of Dinah’s is overriding all other considerations.
With her heart in her throat all of a sudden, Laurel runs her thumb along the back of Dinah’s hand and is pleased to see Dinah shiver in response. “Really?”
“Really.” Dinah smiles crookedly. “Turns out you’re a pretty smart cookie, Lance. Your theory may be more of a fact. Working with you on this case has been amazing. You’ve been amazing. And I know I shouldn’t, but I want to be close to you, Laurel. Closer, even. So much closer.”
That last bit is hardly more than a whisper, which Laurel hears clearly due to their heady proximity. A frisson of pure joy runs down her body because that is the exact same thing she wants. And not just metaphorically. Right now she wants to be closer physically, too, which has some of her old spunk reappearing.
“How much closer, Dinah?” she asks, eyes hooded, nostrils flaring to indulge in the scent of coconut and jasmine that is uniquely Dinah. She inches forward, drawing their heads and upper torsos ever closer. “‘Cause I’m pretty sure there’s some mistletoe in the vicinity I could scrounge up if I need to. You know, if you need an excuse to ask for a kiss.”
Dinah taps her index finger against her chin a couple times, feigning pretending to weight the need for such measures. “Hmmm.” Then she shakes her head gently as her lips slide into an impish smile. “Nah. Direct is more my style.”
“A woman after my own heart. Which, incidentally, is one of the many reasons I love you.” Laurel gasps aloud the instant that very heavy phrase slides off her tongue. She hadn’t meant to say it. “I...I‘m so sorry. That just slipped out.”
But Dinah does not appear shocked or appalled or angry or anything negative really. Instead, she is still smiling as she leans in, her head tilting a fraction as their noses nearly come into contact. They are so close now Laurel can smell Dinah’s breath, sweet with hints of gingerbread and eggnog, as she speaks. “It’s okay. No need to apologize. I liked it.”
“You did?”
“Mmhmm. Say it again, please.” An emphasis is added when Dinah nuzzles the tips of their noses together.
Laurel has never felt so warm and alive. And there is no way in hell that she would refuse that request, even if she had a gun to her head. She can think no better way to die than professing her love for Dinah Drake.
“Dinah.” She pauses, breathes deep, then opens up her heart and lets all of the repressed affection for this incredible woman spill out in three little enormous words. “I love you.”
Heart in her eyes, Dinah responds with every bit as much emotion. “Laurel. I love you, too.” She then nibbles her lip affectedly, head tilting a bit further. “Can I kiss you?”
“Yes, you may. Any time you wish,” Laurel says, her heart thudding in her chest as though it has been replaced by a Pamplona bull.
Dinah does not waste any time. Holding Laurel’s gaze, she leans in until their lips are ever-so-lightly together, lets Laurel adjust and brushes them together from side-to-side until Laurel loses containment upon a high-pitched mewl that tears free from her throat, making her sound like a kitten being teased too long with the milk it so desperately craves. Lips curling into a smile, Dinah stops the teasing at last and seals their lips together. It’s their very first kiss, and it feel is so indescribable, so incredibly wonderful that Laurel’s brain short circuits. In that moment, she is reduced to pure sensation, from the tingling of her lips as Dinah gently sucks upon them to the fire coursing through her veins, burning away every last vestige of doubt, fear, and anxiety over whether or not they might be ruining something irreplaceably precious and over whether or not she will ever deserve however much love Dinah is willing to expend upon her. None of that matters when with one kiss
When Dinah pulls away a few seconds later, she hums in appreciation of what has just happened. And then her eyes begin dancing merrily. “Just for future reference, was that little Wesleyan promise you made my Christmas present? Infinite kisses?”
Laurel chuckles at the reference she actually understands. They don’t have The Princess Bride on Earth-2, which is a crime in and of itself, but thankfully Dinah was kind enough to introduce her to one of this world’s classic romantic comedies. Which was the reason she used that phrase. How Wesley felt about Buttercup is pretty much exactly how she feels about Dinah. Hopelessly devoted. Willing to do anything and everything for her. Willing to kill for her, and if she must, die for her. That said, now is not the time for such declarations.
“I actually was going to give you a Colt CQBP,” she says, smirking because she knows how much of a gun nut Dinah is. “But now I’m thinking I like your idea better.”
“Ooo! How did you know I wanted one of those? God, that’s so tempting. I think I agree with you, though. The kisses sound like a much better deal.”
Laurel reacts accordingly, hands going to her chest as if flattered. Because she is. Dinah turning down a gun for her kisses is a pretty big statement. Almost as big as Ollie rejecting a new, spiffier bow in favor of his wife’s smooches.
“Oh, my. I’ve got a sweet talker on my hands. Are you gonna make me regret...”
With a growl, Dinah interrupts the spiel Laurel was about to launch into about giving Dinah a brand new avenue of attack with which to get her way.
“Shut up, woman, and give me more of what I really want.”
“My God, you are so demanding.” Laurel caps off the comment with dimpled grin.
“And you wouldn’t have me any other way,” says Dinah, who then without warning surges forward to claim Laurel’s lips in a searing kiss with none of the tentative nature of the first.
After some indeterminate amount of time exploring one another on the couch with eager lips and combative tongues and adventurous hands, they draw apart reluctantly, their lips breaking contact with a satisfying smack. As she leans away from the sole source of her current inundation with unadulterated bliss, Laurel inadvertently glances up at the clock only to note that it is, in fact, five minutes past twelve. Christmas Eve is officially over, which can only mean one thing.
Reaching out with her left hand, she tenderly cups Dinah’s cheek. “Merry Christmas, Dinah.”
Burrowing into the embrace, Dinah’s answering smile is one for the ages. “Merry Christmas, Laurel.”
Which it most certainly is. In fact, it will turn out to be the most Merry Christmas Laurel has ever had. Until next year, that is, when she wakes up with a gloriously naked and happily sated Dinah sleeping soundly sprawled atop her. Or the next year, where she awakens to a very frisky Dinah kissing and licking up the length of her inner thigh and doesn’t stop until arrival at the Promised Land. Or the year after that when they are engaged and spend an unbelievably awesome Christmas with Sara and Ava back in 18th century at the winter home of the legendary Carolus Rex of Sweden. Or the year after that, the best yet, when her present is little stick with two pink lines.
Some might say Merry Christmas as a perfunctory salutation to friends and family, but not Laurel. She means it every time she says it. And how can she not? Dinah makes every Christmas a merry one for her.
#dctv#arrow#arrow fanfic#fanfic#dinah drake#laurel lance#dinah x laurel#laurel x dinah#aka Dinahmite!#or:#dinahsiren#christmas
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Grimoire Organization!
So here’s a post about organizing your grimoire in preparation for the 2018 Grimoire challenge if you’re doing it or just need a little starting place!
As for the challenge, we’re coming very close to the start date! I hope all of you are ready! I know some of you are really wondering what exactly the grimoire challenge is, so let me break it down a little bit.
The Grimoire Challenge is, put simply, a way to fill up your Grimoire! If you’re worried about filling up an expensive journal with stuff you end up not liking, feel free to use a cheap notebook or even go digital as a rough draft! As for a more in-depth explanation, it’s a way for new witches or witches that don’t delve much into the craft to explore new parts of the craft! We’ll focus on many types of divination, spells, crystals, herbs, astrology, and much more! Each day of 2018 will have at least one prompt! (most days will have 2). I hope everyone’s excited and ready to go into a journey of witchcraft with me!
Also! Note, this will be edited in the future, so please keep referring back to this as it grows and you need more help!
So first, you’ll need to cleanse your Grimoire! There’s a LONG list of ways to cleanse things! I suggest not doing any that include fire or water. I personally will be using one that involves a sigil for cleansing!
Next, I suggest blessing your grimoire! A written blessing can go on the last page or the page after your property page (basically saying “This grimoire belongs to x” or whatever you prefer!), or pretty much anywhere you’d like! It would be best to create one yourself or use a blessing that has a lot of meaning to you!
Here’s something I find really important: a sigil to keep prying eyes away! There’s many you could choose from or even make your own! I personally like these ones!
(courtesy of WolfOfAntimony)
(Courtesy of Sylvaestria)
[Please check out their tumblrs! They’re lovely!]
Next, create your table of contents or index! These will be very important in the future, especially if you’re doing the challenge! Make sure these pages can be easily understood when referred to in the future!
The following are prompts you can use to make your Grimoire more personal to you!
1. A dichotomy of sex and death
2. Aspread for your ancestral shrine
An entry that must be read in a mirror
A spread devoted to the three items someone would need to summon you from the dead and gain your wisdom
Create a magical map of your mind
Dedicate an entry to your favorite poem Make an entry about strength with your nondominant hand
Make your own water blessing
Where do you go to heal when you meditate?
Write a dedication to your body as a temple.
A spread devoted to what colors you are.
What is your beauty ritual?
What do you do when you really cut loose?
Record the results from body scan meditations.
Vent!
Write a spell for releasing your bad habits.
What is balance to you?
What do you really love about yourself?
Make a mandala with your priorities, having most important at the center
Make a tarot spread for mental health.
Make a "cure what ails you" potion (probably tea)
Make a ransom note for the return of the reader's original beliefs.
Make a window page to reveal what's on the next page.
Make a page devoted to leaf stamps.
Make a pocket for recipes.
Create an entry that can be seen upside down and right side up.
Make an entry that requires 3D glasses to read.
Burn a hole through a page.
Create a magical ink spell
Create your ultimate temple.
Write a love letter to your grimoire as if it was a living human.
Write a diary entry as if you were some natural phenomenon.
What are your most precious items?
Do you believe in ghosts? Have any experiences?
What is the smell of night?
What does smoke feel like?
Take a tooth brush dipped in paint and run your finger over the bristles to splatter the paint. Connect the dots - what do you see?
What is a song that wakes you up?
Plan your dream garden.
Bury some treasure - list what was in this treasure box, when it was buried, and hints to find it in the future.
Create a color palette and LATER create an image of yourself using that palette.
Dedicate a spread to your favorite myth - in the form of a comic strip.
Trace your hand, fill in the trace with things about you.
Here are some more page ideas, but I strongly suggest you have these!
How to Consecrate
How to Bless
How to Cleanse
How to Ground
How to Meditate
Here are just some ways I believe you can connect with your Grimoire. (which you should most definitely do the days leading up to the challenge if you do it lol)
Sleep with it under your pillow.
Take it everywhere you go (if you can do it safely)
Talk to it (lol I actually mean it). Spill your heart out to it, tell it about your day, cry to it (and on it if you want).
And finally, some tips and tricks for other parts of your Grimoire.
Don’t be afraid to go digital or have a rough draft. In truth, the Grimoire challenge is especially helpful in finding out what path of magic you would like to take. Going digital or having a rough draft can help you find out what information you like to have in your grimoire and what you wouldn’t, as well as keeping your grimoire organized and neat if you plan on having it as such.
Do your absolute best to keep your grimoire organized. A disorganized grimoire is about as helpful as a bunch of scattered papers when trying to look for something specific.
Cleanse your grimoire regularly! Your grimoire is definitely a place where negative energies can attach and end up hurting you. Cleansing regularly (like at least once a month) keeps your grimoire neutral and reduces risk of energies interfering with your magic!
Don’t be afraid of messing your grimoire up! It may be only for your eyes and any mistake you make is just another thing that makes your grimoire unique and yours!
If you go digital, write down everything, especially if you’re doing research, that way when you edit your grimoire or make it physical, you can have everything you need and you can pick out the unnecessary bits.
Remember that a grimoire doesn’t have to be a single book. You can have several books (I definitely do) that can continue your grimoire or have different purposes. (i.e. a book specifically for divination, one for research, one for sigils, etc.) Just remember, KEEP IT ORGANIZED.
That’s really it for now. If you guys read ALL that, thank you! I hope this was helpful! Please feel free to reblog with other tips or message me with them to add them to my post!
With Love,
Honey Bee.
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Rough Times
(gif not mine)
I spent a month on this oneshot and I’m really not that happy with it, so I’m so sorry if it’s not what you wanted. I just didn’t know how to write it, but if you want something changed, message me and I’ll be happy to work it out.
EVERYONE PLEASE READ:
I want to get 3 things you of the way before we begin, that EVERYONE needs to read:
Firstly, I want to say that there are all sorts of depression and the point of view I write in is the form of depression that I am most familiar with. Depression and anxiety, while many people have similar symptoms, are very different for each person. Again, the point of view I'm writing in in this oneshot is the form I’m most familiar with.
TWO: Honestly, listen, all of you; if you ever feel depressed, anxious, or feel like suicide is the answer:
MESSAGE ME! PLEASE!
Don’t worry about bothering me! I would rather you bother me and feel better about yourself or about your situation and be able to help you guys in your times of need than you not message me at all and let me go about my day while you need someone to talk to. Seriously, I am here for all of you! If you just need to vent, my inbox is open, I won’t judge you, I don’t judge, that’s not my place. Please, please, please, and please, if you need someone to talk to, no matter what, my inbox is 100% open, is a safe place, and what we say (or type, really) stays there. I don’t tell a soul.
Please message me, or someone. But just know that I am here for you guys. I know about depression, I’ve been there, I know about anxiety, I’ve been there too. If you need someone, I’m here.
THREE: There are some really long run-on sentences, but they’re there for a reason, and there’s a bit of a personal reason that I’ll share- I write when it hits me, and there are barely any periods or structured sentences. I write my thoughts, especially when I’m feeling down as they come to my head. This is a lot of stream of consciousness, and if you don’t like that style, I’m sorry, but I really thought it went along with the reader’s hurtle in this one shot, so I kept it like that.
Writers block has hit me hard this past week/weekend, but I’m pushing through and getting this one out.
I’m so sorry for the long hiatus as well, I’ll try to post more often.
Warnings: depression, anxiety, mentions of self harm (I think....can’t remember tbh) and suicide.
You stared at the ceiling, the headache that’s been there for three days know pounding against your head, like someone knocking on a door, desperately trying to get in from the rain.
Close enough, you thought.
It was raining, which didn’t help your mood, though you weren’t sure the sun shinning would help either. It would just make the day hot and uncomfortable.
Everything now was uncomfortable. If you went out with friends it was loud and uncomfortable, if you took a hot shower, which would normally relax you, you were hot, naked, and uncomfortable. If you drank tea, the tea would just make you hot, would probably much less than satisfactory, would be a waste of good tea, and you would be uncomfortable.
Nothing was going to work. Nothing. You were better off just sitting in your room, eyes on the ceilings and walls, not doing anything. Not speaking to anyone. You could feel your jaw droop down every so often, jaw and eyes completely relaxed, and you weren’t quick to fix it. It felt good not to think.
However, you didn’t get to do so long. The heavy bang of the front door resonated in your head, almost like it was echoing through the flat, and you inwardly groaned. You loved our flatmates, John and Sherlock, but you knew that, now that they were home, peace and quiet was a thing of the past.
Sherlock would more than likely be ranting about a case, John would be trying to calm him down or understand what he was talking about, making him angry when he couldn’t which meant he would shout and you just weren’t in a good mental state to deal with anything like that. Not now. Maybe not ever.
You could tell you were depressed. Your head felt black, even though it doesn’t make sense. Black and heavy. You didn’t really know why you felt like this, it just sort of...happened, but you couldn’t shake it. You couldn’t make yourself happier and you wondered if you would be happy again. Maybe smiling because you wanted to wasn’t going to happen anymore, maybe all of your smiles would be forced forevermore.
“Y/N?” You heard John call from the living room. “You home?”
You groaned, getting up from the bed and walking to the living room, not really wanting to show your face but knowing that they won’t stop pestering you until you do.
“Yeah, I’m here.” You said flatly, stumbling to the couch. As soon as you were close enough, you flopped down on it unceremoniously, letting your limbs fall where they did, not having the energy to move. You had been like this for two or three weeks now. John asked constantly if you were alright, and you always told him yes, but you weren’t really sure.
Sherlock came through the door only a few minutes later and immediately went to his laptop, rambling to you and John about a case that he came across while he and John were out. Another murder, of course. Interesting and weird, as always. The police were stuck, no duh. There were suspects they never considered, as if the police are entirely incompetent (and in Sherlock’s eyes, they were always incompetent).
It was the same things over and over with every case, and, while it was fun at first to chase murderers and help people, you were getting bored of it. You had no idea how Sherlock could keep doing it over and over again. Surely he was going to get bored eventually. Right?
Or maybe he didn’t because he was much smarter than you or John and, not only did this allow your beloved boyfriend to impress and dazzle ‘mere mortals’ with his intellectual prowess, but he was in the front seat of all of these cases, while you and John were just along for the ride and it drove your crazy sometimes. He was driving you crazy, lately. Before, you loved him. You still did, to the moon and back, but, where you used to want to be in the same room with him all the time, and you wanted him to come to bed every night, and you wanted to talk to him about little things, now all you wanted was for him to stay in his corner and you to stay in yours and sometimes you wanted to talk to him, but he was talking about cases and that was starting to bore you.
You wondered if maybe you were just falling out of love with him, and you tried to find ways to tell him, but you noticed you were doing that with everyone so you didn’t feel so bad. You and John were always super close, but now you rarely talked, and not because of any fault of his own. Because of your fault.
You went back to your bedroom after a while, slipping by without them noticing you and you went back to bed.
Recently that all you did was sleep. You got over eight hours a night, but you were still so tiered.
~*~*~*~8
Dinner. Was. Hell.
Mrs. Hudson made dinner that night, staying up there to eat with you all.
You ate in silence for most of the meal, but John got Mrs. Hudson started on something and she as rambling on, as usual.
You tried to tune her out, but you failed. Instead, her voice was like a constant background noise. You could hear her speaking, but you couldn’t make out what she was saying. Instead, you heard the tapping of Sherlock’s spoon against his bowl every time he went to get a bite of stew and you gripped your spoon tighter, knuckles going white.
John nudged your foot under the table and you snapped your head up to look at him. Mrs. Hudson didn’t notice that none of you were listening and was still talking as you and John made eye contact.
“Alright?” He mouthed to you. You only mustered a nod and stared back down at your stew.
Click, click.
Then a slurp from someone else at the table.
Then a click.
Then someone shuffled.
You could feel your breathing change, from slow and steady to erratic as you tried to stop the anger boiling inside of you.
Click.
Slurp.
Shuffle.
Sherlock clicked his spoon again and you turned to him slightly.
“Can you stop, please?” You asked quietly, so quietly he barely heard you.
“Stop what?”
“Clicking your soon, it’s annoying.”
He shook his head. “Y/N, it’s barely making any noise. I can’t help it, I’m not doing it on purpose.”
You took a deep and shaky breath, trying not to lash out.
“Well, try not to, please.”
He didn’t say anything but you knew he was trying.
A shuffle here and there and a slurp wasn’t so bad, you guessed. You tried to tell yourself they couldn’t help it, they were living. Mrs. Hudson had stopped, but started again when John, bless him, mentioned something he read in the paper.
The shuffling, the slurping, Mrs. Hudson's constant, unnecessary chatter was almost too much.
Then it happened.
Click.
You dropped your spoon, stew flying out as it hit the surface of the dish, sinking in. You turned to Sherlock angrily, hands curling into a fist out of rage.
“PLEASE, will you please stop!” You yelled, not really knowing where all of this anger was coming from.
Mrs. Hudson stopped, John slowly lowered his spoon, and Sherlock stared at you in shock as you tried to grasp what you just did.
It was complete silence and you felt your muscles begin to relax and tears filled your eyes. You blinked them back, tearing your eyes from Sherlock’s and looking at your hands, red and slowly uncurling.
“I’m sorry, ju-excuse me.” You jumped from the table, as if your seat was on fire and ran back to the bedroom, locking the door.
And you. Lost. it.
You buried your face in your pillow, crying harder than you had in ages. You were angry, confused, irritated, embarrassed and overall, you felt horrible.
He couldn’t help it. He told you that, and you knew it perfectly well. You had done it in the past, you had done it some that night yourself. It wasn’t something he could help.
The shuffling wasn’t something that could be helped.
Mrs. Hudson was just trying to be friendly.
And you went and screwed it all up.
As usual.
Go you.
You tried calming down and taking deep breaths, but every time you tried you hyperventilated more and more.
You heard a knock on the door, followed by Sherlock calling your name, but you didn’t answer. You didn’t want to get up and answer the door and you didn’t want to call back to him, partly because you couldn’t.
Another knock, then silence from the other side of the door.
You thought he had gone away and you leaned your head back against the headboard of the bed, still trying to breath deeply and correctly.
You heard a door open and turned to see Sherlock emerging from the bathroom door.
You completely forgot.
“(Y/N)? What’s wrong?” He sat on the bed, keeping his distance, but his face was full of concern.
You only shook your head, causing Sherlock to inch closer to you.
“Don’t lie.” He said simply, placing a reassuring hand on your ankle. You wanted to pull away, but, after snapping at him earlier and knowing that he was only trying to help and didn’t really know what he was doing, you let it stay. Maybe it will bring you comfort in a second.
“(Y/N), I think you’re just having an anxiety attack.” He said calmly as he could. He almost sounded like a doctor to you.
He moved so that he was sitting beside you, and his hand came up to your face, cupped slightly.
You pulled back, not wanting him to really touch you at all.
“You need to take deep breaths, this will help. Let me help you, please.”
You tried taking another deep breath but, seeing as it wasn’t working, you let Sherlock gently cup his hand over your nose and mouth as you breathed into it.
“This way, you’re re-inhaling the carbon dioxide, which will help to slow your body down and allow you to breath.” He explained, sounding almost like he was reading out of a text book. Little did you know, he was searching for anything he learned about anxiety and panic attacks that was stored away in his knowledge filled brain to help you.
He kept his hand there for a few moments as you tried taking more deep breaths.
You could feel your body and mind relaxing as breathing came easier and easier. Exhausted, you leaned your head against Sherlock’s shoulder, putting your hand over his to make sure it stayed where it was to help you breath.
A couple of more seconds, and you were breathing almost normally, but it was good enough for Sherlock to take his and back, putting it to his side, knowing that someone who is having or has recently had an anxiety attack probably doesn’t need to be crowded all that much, and they definitely need their space.
You closed your eyes, lids heavy
~*~
Sherlock left the room as soon as you were asleep and under the blankets, comfortable, no doubt.
John and Mrs. Hudson were still awake, sitting in the living room as if it were a waiting room, waiting on his verdict.
As soon as he entered, they turned to him and he explained, in as little detail as possible, what happened.
John only nodded, understanding very, very well just what had transpired, but Mrs. Hudson was full of questions.
“Why didn’t she say something?” She asked, shaking her head. “I would have been quiet.”
Sherlock sent her a doubtful look but John spoke up before Mrs. Hudson could see Sherlock’s glare.
“She was probably trying to be polite, and in the end it was just way to much.”
“Overstimulation” Sherlock blurted. John and Mrs. Hudson looked at him. “Common in those who suffer from anxiety.”
Mrs. Hudson only nodded, moving to the kitchen like a woman on a mission.
“I’ll put the kettle on and take her a cuppa.”
Sherlock turned and stopped her.
“She’s asleep already. Best to let her rest.”
Mrs. Hudson stopped, turning back to the living room before nodded.
~*~*~*~*~*~
You tried to keep your head down for the next few days after what had happened.
For whatever reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to look John and Mrs. Hudson in the eye to apologize for what happened the other night. You wanted to, you didn’t mean to shout at anyone. You should have just walked away, but you weren’t thinking clearly.
That hadn’t been the only thing that happened, however. Your week was full of mess-ups and complete disasters.
You had been fired from your job due to cuts in their budget. They weren’t able to pay all of the people they had at the branch, and, though you poured everything you had into your work, that apparently wasn’t good enough and they let you go.
Countless sleepless nights in front of your computer, even Sherlock began begging you to get some sleep. You guessed it was because you were cranky. He tried to worm his way out of that one, but you knew that was the reason.
Your work still wasn’t good enough. You could have given them everything and they still would have let you go, and you had no idea why. You thought your work wasn’t too great before, you knew it as a fact, but you did your best. Your best, you thought, just was never good enough.
You wondered if it had to do with your coworkers. You didn’t really click with any of them and only regularly spoke to one or two every day. You wondered if maybe you were creating an awkward work environment. You were sure you were, but you wanted to get in, work, and get out. You didn’t want to waste time talking to people when you could be working on something worth your time.
However, that didn’t matter. You still just weren’t good enough. You thought you should just accept it. It was the same in school’ you tried as hard as you could but still weren’t the best. Years later, nothing’s changed.
You trudged home early, hoping Mrs. Hudson wouldn’t notice and that Sherlock and John were out on a case.
John was gone, he had a job interview (lucky). Sherlock, however, had nothing going on and recognized your footsteps stomping up the stairs.
“You’re home early.” He said as you walked in.
“Don’t remind me.” You grumbled, throwing your bag and coat on John’s chair.
“Finish quickly.”
“Never started.”
He looked up at you, noticing your disposition and putting the pieces together.
“Oh.” He nodded.
“Yup.” You plopped in the chair. “They apparently had other employees with more training and experience in more areas and therefore would be of more use, but I know the employees they’re talking about and they literally do nothing. All day, they stand by the fountain and gossip while I try not to fall asleep at me desk because I pulled an all-nighter for these ungrateful as-”
“Language.”
You shot him a dirty look. “People.” You spat.
He sighed. “Maybe this just wasn’t the job for you. You’ll find one eventually.”
You rolled your eyes, exhausted. The day hadn’t even begun.
“Here.” Sherlock handed a page of the newspaper. “Dozens of ‘help wanted’ ads here.”
You took the page, but shoved it to the side, not wanting to look then.
“Thanks.” You leaned back, closing your eyes.
Later that afternoon John arrived, large smile on his face.
“Dinner is on me tonight. We’re going out.”
“What’s the occasion?” Mrs. Hudson wondered.
His smile widened. “I got the job!” He exclaimed.
Mrs. Hudson cheered and congratulated him and Sherlock managed a nice friendly pat on the back, but his eyes shifted to you. He was the only person in the room that knew.
“I’m happy for you.” You said, forcing a smile. “But I think I’ll just stay here.”
“What? Why?” John asked.
“I just….don’t fell very well. I’ve had a long day as well, so I think I’m going to bed.”
“Oh, well, let’s just postpone it then. Maybe tomorrow night?”
You groaned on the inside. “No, go out and have fun, your excited, don’t let me ruin that.” You patted his shoulder then walked back to the bedroom, wanting to hurry.
Sherlock walked in moments later.
“Would you like me to stay with you?” He asked.
You shook your head. “Have fun.”
“Are you sure you want to stay?”
You nodded. “Quite sure. I know I would just spoil the mood and I can’t do that to John.”
“He wants you there, whether you’re the life of the party or a complete buzzkill. He thinks of you like a sister, you know.”
You sighed, torn but stubborn. “I know.”
Sherlock, realizing that you weren’t going to change your mind, grabbed his coat.
“Just text me anytime if you change your mind.”
~*~
They had been gone for an hour or two before you left the bedroom. You hadn’t wanted to, but someone rang the doorbell and you were the only one home.
They had left by the time you reached the door, but you saw an envelope on the table in the foyer addressed to you, John, and Sherlock. The envelope wasn’t formally filled out and you knew the handwriting.
The rent bill.
That was due.
John had trouble finding a job before, and didn’t have much money. He contributed what little he could, but you and Sherlock paid for most of the rent.
But now, you’ve lost your job and John won’t get paid until weeks after the rent is due, and Sherlock will be paying well over half of what he should be paying.
All because you weren’t good enough.
Guilt seeped in and you went back upstairs, trying to forget that the bill was there, but you couldn’t. You wouldn’t be able to pay and John would wonder why, if he ever found out, and you would have to tell him you were fired. He would figure it out eventually, you knew that, but you didn’t want it to be because you couldn’t pay your share of the rent.
You would just have to spend what little money you had left very sparingly. No more going out to eat, no more going out with friends, unless you were just going to the park, or walking around town (but even then, you would mind staying home). You would be careful, and hopefully no questions would be raised.
~*~*~*~*~*~
You don’t know what compelled you to write a letter.
You don’t know what compelled you to do this at all.
You knew that only John would be home to read it. Since he hadn’t started his job yet and Sherlock had gone, he would be the first to find it. Him or Mrs. Hudson, and by then the problem would be solved. It wouldn’t take but a few seconds to fix it.
There were several bridges in London, each on with its pros and cons. You just had to decide on which one. If it was too close to home, John might read the letter earlier than intended and he may be able to find you. If it was too far from home, he would read the letter before you got there, and would be able to send police, or someone else to stop you before you made it to the ledge.
So you picked one a couple of miles from the flat, overlooking the Thames.
It seemed like the perfect spot. Not many people crossed, so you weren’t going to be stopped or viewed by as many.
You had your arms on the concrete railing, looking at the brown, murky water beneath you.
This was, truly in your opinion, the only solution.
You couldn’t find another job, you couldn’t just NOT pay your part of the rent, but you couldn’t just move out-you had nowhere to go, other than the streets, and that, for you, wasn’t an option. You would rather die…
You were hellish to live with anyway, you thought. You wondered for months why John and Sherlock put up with you. John was patient and kind to everyone, not seeming to have much of a limit when he knew that someone needed help. Sherlock was just always somewhat rude and you always wrote that off as part of his character, but you wondered if it really wasn’t. Yes, you two were dating, so he couldn’t hate you THAT much, but at the same time, you wondered if he just was going along with it for your sake, or just so things don’t get awkward.
You doubted everyone around you, and that was your downfall, but you couldn’t stop yourself.
You took a deep breath, knowing it was now or never. You hadn’t changed your mind, but John would have read the note by now and would be trying to find something to do to stop you.
And you were right.
John found the note five minutes after you left and immediately grabbed his phone, dialing your number, hoping you would answer.
When the phone went to voicemail, he brought the phone back down and, with deft but shaking fingers, dialed the number he knew would work.
“John, hi.” Lestrade greeted.
“Look, we’ve got a problem.”
“Alright, well,” Greg cut him off. “I’ll be off around five, I’m on a case right now, so.”
“Greg, this is serious, I’ve got a note, a...” He really honestly didn’t want to say it. He just wanted to give Greg the name of the bridge you mentioned and let that be the end of it.
“A what?”
“A suicide note. It’s from (Y/N).”
There was silence, some shouting, then Greg’s voice.
“Where is she?”
John did his best as he ran down the stairs to tell him where you were, keeping his voice as calm and steady as possible. He had gone through this once, under very different circumstances, of course, but he knew the outcome and he knew the emotional toll it had on everyone involved. He did not want to go through tat again, and he certainly couldn’t imagine Sherlock attempting to deal with your death.
He banged on Mrs. Hudson’s door until she opened it as he typed Sherlock’s number in next.
“I need the keys to your car, Mrs. Hudson, I promise this is important, more important than anything.”
She stared at him confused for a second, but, trusting him, she grabbed the keys from a table beside her door and threw them at him.
He caught them with ease, putting the phone up to his ear and praying Sherlock was close enough and that he would answer his phone for once.
~*~*~*~*~*~
You wrapped your hand around the lamppost for support as you balanced yourself on the railing. Looking down, your stomach twisted in knots, but you reminded yourself that it would be over soon, so you wouldn’t have to worry.
You heard police sirens and several quick, heavy footsteps approaching the bridge, and you knew they were coming for you.
You turned just to make sure, but your foot slipped and you swung your arms around the post, trying to regain your balance.
“(Y/N)?” You heard Lestrade yell as you turned back around to face them. He pushed his way to the front of the few police officers he brought with him. “What are you doing? Come down from there and whatever’s the matter, we’ll find a way to fix it. Alright? Let’s talk it out, but this isn’t fixing anything.”
You opened your mouth slightly, going to answer, when another pair of hurried footsteps approached from the other side of the bridge, and you heard the owner yelling your name.
Sherlock stopped when he saw you, clinging to the lamp post, your feet mere centimeters from the edge, your grip on the post the only thing keeping you from tumbling into the Thames.
He inched forward, not wanting to seem like he was going to pull you down. He knew that if he tried, or if it seemed like that at all to you, there was a chance that you would let go and fall back.
He held out a hand, open, palm facing up as he got closer.
“(Y/N),” He began softly. “come down. Please.”
When you didn’t budge, he moved another inch, moving to the side so that your attention was away from the police officers surrounding you and all you could see was Sherlock and Lestrade; two concerned friends.
“Please.” He begged again. “Let’s talk, let’s work this out, this isn’t the answer.”
You still said nothing. Just looked him dead in the eye.
He sighed, knowing he was going to have keep talking.
“Do you remember that night we sat in and you and I watched all of those movies-the old ones that you liked?”
Greg, confused, turned to Sherlock. This was no time for reminiscing, he needed to get her down, but you responded with a nod and he knew Sherlock was getting somewhere.
“And do you remember that movie-I can’t remember the name-we watched at the end of the night. You were half asleep, lying on my shoulder, but you remember it?”
A nod.
“The line of advice, the one we said was a bit ironic given the actor involved in the scene. That line, you know it? I can’t remember it off of the top of my head, I only watched it once.” He took a deep breath, making eye contact with you. “This is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.” He said slowly, making sure you caught every word and took it to heart. “We can work whatever’s the matter out, just give us a chance.”
Greg turned as a red car pulled up at the end of the bridge and John jumped out of it, leaving it running as he ran towards them.
Greg, however, knowing how fragile the moment was, held out a hand to stop him, not wanting any movement to distract you and interrupt the crucial moment.
“Please.” He begged softly again.
They all watching in anticipation as you slowly unwrapped your arms around the post. You wondered if you were making the right decision, but you knew that they were trying to help and you could see now how much they cared. The voice, though, in the back of your mind reminded you that they probably just didn’t want your blood on their hands.
You don’t really know what made you do it. Maybe the voice was wrong, maybe it was right. But either way, your hand reached out for Sherlock’s as the traffic noise grew louder and a honk echoed loudly, and your palms never met.
~*~*~*~*~
Sherlock sat in his chair, looking towards the ground, then back to the fireplace, which he lit for you.
You had fallen back into the Thames, but, since everyone knew you had fallen, they were able to jump in and find you, pulling you back to shore just in time.
You were taken to the hospital, but there wasn’t much of the Thames in your lungs since you were only there a short amount of time. They wanted to keep you, just for observation, but Sherlock insisted that you needed to be home. This was where you were more comfortable. You knew this place, you knew and trusted the people here. They didn’t need to surround you with unfamiliar faces, making you feel out of place. This is where you belonged.
And a threat from Mycroft Holmes sealed the deal. You would be going home that afternoon, no questions asked.
Now, it was just a fight against the cold. You had woken up long enough to check out of the hospital and get home, but as soon as Sherlock lit the fire and wrapped you in a blanket, you were sleeping like a baby once again, this time on your own free will.
You had, before falling asleep, curled up in his lap, almost like a child, and cried into his shoulder. You still felt awful-like the scum of the earth. But you were loved scum, you supposed, and that was better than just...scum.
No, nothing was better right away, it would take time-a lot of time- and a lot of patience. You would relapse, and you would get low, but now you knew where to go and that made a difference. You knew you had at least one person to go to, that would listen, and you felt a small weight lift from your shoulders.
I’m SO sorry this is over a month late. I promise I’ll start working on the other requests ASAP, I’ve just had a lot on my plate. I got busy, then I got lazy, then I got busy again and writers block and I have been close as of late.
Anyway, it’s here now and I hope it’s what you wanted. If not, message me and we can work it out (and it will be fixed A LOT sooner than this got out!)
Thanks!
Also, an announcement coming up, so look out for that.
Thanks again.
Requests are CLOSED.
#Sherlock oneshot#Sherlock reader inserts#reader insert#Sherlock x reader#reader inserts#Sherlock reader insert#Sherlock holmes#holmes x reader#reader x sherlock#reader x holmes#bbc Sherlock oneshots#bbc Sherlock reader inserts
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This blog is great! I just found your blog and your writing is amazing! I love it! Do you think you could do a first encounter thing for Russia?
((omg omg you’re so nice thank you so muchhh~))
((well… this turned out longer than i intended. hope you like it!))
First Encounters - 1p!Russia/Ivan Braginsky
Ivan was used to the constant sheet of white covering the city. After all, it was his home. He found comfort in the cold. But as he walked down the street, the lower half of his face nuzzled into his beloved scarf, he found himself daydreaming of a warmer place.
“When was the last time I took a vacation?” he pondered, stopping at a crosswalk as he waited for the light to change. “I wonder if my boss would allow me a few days off.”
The light changed and everyone around him began to cross. As he continued drifting through his thoughts, he bumped into someone in the middle of the street. He turned to offer an apology, but the person had already taken off, manoeuvring quickly through the crowd.
‘I hope they’re okay.’ As he was about to carry on, Ivan noticed something on the ground. It was a wallet, sitting prominently upon the slushy, brown snow.
As he carefully picked it up, a car honked at him, followed by muffled curses coming from within the vehicle. The light had changed and Ivan was the only one left standing in the crosswalk. Still, he thought the driver’s attitude was unnecessary, and an unintentionally threatening aura began emanating from him. The car immediately jerked back, nearly hitting the vehicle behind it.
Ivan safely reached the other side of the street before inspecting the wallet closer. It was well-used, even baring a few stains. Inside were ID cards, a credit card, gift cards, cash, a crumbled ticket to an event, and a family photo.
“So, their name is… s/o.” The ID pictures were all the same, though Ivan mused over how a timeline could be seen between them. However, it was the family photo that Ivan found the most interesting.
A gust of wind hit Ivan from behind, nearly ripping the picture from his hand. He decided it would be better to continue his inspection from the comfort of a nearby café. Besides, he was craving something warm to drink.
Ivan relished in the warmth as he veered into the cozy building. He brushed the snow off his broad shoulders at the door and found a seat near a window that looked over the bustling street. After placing his order, he took out the wallet again and grabbed the family photo.
S/o was front and centre on a carpeted floor, hugging a dog with a huge smile across both their faces. Behind them was an older couple occupying a loveseat and a young man dressed in a casual suit standing next to them. The scene was very sweet, though s/o seemed to brighten it the most with their beaming face.
“It’s so,” he brushed the lower half of the photo with his thumb, “warm.”
Ivan was drawn away from the picture when a young woman placed a steaming cup of cocoa on his table. He muttered a quick thank you before she disappeared.
He carefully sipped his drink while contemplating his next course of action. S/o was no doubt panicking about losing their wallet, so his first order of business was to find a way to return it. Perhaps there was contact info somewhere in their wallet, or a mailing address. Ivan began riffling through the ID cards in hopes of finding something useful.
BANG! Something hit the window next to Ivan with strong force, startling the large Russian enough to make him flinch. When he turned to investigate, he found a very reddened, very angry face staring at him through the frosty glass.
The person then ran off, barging into the café and storming over to Ivan’s table. “Excuse me,” they snapped, “I believe that’s my wallet.”
Everything happened so fast, and Ivan had yet to realise how he looked being confronted digging through a stranger’s wallet. “Oh!” He grabbed the family photo and held it up, comparing the person before him to the one in the picture. “You must be s/o!”
S/o snatched the photo from Ivan. “How dare you act so casual after stealing my wallet?! Do you know how much stress you put me through?! You… You criminal!” They took back their wallet and began gathering the scattered cards with shaky hands.
Ivan was hurt by their cruel words, but he could see their expression didn’t match their anger. He grabbed their hand and, before they could protest, said, “I found this wallet on the street after someone bumped into me, and I was looking for a way to return it. I’m sorry if I made you worry.” He put on a smile in hopes of lightening the situation, though it was difficult to keep up as s/o stared at him.
Finally, s/o released a long sigh and slumped into the seat across from Ivan. “I’m… I’m sorry,” they muttered, resting their face in the palms of their hands. “I shouldn’t have been so quick to judge. I’m just having a really rough day today. Um…” they glanced up at Ivan. “Thank you for finding my wallet.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” When he saw their confused face, he elaborated. “Your rough day. Would you like to talk about it? I think it helps when people let out their feelings, da?”
S/o leaned back in their seat, their eyes looking elsewhere. “It’s all right, I doubt you want to be burdened by a stranger’s problems.”
Ivan placed his hands on his lap, adjusting his posture. “I don’t mind. And you’re not a stranger. After all, I did search through your wallet.” Only Ivan seemed oblivious to just how creepy he sounded.
It was clear that s/o was hesitant. But Ivan sounded so genuine, and the stress building up within s/o was getting difficult to manage. “Well, I guess it’s okay. But we need to introduce ourselves first, just to make this whole thing seem a little more… uh, normal.” They cleared their throat. “Hello, my name’s s/o.”
“Hello, s/o. You can call me Ivan.” He was amused by the formal exchange. Even in their current state, s/o seemed lighthearted.
Silence fell over the table for a few seconds before s/o let go of another sigh, though this one was lighter than the last. “All right, well, here goes…”
Ivan listened intently as s/o explained everything that happened, from a tragic breakup to fighting with their best friend. The reason they were in such a hurry was to meet their older brother at his concert. “He’s an amazing violinist, and I promised him I wouldn’t be late. But then I dropped my wallet which had my ticket in it and I couldn’t get into the building and…” S/o sunk into their seat. “So, yeah, today’s been pretty rough.”
Bad luck was inevitable in life, but Ivan felt s/o had had enough bad luck for one day. He caught the attention of a waitress with a wave of his hand and asked s/o, “Would you like something to drink?”
S/o pulled out their phone and checked the time. When their shoulders slumped, they placed an order and then waited for the waitress to disappear. “The concert’s over by now, so I might as well enjoy this before I get hear how disappointed my brother is.”
“Wouldn’t he understand if you explained yourself?”
“Maybe, but my brother was really counting on me to show up. He even gave me a ticket and reserved an awesome seat for me.” They turned their gaze to the window. Silence lingered for only a few seconds before a tear slipped past their defences. “If only things were different today. I wish I could make up with my friend, and… Well, I think it was for the best my partner and I split up. They didn’t appreciate me enough anyway.” S/o tried to laugh, but it was forced.
Ivan cupped his hands around his mug. “I think your brother will understand. You did not mean to miss his concert, and you are very sorry, da?”
S/o wiped their eyes with their coat sleeve. “Uh-huh.” They sniffled, then laughed. “I think too much has happened all at once. I’m not usually this pessimistic.”
“Everyone has a bad day. It’s okay.”
The waitress returned with s/o’s order, and s/o managed to brighten up. “It’s so cold today, but I guess that’s nothing new.” After the first sip, they visibly relaxed. “This is just what I needed.”
“Do you feel better?”
S/o watched the steam rising from their cup, then nodded. “I do. I feel a lot better.” They looked up at Ivan. “Thanks for listening to me. I really appreciate it.”
There it was. The warmth Ivan saw in the family photo. Even with damp cheeks and glossy eyes, s/o was still a very warm person. It felt even better knowing Ivan played a part in bringing back their comforting aura.
S/o put down their drink and pulled out their phone. Someone was calling them, and whoever it was made s/o turn tense. “I’m sorry, I have to take this.”
Ivan waited patiently as s/o answered their phone. They tried to sound casual in the beginning, but their tone soon turned apologetic, and then grew lighthearted. By the end of the call, s/o was wearing a content smile.
“You look happy,” Ivan observed.
They chuckled. “It was my brother. He was actually worried that I didn’t show up.” S/o began drinking their beverage quicker, though flinched when they burned their tongue. “We’re going to meet up and then I can properly apologise to him.”
“That’s wonderful. I’m glad you and your brother are okay.” Ivan was a little startled when s/o chugged back the rest of their drink and stood up. “Oh, you’re leaving now?”
S/o ran their fingers through their hair and then adjusted their coat. “Yep! I’ve gotta make an effort to actually see him this time.” Before leaving, s/o approached Ivan and wrapped their arms around him in a strong hug. “Again, thank you so much for letting me vent. Um,” when they pulled away, they fished a pen from their pocket and grabbed one of the napkins on the table. “If you want, here’s my number. Maybe we could hang out again sometime?”
He was surprised, but overall happy. Ivan always struggled when it came to making friends, yet here he was already getting s/o’s number. He was joyful. “I would like that very much.”
After handing him the napkin, s/o hurried to the till to pay for their drink before dashing out of the café. As Ivan was about to examine the napkin, something slammed against the window. It was s/o again, but they were grinning from ear to ear, most likely amused by Ivan’s reaction. They pulled away and waved before finally disappearing down the street.
Ivan chuckled and looked back at the napkin. “That was nice,” he mused, sitting back in his seat with his cup in hand. As time passed, however, Ivan noticed the room getting colder. He glanced around at the other customers, but no one else looked bothered.
He soon realised that, when s/o left, they took the warmth with them.
Ivan took out his phone and went to work adding their number to his contact list. Once everything was in order, he sent them a message:
: It was nice talking to you today. I look forward to seeing you again soon! ^J^ :
Once his phone was tucked away, Ivan breathed a longing sigh. “It’s cold today.”
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To My Ex
Seeing as though you wont see this and everyone on here is a stranger to me, I think it safe to say Ill be fine posting this. Writing this is for me to vent my frustration to unknown ears. I do not in no way shape or form want your name to be said so... That is why I will keep your name out of this.
In The Beginning of our friendship was a new thing for me, seeing as though I don't go around physically trying to sleep with girls the way we started was a different experience for me. We had passion, interest, needs, and wants. We both showed each other how to love one another. We both came out of relationships we both didn't enjoy and the feeling of being together was fresh! Ultimately, I was the one that was still childish i said things I still regret. Not really understanding your background made the situation worse, and with that came the constant reassurance of my intentions. I never faulted you on that. Sometimes things that are said hurt people, and I am sorry for that.
Months later, we begin making life decisions together i.e. living together, grocery shopping, talking about kids... etc. The part about this that always bugged me was how in the back of your head you always hated doing stuff to help me out. I ALWAYS cooked, cleaned, drove, and managed us. You refused sometimes to cook or even when I cooked you refused doing them. The part that bugs me is you constantly thought I wasn't as serious as you or didn't care as much as you did. The part that bugs me is I HELD you down when things got rough. When you cried yourself to sleep I HELD you. When there was nothing in this world that would make you happy I still HELD you down and made you happy. However, things got better and we went back to how we once were.
Then life happened, I had to choose between two situations 1. Choose orders to Japan to progress in my career and have a hopeful future to support you or 2. Choose a place in the states that would give me just life experience and have you close. At the moment I did not discuss this with you once again I am at fault for that. I apologized time and time again for choosing Japan. You refused to let this go and it hung over my head like a fucking thunder storm until the day I said I’ve had enough. In a long distance relationship, the mutual connection has to increase. Conversations have to have depth, character, passion. You never end a call mad, never not say “I love you.”. Never try and start an argument because that is unnecessary stress. We had a run where that was being done, through any kind of vessel of communication. We had it in our minds this wasn't going to beat us.
Once the major holidays were over, once I flew back to japan after thanksgiving was when things hit the down slope of our relationships. Conversations were shorter, arguments started to increase. Phone calls began with “hey *****, I am terribly sorry I lost track of time. I just wanted to call to say I love you, how was your day and goodnight.” and ended with argument. As I said before, I am sorry for not making time out of my day to call you that is my fault. However, You didn't take a step back and realize sometimes he has to call his parents, have time with his friends, and sometimes just sleep. Without a doubt that was the lowest point in my life I have ever felt depressed. There would be moments where I wouldn't want to talk to anybody. Things became different and we tried to keep the sand from slipping from our fingers. But in life a relationship has to maintain effort from both parties and it felt like you weren't even trying to help.
The last couple arguments we had, I always stated whatever is going on between us needs to change or we will not be together. At a point even though I said this it never seem to click for you. You knew how much I hated arguing and how my past has be riddled with constant arguments. But You were blinded by hatred for Japan. Blinded with the fact that you felt not good enough. Blinded by the reason we were arguing was because japan was in the back of your head with every argument.
And then I finally had enough, I hate myself for saying I fell out of love with my best friend. I fell out of love with the woman that has taught me a lot about myself and the world. A Woman who had held me when I was drunk crying because I was so scared of losing her. A woman who had helped me out even when I had no money. I will never fault you for that. In all honesty there is different levels of love to me. There is unconditional love, affectionate love, everlasting love, and a friendly love. In the end I still love you for you being you, however the part that sucks is I dont have the everlasting love for you that I once had. I realized this when it took you a week to finally realize you had made a mistake by not realizing what had blinded you. It took you a week after I said I had enough to understand Japan was nothing and we really could make it. And that is something that really fucked me up because I had held you down through the worse moments of your life and you couldn't even hold me down for the worse of mine or ours. The definition of Selfish is: (of a person, action, or motive) lacking consideration for other people; concerned chiefly with one's own personal profit or pleasure. I finally no longer feel selfish for choosing Japan. I gave my all and I can live with that.
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OH MY GOSH I DIDN'T KNOW YOU LIKE GIRLS MEET WORLD. Tell me everything. All your opinions.
Honestly, Girl Meets World is one of my favorite TV shows, and I have so many thoughts on it and conspiracies and everything! I’m so sad to see it end. I have been seeing everywhere that fans are really trying to get Netflix to pick it up, and I think that’s a great idea, and I really hope something comes out of it. I’ll share a few of my thoughts and opinions about the show and what I ship and everything, but feel free to come talk off anon about it with me!
SHIPS
I’m not in the Girl Meets World fandom, so I don’t know a lot of the proper ship names, but I definitely ship Riley and Farkle and well as Maya and Lucas and also Zay and Smackle. Zay and Smackle especially after Sweet Sixteen! I think they have a nice friendship. But I would also love to see Lucas and Smackle together because I thought that moment they had in Topanga’s was really cute, even if it was to prove to Farkle that Smackle has feelings for him.
I also think that Riley is bisexual because there is undeniable chemistry between Maya and Riley even though I don’t ship them. And I don’t ship Riley and Lucas anymore. I did in the first season, but Lucas has matured a lot since the seventh grade, and I feel like it’s taking Riley a lot longer to grow into the person she’s supposed to be while it feels like Lucas is pretty set in stone. I just feel like Riley’s gotten more ditzy as the seasons have gone on while Lucas has only gotten stronger. I don’t see or feel any chemistry from them anymore, and I haven’t since Ski Lodge pt. 2.
Honestly, everything about the Texas episodes was great. Especially with Maya. And I don’t care, but I know that Maya only gave away Lucas to Riley because Riley gave him away to her. I believe Maya might’ve gotten lost a little bit with her friendship with Riley, but I don’t think that Maya wanted to be Riley. I think she wanted what Riley had, but I don’t think she wanted to be Riley. I also think that Maya’s feelings for Lucas weren’t because she absorbed part of Riley.
And of course, my OTP is Cory and Topanga. They were my OTP before I even knew what an OTP was. And I love Maya’s mom with Shawn! I wish we could’ve seen them together more since I Do, but it’s whatevvvvs. I love Shawn Hunter with my whole heart. He’s my babe and always has been. I mean look at him.
CONSPIRACIES
I think Farkle suffers from depression. It was in season two when he stopped wearing bright colors and being his crazy, cute little Farkle self. And I really noticed these changes in Zay’s first episode, The Secret Life, when Zay doesn’t understand Farkle the way the rest of the group does. I think part of his depression is triggered by the fact that Lucas, who is apparent to us to be his only male friend, is preoccupied by his friend from back home. From that episode, Farkle starts to loose his sparkle, looses his turtle necks, and begins to wear black. I think Farkle’s extremely jealous of Zay because of his friendship with Lucas, and I think it explains his reasoning behind the gift he gave to Zay during Secret Santa in season three.
I think they knew all along that this was going to be the last season. Disney Channel shows have a trend of changing their intro during the last season. Like in Austin and Ally, Hannah Montana, and Wizards of Waverly Place, both shows have different intros during their last seasons! Liv and Maddie also has a different intro this season, I believe.
Maya is the only person in the group who is an only child. It makes sense that she’s an only child. Her and her mother struggled a lot in her growing up, and there would be no reason for her to climb in Riley’s window if she had a friend at home. I think Zay has older sisters, Farkle has a younger brother or sister, Lucas definitely has brothers and sisters. I think his family is pretty big. And Smackle most definitely has an older brother. A brother who is MUCH older, though. Zay’s siblings also go to Abigail Adams High School.
OTHER OPINIONS
I DON’T THINK CHARLIE GARDNER IS CREEPY. I don’t. I loved Charlie Gardner and I wished he was in Season Three at least once. I didn’t want him to just be a “love interest” for Riley. I would’ve liked to see him every now and again for other reasons. I also think Charlie Gardner was great with Auggie. I would like to see him as a human in the show. With thoughts and opinions.
I think Riley is childish and in the real world, I don’t think she’d have a lot of friends and I also don’t blame Riley for creating Jexica in that episode. I think whatever happens in the next episode, if Girl Meets World is to be picked up by Netflix or later picked up somewhere else, will harden her. I don’t think one person can be so optimistic all the time, either, but I get that it’s a kids show, so I’m not too butthurt over it.
I see everyone always calling Lucas and Peyton Meyer in general a piece of bread. And they always show everything great that the rest of the cast is doing and then just says that Peyton’s being like a normal kid, which is okay too. I think Lucas and Peyton get an unnecessary amount of hate for no reason. I know he’s said some controversial things, and though I’m not sure the entire story of it, I don’t think it’s fair to judge him or hate him for something. Especially because he’s still a child. I don’t think any child should be hated or judged for making mistakes. Making mistakes is a part of life, and I think mistakes are first and foremost a learning experience. Your brain isn’t done developing until your well into your adulthood. I don’t think it’s fair to Peyton or any other child in the spotlight to be hated for being human and making mistakes.
IF IT GETS PICKED BACK UP...
If Girl Meets World is to ever get picked back up for whatever reason, these things are things that I want to happen:
Lucas Friar development. All I know about him is that he wears a lot of blue, he’s from Texas, he wants to be a veterinarian, he has a Pappy Joe, he held the record for riding a sheep, he’s a year older than everyone in his grade, and he got kicked out of his school for anger issues. WHICH DOESN’T JUST GO AWAY OVER NIGHT. THAT WOULD’VE BEEN PRESENT IN ALL THREE SEASONS AND WE ONLY SAW IT TWICE???? I don’t get it. I want to see more. I want more for him.
Siblings. I want to meet the siblings of the gang besides just Auggie. The writer’s room on twitter confirmed that they aren’t all only children, and I’d really like to meet them. I talked about siblings up there ^^^.
More Katy and Shawn. I love them. Even if they’re just sitting there.
More Josh. I know people don’t like Uriah and don’t think Maya and Josh are a good thing, but I don’t mind them. I don’t think that they’re bad for each other at all. Especially because they aren’t in a relationship. I think Josh would be a good person for Maya to spend her time with and vent to when things with her friends get rough or when things at school are too hard.
More fights between Maya and Riley. Best friends aren’t always friends. I would like to see more drama between the group just in general. The first couple of episodes of High School were great. Also, I would like to see more episodes about bullying too.
More mother/daughter moments. I don’t have a mom, so I love seeing Riley and Topanga moments as well as Maya and Katy moments. I even die a little when Minkus and Jennifer have moments with Farkle.
I would love to see more of Mr. Feeny as well.
I also want more episodes that aren’t in the school. Like a vacation episode or more dances! Or another party episode where they deal with the pressures of drugs and alcohol. Of course, that would be a stretch.
So those are all of my opinions and thoughts I have for now! I honestly could talk about this show for days. It’s one of my favorites, and I’m super upset that it’s getting cancelled. We definitely deserve at least one more season.
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Kong Catnip Spray Pets At Home Staggering Unique Ideas
One is a part of the home for Splodge as I nailed the carpet can be around at all times.If not, it is less intimidated by you than, for example, will sit in a few drops in her water about 3 days at a time when they shed their fur.Your cat's individual lifestyle and situation will determine which kind will require patience and time to get the cat tends to mark.The unique shape means that if you cat sharpen her claws by introducing her to the household
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Two Truths and a Lie
We played two truths and a lie this morning during our weekly office meeting. Ironic, considering my life is unraveling trying to distinguish the truth in my partner’s lies.
I’ve always ranked honesty as our top relationship quality. Looking back, I blush thinking of all the times over a glass of red wine, at the end of another marriage venting session, I’d brush over our faults and say, “But X would never lie to me.” And yet, lie he did.
Let me back up a few weeks. X came home late one night after another rough day at work, brushed past me and said, “Hard day. I don’t want to talk.” Then plopped into bed and fell asleep within minutes. His phone buzzed on the bedroom floor, the charging light blinking in the dark. Something felt off and for the first time in our history, I snooped.
I wasn’t looking for text messages from a sexy mistress or flirty texts sent to co-workers. Honestly, I didn’t know what I was looking for but something in me told me there was something wrong. I found nothing but lost some respect for myself.
X has been drinking a lot more lately and casually brought up the idea of medicinal marijuana more than once in the past six months. Unless you’ve lived with an addict, it’s hard to explain the manipulative tone they get when talking about drinking or drugs. It’s too casual, too pre-planned, and sometimes too convincing. They are so good at the game of emotional chess that you start thinking, “Is this normal and casual usage? Am I the one making it more than it is? Maybe I’m just paranoid.” Trust me, you’re not.
The misconception I’ve heard from outsiders is that the problem with your partner’s addictions arise when they’re drunk or high. But from experience, it’s not the worst of it. X shoots into rapid-cycling bipolar episodes around the four-beer (or two joints) benchmark but he talks himself down from it. The real problem starts when he hasn’t had a drink or smoke, when I’m the one standing in the way of him and the next high. He used to call and ask permission to have a beer or smoke with his friends and I started feeling more like his parole officer than wife. I never said no but stated facts and ended with, “But you’re an adult, make the decision but handle the consequences.”
At some point he just stopped asking me. He started spending more time playing sports and gulping down beers with friends, rather than talking to me. By the time I get home he’s so exhausted from his day he just sleeps and ignores me. I didn’t know about the drinking until last night. I assumed the combination of bipolar meds and heavy physical activity was wiping him out. His anger, stress, yelling, and depression are getting out of hand again though. He finally admitted he’s been drinking and not telling me, as well as getting high on whatever he can find and hide.
No wonder his days off are miserable for he and I both. He can’t stand to be around me, because that means sobriety. And I can’t stand to be around someone who obviously doesn’t want me there.
The silver lining? X decided he wants to start up with NA and start addressing his addiction.
Addicts aren’t simply addicted to drugs; they’re addicted to chaos. If X wasn’t drinking or getting high, he’d be wreaking havoc on our marriage with unnecessary fights or raising hell at work. It’s a pattern. Every six months I start preparing for the next hurricane. When things are too comfortable for too long, X starts to feel uncomfortable. He gets an itch and needs to shake things up, bringing me along on an involuntary ride.
So, two truths and a lie:
-I love my husband.
-My husband loves me.
-We want to be happy.
Can’t spot the lie? Neither can I.
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