#lent me a pair of her flats to wear instead but i think they are miraculously even worse than the wood chipper shoes. like the wood chipper | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

darklyndivinely · 2 years

Text

The Inevitable Heartbreak

Fandom(s) - Moon Knight, Marvel

Pairing(s) - Marc Spector x gn!avatar!reader, (Implied) Steven Grant x gn!reader

Prompt(s) - "You'll find someone better than me, I promise you that."

Summary - With pain dripping from his lips and tears falling from his eyes, Marc Spector breaks your heart.

Warnings - Angst, like seriously angst, slight fluff, use of curse words, making out.

Wordcount - 2k+

A/N - My first ever fic on Tumblr and it's for @beautifulbows924's 2k celebration, I'm so happy for you. Please check her out everyone, she's amazing. This fic has like too many details that maybe fell flat and Marc's probably ooc so forgive me for that. I have written the reader to be Hermes' avatar who is the Greek god of travellers, merchants, thieves and many other things however reader can be taken as Mercury's avatar as well as he's never exclusively mentioned and also please check out Sedated by Hozier, a song that matches the story's vibe. I would love to know what y'all think about it. Thanks and stay safe all.

Leave a tip! • Masterlist • Taglist Form

It was early in the morning when Marc arrived. Silent steps and imposing presence, he did not appear to be in a fantastic mood. Eyeing his sage green bag and the shadow to his stance, you ponder over what could have happened. You chalk his bad mood upto Khonshu as you shut the door behind him. He probably made Marc do something shitty again.

You were lucky in that regard, you suppose. Your god doesn't demand a lot of you. A few errands here and there, sometimes he asks you to disguise yourself and pass on a few gifts to mortals he deems worthy and occasionally train his demichildren, but he has never forced you to commit to things you weren't comfortable with.

Marc deviates from your usual routine today. Instead of heading towards the kitchen or your balcony where you both usually have your breakfast together, he heads towards your bedroom. You don't give his actions a second thought, assuming that he wants to exchange his clothes for new fresh ones that he must have brought in his bag and so you head to your kitchen to prepare your regular cups of coffee.

When you return to your living room a couple minutes later with two steaming cups of coffee in your hands, Marc is returning from your bathroom with all his bathing necessities clutched in his hands that he proceeds to dump in his bag. You wonder at his actions as you set the cups on the table. A peek in his bag shows that he has retrieved almost all of his and Steven's things that were kept in your apartment; spare clothes, combs, towels, perfumes, books that Steven had lent you, along with all his bookmarks, everything.

You question him on it, but he ignores you and instead steps up to your quaint coffee table and hesitantly plucks four of the six watches there. He carefully tucks them in his bag as you stiffen at his actions.

Marc was a casually passionate horologist, a word you had curiously looked up for him. He had a rather impressive collection of multi hued, antique, as well as modern watches. Those watches had been an integral part of building intimacy between you both. Every milestone of your relationship had been accompanied by Marc fondly pressing a watch he treasured into your palms. When you had asked him why he did that, he had told you that he wanted to share with you a hobby that brought him genuine joy and so you had cherished every single gift he had ever given you and this rather excitable side of his that you got to be a part of. You found yourself obsessed over the glimmer in his eye every time he noticed you wearing one of his pieces, every breathy little 'I love you' that used to tumble from his lips just after and the way his fingers would ghost over your wrist throughout your time together.

As he zips his bag with all of him you had stored in every part of your apartment, a piercing dread spreads through your heart. You dazedly observe Marc drag his eyes longingly around your apartment.

You shouldn't be so affected, you think, they're just watches after all and he probably needs them but you can't help but wonder if you had given too much emotional value to them, if you were the only one who viewed them as a really crucial part of your connection with Marc. Your heart feels heavy in your chest as if it has been stuffed with rocks and your throat feels constricted as you try to speak up.

"Marc," you start weakly, "what is going on?"

He finally meets your eyes, trepidation littered all over his face. He sports his usual creases on his glabella, smile lines more prominent than ever as he runs his fingers through his unkempt hair.

"I think we should break up." He says it, finally says it as his wide eyes bore into yours to gauge your reaction.

You wonder if he can identify anything you're feeling on your face because you sure as hell can't. Are you even feeling anything right now? You're not sure. All you feel is like you are caged somewhere outside your body and can't conjure up any emotion even if you tried.

"Oh." is all you say, blinking heavily. With just a couple of his words, you can foresee all the turmoil, the distress and the pain with arms extended ready to consume and eat you alive. How long will you survive or rather, will you survive at all?

"Please, say something! Anything!" Marc pleads, stepping closer to you. Still, there' are a couple steps between you both and Marc has never seemed so close yet so far away, not even when he so often withdrew into his little bubble for extended periods of time. Today, it feels as if you're looking at him from another planet. He seems so strange... so different. You wonder when things changed and you didn't even notice them.

"Is this because of Khonshu?" You ask, tilting your head, the answer vibrating deep in your bones.

Marc doesn't reply, he doesn't have to. You can see it in the way his eyes dart away, glaze over and immediately return to yours.

His unspoken confirmation is all you need to finally snap out of your numb state because, of course its Khonshu. That dumb old bird had been fucking your lives for way too long now and your restraint has finally snapped. You were going to put him in his place today. He will learn to respect his avatar as a person and not a toy to be mistreated. He thinks he's oh so powerful, well you'll show him powerful. You'll reach out to every one of your contacts; gods, demigods, nasty witches ready to fuck him over with just one word out of your mouth. That selfish little bastard won't ruin Marc and yours relationship any longer, you'll make sure of it.

Heavy hands suddenly tug at your shoulders, spinning you around quickly as your eyes connect with Marc's. In your anger, you realize you had picked up your golden wing keychain with your car keys attached to it.

Marc pulls you close to him, his breath fanning your face as he gently rubs your shoulders. You're caught between feeling angry at him for stopping you and also feeling relieved that he's finally touching you in some way, that there's no longer a huge distance between you two.

"Marc, don't you.." He shushes you abruptly, looking spent to the bones as if he has reached the end of his limit and was about to break any second.

"You know why I have to do this. Please don't make this any harder than it already is."

"No, that's the thing, Marc, you don't have to do this. You know that and yet every time you bend over to do everything Khonshu says." You answer indignantly, "It doesn't make sense. He cannot keep using you like this anymore. He's making you end your relationship with me and you're doing it, just like that."

You push him away, "Where's my say in all this, Marc? Huh? Do you consider me that weak, that defenseless to just break up with me because Khonshu did what? Threatened to kill me?"

"I don't consider you defenseless, you know that, but I can't risk it. Dammit! I can't fucking risk it." He chokes out heavily, his hands clawing at your arms to tug you back towards him.

"With me, you're always going to be in danger, there's always going to be a threat hanging over your head and I. can't. fucking. risk it, you know it. You know all of it." He cries against your hands, holding your palms upto his cheeks as his tears trickle down your fingers, "I'm sorry for this, I really, really am but if something happens to you because of me, if you get hurt because of me, I won't ever be able to forgive myself."

He's shaking against you. You've never seen him like this before and it absolutely shatters your heart. Why do things have to be like this? So desolate and hopeless? Why only for you both?

His confession ignites within you feelings of love and fear and concern and desperation and anger and it's all too fucking much. The next thing you know, you're clutching at Marc's jacket and molding your lips with his. One of his hands wraps around your waist, the other gripping the side of your neck with such a familiar touch that your heart howls in agony.

You won't be able to comb your fingers through his hair anymore or softly caress his eyelids when he finally returns from his avatar duties to spend some time with you, no eating obnoxious amounts of takeouts while you lounge on your couch or training with him on rare nights where you shift in your armours and fight each other. No drinking till you're both shitfaced and horny and can't keep your hands off each other or forcing him to buy matching shirts with you so you could bond with both him and Steven over it.

You'll never get to do any of it with him ever again and it makes you sob in his mouth as you kiss him like you are greedy for the air in his lungs. His lips are familiar and safe and warm against yours and you don't know how long you hold each other, how long you both cry as your fingers clutch at his shirt and his stay glued to your jaw.

What's going to happen to you now? What going to happen to Steven? Oh gods, Steven. He's going to be so heartbroken. You are going to be so heartbroken. His sweet and tender disposition, always tousled hair and his animated ramblings, you're never gonna see him again. You'll miss the way he constantly moves his hands as he talks and the ever-present glimmer in his eyes deeply, his absence would slowly drain you of life, would slowly drain you of him. You wonder if he can see you right now, if he is indeed listening to all that is transpiring.

When you open your eyes a while later, having calmed down from your most recent wave of heartache, Marc's eyes are reflecting hazel from the gentle sunlight hitting his face. His forehead is peppered with faded scars, moist eyes gazing at you like a devout at their god and you wonder how you can feel so much love and misery with just a single eye contact. Why do you have to love these two wonderful and beautiful and compassionate men and then lose them just like that? Why does Marc have to be so stubborn and protective and paranoid, and why would you still utterly wreck yourself for him?

"I'm sorry," he whispers, voice hoarse, "you'll find someone better than me, I promise you that." His eyes flit across your face repeatedly, desperately. "You'll find someone better than us... and when you do, you won't regret a single thing."

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You won't, you want to scream at him. You'll never find someone like them. Someone like him. Ever.

"Close your eyes." He says softly. You don't want to but you reluctantly do as he says, burning the image of him under the golden rays and the bridge of his nose, the creased glabella and the delicate bow of his lips in your eyes and your soul.

The only indication of his departure is the soft click of your door, the lost 'I love you' he leaves you and the two cold cups of coffee still waiting to be held. He's left your heart and your apartment just that little bit more empty.

A cold breeze sweeps through your living room, your god materialising behind you. He's probably been here a while, you think as you wipe at your ever-watering eyes.

You wonder if he can teach you how to outrun the pain.

#roses2kwc #darkly and divinely written #moon knight #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector x you #marc spector x y/n #marc spector

126 notes · View notes

hoshi-u-love-me · 3 years

Text

TTT

Group : Seventeen

Pairing : Seventeen × Reader

Genre : Drabble

Word count : 1.7k

Warning : Randomness, absurdity, 🐴이 안되는 컨텐즈, perverted tendencies (it's ok tho it's not harrassment)

a/n : I saw this one video where hannie literally stashed mentos and dalgona in his front overall pocket and I just !!!!!!! EUREKA

One thing you love about your friend group is that nothing ever happens twice. Meaning life is never boring. It is never flat. There is always something you can expect but you don't know what.

Kind of like anxiety.

But better.

So when Kim Mingyu came to your place, pack YOUR bag with YOUR clothes and YOUR other essentials and claimed that he's kidnapping you, you weren't even surprised.

He had taken every one to an impromptu road trip, going as far as renting a minibus without anyone knowing.

"Yah, Kim Mingyu, you forgot my phone charger!" You whined, throwing a crumpled piece of snack wrapper at him, who was driving.

He snaps his head in your direction for a split second before refocusing on the road, "I'm sorry, but you had a lot of things to begin with"

Chan, who was seated next to you, leaned in and whispered, "that and he was totally distracted by your drawer full of panties and bras" he smirked when he saw you widening your eyes in horror.

"Waaaaaaaaaah, Kim Mingyu is a pervert!" Jeonghan yelled from behind you, teasing the younger, "Kim Mingyu saw (Y/N)'s panties and he likes it!" He continued.

Mingyu stammered, trying to explain himself, "y-yah! No! I mean, I-I did saw it but- but- I was helping her! She wouldn't do it herself and someone has to do it! (Y/N)! You should be thankful of me, if I didn't pack them, you'd have no underwear for the rest of the trip!!" He yelled back.

This time, it was Jun who quipped at him, "so the choices were you seeing her undergarments or us knowing she's not wearing anything underneath? Mingyu-yah, you're selfish"

You groaned at their childish behaviour, "that's it! I'm looking for girl friends to hang out with"

You had hoped that would shut the conversation down but your poor choice of words only resulted in most of them ooh-ing you, "girl on girl action, nice" Seungcheol joked from the front seat next to Mingyu.

At Seungcheol's words, the car went to a whole new level of crazy.

It took 15 minutes before the subject of the conversation changed and boy were you relieved.

Seokmin leaned forward from his seat to tap on your shoulder, "(Y/N), I don't feel so good, do you have anything to help my nausea?" You reached into your bag, trying to look for anything that could help his carsickness but found nothing.

Before you can tell him the bad news though, Jeonghan who was seated next to him had shoved something to his hands, "here, I figured someone might be getting sick of MINGYU'S SHITTY DRIVING SKILLS," he yelled the last part to make sure Mingyu heard him, "so that should help"

"Anything for back pain, hyung?" Soonyoung quipped, "I think I pulled something during yesterday's practice" he pouted.

Jeonghan reached into his bag for a second before producing a patch that could help Soonyoung's problem, "don't worry, it's the brand you like that doesn't smell so bad" he said as he leaned back and hand the small item to the younger guy.

Chan got curious and decided to test Jeonghan, "what about something to nibble on? I think I'm kinda hungry" he said. Jeonghan raised an eyebrow at him, "you think you should snack right now? When we get to the town we're gonna have something to eat and it's in like- wait, Mingyu, how much longer 'till we get there?"

Instead of Mingyu, it was Seungcheol who answered him, "an hour and a half-ish, might as well get comfy back there" he said.

"See? Come on hyung, I'll be splitting some of the snack with (Y/N) anyways and I'll still be able to eat there!" Chan whined. Jeonghan was already convinced by Seungcheol's answer anyways so he thought, 'why not?' Before reaching back into his bag and took a bag of chips and handing it over to Chan, "but share with (Y/N), I don't want to lose my place as her favorite member" he said, winking at you when you turn your head towards him.

"Who said you're my favorite member? It could easily be Chan or Vernon since both of them have my back most of the times" you retorted at him which elicit a "yup yup, cool guys squad never dies" from Vernon at the very back while pumping his fist at you in which you returned. Chan on the other hand was laughing.

This time, Jeonghan raised an eyebrow at you, as if daring you to say more, "I said so because if you won't admit it, I won't lend you one of my chargers" he lifted up a phone charger from his bag.

You squinted your eyes at him and scoffed, "that's an iphone charger." He feigned a shocked look, going as far as putting a hand to his chest, "dear baby (Y/N), I am trully shocked that you don't think I know you at all" he shook his head with mock sadness.

It was until he reached back into his bag again and lifted up a type-C charger proudly with a smirk, "m'lady" he dangle the charger for a bit in front of your face before dropping it on your lap.

"Okay, no, you're right, you're my favourite member" you grinned and shot him a flying kiss which he pretended to catch and press to his heart.

"Woah, hyung, that's awesome! What else do you have in your bag?" Seokmin exclaimed, leaning closer to Jeonghan to take a peek inside his bag.

Jeonghan hummed and scanned the content, "basic things that you guys might need I guess, like... earplugs?" "Oop- that's for me I think" Minghao said from next to Vernon, making Jeonghan toss the items to him so he could sleep.

He then returned to name some other things which entices Seungkwan to say the least. "I bet you don't have EVERY 'basic needs' though" he scoffed, crossing his arms.

This made Jeonghan slightly offended. He turned in his seat to glare at the younger, "I so do!" "Nuuh, you couldn't have" "what if I do?" "Okay, if you have 5 items that I ask for then I'll pay for your next meal" "Done!" "Done!"

Seungkwan narrowed his eyes for a few momenta before clapping his hands, "ah, this, eyemask" Jeonghan took out two eyemasks from his bag before shoving it back in.

"That's easy... what about... masks?"

Jeonghan shoved his hands in and pulled out two items, "which one? Anti-covid or beautifying your face?"

You 'ooh'-ed at him, "oh yeah, we're DEFINITELY having a beauty night tonight" he said.

"Does that mean-"

You were cut off when he took out a jar of facemask that you both loved. Seeing the item in his hand made you squeal in delight.

"Damn it, that was my next guess," Seungkwan muttered under his breath, "okay so, I'll play fair and call it 3 out of 5... but next is... iphone earbuds!" He exclaimed, trying to trick his hyung since he knew his hyung uses a samsung phone.

(Not so) shockingly, he had one in his bag, holding it proudly.

While Seokmin and Soonyoung were whooping in excitement and wonder, Seungkwan was muttering curses under his breath.

Jeonghan looked extremely proud of himself, he had a grin permanently etched on his face which irked Seungkwan even more due to his smugness.

"Okay, okay, one more, you don't have this then I won't have to pay for your damn meal" he said. Jeonghan just shrugged and motioned for Seungkwan to go forth with his guess.

It took him a moment to think of something. Eyebrows were scrunched and eyes flitting, indicating that he's thinking hard.

A look of revelation suddenly appeared on his face. With a smirk, he bravely said, "sanitary pads"

The whole car 'boo'ed at him and his absurd guess. "That is just absurd!" Jihoon said, "hey, I played fair! He said anything!" Seungkwan retorted, defending himself.

Everyone was split between supporting Seungkwan's guess and saying that he was misusing the loophole, some were just straight up calling him nasty, in which you replied with, "how is it nasty ? YOU're nasty"

"Everyone, everyone!" Jeonghan called out, effectively shutting everyone up, "Seungkwan may have found a loophole and it is within his rights to use it, because let's be honest I would've too if I were him," he chuckled.

"However! What he did not realize is that I'm amazing" he smirked.

"No way..." Seungkwan said under his breath.

Jeonghan only nodded victoriously. He reached into his bag for the last time, grab the thing he wanted and held it up proudly.

The whole car went crazy.

Even the driving Mingyu got curious and looked back and forth between the back seat and the road ahead, earning a scolding smack from Seungcheol.

Seungkwan yelled out in disdain, screaming "this is unfair!" Multiple times.

"You forgot it's nearing (Y/N)'s time of the month and she seem to always have it at the most unconvenient time" he smirked.

This made you scrunch your face at him, "how did you know about my cycle??" "You seem to forget that I know a lot of stuffs about you" he smiled proudly. That didn't make you feel any better initially though.

You turn to look at Chan, "does he really know my cycle?" You asked. Chan nodded with a tight-lipped smile at you, "he remind everyone to take precautions whenever it's your period or nearing your period so that you wouldn't lash at anyone for being annoying, he even mark it on his calendar"

Now his constant sweet texts, food delivered, desserts bought, and hoodies lent during your period makes much more sense.

Knowing what you learnt, you look at Jeonghan with puppy dog eyes, batting your lashes at him, "awww you really do care about me don't you, Hannie ?" He squealed and grab your face in his hands, "awww of course I do, you're our baby, my baby" he spoke as if he was speaking with a baby.

Chan frowned at the sight before him, "I thought I was supposed to be the baby around here"

#kpop #seventeen #pledis #17 #seventeen scenario #kpop scenario #seventeen imagine #kpop au #seventeen au #mingyu #jeonghan #kpop seventeen #drabble #pledis seventeen

59 notes · View notes

ddaenghoney · 4 years

Text

chapter twenty; finale.

masterlist link in blog description.

As a successful songwriter, you want nothing more than the acknowledgment that the chart-topping musical pieces are your own creations. But contracts, relationships, and the difficulty of facing the stakes involved head on, keep your mouth shut until pressure builds too much.

Pairing(s): Park Jimin x Y/N, Min Yoongi x Y/N

disclaimer: any characters depicted do not represent the actual personality of the respected idol in real life.

Series warning(s)/genre(s): Chapter-based written fic, Slow-burn relationship(s), Fake-dating, Unrequited love, Songwriter/producer!oc, idol!Jimin, idol/songwriter/producer!Yoongi, friends with benefits, drama, romance, smut, angst, fluff (updated as needed)

Chapter warning(s): none.

Word count: 5558

if you enjoy please, please let me know!

“SoundWave Disclosed” trends within an hour the article releases. Briefly mentioning Jimin cracking the company’s glass by his brash statement in front of the most popular summer festival, the reporter you spoke with made sure to leave no detail forgotten. Like a proper interview, the article is not focused on literary conjecture, but instead the words you said verbatim. Unaltered, remorseless, and eloquently you state the bigger picture of the truth.

“When I think back on it all now, I’m angry at myself. I’m angry that I didn’t give my efforts the value they deserved by giving away my name. I shouldn’t have ever allowed myself to lie, but when I wanted to tell the truth, so many other careers were held over my head to keep me quiet. Either way I went wouldn’t be painless, but at least now people can decide for themselves what they think of me with the facts out in the open.”

You look at the public’s commentary with this reveal. Wanting to face the results head on, regardless of positivity, you scroll through various feeds, peruse videos, let the words find you in the height of spreading smoke. Wandering through the volume of opinions blindly, you believe it easier to find your way about when this article is unabashedly your perspective.

The frustration and petty verbiage thrown in your way clogs your ears, but the ground you step along is smooth like each step will undoubtedly be solid beneath your feet. It’s the apologies of YouTube idol news accounts that speculated on your intentions with Yoongi, the comments giving SoundWave’s manipulative dealings proper attention, and the familiar voices ahead of you calling for you to keep walking that let you feel confident in your strides.

You wear a cap and keep the large plaid shirt lent to you close to your skin while you sit with dangling legs. A bright pink type of flavored lemonade is half full in front of your loosely crossed arms. Namjoon’s voice speaks incoherently in the background behind you as the streaming site playlists blurs the ambiance of his cafe into a state of lulling energy.

“To be honest with you,” Seokjin’s finger scrolls the web page depicted on his phone that’s flat atop the bar. “I wish you took a picture for the article. I would’ve gotten you some kind of designer jacket or something so you could really tell everyone ‘fuck you’-- I’m the best of your friends in that regard, you know?”

“I already have people following my social media because of that article, I’m sure they can just see some pictures of me on my Instagram.”

“Admit I’m the best of your friends-”

“I think the one whose dorm room she crashed in for two years straight in college deserves that title, Jin.” Namjoon grasps his glass of water when he returns to you two. You huff as Seokjin nods his head admittedly in silent agreement. A sudden scowl escapes Namjoon’s lips when his neck arches to get an upside down perspective of the words Seokjin reads on his phone. “Don’t encourage her to look at comments. Lots of idiots out there.”

“A lot of people think I wasn’t the worst of the whole situation though.” You smile at Namjoon, and take a quick sip of your drink when he narrows his eyes at you with an unsatisfied gleam in them. You swallow the beverage and glance to Seokjin who swivels in his seat to look towards the front windows. A tiny nod brings you back to Namjoon and you meekly speak, “But I shouldn’t have been staring at them all for hours yesterday. You’re right.”

“You called me saying you made the worst decision of your life-”

“In her defense, she was four glasses deep in wine when she called you to say that.”

You point a finger to Seokjin’s sentence and nod. “In my defense.”

“All I’m saying,” Namjoon lightly chuckles as he leans against the counter behind him. “Worry less about them. It’s going to be crazy for at least a couple of weeks, so try not to look up all the commentary like you’ve been doing.”

“Yeah, go on dates with your boyfriend instead. Can’t he rent you a boat to cruise around the river on or something?”

“I could rent a boat.” You roll your eyes, shrugging. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea. He’s been pretty stressed between my problems and figuring out all the aspects of starting up the company with Hoseok.” You rest your jaw on your hand, staring absently at your drink with pursed lips as you consider the option of a relaxing evening spent on the river.

“Just take a fishing rod with you for him. He sucks at fishing, but he likes it a lot.” Seokjin says, glancing back at a small group of young adults that chatter amongst themselves as they go to a table. After a moment of assessment he faces back towards you and Namjoon who look at him with narrowed eyes. “I was just making sure they weren’t stalking-”

“How did you become friends with Yoongi in the first place?” You blurt out in bewilderment, while Namjoon nods in agreement with your question. “You were friends with him before I even knew him, but never mentioned how.”

“He happened to be on the same fishing boat with me like a year ago.” Seokjin shrugs, reaching for his fork to continue munching on the half finished slice of cheesecake. “I may have knocked his expensive sunglasses into the ocean.”

Namjoon bursts into laughter as you raise an eyebrow. Seokjin ignores you both to stuff a large bite into his mouth.

“And you somehow befriended him instead of making him hate you like I probably would’ve if that’s how we met?” You ask with a tilt of your head, and Seokjin takes no time to properly swallow his food before speaking to you again with one cheek stuffed,

“Clearly, I have a way with people, Y/N.” You smile and shake your head, accepting the answer as you go back to sipping your drink. While Namjoon presses for more details, you click onto the internet typing in a search for evening rental cruises. Staring at the various options available and filtering them to a short notice, you can’t help smiling softly as the idea of an exuberant date goes through your mind. Such a public endeavor as well, though there would be ample space between the two of you and spectators, you won’t have to worry about any of them seeing the two of you. The simplicity of it feels relaxing on its own.

A startling familiarity enters your ears. Like ballads sung before the ambiance is similar, but lyrics new as you recognize the voice playing from the cafe’s speakers as Jimin. You look up from your phone, looking nowhere in particular, but focus on the words-- the song he wrote on his own from you with a hopeful intent of somehow putting it onto radios somehow. You bite your lip as the bittersweet melody crosses your senses and the gentle request he sings, “I want you to be your light,” brings a tightened and tiny curl to your lips.

“I could change it.” Namjoon speaks up and takes you out of the moment. You shake your head, refraining from any laughter at their worried expressions as they gauge your reaction to the song.

“No, it’s a nice song.” You say softly, meaning your words.

Jimin’s career is entirely up in the air at this point. With the release of this very song as a rebellious act towards SoundWave and him admitting that he hadn’t written any of his other songs, he finished the festival to receive a surprisingly loud applause from the crowds, you heard. Nonetheless, the internet itself isn’t as optimistic as the evening was for Jimin. You’re hopeful despite it all, but you can’t over estimate the ability of SoundWave and Jimin’s simultaneous scandals to beat every odds against them.

Though you avoid dwelling on the worry, knowing ultimately that you’ll find out through the media, and can simply hope.

---

You sit criss crossed on your desk chair, perusing a boat rental agency leisurely and without much interest for what’s before your eyes. Your mind is further away, pondering words in your head in a medley of arrangements. Hoping some combination will strike you into an inspired mood, you simply scroll onwards on the page of various yacht sizes and at this point the action becomes more robotic than conscious.

Your head perks downs the direction of your front door beyond the wall where you sit in your studio. As you glance to the clock at the bottom of your screen, you refrain from gasping at the ten o’clock reading, having not realized how much time went away from you in the monotony of the day after leaving Namjoon’s cafe.

“Angel?” Yoongi’s voice calls out as you hop off from your chair to greet him.

“I’m in my studio!” You say out in return while shimmying your second foot into the pair of slippers and heading for the doorway. You open it fully from its ajar state and exit, but immediately scuff the floor as you halt to a stop so as not to bump into Yoongi. “Oh-”

“Careful-” Yoongi says, reaching for your arm so you don’t hit it against the framing, then chuckles softly. “Guess I interrupted something?”

“Not really,” You say sheepishly and sigh softly. “I just didn’t realize it was already this late.” You admit as you collect his hand within yours to lead him back into the studio space. “I was going to try and mess around with lyrics, but couldn’t think of anything, so I was trying to do something else while I mulled it over, but Joon keeps getting on me about looking at social media too much--” You shrug, turning to him to mumble admittedly, “Which he’s right about, I guess.”

“Guess,” Yoongi repeats with an amused smile as you ignore the teasing tone to sway your hands between you. He hums, glancing beyond your shoulder to the large monitor displayed on your desk. “Thinking about becoming a boat captain?”

“Oh!” You quickly turn from him to click an exit on the internet window, “What boat?”

Yoongi laughs, sliding into your desk chair as you click around to open up a clothing website instead. “I was looking for clothes, actually. An ad must’ve come up for yachts-” You sentence cuts off from a tiny squeal escaping your mouth as Yoongi pulls you back to sit atop his lap.

“That’s a pretty luxurious ad, babe.” When you whine in disagreement, Yoongi simply smiles a small kiss against your cheek. “Okay then. Ad then. I’ll pretend to believe you.”

“Pretend to be surprised if you ever end up on one for an evening too, please.”

“Okay.” Yoongi hugs you while you giggle from the ticklish ministrations he dances along your jaw. “Hey, guess what.”

“You’re going to let me keep this flannel?” You voice murmurs before placing a sweet, chaste kiss to Yoongi’s lips before he has time to react to the silly request. When you pull away, he glances down to the attire of yellow plaid worn on your figure and his head tilts contemplatively.

“Because it looks nice on you, I’ll let you keep it for now.” Your pouting lips used to plead do nothing to stop Yoongi’s warm smile as he kisses you again and says quietly. “Hoseok and I decided on a building.”

“Really?” The tone of your voice rises as your eyes widen with a happy surprise. Yoongi nods with an utterly bright smile adorning his face, accepting the quick peck you place against his expression and continuing on with bubbly interest, “Where at? No-- actually, what’s the name going to be anyways?”

“The building’s actually only a couple of subway stations from Namjoon’s cafe, so I guess you can visit him more often than now.”

“He’ll get sick of me.” You say, shrugging off the tiny shake of Yoongi’s head so you can press on with the subject at hand. “I can’t believe you both found a place so quickly.”

“Well, maybe that’s the easier part. Figuring out everything else will take awhile still, but a couple of investors are interested, and I think I’ve found a person that can do a better job at leading everything overall than Hoseok and I can.”

“So you’re both not going to fight for the CEO title?” You ask, fiddling with the hair on the back of his head as Yoongi just scoffs gently at the teasing inquisition. He shakes his head while his hands situate on your sides to help shift you on his lap as you turn slightly to better see him.

“That’s not something I’m interested in, no. I just want to make music.”

You smile at Yoongi fondly, unintentionally causing a little flush to peek on the tips of his cheeks. Considering the option to be in joint-leadership over the entirety of their company is so obviously available, you find it slightly jarring that Yoongi doesn’t feel any need to reach out for the position. Though you think his answer best suits him, especially when you remember that the manipulation of his image is what stopped him from being the musician that he had wanted to be for so long now.

Squeezing your waist with his hands, Yoongi kisses you softly. A hand of yours falls to his shoulder while the other remains interweaved in his hair to hold him close as the kiss lingers. Breaking away after a minute, Yoongi’s head tilts, appearing curious as he gently inquires, “What are you thinking, baby?”

“I’m just really happy for you.” Your voice trickles simply, though the sincerity causes Yoongi’s lips to tighten into a bashful smile while he just nods and lets his eyes glance downwards from the radiating endearment in your eyes. You take note of more pink decorating his skin, and just hug onto him tightly, mumbling sweetly against Yoongi’s cheek. “You’re so cute. I can’t wait to see whatever you produce next.”

“You should help me with a couple of the songs, angel.” Yoongi murmurs while smiling at your actions, rubbing his hands along your sides as you squeeze onto him. “I really liked working together.”

“We’re a good team, I think.” Yoongi hears the twinge of a bashful hesitancy in your words, making him have for force back an endeared sigh and replace it with a nod as you start to continuously press tiny kisses against his face to further yourself from the embarrassment you feel for the mushy words.

“I think so too-- what is your face so red for?” He laughs outright, not allowing you to hide away your rosy expression by catching your jaw gently with a hand. “You’re flustered for no reason.”

“It just felt like such a cliche thing to say-” You barely manage to mumble the sentence before Yoongi’s cutting your lips off with his own against them. Humming in thought as he pulls away and ignores the small pat of your hand against his chest for teasing you, Yoongi speaks with a smile,

“But it’s the truth, so it’s okay. You can be a Hallmark card all you want, and I’ll still love you-”

“Don’t tease me.” You attempt to sound firm, but nonetheless smile at the soft admission at the end of his sentence. Yoongi bites back any further jokes that you’re sure he’d enjoy to say, instead of giving you the quiet moment to wade off some of the meadow on your skin. “Can’t believe you came here at ten in the evening, by the way. When you’ll just have to leave soon to go home-”

“Who said I was going to leave soon?”

“Who said you’re allowed to stay over?”

Yoongi chuckles, reclining so that his back rests properly against the chair as you try to maintain your defiant expression. It’s utterly useless considering how there’s a playful smile etched into your face, so Yoongi just shrugs. “Tell me to leave then, baby,”

Refraining from laughter you instead bite your bottom lip, and cross your arms while Yoongi’s head tilts to wait for your reply with a coy gleam in his irises. Instead of a verbal reply for the moment, you scoot off of his lap, beginning to walk past him as he spins casually on the chair for his eyes to follow your movements. “If you’re staying, then you’ll have to sleep on the couch since I don’t have a guest bedroom.”

“You’re so,” Yoongi exhales like bits of laughter, shaking his head as he gets off the chair to catch up to you before you’re able to dip around the corner. A small squeal leaves your lips as Yoongi’s arms wrap around your waist to pull you back against his chest. Immediately he lays a buttery trail along your cheek as you laugh at his reaction and place your hands over top of his wear they fiddle with the buttons of his shirt that you wear, “If I’m staying on the couch, then I want this back, sweetie.”

---

In early February a small celebratory party causes Seokjin’s club to close its doors to the public. Though Yoongi told him over and over that the gesture was unnecessary, his worries were ignored by Seokjin who stated that he wanted to help give a nice evening to his friends and recognize the accomplishment of the official opening of Sope Ent. that would occur at the end of the month.

The employee pool was nowhere near the size of SoundWave at its peak the years earlier, but everyone working for Yoongi and Hoseok’s company were hand-picked and a feeling of camaraderie flourished throughout the months beforehand of work to become organized. The building was mostly finished, but a handful of office spaces and studios were still in the process of being completed, leading to you and some others opting to work from home while all the preparation continued on.

Because of your home studio being the location where you did practically all of your work originally, you had little care for the fact that you’d find your way to the building later than the majority of employees. The excitement of working with the artists that signed so far was a far more important focus to you, and in some instances surprising like when you noticed Jinsol’s name appearing on a list of accepted trainees (though Namjoon was more surprised as it meant he would need to find a replacement for her part-time position at his cafe).

Ultimately, you’re enshrouded in anticipation for future months and beyond of working as a recognized songwriter and producer. Yoongi’s unoften worried mentions that he’s apologetic to the fact that you’re in some regards starting from the bottom up are easily squashed by your vibrant energy assuring him that you’re nothing but happy to be able to continue working with the career you had always wanted.

Beyond that, you’re proud of Yoongi and Hoseok’s ability to get everything together in a considerably short stretch of time. Though it meant Hoseok’s plan of releasing music was pushed back so that it could be released under their company’s name, the wait ended up being worth it as it allowed media to cause an interest in what would come.

The weeks immediately following the article you released caused a dramatic shift in SoundWave’s perception in the public. With your name getting dragged early on for participation despite the manipulation, so many people decided to stop supporting the company and artists by association that they went through understandably hard times. Every group and soloist offered apologies, but the currents changed only when Yerin publicly apologized and stepped down from her position as CEO, with the board of directors promising for change.

You realize she was simply a scapegoat because the board did have a larger hand in what went on throughout SoundWave, but you manage to find satisfaction in this method, because the majority of artists came out with their careers still intact. Though trust has to be regained, at least they were able to have the chance.

The name you’re still curious to hear about in the future is Jimin. It was late in the year, only days before Yerin resigned, that news of him leaving SoundWave circulated loudly in every social media site available. More than anything, fans expressed utter sadness, demanding an answer from SoundWave to understand why he left when the majority of the public sided with him after his public apology acted as the first crack in the company’s secret crumbling. Which is why everyone, including you, were nothing but confused to hear that his leave was completely at his own discretion with the company evening expressing that they attempted negotiation to keep him.

“It just felt weird for him to be there.” Jeongguk told you during a small friendly lunch between him, Hoseok, Yoongi, and you. “With all of the history that went on.” You recall him biting back further information on that statement for the sake of the present. “Anyways, I’m sure he’ll be back to music eventually.”

As you look on from the bar stool you sit on, you smile as Yoongi finishes a speech egged on by the crowd of happy employees enjoying the evening. Hoseok cuts in with a cheery tone and his glass raised high in the air, while Yoongi remains beside him for the moment and simply sends you a glance that tells you he’s at minimum shy of all the attention currently on him. All you can offer is two thumbs up to which you watch him bite back a sarcastic smirk.

“Your speech was good.” You assure him with a grin as Yoongi returns to you after the loud cheers mark the end of the melodramatic speeches and the restart of music. He shakes his head at your words and takes the seat beside you,

“Thanks. I don’t know if I believe you, but thank you, angel.” Yoongi says with the usual gentleness of his voice making you so much more fond in that moment, especially as you take in his hand finding yours without hesitation to entwine the fingers. “You really look beautiful.”

“You said that already.” You comment though your heart beat skyrockets from the genuine tone he speaks with. Softly, he smiles and nods his head, finally finding your eyes again,

“And I’m probably going to say it again at least ten more times tonight, sweetie.” Yoongi’s teeth peek with his grin as he fondly watches you avert your gaze to the two of your glasses left on the bartop when he went to go speak. “Look at me, please.”

Inhaling quietly from all of the emotions amplified in your chest from the evening’s joyful ambiance, you eventually cast a glance back to him with enough time to see the sweet light in his eyes before he kisses you softly. Where your hands hold together, your free hand encapsulates the top of his hand to gently squeeze as Yoongi lets the kiss linger on a few seconds longer than you’d expect from him with the surroundings somewhat crowded.

“I know it’s only been a few hours, but can I take you somewhere?” Yoongi asks against your lips, so quietly that you almost miss it with the music that plays all around you. Though it takes you only a couple of seconds to respond, your mind captures a considerable amount of wonder for where exactly he intends to lead you to. Still though, you simply peck his lips once more to earn a smile from him as you nod,

“Yeah, wherever you want.”

Despite what you expected, Hoseok simply only grinned and waved the two of you off when Yoongi mentioned you would both head out. Seokjin similarly smiled as you told him a thank you and goodnight as well, and considering those two of your friends are quite close with Yoongi, you don’t stop yourself from a playful question as he settles his coat around your shoulders upon exit of the nightclub.

“I’m guessing they already know about where you want to take me to?”

“Well, it’s no fun to give any kind of hints, angel, so you’re not getting them from me.” He says, letting you hug onto his arm while using the other to hail a cab. “It’s kind of different leaving Jin’s club this time around, isn’t it?”

“A good different.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi nods as he opens the door to the taxi, smiling down at you before letting you enter inside. “Really good different.”

Outside of Sope Entertainment, you can’t help lifting up your head to take in the view of the small tower that you’d be working in from now on. Yoongi exits the vehicle after giving a tip to the taxi who drives off once the door slams. You turn your attention to Yoongi as he takes hold of your hand once again to lead you inside the sparsely populated building.

A security guard allows the two of you in after the flash of identification cards, and by the time you reach the elevator you’ve begin rubbing Yoongi’s arms to fuel circulation and warmth. Your actions result in a fit of chuckles from his lips as the elevator doors open wide to allow the two of you inside.

“I’m not that cold, angel.” He assures, but does nothing to stop you from hugging onto him as the elevator shuts. Shimmying the two of you a step forward he manages to finally click a floor number as your body clings onto his to give warmth.

“Please, you hate cold weather.” You retort and place a kiss on the underside of his jaw. “Is this where you take me up to the roof and we look dramatically off at the city?”

“No, it’s way too cold for that.” Yoongi quickly admonishes the idea, causing you both to laugh at both the severe way he spoke, but also the implication that he is more cold than he lets on. “But maybe in the summer or at least the spring that would be a fun idea.” He says, watching the floor number climb as he rubs little trails on your back and your cheek settles against his chest. “C’mon, angel; this is the floor.”

You pull away from him to look at the number and know it to be the name one his and Hoseok’s studios are on. You exit out of the elevator with him quickly pressing a switch opposite of the elevator to turn the hallway lights on.

“Oh, is this about the song you’ve been telling me about lately?” You ask with a growing smile that’s excited from the idea. Yoongi huffs and pouts as he turns his head to look down at you,

“I said it’s no fun getting hints, angel.” His high-pitched rumble makes you laugh gently as you squeeze his hand. Coming closer to his studio, you hum and reconfigure a guess of what he wants to show you despite his protests, “Is it that you decorated your studio finally-”

“Hey,” Yoongi calls out as he stops a pace behind you to bring a halt to your stroll. Turning towards him, your eyebrows knit in confusion because his studio is a few more steps down. The confusion builds more as Yoongi just smiles before flicking his head to gesture to the room you both stopped in front of.

Turning to look in the direction, you see a door just the same as all the others and you’re about to question the significance of it before your eyes catch the polished metal plaque with your name engraved on it. In your stupor, you release hold of Yoongi’s hand to turn with widening eyes towards the door. Taking a step, you feel words escape your mind as you can only think about the obvious insinuation of the plaque, and turn your head back to Yoongi as though silently asking him to verify.

With a proud, soft smile he nods his head, stepping beside you to press a series of numbers into the lock on the door. “It took a little while longer than I expected to get it set up, especially without you realizing considering you walk down this hall so many times.” He chuckles only a little before pushing the door open to hold it ajar with his hand. Yoongi returns his gaze back to you as he happily admits, “But this studio’s yours, Y/N.”

After a moment to let his words sink in, you take another step to press your palm against the richly stained wood of the door and push it wider to enter inside. Following behind you, Yoongi presses the switch to turn on the lights that illuminate the rectangular space that you walk further into. A desk is already positioned on the far wall with monitors and equipment all arranged similarly to the way they are at your home studio. Shelves around the room are empty, and the couch against one side is free of pillows or throw blankets. The space is completely fresh to personal touch, but the door alerts anyone who reads it that the room is your own creative area as an acknowledged employee.

Turning back towards Yoongi who’s quiet yet clearly eager from his position beside the closed door, you walk to him and trust him to catch you as you practically jump into a hug that his arms catch you from tightly.

“Thank you so much.” You mumble against the fabric of his shirt, clenching wrinkles into the clothing on his back as well. Yoongi smiles as he rests his chin on your head, rubbing soothingly against your back as a tiny whimper leaves your lips.

“You’re welcome, angel, but this is really something you deserved all along.”

“But,” You pull your face from his chest to look up at Yoongi despite the tears welling in your eyes from gratitude. “Without you, I wouldn’t have gotten here the same way, and I wouldn’t have been able to do everything with someone like you to be beside me through it all. Yoon, you’ve really helped me do so much and everything was so crazy to get here, but I’m glad that it happened how it did, because I really love you. I can’t believe I got to meet you and fall in love with you.”

Cupping Yoongi’s face, you pull him down into a kiss as he moves his hands to better hold you against his chest. Following the kiss, Yoongi can’t help but lean his head against your shoulder, for a moment overcome by emotion due to your admission. You smile, rubbing his back as he squeeze you a bit tighter and exhales.

“You know, angel, if I hadn’t ever met you I’d still be practically a puppet to my old management team.” He kisses your cheek briefly before straightening up to properly look down at you. “I love you so much too. Whether you realize it or not, you really inspired me to finally fight back against them too, sweetie. I really am so proud of you and everything you’ve done.”

Yoongi kisses you gently once more, finding himself completely content as your arms wrap loosely around his neck to hold the two of you in place. When he thinks about it, receiving the recognition you deserved really was the only suitable outcome for everything that you’ve been through. Everything feels correct, even if realistically there are still trials to overcome where the company itself is concerned. At least there’s undeniable optimism in the future.

You hold his hand as you break apart to walk back around the studio space and explore the room. Coming up to the computer you go ahead and turn the power on just to see it and be shown that everything is as real as it seems to you. Yoongi stands behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist to rest his chin against your shoulder. The computer brightly flashes with a screensaver already saved to a picture the two of you took on an evening boat date months earlier. You laugh at the sight of it and turn towards Yoongi whose eyebrows furrowed in confusion,

“This is what I get for letting Hoseok plug everything in for me.” He mumbles as you press a sweet kiss to his cheek. “You should change the passcode from what it is so he can’t come in here whenever to spam your studio with pictures or other pranks.”

“If I change the passcode, maybe I’ll keep it a secret from you too.” You ponder aloud, earning an expected poke in your side to tickle you from Yoongi. As your body jerks from the ticklish feeling, he simply hugs you tighter, pressing a kiss against your cheek in retribution. You eventually sigh as you smile and relax back against his chest, admitting softly, “But honestly, if Hoseok’s going to print out cute pictures like this one, maybe I’ll just keep the code the way it is.”

“Angel, the code is 1111. Please don’t do that.”

if you enjoyed please, please let me know via ask, comment, rb with tags– however ! i’d just really appreciate feedback 🥺 i hope you enjoy the series, i worked really hard on it! And if you’ve read thank you so much! below are some fun facts and final words about the series!

tag list: @jaiuneamesolitaiire @tsvkino-usagi @xionysus @baebyjoonie @honeyoongles @betysotelo18

Fun facts:

Jinsol, Seulgi, and Jihyo the only non-bts named character that are supposed to be their real-life counterparts (from LOONA, Red Velvet, and Twice respectively)

To be honest??? I picked the name Yerin because it sounds so pretty to me

This series is as long as NOVEL! Deadass a fucking NOVELLLLL! like what??? I can’t believe I managed to write roughly 100k words wtf.

Seulgi was initially going to be considerably more important as an antagonist, but then it felt like it was going to be feeding too much into Hoseok’s character than help the actual story progress so I did away with her history with Yoongi (and Hoseok)

The spotify playlist for the series is actual set up into three different parts (four songs, an interlude, four songs, an interlude, four songs) and the purpose of this was to separate the songs into characters. The first four songs are about Jimin’s character growth, the second set of four songs are about Y/N’s, and the third four songs are about Yoongi’s. In some ways, if you looked at the lyrics for the song you may have been able to gauge a lot of the plot that way.

The name for the series, Veil, comes from the idea that something is covered by a cloth that is not completely opaque, but still blurs the perception of what is beneath it.

I don’t remember exactly how I got the premise for this idea, but I knew that I wanted to make a Yoongi story. So that being said, this was always intended to be a Yoongi story, I wasn’t swayed in one way or another to pick the ending couple.

Although, my friend told me recently that after hearing about my plans for Jimin’s character in the last few chapters that she wanted him to end up with Y/N LOL; I think that’s mainly because, in this story’s universe, the song Jimin released at the festival was Promise, and in this story he wrote that song with the intention of supporting Y/N and also telling her that he wants her to be her own power source through all she’s gone through (I want you to be your light, baby, you should be your light)

Because I’m actually really fond of Jimin’s character, I was thinking about making a one-shot prequel about him and Y/N’s relationship long before Yoongi.

The Audi that Yoongi drives costs about $200,000. I needed to tell you that, just like I needed to give him that expensiveass car. Why? It’s h*t.

I couldn’t rationalize Yoongi or Hoseok becoming the CEO of the company they made together, because ultimately they still want to be performers lol. They’re more like founders, and have a lot of say in the board.

Jeongguk, in this story, is a part of a band with Yugyeom, Mingyu, and Minghao. What a combination lol.

Taehyung is a lawyer for idols generally, but he starts to work more for Yoongi and Hoseok’s endeavors by the end.

In my mind, Jimin eventually went on to get signed at the same company Jeongguk and Seulgi work at. He would’ve been pretty successful there.

Also, I doubt that Y/N’s royalties with her songs at SoundWave would’ve been kept by the end of the series. Realistically, she would have to be credited, but she would no longer receive money for them, so she really did have to start over in a way.

Yoongi’s hair was always blonde until that scene where he went to dye it back to his natural hair color; this was a very freeing moment for his character.

In Y/N’s conversations with Yerin and Jimin, Yoongi was consistently just..,.,,,.,. chilling in the background..../., in the case of Jimin conversation he was making pancakes lmao. What a guy.

Again, if you’ve read this whole story thank you SOOOOOO MUCH! You’ve basically read an entire book in reading this fic, and that is unbelievable to me who never would’ve figured I’d have been able to make this entire thing! Thank you again so much for reading! See you in the next story! 🥰❤️

#yoongi #yoongi imagines #yoongi series #yoongi au #yoongi fluff #bts #bts imagines #bts series #bts au #bts fluff #all #series veil

76 notes · View notes

sabraeal · 5 years

Text

The Butterfly Effect, Chapter 2

Chapter 1

A continuation of the AU of Wide Florida Bay, starting after Ain’t Saying She’s a Gold Digger, for @infinitelystrangemachinex‘s birthday! I had hoped to get farther than this, but thing ended up getting....very long. SO I SUPPOSE YOU ALL CAN LOOK FORWARD TO MORE, ONE DAY.

The floor is packed; bodies pressed back-to-back and back-to-front -- and, in some memorable instances, front-to-front. There’s barely room for the Holy Spirit in here, let alone Obi’s set of shoulders, but he bumps his way through anyway. He may not be at his fighting weight anymore, but his gains send enough bros stumbling to reassure him that he hasn’t lost his edge.

Not that he cares much about that right now. He’s got a mission here: the exit and its tacky-ass bead curtain. Because once he gets there --

“Oh!”

He stares down to see red spilling down his back, to see a round pair of green eyes peek up from his shoulder.

“You all right?” he rumbles, hating the way there’s not enough air in his chest, how he doesn’t have enough blood circulating through his brain to come up with something more clever than that.

“What?” Her brow furrows, too cute, and he’s so tempted to just lean it, to just kiss where it wrinkles --

“I said,” he murmurs, pressing his lips right up to her ear. Her hand clutches his sleeve, nails digging in like kitten claws. “Are you all right?”

“Oh,” she breathes, sending sparks skittering down his skin. God, he is in trouble. “Yes. Yeah. I’m -- I’m just fine.”

He nods, turning back, trying not to notice how soft and small her hand is in his, how lightly she’s touching him, like she’s afraid if she grabs much harder he’ll turn to smoke.

Fuck, he doesn’t -- he doesn’t do this. Nanaki didn’t hold hands; if he wanted to fuck someone he’d just do it at the club or go back to the girl’s place, not -- not this. Not bringing her home, letting her into his space, letting her know where he lived. That was just begging to get his car keyed.

He was also someone who didn’t actually exist, except for on some registration forms somewhere back in Atlanta. He’d never been much more than a shadow to hide in, a shroud over a mirror. Something to keep his past from finding him, and his present from knowing him.

Obi peers back over his shoulder, watching how Red tucks in close to him, how sometimes her fingers lightly brush over his bicep to keep him close when the crowd tries to pull them apart, and it’s terrifying how much how much he doesn’t want to hide. Not from someone who sees him like she does.

The beads jangle as he pushes them aside, whacking at his calves like some weak-ass tentacles, and god, what he wouldn’t give for this fucking place to have some class for once. The last thing he needs is to trip on this shit straight out of a hippy teacher’s magazine and really ruin his night.

He takes the first step, but he has to squint in the dark to make out the next. Sure, that strip lighting is supposed to help, but all it does is make depth perception a learned skill. All these rainbow colors are killing him.

With a lurch, he takes the next step. His foot hardly fits on the stair -- god, how small were the people that built this place? -- but what worries him more is the tug on his arm. Red’s stalled out on the landing.

He sucks in a breath, steeling himself. He knew this was going to happen. One drink isn’t nearly enough to make him look like a good idea, especially not when the last time they’d seen each other, she’d called him a big meanie and told him to go hug a tree. It was only a matter of time before she’d come to her senses.

“Hey.” She startles at the word, watching him mount the last stair with wide eyes. He expects her to be wary, to be scared, but instead she just seems...confused. “You okay?

“Hm?” Her head tilts, hair bobbing to one side, and honestly, now is not the time to be wondering if that patch of freckles on her neck might be sensitive.

“It’s just...” There’s no reason for this to be so hard. He’s done this before, loads of times. He may be a garbage fire of a person, but trying to force someone into bed with him? Not his style.

Besides, he’s never had trouble getting girls to take their clothes off. It’s just -- just--

He’s never actually cared. If a girl didn’t want to fuck him, there were plenty of ones who did; he just had to walk back into the club and find one. But now that it’s her, the girl who orders extra whip on her hot chocolate because coffee is too bitter, he doesn’t know how to -- to say she has a choice, but also he would, really, really like to take her home. Specifically.

God, who is he anymore?

“Do you...?” No, scratch that, that sounds dumb. Begging is not a good look for anyone. “We don’t have to--”

“Oh! Oh no, it’s not--” these stairs may be darker than pitch, but that blush of hers lights up the place-- “These stairs are treacherous.”

Obi has met cute girls. Ones with soft little bobs just like hers, who always walk around on their shivering fawn legs and stare up at him with their too-wide eyes, saying cloyingly niche things like it’s a replacement for having a personality. They don’t do shit for him.

Except now here this girl is, leaning into him like she’s sharing a secret, her mouth rucked up at a corner, and his only thought is the last time he heard that word, it was in an SAT prep course he was firmly failing. Also, what scores Red might have gotten on them; he can already see the way she’d duck her head as she tells him about her 1700 on the first pass, how she kept going back to get the perfect score only to be foiled by one of the vocabulary words that wasn’t in the study guide --

All right. He needs to get a grip here. One solid, whole-ass grip. This is just -- sex. Sex stuff. Not share time at the local preschool.

Her small feet shuffle at the landing, and he spreads a smirk across his lips. “Do you need me to carry you down, my lady?”

“Oh!” He can’t wait to see just how far down that blush goes. If they ever manage to get out of here. “N-no! I can-- I can handle myself.”

“Are you sure?” He leans in, just a little, until he can feel the heat of her body against his skin. “After all, I’m at your service tonight.”

This close, her chest brushes against his when she gasps. Her lips are still swollen from kissing, and, god, he feels the gap between them like a physical ache. “If that’s the case...”

Her hand lets go of his, fingers brushing over his until they slip though, palms kissing, intertwined. Like -- like hand-holding with some intent. Some heat.

She flutters him a look somewhere between shy and coy. “Then just make sure you don’t let go.”

It’s the smoothest move anyone’s ever pulled on him -- that anyone’s bothered to pull on him -- and god, they really need to find a flat surface and some privacy. Now.

“Right,” he says dumbly, because that’s the kind of guy his is now: the kind that has their breathing go all haywire because a girl wants to hold hands. The kind that entirely lose their game because someone says to hold on tight.

Obi doesn’t know what the fuck is happening. But he also wants it to keep on happening, so he just turns around like he holds hands all the time, like he’s a real hand-holding pro, and guides her down the stairs like she’s wearing stilettos and a six-foot train.

Or, with the way she wobbles, like one of those robo-dog toys that cost three hundred bucks but never learned how to navigate a house with more than one floor. She looks hot as fuck, but those are definitely not her wedges. He’ll have to write a thank you note to whatever friend lent them to her, because with the way she’s clinging to him every time her ankle gives a good shake, these bad boys are going to be the MVP of the evening.

Obi isn’t exactly cozy with Jesus or whatever, but he’s pretty sure making it down to the last step without a sprained ankle in sight is something close to divine intervention. He throws one up for whatever saint or angel had dominion over hot hookups and turns away, making to open the door, but--

“Oh!”

His whole body stutters. He only looked away for a second, and yet --

“Something wrong?” he asks, letting the door shut in front of him. “Did you--?”

“Oh, no, not anything...” She shakes her head, and down here it’s too dark to see her blush, but he knows it’s there. “I just forgot I have, um, stuff at the coat check.”

He stares for a minute, trying to glean anything off those guileless eyes with only the rainbow lights to guide him. On any other girl, it would be a dodge, a way to duck out of a hookup she was having second or third thoughts on. Which would be fair, since this morning he’d locked her out of her school, tried to tank her academic career --

But he just can’t see it on her. If she didn’t want him, she’d just...tell him to fuck off and die. Or, more likely, go hug a tree.

God, that should really not be doing anything for him. But here he is, half-hard and holding the door open, hoping she likes holding his hand enough to come home with him.

“Okay,” he murmurs, following when she tugs him out the door. “Should I...?”

Stay? Go? He’s really starting to dig the way her hand fits into his, but if she wants to make a break for it --

“I’ll just be a second,” she promises, with the sort of earnestness that doesn’t belong anywhere outside of one of those movies they made him watch in English class. With one last squeeze of his hand, she peels away, getting into line just a few feet away.

He misses her already.

This is -- it’s trouble, pure and simple. He’s supposed to be thinking about how much he wants to fuck her, how good her red hair is going to look spilled out over his black sheets. And he is, on some level, it’s just --

He also want to know her favorite color. Her favorite food. Where she’s from and what classes she likes. What her major is and whether she’s got siblings. And it’s not -- not --

It’s not normal. Not for him. Other may people may be into this whole dating crap, begging for their hearts to be stomped on, but he isn’t. He doesn’t do feelings.

He glances over at the line. Red stands three back, stuck behind two girls trying to find their ticket with six drinks and no pockets between them.

She likes plain bagels and cream cheese, and hot cocoa with extra whip. Sometimes she’ll treat herself to the berry cream cheese too, instead of the regular, but only if she’s by herself, poring over one of those ridiculously thick textbooks of hers, the ones that cost bank because you have to buy a new edition every year. He’d watch her sometimes, glad that he at least hadn’t picked a STEM major since the books alone would put him in the red. She’s got a bad habit of biting her lips, and a hoard of lip balm to help, and every single one of them is made from local beeswax. Strawberry is her favorite, and --

And that should be enough for him. More than enough. He doesn’t need --

“Can I help you?”

A hostess blinks at him, service smile in place, and it strikes him that he’s just...lounging here, right where people wait to be seated for actual food and not just fried pickle chips and mozzarella sticks.

“Oh, no, I’m just--” he looks over at the coat check, catching the red in a sea of black-- “I’m not--”

Red glances up, catching his gaze, and she just -- waves. And smiles, her cheeks flushing a sweet pink, and he -- he waves back, just as cutesy and small.

“Oh, you’re waiting for your girlfriend,” the hostess says. “Never mind! You two have a nice night.”

Girlfriend. Girlfriend. “Thanks,” he says, definitely not squeaking, not even a little bit. “We will.”

Obi shifts, pressing his shoulders to the wall, and lets his legs settle out angle. Not a lot, but just enough to give him the real tall drink of water look. It may be cliche, but that cool guy lean makes girls crazy, and he’s something of a connoisseur of lighting a fire.

Still, it feels -- off. Weird. He can’t shake that maybe he doesn’t look like some bad boy, good for a night in the sack, but -- but --

A boyfriend. The kind you bring home to mom, or grandma, or -- or whatever sort of parental guardian situation you have. The kind of person you introduce to someone you want to believe your life is together.

And he‘s not that guy. He’s never been that guy. But Red keeps throwing him the cutest impatient looks, even tapping at a watch she doesn’t have and --

And maybe he could be. If the right person came along.

The club doors slam open so suddenly, even the bouncer jumps. The girl that stomps through is dressed to the nines, all black sequins and tanned skin, hair so dark that vantablack would be jealous. The kind of girl that would be just his type, if only that hadn’t suddenly shifted to cute red heads who think gosh and dang are four-letter words.

“Ha,” the hostess scrapes out at the girl beelines to the coat check. “Feel bad for whoever is on the wrong side of her.”

He can’t shake the feeling she’s familiar. “Tell me about it.”

“Shirayuki!” she yells out, and oh, of course, it’s Red who startles. Because this is Red’s friend, the girl who would catch breakfast with her on Tuesdays and Thursdays, right before her physics lab --

Kihal Toghrul. Father’s some big deal back in Puerto Rico, or at least big enough for it to warrant Haruka telling him to stay the fuck away.

Well, good thing Obi’s not working for him anymore, because it looks like he’s about to get all up in that business, and not in a fun way. At least he knows who to thank for the shoes, now.

He can’t hear their conversation; the coat check’s in sight, but with all the noise from the restaurant and the club, it’s impossible to make out anything but Sparky’s explosive gestures and Red’s calm, measured refusal. Even still, he knows the topic of conversation is him, namely, what the fuck are you thinking, going home with that guy. And not just because She-Hulk is throwing glares at him that would kill any man who possessed a sense of shame and decency.

Well, jokes on her. He hasn’t had any of that for years.

Obi leans back with his most disaffected slouch and smirks. Not just any smirk, of course, but his biggest, smuggest bad boy smirk he can summon, complete with insolent eyebrow raise. It’s gotten him kicked out of more schools than he can count at this point, and it must work just as well against overprotective girl friends as it does on priggish deans, because it sends Ground Zero over there through the roof.

Whatever, might as well have a little fun before she ruins his night anyway. Not like Red’s going to go anywhere once Little Miss Cockblock reminds her that it’s been T-minus 8 hours since she blew her fuse at him. Sure, he seemed like a good idea a few minutes ago, when it had been go home with him or commit acts of public indecency right there on the dance floor, but they’re not hot and heavy now, and --

“Hey!”

He turns, straight into a blinding flash. He’s still seeing afterimages when Valkyrie gets right up in his grille, glaring at him with face more thunderous than Ragnarok.

“I have your picture now,” she tells him, tone informing him that this is a threat-type situation, and he better act accordingly. “And I’m gonna send it straight to the cops if you pull anything funny.”

For a good minute, all he can do is stare. It’s not the first time he’s had someone threaten to call the cops on him, but honestly -- he’s seen himself in the mirror. That’s fair.

But still, still --

He laughs. Not even a good old chuckle, just a full on belly laugh, because here he is, Public Enemy Number One as far as this chick is concerned, and she’s -- what? Threatening to send campus police a really unflattering tinder pic because her friend misses check-in? He knows exactly how much attention that is going to get on Thirsty Thursday, when they’re out mediating ugly drunk break-ups and calling EMTs for stomach pumps. It’s like --

Obi chokes on a breath, fingers clenching his shirt. It’s like she tried to warn Red off, and she -- she --

She wants him anyway.

“Yuck it up,” Miss Empty Threats huffs, which is much less annoying now that he knows none of her ranting has put a stop to his evening, that even though Red has every reason to back out of this thing, she still -- still -- “If you put a hand on Shirayuki that she doesn’t like, I’ll cut it off. And your balls too!”

He wants to inform her that, against all odds, there doesn’t seem to be a finger of his she isn’t asking for, but for once, he knows better. Getting into it with Mother Duck will just make her scoop up all her ducklings, no matter how hard they protest, and anyway, he doesn’t --

He doesn’t want to upset her. Because she’s Red’s friend. A good friend, from the looks of it. And he respects that. He’s glad she has someone like that looking out for her.

Besides, getting into it with Mama here over nothing is only going to give Red second thoughts about whether she wants to -- to -- ah, hang out with him again.

Yeah. That’s it. Because he’s the sort of guy who hangs out with girls he hooks up with, definitely. This is -- is friend stuff. Not -- not anything more serious than that.

Red’s hurrying her way over, looking positively stormy, and Elena de la Vega gives him one last glare for good measure. “Don’t forget what I said!”

“Don’t worry,” he tells her with a grin, “you’ve made yourself memorable.”

Red watches her friend flounce off with a worried look, one she turns on him once Hurricane Kihal has stormed her way back up to the club. She’s had time to have second thoughts now, even third thoughts, and with Toghrul’s interference, she’d probably had four, five, and six, plenty of time to realize --

“Are you ready to go?”

He blinks. She’s flushed, collarbone to hairline at least, eyes fixed to his shoes like she’s afraid he might -- that he’s the one that’s going to call it off. Like maybe dealing with five seconds of her surrogate hover-parent has convinced him this whole thing isn’t worthwhile, that she’s not worthwhile, and --

And he doesn’t know how to say he’s talked to her for maybe ten minutes straight without her yelling at him, but he wants to know if she has anything spicier than tree hugger in her vocabulary.

So he doesn’t.

Obi hooks a finger around her jaw, tilting it up so she’s looking at him, and slow enough to give her time, he leans in. It’s not anything fancy; no clashing tongues or seeking hips like a few minutes ago, but it’s nice. A quick and tender.

It’s not until he pulls away, catching her wide eyes, that he realizes -- that’s a boyfriend kiss.

She’s the one to lean back it, to brush her lips against his, and this one lingers, long enough he wraps his hand around her back to steady her. Long enough that his breath starts to come quick, that his dick twitches in anticipation.

She settles back on her heels, eyes still closed, breath huffing softly between them.

“Yeah,” he manages, trying not to think how much he want to see her face like that again, all softly blissful. “Let’s...let’s go.”

He takes her hand again, and this time she threads their fingers right away, tucking in close. “Okay.”

She gives him one, bright smile, and he --

Oh boy, he is...he is in trouble.

#obiyuki #The Wide Florida Bay #The Butterfly Effect #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #modern au #ans #andi i promise i thought they were gonna get in the car #but then i added kihal being a mama duck and things got LONG #but now i have a whole first draft of THAT for a later date #so please enjoy Obi freestyle screaming because he doesn't!!! do!!!! dating!!!#but shirayuki is so cute and he maybe kind sorta would like to do dating with her oh god

18 notes · View notes

emmvxnce · 4 years

Photo

i didn’t know i was a p h o e n i x TILL I LEARNED HOW TO S P E A K

𝖖 𝖚 𝖔 𝖙 𝖊 𝖘

"Without losing a piece of me, how do i get to heaven? Without changing a piece of me, how do I get to heaven? So if I’m losing a piece of me, maybe I don’t want heaven.” — Troye Sivan, Heaven

“She had a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach, like when you’re swimming and you want to put your feet down on something solid, but the water’s deeper than you think and there’s nothing there.” — Julia Gregson

“The worst thing in the world next to anarchy, is government.” — Henry Ward Beecher

“I’ve left my fingerprints somewhere. And that’s good enough. And I am my own person. And that’s good enough. And… I stand my ground. And that’s good enough.” — Morrissey

𝖇 𝖆 𝖘 𝖎 𝖈

NAME: Emmeline Glenys Vance NICKNAMES: Emme, Em, Vance AGE: Twenty Two BIRTHDAY: 10 September 1957 GENDER: Cis Female PRONOUNS: She/Her SEXUALITY: Homosexual ETHNICITY: English, Welsh, Chinese

𝖋 𝖆 𝖒 𝖎 𝖑 𝖞

MOTHER: Jìngyi ‘Jenny’ Vance, née Ling (44) FATHER: Raymond Thomas Vance (46) SIBLINGS: Charles Vance (23), Margaret Vance (20)

𝖕 𝖍 𝖞 𝖘 𝖎 𝖈 𝖆 𝖑 𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖇𝖚𝖙𝖊𝖘

FACE CLAIM: Chloe Bennet BUILD: Naturally slim, of average height. Several years of training have lent an athletic edge to her body. Solid bone structure, thin but not waiflike. HAIR: Shoulder length, thick, and wavy. Typically pulled back off her face in some way or other. Often twisted up with her wand which backfires when she is forced to pull her wand and her hair comes falling around her face. HAIR COLOR: Dark brown. EYE COLOR: Typically brown, nearly black when she’s upset or angry but lighter when the sun is bright or her mood is up. SKIN COLOR: Beige with warm undertones. DOMINANT HAND: Right. ANOMALIES: Broken nails from years spent biting or picking at them. A scar on her hairline on the right side of her forehead from where she fell when she was eight and cracked her head on the coffee table in the living room. Various minor scars from several years with the Order. SCENT: Honey and lilac from her shampoo, a touch of something floral if she’s decided to put on perfume which is rare and reserved for the most special of occasions. ACCENT: RP but with traces of welsh from years listening and speaking with her dad who is from Cardiff. ALLERGIES: Pollen and blueberries. DISORDERS: Mild anxiety triggered in the last several years by the worsening war FASHION: Leans to muggle fashion, typical late 70′s clothing. Bell bottoms, high waisted jeans, crop tops, the occasional leather jacket, over sized men’s shirts paired with leggings. She prefers pants to skirts as often as possible. NERVOUS TICS: Biting and picking at her nails, toying with any jewelry she may be wearing, usually a necklace, twirling hair at the base of her neck or from her ponytail. In general her hands are usually fidgeting in someway, she has a hard time keeping them still. QUIRKS: She doesn’t like silence and sometimes will hum to herself if there is no other sound just to fill the empty air, she almost always sits with her legs pulled up either under or in front of her.

𝖑 𝖎 𝖋 𝖊 𝖘 𝖙 𝖞 𝖑 𝖊

RESIDES: Plainview Point BORN: Cardiff, where her parents lived in the earliest years of their marriage before moving to a village just outside London. RAISED: Shere, a village in Surrey, about an hour southwest of London. PETS: Persimmon aka Persy, a ginger cat she met in an alley near St. Mungo’s who took a liking to her after she shared her turkey sandwich one day and followed her home.

CAREER: Healer, specializing in spell inflicted damage and working on the fourth floor of St. Mungo’s. EXPERIENCE: Member of the Potions club in her fifth through seventh years at Hogwarts. OWLS and NEWTS in Charms, Potions, Herbology, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Entered the Healer training program upon graduation from Hogwarts, rotating through each floor and specialization at St. Mungo’s before choosing to specialize in spell-inflicted damage. EMPLOYER: St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries

POLITICAL AFFILIATION: Order of the Phoenix BELIEFS: Equality, in all shapes and forms. Being a muggleborn, a woman, the daughter of an immigrant, and a lesbian have given her a unique viewpoint into so many of the ways that society is stacked against certain people. She does not have a strong religious or spirtual practice or belief but adds it to the list of things she believes people should be allowed to choose and practice without judgment or intercession. MISDEMEANORS: Breaking curfew, pilfering from the potion supply closet in school and a little bit from the hospital when it’s not something she can get at the apothecary FELONIES: None on the record, only in service of the Order DRUGS: Marijuana, both inhaled and ingested. Girlfriend makes a hell of a pot brownie. SMOKES: Marijuana, yes. Cigarettes, no. ALCOHOL: Beer mostly, the occasional whiskey when someone else is in charge of choosing it. Never wine or cocktails. Too sweet for her taste. DIET: Mostly simple meals, usually with a bit of a Chinese foundation. Rice as a staple, a lot of stir fry because it’s simply and quick and can be made in large quantities to last her for many days or to feed a multitude of people.

LANGUAGES: English, Welsh, Mandarin

PHOBIAS: Fire, losing those she loves and being left alone. HOBBIES: Brewing potions, listening and collecting muggle music TRAITS: { + }: compassionate, self-assured, determined, hard working, pragmatic { - }: blunt, ineloquent, inflexible, stubborn, temperamental

𝖋 𝖆 𝖛 𝖔 𝖗 𝖎 𝖙 𝖊 𝖘

LOCATION: Her flat. She’s turned it into a haven with couches you can sink into, nooks where she can curl up, candles and warm smells, even a fireplace she and Persy like to lie in front of until they fall asleep on the poufs she has as extra seating. SPORTS TEAM: Chelsea Football Club, Holyhead Harpies (football first and then quidditch) GAME: Rummy, card games in general MUSIC: Muggle rock and punk - Queen, David Bowie, Blondie, The Clash MOVIES: Star Wars, The Godfather (just the first one), Superman, The Exorcist FOOD: Chinese food but actual Chinese food like her mother makes, not what you can get in the shops. Not that that’s bad - it’s just not her favorite. BEVERAGE: Chocolate Milk. Yes she knows she is a child. COLOR: Deep gold.

𝖒 𝖆 𝖌 𝖎 𝖈

ALUMNI HOUSE: Hufflepuff WAND (length, flexibility, wood, & core): 9 ¼ inches, ash, phoenix feather core, slightly springy. The saying goes that ash wands are stubborn but it isn’t the arrogant or crass type of stubborn that attracts this wood. It is drawn to a person whose beliefs are held strongly in their mind and deeply in their heart. Combined with a core of phoenix feather and it’s slightly springy nature, Emmeline’s wand is particularly loyal and becomes finnicky in the hands of anyone other than it’s owner. AMORTENTIA: Fresh baked pastries, cinnamon, twilight air in the summer PATRONUS: Brown Bear - social creatures who find strength in sharing resources and who are known for their protective instincts. Bears are also closely associated with healing in some cultures. BOGGART: Darkness. The kind of darkness that envelops your senses. Instead of becoming stronger, it dulls each sense so you cannot see but you also cannot hear or feel or smell. You are isolated, alone, helpless. Seconds become eternities as you seek any anchor to hold on to to pull yourself back to the world.

𝖈 𝖍 𝖆 𝖗 𝖆 𝖈 𝖙 𝖊 𝖗

MORAL ALIGNMENT: Neutral Good MBTI: ENFJ-A (Extroverted, Intuitive, Feeling, Judging, Assertive) MBTI ROLE: The Protaganist ENNEAGRAM: Type 2 ENNEAGRAM ROLE: The Helper TEMPERAMENT: Sanguine WESTERN ZODIAC: Virgo

Virgos are always paying attention to the smallest details and their deep sense of humanity makes them one of the most careful signs of the zodiac. This will lead to a strong character, but one that prefers conservative, well-organized things and a lot of practicality in their everyday life. These individuals have an organized life, and even when they let go to chaos, their goals and dreams still have strictly defined borders in their mind. Their need to serve others makes them feel good as caregivers, on a clear mission to help.

CHINESE ZODIAC: Rooster

Roosters are smart, charming, witty, honest, blunt, capable, talented, brave, and self-reliant. They are known for their ability to do astounding things with extremely limited resources. Their way is always right (in their mind, at least), and they love to debate their stance. Roosters are extremely sociable and bask in attention and praise.

PRIMAL SIGN: Corgi

Loyal, observant, and analytical, those born under the Primal Zodiac sign of the Corgi are devoted friends and family members who take on the role of caretaker with great passion. Few others are as eager to jump in and help a friend in need, and Corgis take great pride in this. More so than other signs, members of this sign like to fill a very specific role in the lives of other people, thus getting the majority of their own personal fulfillment through their service to others.

TAROT CARD: Justice

The Justice Tarot card has to do with moral sensitivity and that which gives rise to empathy, compassion, and a sense of fairness. Since the time of Solomon, this image has represented a standard for the humane and fair-minded treatment of other beings. This card reminds us to be careful to attend to important details. It's a mistake to overlook or minimize anything where this card is concerned.

SONGS: coming soon, i suck at this

IDEOLOGIES: Doesn’t believe in wallowing or living in the past. Mistakes get made and bad things happen and the only way to get past it all is to pick yourself up and keep on walking.

Tea over coffee. Fight her about it. Get yourself some black tea if you need the caffeine.

There is exactly nothing that can’t be made better by a dance party around the flat with the music so loud that you can’t hear your own thoughts anymore.

There is no excuse for inequality. People are people and the only way to get through this life is to care about the people inhabiting the world around you. Most common thought - “I don’t know how to explain to you that you should care about other people.”

#she's a burden on society | aesthetic #dulcetask #this took me a solid six hours #blessings on you if you read the whole thing

7 notes · View notes

all-of-the-imagines-for-eve · 5 years

Text

Forget About It ~ Sweet Pea (Part 4)

A/n: I’m mega enjoying all the feedback on this. I’ve had this idea in my head FOREVER, like when I FIRST made this blog primarily Twilight and Riverdale, which is to say literally the beginning of time lol. I’m so glad that I finally got it written and that you guys like it :)

Warnings: It gets a little heated like twice. Violence. Bullying. Angst. Lots of angst. Depression. Fluff too :)

Word Count: 4252

MASTERLIST

'Cause I feel like a bad joke- walk the tight rope to hold on to you. I gotta know, was it real? Or a love scene, from a bad dream? I don't think, I can forget about it! Gotta know was it real?

Tall Boy didn't get kicked out of the Serpents, even when it got brought up several times. Serpents I wasn't at all close to brought it up. I stood up for him. I brushed it away or waved it down, taking the death glare from my friends every time I did so. Every time they asked I said it didn't matter. He hadn't broken Serpent law because at the time I wasn't official, and they could hate them all they wanted, but if I wouldn't stand against him, they had no case so they should just shut up about it. What they didn't know was that I didn't believe him. I didn't trust him enough to be out of the Serpents, worried he'd run to someone else like the Ghoulies (or maybe someone even worse) in revenge if they did kick him out. So he stayed.

My defending didn't stop Tall Boy talking endless shit about me. In fact, it seemed to fuel it. When I was established as a Serpent better, and people saw how good of a person he was and heard what Tall Boy had tried to do to me, everyone shut him up really fast. Soon he had no one to talk to. But people like Tall Boy didn't seem to be able to sit down and shut up and have any kind of sense or decency. When everyone stopped listening to poison about me, he started talking about Jughead. And he seemed to have a LOT to talk about. After I caught him talking I faced him. "Hey Tall Boy." He turned to face me as I stood from my chair. "I don't like you talking shit about my family."

He scoffed. "Family?" He paused upon seeing me a venomous glare. "Jughead's only half a Serpent. He'll always have his head in the North Side."

My eyebrows rose, a hand going to my hip. "He's proven his loyalty same as the rest of us. What's your complaint? That's he's too nice?" I leaned against the table, palms flat as I leaned forward. "I know you're opposed to anything good, but I think you of all people are really qualified to be able to talk any bad about another Serpent, don't you?" My eyes glinted, and his glare darkened. "One of the biggest reasons you're still here is because I stuck up for you. Don't make me regret it."

From what I'd heard, he'd stopped most of his talking after that. I didn't want him to stop. The pettier and more childish he looked the fewer people would believe him. But I didn't want him talking often, and I definitely didn't want him to get enough balls to actually allow himself to talk shit like that with me so close by. I knew he was doing it to bother me and that is something I just won't tolerate.

Things were going pretty good, though. Sweet Pea and I seemed to be toeing the line. Neither of us would close that last bit of distance. He wouldn't ask me out, and it made me unsure if he just didn't want to. I'd made myself clear, why wasn't he? Despite that though we still cuddled at night, holding each other close and waking up to each other's skin and smell and warmth. At school, everyone saw us as a couple, and I could see it in the way boys avoided looking at me too long, and girls lost interest in Sweet Pea a second after they looked over. We weren't on the market. We were spoken for, taken. It felt that way to me too. We didn't kiss after that first night, but we did flirt a lot more, and we got more touchy and present around each other. Closer and more aware, as if there was a tangible rope or a magnet, drawing not only our bodies together but our attention to each other as well.

As for the others, Fangs and I developed a quick and fun sibling bond. He gave me piggyback rides and messed up my hair and teased me on a daily. In return, I shouted loudly about how single and hot he was to passers-by and moved his things so he would look for them forever before he'd find them. We played little pranks on each other, harmless and brief but absolutely hilarious to us. Toni, likewise, became like my sister. She gossiped to me, getting me caught up on everything I'd missed in the Serpents and even on the South Side in general. Jughead came to me and apologized not soon after our fight but I'd long since forgiven him, and we were back on track, though I was living more with Sweet Pea than anything. No wI was stealing Sweet Pea's shirts instead of Jug's, leaving Betty to take up the practice for me. The small box of clothes I'd started to gather from my friends started when Jug told me to keep the two shirts of his that I absolutely adored, ones he didn't really wear anyway because they were worn and a little small on him. Next was Fangs' flannel he lent me one night when I had only a tank top on from when I'd first come to the South Side and it had been cold. I'd told him that I only had Jug's two shirts when he asked what the holy hell. Was doing out at night in just a tank top and he hadn't hesitated to hand over his flannel, which I thought was the actual cutest and I loved him for it. Toni found out from Fangs the next day that I was short some clothes and immediately took me to her house to see which of her clothes I fit, insisting that she'd wanted to get rid of some clothes anyway. So I got two new pairs of pants, three shirts, a pullover, a zip-up jacket, and two more flannels from her. Seeing everyone else's clothes on me drove Sweet Pea to give me three of his shirts right off the bat, jokingly teasing that those were mine but his closet was open for me just as much. I basically stole another of his jackets and he didn't even question it. My little box made me feel incredibly loved. It was all I had of my life in the South Side as I had never gone back to my house to get anything. The times I'd visited, my father had seen me turn slowly more and more Serpent, telling me that my room was still as I'd left it as if it was waiting for me.

That was the problem though. It was a room that I associated with a person I no longer was. The clothes and bed and things belonged to someone else. I felt like I was invading just going inside, but actually putting on anything from there? No thanks.

Plus my friend' clothes were REALLY comfortable.

In summary, life was good and every day that passed, I was more Serpent. I got my own Serpent jacket and the day came that I was to get my tattoo. I'd been so excited but now, seeing the needle made me want to throw up. It had been about two weeks since my dance and despite my growing confidence, I was outside the tattoo shot, bent over with my hands on my knees and trying not to throw up. Sweet Pea rubbed my back, trying to soothe me. "We can come another day," he assured gently, his tone giving away his disappointment despite his efforts.

Standing tall, I inhaled through my nose and exhaled through my mouth. "I have a fear of needles," I admitted finally. "Every time we come it's going to be like this." I looked at my friends and saw the heartbroken looks on their faces. "I'm still getting the tattoo," I snapped and they tried to cover their expressions from before. I rolled my eyes, putting on my tough girl act. "Seriously I just need you guys to be patient with me."

I went to move toward the store but Sweet Peat caught my shoulder. I looked at him. "If you're not ready..."

My eyebrows rose, a smirk curling on my face. "I'm ready." There was something under my words. Something lighter and flirtier. It was good for me to divert my attention to something less terrifying. It was bad for Sweet Pea though, his hand falling from my ar as he blushed, swallowing. Toni and Fangs cleared their throats, trying not to laugh. "Are you?" He looked away and I swallowed, trying not to hide my disappointment. Every day my flirts got more serious and every day our back and forth lasted less and less time. I moved into the store, getting back in the chair. I'd run out before to get some air but as I sat back down, the tattoo artist came back to his chair.

"You good?" He asked. I nodded. He picked up the needle pen and I closed my eyes, tilting my head away and groaning as my eyes closed.

Fingers traced against my skin and I opened my eyes to see Sweet Pea in a chair he had pulled up next to me, his hand reaching for the one of mine that was limp against my stomach. "I'm right here, okay? Squeeze if t hurts, but keep talking to me. It'll be over before you know it." My eyes widened with adoration and his face softened as well, our eyes locked. I opened my mouth to say something but then the buzzing of the needle started and I tried not to imagine it any bigger than I knew it was. I was already shirtless, wanting my tattoo on my upper chest, just off from my shoulder and below my neck. "Hey, talk to me. I want to hear that pretty voice of yours."

I chuckled, the sound strangled and breathy as I tried to organize my panicked thoughts. "Breathe slower please, I need you to be more still," the tattoo artist said.

"What's your name?" I asked, looking over.

He smiled a little. "Dylan." When I raised my eyebrows he smiled a bit wider. "They used to call me Tracer. You wanna know why?" I nodded and he began talking, his casual tone and friendly smile combined with Sweet Pea's touch doing wonders to make me forget the needle as the buzzing of the needle became simply another noise and the pain was a distant thing in the back of my mind. Dylan was a retired Serpent and as he told me his half hilarious and half epic stories of all the trouble he'd gotten into in his youth, I felt Sweet Pea not holding back. His right thumb went up and down my arm as his left hand held my hand so that my arm was vertical. He kissed my knuckles every time I gasped or flinched or winced or showed any sign of growing or sudden anxiety or strain. When he did, I was instantly calm again.

When Dylan was done, everyone cheered. Fangs messed up my hair and Toni whooped and hollered, offering me my shirt as Dylan pat me on the back and gave me instructions on how to care properly for it. My tattoo was wrapped up and we left. Sweet Pea and I parted with Fangs and Toni, ending up in his trailer.

That's when I lost it. "Oh my GOD Sweets I got a tattoo!" He grinned, laughing so loud and genuinely that his lips parted and his head tilted back. "I'm a Serpent!"

My hands grabbed the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer in my excitement. We grew quiet as our eyes met and the lacking proximity between us was noticed. I leaned against the wall behind me and he followed my tilt, his hand raising to brace himself so he didn't crush me. His other hand rose to allow his thumb to caress my cheek, his eyes ripping away from mine to roam my face slowly and purposefully. He seemed to be memorizing me. "You've come so far." His voice was soft, his breath falling across my face and making me smile. He seemed to want to say something but was struggling with saying it. "You scare me," he finally choked out. I went to say something after he paused but he cut me off. "You're one of us, I know, but you're... I didn't count on ever meeting someone like you. I hated North Siders until I met you. Until you changed everything. You proved me wrong on everything I thought. You're absolutely amazing." He leaned closer. "You know they're right, you're not a South Sider." My throat shut and my body seized. "But that's okay," he added gently. "Because you still chose us, and you're a Serpent. That's all that matters. And, Y/n, you're the only North Sider I would trust with anything, but also I would trust you with my life. My- my heart."

"Sweets-" My eyes grew wide.

"I don't want you to think that being a North Sider is bad. You're still part of us. You're still a Serpent and that will never change. You're here, no matter where you came from. I need you to know that."

My eyes watered. "Okay." There was a pause. "Do you like me?"

Sweet Pea chuckled breathlessly, his lips quivering as he tried to form words. I frowned. "So much," he breathed. "I like you so much it scares me. Scares me like needles scare you. I've NEVER felt this way about anyone before. I'm really all in it for you and I'm just terrified I'm going to wake up one day and you'll be gone and it'll all just be a dream."

"I'm not going anywhere," I whispered. We were nose to nose now. I hadn' realized he'd been leaning in. "If you're dreaming so am I, and I'm having the same dream."

His nose brushed mine and the moment was so tender and intimate that I inhaled sharply, my eyes fluttering as I tried to keep them open. "When I saw you after Tall Boy... I thought I lost you. The feeling that I felt- it still makes me sick. You started to fill my nightmares, every sleep bringing ugly images of you broken a little bit more. I was a little bit slower. It took us just a little longer to take Tall Boy's goons and get to you. You're pale and cold and I know you're not going to open your eyes again. You're not going to say my name or laugh and I- I've..." His words cut off as he took a shaky breath in and then let it out again. "I can't lose you, okay?"

"You won't lose me," I assured. "And I won't lose you. No matter where you are, I'll always be yours." I swallowed. "You don't scare me. Maybe it's because you make me feel so safe, though. I've ever felt so safe. Archie was always too nice and too good and too unaware. If he wasn't nearby I felt exposed and so I followed him everywhere like a lost puppy. But with you, I walk tall and look people in the eyes. I feel you by my side even when you're gone. You're everything I've ever wanted and more."

Sweet Pea smiled and then his eyes flickered to my lips. He didn’t pause leaning in to kiss me. The room exploded with heat as we collided, first soft but soon passionate. Our kisses grew quicker and then we were suddenly full on making out, his body pressing me against the wall. My hands rose to entangle in his hair and the hand of his that wasn't on my face dropped to my waist, fingers quickly slipping under my shirt and gripping my bare waist. His head tilted, our noses smooshing and we both inhaled deeply to make up for it. The hand on my waist trailed to my back and then down, finding a hold on the back of my thigh. He pulled my leg up his waist, tugging on me. His other hand dropped from my face to move against the back of my other thigh. I jumped up as he went to move me, helping him as he tried to hold me up. He pushed me harder against the wall, his body rolling into mine. I released a stuttering gasp, my fingers pulling on his hair and making him groan softly.

His lips left mine to move to my neck. Yellow and faded purple still decorated my neck from when Tall Boy tried to strangle me what seemed so long ago but really wasn’t. Just two weeks ago. It was almost gone but not quite and as his teeth ran over the skin, I winced, a hiss slipping through my lips. He jerked back, my arms going higher and the skin where my new tattoo was stretching. I gasped, wincing again. “Sorry,” Sweet Pea grunted. He slowly put me down.

“No,” I whined, pulling him into a kiss again. I kissed him hard and he shivered under my touch as one of my hands fell, going under his shirt and pressing against his stomach. His breath caught.

His hand caught my wrist and he leaned back, both of our eyes opening as we looked at each other. “Y/n,” he whispered. I groaned, letting my head fall against the wall. “I want you,” he assured me.

A sigh from me. “Then what?” I asked.

“You’re hurt,” he reminded me. “And, I mean are you really ready?”

Lifting my head, I looked at him. “Yes, Sweet Pea, I am. I want you. I want to be with you. And you keep stopping me.”

His face went red. “What if I’m not ready?”

Oh. I paused, relaxing and looking at him. “Sweets…” He went to ull away from me but I pulled him closer, kissing his cheek softly. “That doesn’t change anything between us. You’re allowed to not be ready. I’m sorry.” I tugged him gently, wanting him to stay with me but giving him the option of leaving if he really wanted. He leaned closer, his forehead pressing against mine. “I…” I swallowed. “I-” I wanted to say I loved him, but it didn’t feel right. Maybe I did, but this wasn’t the moment to say so. “I’m glad we met. And I’m glad I’m here. With you.”

He let out a few breaths that were almost laughter. “Yeah never thought I’d be glad a red-headed psychopath decided to lose his shit on the South Side, but here I am.” We both and he kissed me against, short and sweet and tender. There was a pause and then he whispered, “I want to be with you too. For real. I’m tired of being scared. I want you to be taken, spoken for, and I want people to know.”

My grin was brilliant as I pushed him away so we could see each other. “Sweet Pea are you asking me out?” I teased. He shrugged, smirking, jokingly playing it off like it was nothing. My grin widened and he couldn’t help but follow my lead, smiling just as brilliantly. “I would love to.”

He leaned down suddenly, scooping me up. I shrieked, clinging to him, and he laughed. He walked us to his room and dropped me on the bed. I grabbed a pillow, cursing his name as I chucked it at him, trying to seem mad through my laughter. He kicked off his shoes and crawled in next to me, pulling the blankets over us. I cuddled into him and he held me tightly, pulling me as close as he could. We fell asleep mid-conversation, nodding off while we talked quietly to each other.

Laughter rang out as Sweet Pea juped, bouncing me as I rode on his back. I’d begged and he had finally obliged after I’d given him a kiss. It was in that situation, happy and very much together, that we were found. “Y/n.” I looked over to see Archie and my eyebrow rose. We were at school, he should be too. Why was he here? Sweet Pea, hearing my name and sensing my sudden change in mood, looked over as well. When I attempted to get down, he let me, his hand on my back to lt e know he was there if I needed him. I hadn’t been anxious but if I had been, that alone would have made it disappear.

Moving to my brother, I placed a hand on my hip. “What’s up, Archie?” Archie reached out, his fingers tracing over my nearly gone bruises and my Serpent tattoo, which was out for everyone to see after it had its time to heal. He looked upset and I stepped back, out of his reach. His hand fell and he swallowed.

He met my eyes. “Come on, dad’s waiting for us in the car.” He turned to leave.

My eyes widened. “What?”

Archie turned back to face me, his expression was dark. “Dad heard about you almost getting killed out here and he’s done playing games.” I scoffed and Archie put his hands in the air, palms facing me. “If you don’t believe me, come ask Dad yourself. He’s waiting in the car just like I said. We came to bring you home.”

My shoulders straightened. “I am home.”

Archie glared at me. “Yeah wel,l then we’re bringing you back to the North Side, Serpent.” He spat the word, refusing to call me by my name. It had the same edge to it as when Archie pulled out a gun that first night I met Sweet Pea. The feeling of disowning and letting go. I wasn’t his Y/n anymore, just as he had long since stopped being my Archie. We were different now, twisted and distant. Impossibly far away from each other.

Just as I was about to argue with him, Sweet Pea pulled me behind him. “She isn’t going anywhere.”

Archie immediately grew angrier, stepping up to Sweet Pea even though he was shorter. Toni was on the scene, her small frame sliding between the two huge boys and pushing them apart. “What is going ON here?”

Fangs and Jughead were suddenly at my side. “I’m taking her home.” Four vices rose angrily and he backed up, putting his hands in the air again. “My dad’s orders! There’s nothing any of us can do. She’s fifteen, he’s her legal guardian.” He sighed rubbing his face. “Come on guys…”

Pushing through all my friends, I faced Archie. I turned my back to him, loing at the four people that meant absolutely everything to me. “I can visit okay?” They all looked at me, as hurt as I felt. “I don’t want to start a war ad ruin the little relationships I have left. I’ll just… I’ll find a way.”

Toni was the first to step up. She gave me a hug, telling me to keep my head down. Jughead was next, his hug accompanied by a good luck wish. Fangs’ hug was harder as he whispered that I’d always be welcome back. Sweet Pea was last. I felt Archie’s on me as he took my hands, leaning down so our foreheads touched. There was a pause and it was too quiet. Like there was a wall of glass between us. “I’m sorry,” choked out. “I’m sorry-”

“Hey,” he soothed. “You’re spoken for, so am I. That won’t change. We’ll figure something out, okay?” I nodded. His hand left mine, fingers grazing my tattoo. I smiled. “No matter where you are,” he whispered. He kissed me and even though it was brief, Archie cleared his throat. “I’ll bring your bx if you want.”

Though a little laugh came out, I was crying. “Thank you.” I leaned away, locking eyes with him. “Wherever I am.” It was a promise, and now we’d both made it. I squeezed his hand one last time before I pulled away altogether, pushing past Archie roughly as I made my way to the car. My dad was waiting in the driver’s seat. As I approached our eyes locked and we both waved. He could tell how upset I was- not that it was hard to, since my eyes were red from crying. He motioned to the passenger seat and I took it, closing the door after me. Archie took the backseat without complaint. My dad started the car and it was quiet as I watched South Side High disappear.

Finall,y my father spoke. “You have a new tattoo. How did that happen?”

“Same way it always does. I did the initiation, I got the tattoo.”

He looked at me. “And the bruises?”

I was quiet for a long time. “Don’t blame the Serpents,” I whispered. “Toni, Fangs, Jughead, and Sweet Pea saved my life.”

“Your life wouldn’t have been in danger if you weren’t there,” Archie grumbled.

“Bullshit,” I snapped. My dad jerked in his seat. “The Black Hood is still running around killing people last I heard. The Red Circle didn’t get him?” That shut Archie up.

A few moments passed and my dad sighed. “Okay, look. There’s tension and danger and we’ve all been through a lot. But we’re a family.” I caught Archie’s eyes in the rearview mirror and we both held the same look in our eyes. We had the same parents and even some similar features. We came from the same bloodline and had lived in the same house nearly all our lives. But we weren’t family. I was a Serpent and he was Hiram and Veronica Lodge’s lap dog. We were on complete opposite playing fields. “And we’re going to figure this out,” our dad finished, knocking us out of our glare down. “My best friend was a Serpent. FP Jones himself.” Archie scoffed and I tried not to verbally attack him for the way the look on his face communicated a little too well on how he felt about FP. “Y/n, you’re allowed to be a Serpent, you already did what was necessary. If you wish, you can wear your jacket and even have friends over.” I looked over at him. He returned my look. “But if anything happens under my roof that you at all even think I couldn’t approve of, I will cut you off, do you understand me?” I slowly nodded my head, too relieved to care about what he was insinuating. Drugs? Sex? Fighting? It didn’t matter right now.

“But dad-” Archie began.

Dad shook his head. “I allow you the same freedoms Archie,” he finished. “I don’t want to hear anymore on the issue.” We were silent for the rest of the trip, but I knew what would happen. I’d be locked in a prison. Somewhere that wasn’t mine with people I didn’t really know anymore, who definitely didn’t know me. This was going to be complete Hell.

FTL: @chipster-21 @bitchyseawitch @alexa-playafricabytoto

Story tag list: @reblogserpent

#Sweet Pea #Jordan Connor #Riverdale #South Side Serpents #Serpents #Sweet Pea imagine #sweet pea x reader #jordan connor imagine #jordan connor x reader #riverdale imagine #south side serpents imagine #south side serpents x reader #serpents imagine #serpents x reader

144 notes · View notes

alyas-ladyblog · 5 years

Text

ANSBH P.10

First Previous Next

Ao3

Thank you for waiting on this section! Hope you enjoy :)

“Mari!”

Marinette tried to turn, but her body–where was she?

“La Mariquita!”

She watched as a little girl ran up to her, throwing herself around Marinette’s legs.

She watched as her body–of its own volition–moved, gloved hand going down to stroke the girl’s face.

The girl smiled, pressing her face into her hand.

She looked up at Marinette, and begin to speak

The language she spoke was not French, but Marinette understood it all the same.

I’m so glad you’re ok! She said. My mama and papa said they saw you running earlier and they were worried for you.

Marinette’s brow furrowed

But how would she respond?

How did you get out little one? The words formed on her lips before she had time to ponder further.

The girl smiled. I snuck out the back door when mama wasn’t looking to come and see if you were alright.

She pursed her lips. Iappreciate your concern little one, but your mama and papa must be worried sick. We should get you back home.

The little girl nodded, and Marinette hoisted up in her arms.

The girl giggled, and Marinette took off.

The smell of gunpowder filled the air, and she came to an abrupt stop.

Marinette moved towards a nearby window.

She stared at the reflection, hands moving to smooth her long black hair, to re-pin the rose behind her ear.

Her eyes flicked over her shoulder, where two men stood in the streets. She continued to pretend to preen, flicking a nonexistent piece of dirt from her frock.

Marinette–no, La Mariquita–wore a red and black off the shoulder dress, similar to the ones she’d seen flamenco dancers wearing. But instead of heels or flats, she wore knee high, black leather boots, and long, elegant gloves, the red standing out against her brown skin.

The little girl shifted in her arms. Why did we stop?

La Mariquita smiled down at her. Apologies little one. She deposited her on the ground behind a stack of crates. Stay here, and stay out of sight. I’ll be right back.

The little girl nodded. I will, I promise.

Mariquita took out her yoyo.

---

Alya lay on the ground, twisting the bracelet around her wrist. The sun had long since come up, and Marinette showed no signs of stirring.

She closed her eyes again, savoring the sun filtering in through the window.

Her stomach growled.

She opened an eye, and pulled up her phone.

Alya sat up. It was already one in the afternoon. She grabbed her glasses, and opened the trapdoor to the kitchen, doing her best to make sure it didn’t creak.

She headed downstairs, grabbing a plate from the cabinet, and opened the fridge.

---

Marinette perched on the roof.

She scanned her surroundings, savoring the way the cool night air nipped at the little bit of her skin that was exposed.

A chunk of hair fell into her eyes and she batted it back, shoving it back under her cowl with a huff.

Her eyes involuntarily narrowed, focusing on someone on the path below her.

There.

The man walked below her, hand on the butt of the katana sheathed at his side.

Marinette–no, Tentomushi–crouched, and padded across the roof, following the man.

Her soft tunic and trousers left her movements unencumbered, which she appreciated.

She dropped down behind him, marveling at how little sound her landing made.

The man walked into an alleyway.

She followed, moving her left hand back.

Marinette noted the wicked looking contraption on her hand. If she’d had control of her body, she would have flinched.

It was three blades, lined up with her knuckles, like one of the heroes from those comics Alya lent her as “beginner’s readings.”

She examined her reflection in the blades. Sharp black eyes peered back at her. The eyes flicked back up towards the man, and her hands pulled out the yoyo, pulling the line taut between her hands.

Her stomach sank.

This would not end well for him.

---

Alya took butter, a green bell pepper, an onion, a carton of eggs, and a container of rice out of the fridge.

She scooped the rice into a bowl, put a damp paper towel over it, and placed it in the microwave.

Alya opened up the cabinet next to the oven, and pulled out a pan.

She grabbed a knife and a spatula from a drawer, and a cutting board from the cabinet over the stove. After washing off the bell pepper, she cut it in half, and diced the half. She coarsely chopped the onion.

Setting that aside, she placed the pan on the stove.

Turning on the heat, she cut off a knob of butter from the stick, and put it in the pan to melt. Once the butter had melted, she put the onions in the pan.

When they started to become translucent, she took them back out, cracking two eggs into the pan.

She paused.

Another two eggs went into the pan.

She broke the yolks and swirled the eggs around, but the side crumpled, ruining the omelet.

Cursing, she broke up the eggs.

Guess we’re making a scramble,” she said.

She unceremoniously dumped her peppers and onions into the pan, and pushed them around to cook.

While they were cooking, she cleaned the cutting board and knife, and tidied up her workspace.

Once the eggs were almost fully solidified, she put a dash of salt on them.

The microwave chimed, and she pulled out the bowl of rice, depositing half of the scramble on top.

The other half went onto her plate.

She grabbed a tray, and placed the bowl, a pair of chopsticks, and a glass of orange juice on it.

Grabbing the tray, she carefully ascended the stairs to Marinette’s room.

She popped open the trapdoor, and placed the tray on Marinette’s desk, then went back downstairs to grab her plate.

When she returned, Marinette’s whole room smelled like peppers and rice, but Marinette still slept like a log.

Alya smiled to herself.

That girl could sleep through the apocalypse.

She grabbed the tray from Marinette’s desk, and climbed up onto her bed, sitting at the edge.

Balancing the tray on her lap, she took Marinette by the shoulder.

“Hey sleepyhead, it’s time to wake up.”

Marinette groaned, and turned over. “Five more minutes,” she mumbled.

“Well I guess I’ll have to eat this homemade breakfast all by myself,” Alya replied.

Marinette looked over her shoulder, bleary eyes struggling to focus on her friend.

“What’dyoumake?”

“Egg scramble and rice.”

Marinette sat up, rubbing her eyes.

Alya placed the tray in her lap.

“Oh this looks delicious Alya,” Marinette said.

She hesitated.

Alya sighed. “But,”

“Do you mind getting me something sweet to go with it? I feel pretty groggy–” Marinette said, an apologetic smile on her face “–and I think having something with sugar will help.”

Alya nodded. “I’ll go grab you a cookie.”

She went back downstairs and grabbed a chocolate chip cookie from the container on the counter.

Heading back up, she handed it to Marinette, who accepted with a quick “thank you.”

Alya smiled. “Eat up, I’m gonna go clean up the kitchen and I’ll be back.”

Marinette nodded in appreciation, mouth already full of egg.

---

Tikki peeked out, looking at Marinette with bleary eyes. “It was awfully nice of Alya to make you breakfast Marinette,” she said.

Marinette smiled, and handed her the cookie. Tikki took a massive bite.

“Sorry I didn’t feed you last night, I was just–”

“–tired.” Tikki swallowed, then looked at Marinette. “You had to manage the power of creation last night. I can deal with being tired for a few hours.”

Marinette fidgeted with her hands.

Tikki tilted her head. “What’s wrong Marinette?”

“I heard everything Alya said when she was akumatized, and,” she pressed her lips together. “She sounded so sad, and so regretful. But–” She cut herself off.

I don’t know if I’m ready to forgive her.

Tikki sighed. “Just because someone is remorseful doesn’t mean you have to forgive them Marinette.” She took another bite of the cookie, then continued.

“I was too hard on you last night. I did not understand why you lashed out. But when we got swapped, I could feel your hurt, and–” she shuddered “–it was so hard to control. I could barely focus. All I could think about was here was this girl who loves my chosen, but is the source of so much of her pain. And I felt betrayed.”

She paused. “Remorseful or not, whether or not you ever choose to forgive her is your decision.”

Marinette chewed on her lip.

Tikki tilted her head. “What is on your mind Marinette? I’d think this topic would have your full attention.”

Marinette sighed. “It would normally, but I had these really weird dre–”

“–Okay, now that that’s taken care of, let me eat my eggs because I am hungry,” Alya said, flinging open the trapdoor and climbing into the room.

Tikki dove back under the covers.

Marinette shoved rice in her mouth, giving a muffled hum of approval.

The two sat in silence while they ate their rice.

“So,” Alya, started. “About last night–”

“–I don’t blame you for what happened.”

Alya looked away.

Marinette sighed. “Look, I’m not going to apologize for what I said last night, I meant it. But…I could have worded it better.”

Alya nodded. “You were right though. What I was describing wasn’t healthy. Us needing one another to function isn’t healthy.”

The two sat in silence.

“Alya I…I’m not sure I’m ready to fully forgive you yet. I love you and I still want to be friends but–”

“–hurt takes time to heal. I get that girl. Take your time.”

Marinette nodded in appreciation.

Alya scratched her neck. “Do you want me to leave?”

“Oh no! I still want to hang out just–”

Sabine knocked on the trapdoor, and popped the door open. “Sorry to interrupt girls, but there’s someone at the door who wanted to check in on Marinette.”

Marinette furrowed her brows. “I’ll be right down.”

Sabine smiled, and closed the trapdoor.

Marinette walked behind her screen and began to get changed.

“I wonder who it is,” Alya said.

“No clue,” Marinette responded. “But if mom came to get me, it’s obviously someone we know. Hopefully it isn’t Adrien, I just–” Marinette sighed. “–I can’t deal with him right now.”

Alya shot up. “I got you girl, I’ll go check.”

She was down the stairs before Marinette could protest.

Marinette hummed, pulling on her jacket.

Alya burst back in.

“It’s Kagami.”

---

The Dupain-Cheng’s had let Kagami into the family room, inviting her to sit down, make herself at home.

She sat on the edge of one of the armchairs, eyeing the plate of cookies they’d set in front of her.

They smelled delicious.

Surely, mother wouldn’t know if she took one–

Marinette came scrambling down the stairs, and Kagami quickly withdrew her hand, standing up to greet her.

“Hello Marinette,” she said, a genuine smile on her face.

Kagami looked behind Marinette and her lip curled.

The reporter had come down with her.

Now, Kagami did not have anything against her per se, but the girl had a habit of shutting down Marinette, being all too nosy about everyone’s personal life, and enabling Lila.

So maybe she did have something against her.

“Hi Kagami! What brings you here?” Marinette’s eyes widened. “Not that I mind you being here, I just am curious if there was anything in particular that brought you over here on this specific day since I know you have fencing practice later and,” Marinette paused. “I’m rambling.”

Kagami smiled again. Another genuine smile! And this one got a smile in return from Marinette!

“It is not a problem. I stopped by to check in on you. I heard about what happened last night–” she willed herself to not look over at Alya. “–and I wanted to check and see how you were holding up. I sent you a text message, but I did not get a response, so I thought I would come over and check in.”

“Oh!” Marinette grabbed her phone from her pocket.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see your message,” she lamented.

“That is quite alright,” Kagami said (though she would admit she was a bit disappointed. She had crafted the perfect emoji chain after all)

Marinette smiled. “I really appreciate you coming over to check on me Kagami. Would you like to come upstairs and hang out with Alya and I?”Kagami looked back and forth between the two girls.

Alya’s face made it clear she was not keen on the idea.

Kagami smiled at Marinette. “I would love to.”

#ansbh #Kagami Tsurugi #marinette dupain cheng #alya cesaire #tentomushi #la mariquita #miraculous ladybug #My writing

7 notes · View notes

quarantingz · 4 years

Photo

my relationships with sleep, nature and my dog

4 April 2020 at 8:30 am

Hold your horses girls and boys because this one is about to get annoyingly tangential.

I think I should start putting in the date and time to commence my entries. I’d always do this on my journal. I got woken up by Archie this morning at exactly 8 am. An hour and a half earlier than my intended wake up time. My dog learned how to push my buttons and get me to jump up from my bed, leaving it unmade, and take him out for a walk. He’d tirelessly scratch on my door until I open it, leap on the bed and stand on all fours on my chest — licking my face as if to say, “Let’s go human!” Then he’d jump back down, start scratching on the door again and whine. Archie did all of this twice before I surrendered and changed into a pair of jogger pants which I originally bought for snow. And off we went to Lincoln Park (this reminds me of someone I’ll introduce later so stay tuned), only about 20 steps away from our front door.

On my, we’ll say approximately 12th step, I looked up at the sky and my eyes were met with a crisp blue sky and branches reaching for the morning sun. As nature does, the edges of the bark were tinged with a golden hue, like how I imagine the tail of a firefly would look like at night. As soon as we made a right turn to the entrance of the park, I came to a halt as I saw an old lady with a well-behaved and still Labrador in contrast to my little rabid dog who unfortunately skipped obedience school. Before Archie could even finish his first growl of what would’ve otherwise been many, I turned 180 degrees and pulled him along with me to walk a different route. I wanted to spare us all the incessant barking and hysterics it would’ve sent Archie in if we got any closer to the opposing tandem.

We walked up Lincoln Park Avenue and turned right at the first street to go through the back way of the reserve. I was wearing faux Birkenstocks I got from Dotti* (I think I might start using footnotes instead of containing afterthoughts in brackets) so my toes got wet from the morning dew on the grass.

A thought then occurred to me, who mows the lawn here? Or does this kind of grass not grow as tall as normal grass usually does? Like a dwarf grass? We circled around the trees as I watched Archie put his leg up and mark each trunk as his territory. I then remembered something I told my sister yesterday about nature when she mentioned a line from the book I lent her saying that no one really knows why nature has such a calming effect on us but it just does. Nature just is. It doesn’t force anything on you. It’s natural, which derived from the word nature (duh). I’d like to write my first love letter (Thank you pal x) to nature for sticking with us through the Big Bang, Jesus’ birth, the Vietnam war and every event that’s ever happened on earth, good and bad.

For the rest of this quarantine period, I want to be more intentional with my relationship with nature. I want to dance with it, let it speak to me and endow me with all its knowledge. I remember when I first went to Queenstown with my family, almost three years ago now (crazy!) and the sight of the Southern Alps would put tears in my eyes as I saw it from different angles and proximity. This love letter extends to the Man above who breathed Nature into Being and created it just so. For it to have that inherent effect on individuals, put us at ease but remind us of our insignificance in the scale of nature and the universe at the same time. I think that’s beautiful.

Now I could choose to end this entry on a positive note about nature, but we all know (Alyssa and I anyway) that my mind doesn’t work that way. I initially planned on inserting what I learned from my relationships with different people, specifically those who have come and gone. I’ll spare a few minutes to dwell on one I had with this guy.

Every night before going to bed I try to set up my sleep cycle app to wake me up between a certain 30-minute window the next morning. When you stop the alarm, you do so by sliding the screen up, and revealing your sleep stats from the previous night. Since the start of WFH, I’ve been getting disappointing results in the quality of my sleep. Why We Sleep (awesome book) suggests that we allow extra time for sleep onset when we get in bed. You may choose to sleep at 12 am to get enough sleep before your 8 am wake up call but unless you’re our friend Lauren you probably won’t fall asleep at least 20 minutes later. And I don’t know if it’s all just me being anal about sleep quantity but those 20 minutes can make a huge difference. Anyway, my sleep cycle app said that I only slept for 6 hours and 30 minutes last night. Not good enough!

I developed this insecurity of not getting enough sleep after my second date with someone I met on OkCupid and grew infatuated feelings for. We’ll call him TJ. We went to Tanuki’s Sake Bar in town, almost a cliché date destination, or so I heard. He introduced me to using a sleep cycle app which didn’t catch on to me until a little later but now I treat it as this single source of truth for telling me how well I’ve actually slept. Is it healthy? I don’t know. But I made a joke on Twitter once that nothing makes me feel more insecure in my twenties than knowing I had 1 or 2 hours less sleep than a friend or a colleague. So after Archie woke me up my initial plan was to take at least an hour nap but here I am, an hour into writing this entry and too awake to even go back to sleep. Sigh. I shall try for 8 hours of shut-eye tonight. Cue me standing up from my chair and sauntering over to the kitchen to make myself a flat white.

*I wore the same sandals on my last “date” with Gabe who I mentioned in my earlier entry which was not at all the right call. All the concave points on it allowed for seashell particle build-up under my sole and in between the fingers of my toes. Not cute. After our long walk at the beach, we went into the Indian restaurant but not before I stayed outside to shake nature’s remnants out of my poorly chosen footwear. Good times.

- p

1 note · View note

fairlyfantasy-writerblr · 6 years

Text

The little goddess

Part 1 of 3 ---- I’m falling, my eyes are closed because I can’t stand to see the world moving that fast around me. To see death looking me in the eyes. My heart is beating so fast I am a heart attack risk, and I almost wish that I died before I hit the ground. I hear the world whistling by before I hear and feel nothing.

Glancing around, I see a man that looks like he would belong in Italy, with dark brown curls that seem to have no rhyme or reason. Eyes so black it pulls the light out of the air, yet are filled with a kind of childlike happiness. A sharp jaw, high cheekbones, features that wouldn’t look out of place on an aristocrat. And he is holding me. My setting is unfamiliar, it doesn’t share the same appearance of where I fell, even the sky is different. The man notices my curiosity and smiles before setting me down. I feel lighter than I did before, something is different, but I can’t seem to place it.

I wander until I find a garden, the man followed me the whole way. We had passed many people, who looked at us, but said nothing. The garden was in front of a large castle, and the man only nodded when I looked to see if it was okay for me to be there. In the garden there were flowers and many fruit trees. The fruits seemed to glimmer with jewel like appearances, and I was captivated. I reached out for one but the man - still saying nothing - grabbed my hand and lead me away. He spoke quietly but it carried as if the world wanted me to hear him.

“Don’t eat those, they are dangerous for someone like you.” His words confused me but at a questioning glance he said nothing more.

He lead me inside the castle, into a room decorated beautifully. It was something that suited my tastes exactly, as if I had decorated it myself. As I turned to thank him, he had disappeared into seemingly thin air.

“I wonder why he left so suddenly… He seemed so kind, but… where am I?” I glanced around, but it lent me no clues to my whereabouts.

Little did I know, but across the castle, the man stood among those he held close to his heart. It was a meeting of sorts for their lord. He paced as his friends bickered, unable to find a solution.

“You should calm down, for all you know, she knows nothing, she may be frightened. You should explain yourself.” A woman with a crown of flowers on a nest of mahogany brown hair spoke up. Her eyes were as green as the stems, and her skin as pale as her whitest daisies.

Another man spoke from across the room, gaining their attention as this was the first time he had spoke this meeting. “She didn’t cross like the others did, she is special. However, her death symbolizes something, possibly a resurgence of a new bout of gods. She may only be the first, or she may be the only. We will not know for some time, but she has appeared here and taken well to you, so I vote that we make her comfortable. She may be a better suit for you than Persephone,” at a nod of agreement from the said queen of the dead, he continued on, “and she may not have to leave. Hades, give the poor girl a chance.”

“I don’t know if I can… she only trusts me because I was the one who caught her. I said nothing of who I am or where we were. I… I may have already ruined things.” Taking his head into his hands, he took a seat on the steps to his throne. Thanatos just shook his head with the others at their dramatic king.

“She thinks only good of you, give her a bouquet, something beautiful. Tell her your name and go from there. You have always been too kind and too worried about messing things up. Take a chance.” Hecate spoke from her corner of the room, with bright blue hair and skin as dark as the night, her eyes being pure white were like a shock. They seemed unseeing, but they bored into Hades with an unrelenting power.

“I agree, it's not as if she has any power yet, tell her while a outburst won’t bring the whole castle to the ground.” Nemesis spoke, her prosthetic arm waving wildly as her eyes crinkled with the slightly deranged smile. It seemed off putting to anyone who had never seen it before, but to the rest of them, it was nothing but one of her quirks.

Persephone whispered something in his ear, and he finally looked up with an apologetic smile as she waved him of with a grin as she nodded and disappeared, leaving petals on the floor where she had stood.

“Why is she the only one that can get him out of the emo corner he constantly tries to hide in? I have tried for centuries and it has done me no good. Magic woman, tell me how.” Nyx pointed at Hecate only for her to send a breeze over to the queen of the night. “That doesn’t answer my question and you know it.” Hecate's only response was to disappear in smoke, leaving only a stem of sage in her wake.

“Meeting adjourned then, if you will excuse me, I have business to attend to.” With that, their own king disappeared as well, only a sliver of obsidian to prove that he had been there.

I had fallen asleep halfway through their little meeting of sorts. It wasn’t something intentional, but after I had explored the room, I was hit with the type of exhaustion that nearly cripples you. So I flopped onto my bed and was asleep before my head even touched the bed.

I woke up, not to the birds I had grown accustomed to, or the annoying sun in my eyes, but rather of my own volition. Also, to a knock at the door. Or many. I just wanted to turn myself into a burrito and sleep some more, because I may be rested up, but that doesn’t mean that I couldn’t sleep for 5 more years if I wanted to.

“I’m awake, I’ll be out in just a moment, ‘kay?” I half yelled, my speech was slurred with sleep, but I didn’t care. The knocking stopped. Half of my brain told me to go back to sleep, but the other half told me to get up or they would start knocking again.

I noticed a outfit laid out at the foot of my bed, I didn’t know where it had come from and knowing myself I would have missed them in my once over of the room. They were probably someone else's, so I left it alone, and went to answer the door instead. The man from the day before was leaning against my wall, tapping his foot and looked as if he was about to begin pacing.

“Hello.” He jumped a bit at my voice, and settled when he noticed me. However his eyes gained a sad look to them as looked upon my current state of dress.

“Did you not like the clothes I sent for you? If you don’t like them then I can get you new ones.” His eyes glanced down as he began to fiddle with his rings. My eyes widened at the realization that they had been for me.

“Oh, it's not that! I just know myself too well. I thought it had been left over from the last person to have been in the room. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I just didn’t realize… I’m sorry.” His eyes had lit back up but the more that I talked the more panicked he looked.

“It’s okay, don’t be sorry. I should have told them to leave a note. It was stupid of me to not have done so. You can go back and finish getting ready if you want to, I can wait.” He flashed me a smile before ushering me back into my room.

He was a very confusing man. But he was kind, better than any of my ex’s, and he wasn’t trying to get anything from me. He just seemed to want me to be happy. It was odd, but it felt… nice.

I ran into the bathroom I had seen the night before, and took a quick moment to admire the room yet again before I hopped into the shower. After I grabbed a towel and began to dry off, I walked out to grab the clothes that he had gotten me. It was a dress that reached to my mid-calf, it was a royal blue. There was also a pair of black flats to match the black trim of the dress. It was something that I would more readily wear to a big event than every day, but it was beautiful. I wasn’t going to turn it down because it didn’t seem like the right occasion. I slipped it on and looked in the mirror. Somehow, it fit me perfectly, but at this point I wasn’t going to question it.

I stepped back out of my room after putting my hair in my customary ponytail. He was actually pacing when I left my room this time. He wouldn’t have noticed me had I not let out a little laugh. His head shot up and he let out a shocked laugh at my appearance. I was nothing special, nothing beautiful in my own eyes, so I assumed it to be a laugh at himself. It was much later I realized the truth.

“Lead the way, you are the one who supposedly knows his way around here.” He gave a little nod and started walking, leading me right-right-straight-straight-left until we arrived at a big set of doors, which he opened, to find myself in the center of the garden again.

“I am afraid I am a bad host, I haven’t even introduced myself or asked for your name. Apologies, but I can rectify that now. I am Hades, it is nice to meet your acquaintance. You are?” His name rang bells, but I couldn’t place where from. As to not appear rude, I introduced myself as well.

“Kalia, and it's okay. I didn’t ask for your name either. I just don’t know why I am here. This doesn’t seem like the place I fell from, I don’t recognize any of this. I… can I know why you are letting me stay here?”

“You needed a place to stay, and I had a place that would work. You… the how and where we are is complicated. You should have taken a different way down here. You passed, your soul moved on, and it should have gone the way every other soul does. It should have been ferried across, but it didn’t. You fell from the sky, and I barely caught you in time. This is the underworld, but you aren’t to be judged. We are thinking that you may be of a new set of gods that was sent here because this is where your powers lay.”

“I- I’m sorry, I - I just, what? I died, I knew that was going to happen the second the ground crumbled, but a god?! No, it doesn’t make sense.” An energy began to build up around me, the more I tried to explain it to myself the stronger it became. “No, you are talking nonsense, it's not true, it can’t be.”

Hades reached out to me and suddenly the power that had been building up exploded out of me. He was thrown back, uninjured but dazed. I stared at myself as I tried to rationalize it, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t because somehow I had just thrown the kind man who had only tried to help me without even touching him.

Because I was scared.

I will be the first to admit that when I get scared I try to rationalize my fear, because if I can prove it is fake, a lie, then I won’t be afraid anymore. But I… I threw him like a doll. He had to have been telling the truth because that blow would have at least hurt a person.

Then it clicked, the reason why he was so familiar. Hades, greek god of death. God. Ijustthrewagod. I just threw a god. I just threw Hades. With that realization I ran over to him. With my words forming apologies with varying volumes I held his head on my lap as I sat on the ground with him while he regained his bearings.

“Nemesis was right.” Words meant he was okay. Words meant that he wasn’t hurt to bad. Words meant that my brain could shut up about the chants of him being hurt to the point of death.

“Right about what?”

“It was better to do this now. Imagining how bad that could have been if I had given you more time to come into your ability may have sent me to the fields of asphodel. Remind me to thank her, would you?” I let out a choked laugh, my mind spinning at the thought of Hades getting hurt more than he already was. I couldn’t let that happen. I owed it to him now.

“I am so sorry, I don’t know how I did that, but I never want to do it again if it hurts anyone like that again.”

“Don’t say that, you are the only one who can to that, you could save someone with an ability like that. I won’t die from something like that. I will be fine. I will even teach you. Just don’t swear off using your ability yet. Okay?” At my weak nod he smiles again. “Now, would you help me stand? Because I can, I just need some help getting up.” I nod with a little more life this time, and another genuine smile arrives to face me.

1 note · View note

imagine-loki · 7 years

Text

A Gentleman's Preference

TITLE: A Gentleman’s Preference CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter Two AUTHOR: fyreyantic ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki being your sugar daddy. RATING: PG NOTES/WARNINGS: I meant to submit this sooner but I’ve had a crazy busy week. Phew. Hope people enjoy.

In the morning Cassie rose with her accustomed feeling of apathy before last night came back to her. It was then replaced with anxiety and despondency.

As a matter of routine Cassie decided to go through showering , getting dressed, and having breakfast before trying to tackle the issue at hand.

There was no way she could pay it. Not unless Cassie miraculously found an extremely well-paid job that just happened to not clash with her others. That would be nice. As it were she had her two jobs: the coffee shop and the call centre, with the side of occasionally do children’s parties.

Luckily or unluckily – Cassie struggled to figure which it was – she had work at the coffee shop that morning so she’d be seeing Amanda.

The coffee shop was busy in the mornings. People came in to get coffee on the way to work, or for small work discussions, or by ten often just people taking a break from the work day. It kept Cassie busy and on her toes. That she was thankful for.

Once things started to wear down, Amanda turned to Cassie.

“You have sad eyes. What happened?”

Cassie heaved a sigh.

“Bad?”

“It’s a story.”

Cassie didn’t say anything more on it. Amanda avoided the subject as well, her obsession with the man and woman who came into the café nearly every day taking up most of her attention.

“Oh, their hands!” Amanda whispered, elbowing Cassie.

The man’s hand wavered as though it was about to touch hers but instead went for the sugar packets in the middle. Amanda huffed in annoyance.

“One day I’ll know your secrets,” she said with narrowed eyes.

Cassie scoffed, continuing with work.

Near the end of their shift together Amanda asked if she wanted to come over for drinks. Cassie did. They made their way to Amanda’s which they could reach by foot.

Amanda’s apartment wasn’t too bad. She shared it with a roommate, Pete, who looked and dressed like the stereotype of a nerd yet seemed to always be bringing girls back. It was puzzling.

“He’s out tonight,” Amanda said as they wandered inside.

There was always an odd smell in the tiny living room. It was a musty kind of smell mixed in with old books. It wasn’t bad but Cassie had never had it vanish into the background – not fully. It was always there.

Amanda sat on the floor by a low cabinet with two bottles in hand. “Vodka or gin – or…whatever this is.”

“Vodka,” Cassie said definitively.

“Okay. I’m not sure I can find anything to mix…Oh, there’s ice tea,” Amanda said as she opened the fridge, “or…juice.”

“Ice tea’s fine with me.”

“Cool, cool, great.”

Amanda sought two glasses out and at first added far too much vodka. She made a face as she drank. Cassie laughed.

They stayed in the kitchen for the first two drinks, Amanda doing her best to amuse Cassie by reciting half-true events that had happened that week.

Eventually they made it to Amanda’s room, the bottle of vodka and ice tea in tow, as they sat down on Amanda’s bed. Cassie tried to tell the story of last night now she was drunk enough but it came out more as a rant. Amanda watched entranced, her expression mirroring the mood as Cassie related each event. She paused near the end. Even in her drunken state she knew that as soon as Amanda caught wind of the man who had lent her his handkerchief she’d latch onto it hard. Amanda would see a dark, handsome stranger where Cassie knew there was just someone who was overly friendly and probably just needed an excuse to feel better about himself. People always wanted something from you whether they realised it or not.

“The whooole cake? So you didn’t even get any?”

Amanda stayed caught up on the cake as Cassie fell back onto the bed. With a thump Amanda followed and giggled as she touched Cassie’s nose with a ‘boop’. With a smile Cassie patted Amanda on the head.

A sudden fear, a suggestion in her mind that maybe things would never change, bloomed in Cassie’s chest. “Things will be alright, right?” Cassie asked.

“Of course. I’ll write so many novels, and you’ll do paintings. We’ll be rich and we can date actors and everything,” Amanda told Cassie with confidence, voice blurred in dreaminess and alcohol.

“What if I don’t wanna date actors?” Cassie replied, going along with Amanda’s vision of the future.

“You can date a singer. Or guitarist.”

“Sure, sure.”

“And we’ll have huge houses.”

“Tree houses. Those tree houses that are actual houses.”

“And a dog and a cat and a turtle.”

“And go to Disneyland every year.”

“Have a house at Disneyland,” Amanda said, eyes lighting up.

Cassie chuckled. They stayed quiet for a moment, Cassie watching Amanda’s chest rise and fall. After a while she had started to assume that Amanda had fallen asleep until she spoke.

“What if you just dated someone rich?”

It sounded like a half-finished idea rather than anything serious but Cassie still moved her head to look Amanda.“What?”

“There were rich people everywhere at that thing you did. What if you just got one?”

“Got one?” Cassie repeated. “They aren’t things.”

“Mm. But…what do they call it?” Cassie waited for Amanda to figure it out. There was no point in guessing with Amanda. “Sugar daddy. Get one of those.”

“Hell no,” Cassie exclaimed. “They’re all old and weird.”

“Find a young one. Young rich people exist. I’ve seen them.”

“They can find girlfriends fine. They don’t need arm candy.”

Amanda just shook her head. “No, no. That’s not right.”

Cassie rolled over and got up, forgetting the subject. “Is there still vodka?”

“Mm. Are you having more?”

“Yeah. You want one?”

“Please, miss.”

When Cassie came back into the room she saw Amanda on her laptop, sitting up by the headboard. Cassie didn’t bother asking what she was looking at. She simply handed Amanda a glass and sat down. Then Cassie peered to see what Amanda was doing.

“Whaa…”

Amanda gestured excitedly to what the browser was open to on her computer. “They have sites for it!”

Cassie examined it carefully. It was a sugar daddy dating site. She couldn’t help but laugh. “Really, Amanda?”

“We can make an account and –“

“Let’s choose a stupid name,” Cassie said. It was one of Amanda’s silly whims and she was drunk enough to indulge her.

“A funny name…Are they meant to be like stripper’s names?”

“I don’t think so…”

The pair sat and pondered over a name and a bio. It was at that point Amanda started to nag Cassie to use a photo of her.

“No way. People will find it…”

“You have to be registered to see girls so come onn.”

Cassie pondered a moment. This was probably Amanda’s plan all along. “I don’t want to be a…sugar girl? Sugar thing.”

“Baby.”

“I don’t want to be one.”

“You can pay stuff off –“

“I can be forced to have sex with old men –“

“Unless you find someone nice! There might be someone, and you should at least try, please, Cas. Please, please, please.”

Cassie was beginning to realise that she’d made the fatal mistake of not immediately shutting Amanda down earlier.

“And I’ll do something,” Amanda continued. “ I’ll make you biscuits and do all the cleaning at the café and buy you nice things.”

“I hate you,” Cassie mumbled. “You do what you want. But I don’t meet anyone unless I want. Final.”

Amanda smiled widely. “Let’s find a good photo…Or we could do a photoshoot right now!”

“No drunken makeup.”

“Drunken makeup challenge. Do you think that exists? We should do that.”

Cassie shook her head. “No, no – just choose a normal one. Normal photo.”

They picked one out that Amanda had on her laptop already, though they did get distracted a few times by the other pictures Amanda had.

Cassie’s eyes struggled to stay open and before the entire thing was finished she’d already fallen asleep.

The pair slept beside each other, facing one another. Cassie didn’t have too much of a headache but felt incredibly groggy as she got up. Immediately noticing Amanda’s absence she went to look for her.

Entering the lounge, Cassie saw her sitting cross-legged on a couch, her black hair in a messy tangle and her laptop sitting on her lap. There was a glass of water on a coffee table in front of her.

“Morning,” Cassie said as she approached.

“You’re up!” Amanda responded with more enthusiasm than her face showed.

“Yeah, and I’ve got work in a few hours,” Cassie told her as she checked her watch.

“Oh, at the call centre?”

Cassie nodded and sat down beside Amanda. She frowned when she saw it was the sugar daddy site, the previous night coming back to her.

“Oh god. You haven’t been talking to people, have you?”

“No, just looking to see who there is. There’s a guy in his mid-thirties who likes yachts.”

“I’m scared of being on the ocean.”

“Really? You’re not joking?” Amanda inspected Cassie for the barest hint of her lying.

“Yeah, so not him. I really don’t…If this is going to work I don’t think you talking to them is going to work. They may as well be meeting you.”

“But you’ll promise to try? A genuine promise?”

Cassie rubbed her forehead. “Okay. I’ll try.”

Amanda’s smile was infectious. Cassie couldn’t find room in her heart to resent her fantasy. It was an obvious fact, however, that there was a very slim chance that Cassie would find anyone she’d remotely be interested in meeting. She was also sure that Amanda would lose interest at some point so she didn’t take it as a serious commitment at all. Something peripheral – and something Cassie forgot about completely for the rest of the day as she worked at the call centre.

It was nearly midnight as Cassie unlocked her apartment door, stepping in and switching on the light. The call centre was always much more exhausting than the café. She’d been yelled at twice by customers and about stupid things. It had worn her down.

She slipped off her shoes and went through her lounge to the kitchen – though it wasn’t really a lounge. Her flat was simply one room, a small kitchen at the back, and a bathroom that was literally big enough for a toilet, a shower, and the space for someone to stand between them. The room at the front really just served the purpose of bedroom and living space. It was all Cassie needed and the rent wasn’t terrible. There was a lot of trouble in the winter with heating but Cassie wouldn’t move far from the bed anyway.

The most expensive thing in the house was Cassie’s laptop which her parents had bought her for college. It was one of her most prized possessions.

Cassie made herself a sandwich before turning it on. She’d at least check her emails; she was expecting an invoice to come through about the cake from the gala. When there was nothing of any note Cassie sighed a little. She looked at the time and considered whether to go to bed.

About to open up some of her social media, Cassie suddenly remembered the sugar daddy website. She’d promised Amanda that she’d at least have a look so she logged onto the site. Cassie had one or two messages but they were both from old men that she had zero interest in. For a while she just aimlessly scrolled through profiles. None seemed appealing at all but Cassie hadn’t exactly expected them to be.

She was about to give up and call it a fruitless endeavour when another message came through.

Loki: Of all the places to meet you again, I did not imagine it would be here.

Cassie quickly looked at the sender’s profile and saw the face of the man from the night of the gala. She balked for a moment – he was far too good-looking to need to be on this kind of site. All the explanations that rushed through her head weren’t good. Still he had intrigued her more than anyone else had.

Rose: Where did you imagine it then?

Cassie was momentarily confused until she remembered that Amanda had decided her alias would be ‘Rose’.

She waited for his response expectantly.

Loki: Admittedly whenever I see a cake shop I wonder if you have developed a taste for bakery-related acts of anarchy. You have not, I suppose?

Rose: No. I can hardly look at cake now.

Loki: More’s the pity. I would have endorsed your newfound pastime.

Cassie rubbed her head. She wasn’t happy with this line of conversation. He didn’t understand – how could he? – that it was actually a big deal.

Loki: I digress. It’s inconsiderate of me to purely take interest in what can’t be all that defines you as a person. Loki: Your profile says you enjoy art?

Not remembering having put that in there, Cassie quickly checked her profile page. Amanda must have put it there. She took a breath. Should she really talk about herself to a stranger? It was probably harmless, Cassie told herself.

Rose: Yeah. I like painting but I don’t do it so much. Mostly just drawing things.

Loki: Why is that?

Rose: No time to I guess.

Cassie was frowning and nervously biting her lip. She felt uncomfortable skirting around her trouble with money, even though that was this was probably what the whole sugar daddy thing was about.

He seemed to take longer to reply this time. Cassie thought hard about what she’d write.

Rose: I’m sure I could find time to draw something for you.

She cringed even as she wrote it – but wasn’t she meant to be more accommodating? Wasn’t that the sort of thing girls on the site said?

Loki: A drawing? Pray tell, what would you draw for me?

Rose: Anything but a cake.

Loki: Reasonable. I’ll consider it carefully but I’m afraid I do need to go. Loki: Good night, Rose.

Rose: Bye

Cassie closed the window and let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. That had been nerve-wracking. The questions of what she was doing and what exactly she expected to come out of it were easily blown off from Cassie’s mind. She turned off her laptop and got ready for bed. There was a short spike of excitement inside her as she lay down to sleep. Something different was happening, even if was only for a moment.

#Loki #Lover #Submitted fic #submission #chapter 2 #A gentleman's preference #fyreyantic #sugardaddy

112 notes · View notes

novantinuum · 7 years

Text

Breaking Point (1/2)

Part of the “Smaller Than He Seems” AU, in which Ford was accidentally de-aged into a kid during his multiverse adventures, while retaining all his memories. He appears about 12 at this point.

Last one shot here.

AO3

Rating: T (for some language)

Word count: ~4000

Summary: In which Stan drags Ford to the mall to buy some shoes. Ford dodges an awkward encounter with a local. Stan says something he regrets.

Ford sat in the shadows of his old sitting parlor, trapped deep in a labyrinth of thought. Two bare feet dangled over the edge of the couch. Thanks to his diminutive stature his legs couldn’t reach the floor, and it was making him feel ridiculous. A pity he’d never acknowledged what a blessing being taller than 4’9” was before he fell into this predicament. And what a dreadful, annoying predicament it was. He found it hard enough pushing himself to extremes beyond the portal as an adult, trapped in an unforgiving world where he often wouldn’t have food to eat for days and had to constantly remain vigilant of the agendas of those around him. But traversing this road in the guise of a child?

Sometimes he truly wondered how he was still alive.

He’d tried his best to move past the set back then. He’d tried his best to keep his morale up, his wits about him despite his clear disadvantage. He’d tried to ignore dwelling on the logical repercussions. However, the unspeakable reality was that— barring supernatural intervention— he was stuck like this forever, a man with decades of life experience reverted in form to an age no older than the great niece and nephew he’d met only yesterday. Ford fancied himself a master of denial towards this fate before his brother activated the portal and unexpectedly dragged him home. But now, everything and everyone around him just served to prove how wrong this all was, how wrong he felt in his own skin.

Thirty years.

He’d been gone for thirty damn years, long enough for Stanley’s hair to grey and the skin of his face to crease and sag with age. He was supposed to look like him. He was supposed to age alongside his brother, and now no one would ever think to guess they were twins.

His wrists faintly quivered as he lay his palms out flat on his lap. He stared at his hands intently until his eyes watered and he was forced to blink. The skin was too smooth, too young and unblemished. Long ago a small part of him marveled at how the adjusting of his biological clock erased the decades of wear and tear, but now he’d do anything to see his old healed over wounds and scars. Anything...if only to remind himself that those past fifty or so years were real. He wrapped the scarf he brought back with him through the portal— plum purple in color— tighter around his neck.

A knock on the door rapidly shook him away from this maelstrom of thoughts. Hastily, he shot to his feet, thoroughly embarrassed at the thought of someone seeing him dangle his legs on a too-deep couch.

“Come in,” he said, cursing internally at just how small his voice sounded.

The door opened, and as expected in waltzed his brother. “Hey. Those clothes the kids found for ya’ working out fine?” Stanley asked whilst appraising his new duds.

A few minutes earlier, Mabel enthusiastically offered to lend him any of her dozens of homemade sweaters. After searching through her (alarmingly massive) inventory, (seriously, how does a child find the time to knit a new sweater every single day?) he eventually settled on an azure blue one, with a big floppy cowl neck and a constellation painted in glitter. Dipper lent him a spare pair of shorts, and shoes to try on. Immediately succeeding that, the kids scuttled away into the forest claiming they were trying to find ‘a magical cure’ for his condition. He appreciated their care and enthusiasm, but knew from experience they would return empty handed.

“Mostly,” he said, tugging at the neck of his sweater. “The shoes don’t fit.”

“Well of course they don’t,” Stanley murmured quietly, glancing down at Ford’s bare toes pressed against the wood floor. “Dipper’s got small feet. We’ll have to get some new ones for ya’. We can do that now, actually— I’m not givin’ any tours today, the Shack in the state it is.”

Ford shook his head rapidly, feeling his heart rate increase exponentially at the idea of having to venture into town. Within the past few years he discovered his perceived vulnerability due to appearance skyrocketed amongst large crowds, and always tried his best to avoid them at all means. He couldn’t even count on both hands how many times he’d evaded capture for the trans-dimensional child slave trade.

“N-no need,” he said, words strained from the lump forming in his throat. “My boots will more than suffice.”

“No. I’m not about to let ya’ clomp around in those dusty ol’ things all summer.”

“Well, what’s wrong with them? They fit perfectly fine.”

“They’re combat boots, Ford! The toes are solid metal. There’s utterly no reason for you to be wearin’ such heavy, ridiculous shoes in a place like this, lookin’ as young as you do, no less. And since no other shoes here fit, I’m taking you to the store and buyin’ you new ones!” His brother paused thoughtfully, scratching at his ear. “Oh uh... or stealing. Whatever gets me the most bang for my buck, y’know?”

He dug his fists into the folds of the sweater, ignoring both the last comment made and the rush of hurt that filled his chest at his twin’s untimely reminder of his condition. “While I appreciate the thought, I’m not sure you understand the sheer scope of how uninterested I am in going to town right now, Stanley.”

Stan tilt his head, peering at Ford with a searching gaze that reminded him far too much of the countless alien creature he caught gawking at him whenever he lingered in a market place for too long.

“What, you’re scared of what they’ll think? About you?” he asked evenly. “You’ll be fine, poindexter. They’re all idiots, remember? I can tell ‘em anything I want and they’ll eat it up. Probably wouldn’t make the connection you’re worried about anyways.”

“Bu—“

“But nothing!” Stanley poked him in the chest. He squirmed under the touch. “You need a pair of normal, everyday shoes. You’re coming with me and that’s final. Get your boots on for now, and meet me by the car.”

Ford stood motionless until his brother left the room, staring at the open door for so long he couldn’t rightly say how much time had passed.

“Dammit,” he muttered. In haste, he reached for his socks and boots and yanked them on, knowing that despite his deep-set reservations at venturing into public, it was preferable to go willingly rather than be dragged along by his stubborn twin brother.

And who knows? If he behaved, perhaps he could convince Stan to buy him a pair of sturdy kid’s hiking boots instead of sneakers.

As he feared, the Gravity Falls Mall— lovingly referred to as ‘Gravity Malls’ for bad humor’s sake— was full to the brim, and within minutes he’d developed a faint headache from sensory overload. The florescent lights were tinted a cool white that irritated his eyes. A myriad of scents— ranging from smoked ham to odiferous body washes— assaulted his nose without reprieve. The radio playing in the background mingled with the din of the shoppers, all the sound quickly fading into a single cacophonous orchestration. Without warning a taller figure shoved past him, causing him to stumble straight into his brother’s side. He shot a dark glare at the perpetrator, and tightened his grip on the compact dagger concealed in the pocket of his shorts. In response Stanley held him by the shoulder more firmly than before, and continued to lead him through the throngs of civilization.

However, past his own shot nerves and the carelessness of the people he shared this space with, he was surprisingly able to find some degree of amusement in this endeavor. Ford rolled his eyes as he read some of the store marquees. Most of the store names seemed just as quirky as the townsfolk who shopped there. Immediately to his left was a store proudly called Overalls Are Cool Now, which sold— as one might expect— nothing but various styles of overalls. Nearby were the shops Build a Beaver, (some sort of kid’s stuffed animal store), Edgy on Purpose, (punk teenagers probably accumulated here en mass), and— he had to stifle a laugh at this one— Beebly Boop’s Videogames.

Odd wares aside however, the greatest mystery about this mall was probably how it avoided being flipped upside down by the portal’s activation.

“You know, I’m faintly surprised that this mall is in as good of a condition as it is,” he mused out loud after thoroughly searching for signs of damage and finding next to nothing, “considering that strange earthquake that happened yesterday.

His brother quirked a knowing eyebrow. “Huh. That is interestin’. Perhaps it's because the epicenter of the, uh... the earthquake was so far from this side of town that its effects simply didn’t reach here.”

Epicenter, as in the portal itself, currently sitting in the basement of his house a few miles away. Good point. This must mean the portal’s affect upon gravity weakens with distance due to the interaction of the Dimensional Slippage Principle, he thought. Though he supposed if he had successfully carried out the tests on his creation back in the eighties he’d have considered this already. Nonetheless, his lips curved into a slight smile at Stanley’s logic.

“The potentiality of that is quite valid.”

“Oh, y’think so?” Stan was positively beaming at his praise, his face more alight with life than it’d been for a long while.

He hummed in positive.

They reached the foot of the escalator before long, and Ford hesitantly stepped on. While riding the step to the second floor however, he couldn’t help but notice some people on the escalator glancing towards him. Their expressions weren’t exactly what he’d deem predatory, (yet), but their lingering gaze unnerved him enough that he buried his hands further into the pockets of his shorts and pressed himself ever-so-slightly closer to his brother.

As he did so, Stan squeezed his arm. “You okay, Ford?”

He nodded, forcing down a heavy swallow as he tried with no success to ignore the harmless actions of the townsfolk around him. He utterly despised how useless attempts to mask his fear were in this hormone flooded adolescent body. No room for subtlety existed in his expressions now.

“Well hang in there, Sixer. we’re almost there.”

Once they reached the second floor’s landing, he noted with annoyance that this section of the mall was no less busy than the last one. Nuts 4 Hardware, a home improvement supply shop, seemed to be holding a lucrative sale. A literal riot of people crowded past the doors, the store not able to contain the sheer amount of chaos occurring within its walls. He supposed it made sense, given that a portion of the town had been shaken to pieces yesterday. As he continued to survey his chaotic surroundings, he noticed he began to feel slightly... disconnected from the present, his limbs seeming as if they were moving on automatic rather than acting on the whims of his mind. Ford rapidly grabbed a fistful of his scarf in response, stroking his fingers against the grain of the soft worn fabric to ground himself.

Before he knew it, his brother and him had arrived at their destination, a store called Brown’s Shoe Fit. Stan steered a disgruntled Ford towards the children’s shoe section. Much to his dismay, a fair number of townsfolk diverting their attention towards them to greet his brother, who apparently had forged a more positive rapport here than he’d previously realized. Once their gaze fell upon him, however, their friendliness turned to neutral curiosity. He squirmed where he stood, and leaned close to his twin to whisper to him.

“Just so you know, if anyone asks... I’m not gonna be your son or grandchild,” he grumbled, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.

His twin chuckled at this, his warm gravelly laughter filling the store and turning heads. Frantically, he tugged at his arm to regain his attention.

“Stan! Would you cut that out? I’m serious! See what you’ve done? Now the entire store is staring at us!”

“I’m- uh,” he began, clearing his throat once he’d quieted his amusement enough to speak again. “I’m sorry to hand this to ya’, sport, but that’s probably exactly what people will think.”

“Then fix it! Lie to them. You said it yourself these townsfolk would believe anything you say.”

“Well yeah, but—“

“Surely it wouldn’t be that difficult for the so-called ‘My Mystery’ to cook up a suitable ruse about my sudden existence?” Ford queried pointedly, making air quotes with his index and first middle finger as he called upon his brother’s newest moniker. He then began to sort through the displays of shoes for something suitable, glancing up periodically to monitor Stan’s facial expressions.

“I mean sure, I can do that if you really want me to, but...”

The question hung in the air far longer than either brother was comfortable with. Notably, Stan displayed the same air of uneasiness as that time their seventh-grade algebra teacher asked him to the board to solve an equation but he’d been horsing around throughout the entire lesson.

“But what?”

“I...” His brother paused, visibly considering his words. “Ford, why are you so against being introduced as my grandkid? You know that would make the most sense. It’d be easiest to forge in the future, too.”

He groaned, pressing his face into his hands. For god’s sake, this wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have right here, right now! “Never mind, just- figure out another plausible backstory, will you?”

Stan’s mouth hardened, causing the lines on his face to become so pronounced that for once, his age was truly evident. “Y’know what, I’m getting real tired of you dodgin’ or bein’ stubborn ‘bout every simple thing I ask or sa—“

“I said never mind!” he snapped in a half whisper, pouring as much resolve and authority as was possible into his adolescent voice.

“Geeze, okay, okay!”

His brother threw his hands up in defense, and left the aisle to give him some space.

Ford took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and reveled in the sudden peace and quiet the man’s absence brought. Thoughtfully, he began surveying the available stock of shoes. He picked up a small pair of children’s boots and ran his fingers over the tread, bending the rubber to test for flexibility. After a few minutes he found two suitable pairs in his size, and wandered towards a plastic cushioned bench to try them on.

He’d only pulled one boot over his socked foot when a woman about Stan’s age with voluminous grey hair coiffed atop her head approached with an overbearingly enthusiastic smile. Her face was caked in heavy makeup, and she appeared to have a lazy eye.

“Awww, well who’s this cute lil’ cutie face?” the old woman said in a drawl.

Ford slowly scooted away from her, not immediately recognizing her as any sort of threat but not desiring conversation with one of these... mindless townsfolk. He wrapped his arms around himself, hoping to appear closed off enough that she might give up and walk away. Annoyingly however, he could sense her persistence. He narrowed his eyes, preparing himself internally for a round of pedantic small talk. There was always a certain condescending manner in which older generations conversed with children he found, and being on the receiving end of that was never a pleasing way to spend an afternoon.

“Never seen you in town before! They call me Lazy Susan. What’s your name, hon?”

“I’m no—"

“Oh would ya’ look at that! If it’s isn’t my gal Susie,” Stan cut in suddenly as he returned to the aisle, blessedly rescuing Ford from any awkward encounters.

Susan pulled her lips back, smiling toothily at his brother. Half of those teeth were severely yellowed from age. Discreetly Ford made a face.

“Well hi, Stan! I was just talking to this cute young child right here,” she said. “Is he yours?”

“Yeah,” he said, brows pursed. Ford could nearly see the gears in his head turning, trying to come up with a suitable lie that would satisfy both his request and the woman’s voracious curiosity. “Yeah, he’s mine. This is my, uh... well, he’s... kinda Dipper and Mabel’s second cousin! Just came to town to visit.”

“Oh, is he your grandchild then?”

He shot a dirty look at Stan that might as well have been laced with poison. Stan shrugged and mouthed, I know, I’ll fix it. He then jabbed his fingers towards the boots that sat beside him, motioning for Ford to continue trying them on.

“Wow, I never knew you had children,” Susan continued, oblivious to the non-vocal conversation going on around her. “I always kinda assumed you were a... y’know, a bachelor. Wink!”

Ford doubted it was physically possible to roll his eyes any further without rolling them backwards in his skull. He untied the laces of the second boot quickly, keeping a wary eye on the scene in front of him. The older woman seemed harmless enough, but he deemed it smarter to be proactive for once than reap the consequences later.

“No no, he’s actually not mine, he’s my brother’s,” his twin lied effortlessly, plastering on a wide showman’s smile. “I’m his great uncle too, y’see?”

Great uncle? Okay. He could accept that for now.

Not delighted at the prospect of listening to the two gossip about him for the next passage of time however, Ford allowed their voices to fade into obscurity. He pulled the boot— a black lace-up— onto his foot, tugging at the lip to draw it over his heel. Wiggling his toes to test the fit, he quickly determined that this pair proved workable. He stood up and walked a few paces in them. They were appropriately snug, but not uncomfortable to wear. His fingers made quick work untying the laces, and he moved on to the next pair he’d pulled from the shelf, brown this time. Thankfully, at the edge of his peripherals he noticed Susan finally bid farewell and toddle off for another aisle. Good riddance, he thought, wrinkling his nose.

Stanley sat down on the bench next to him, letting out a heavy, weary sounding sigh. The plastic cushion sank under the added weight. His brother watched intently as he fumbled with the thick laces of the second pair of boots, pulling them taut.

After surveying their surroundings, Stan’s head owlishly swiveling from left to right, he leaned forward to whisper. “Hurry up and pick somethin’, would you,” he muttered, low tone doing nothing to conceal the roughness in his voice. “I’m losing my window.”

Ford pressed on the boot’s front, finding the tip of his toes. “Dare I ask what you mean by ‘window?’” he queried, raising a brow.

“My window of opportunity, of course!” his brother replied, bestowing him with a wide shit-eating grin. “The cashier’s gone to the back and there’s no tellin’ how soon she’ll return. These shoes ain’t gonna steal themselves, Ford.”

He could feel his face flush red with frustration. “F-for god’s sake, Stanley! You’re not stealing any shoes.”

“What,” Stan said with a bark of laughter, “you worried about the police catchin’ me? The only two policemen in town? The sheriff and his deputy are so distracted by their mutual pining that I could pickpocket both of ‘em and they wouldn’t notice, we’ll be fine.”

“I’m- listen, I’m worried because it’s wrong! It’s a crime.”

“Naw, it’s a crime that these shoes are marked up this expensive. Now shut your yap and let’s get movin’! Which ones have you tried on?”

“Um—“ he paused to grab the first pair of boots— “just these two. Thankfully they both fit well, but I’m at a loss as to which I prefer.”

“Oh great,” Stan groaned, burying his face into his hands. “I can’t believe I forgot how picky you always were about shoes.”

Ignoring his dramatics, Ford placed his foot over his opposite leg so he could compare his two choices. “I suppose I would prefer black, but the brown ones I’m wearing have a sturdier sole and do feel like they’re more durable...”

“Come on, sounds like the ones you’re wearin’ are good enough, let’s go!”

“Peculiarly, the brown ones are less expensive,” he continued musing out loud, hoping the ice in his glare would convince his twin to sit back down and release his arm from his grasp. “I suppose price would also be important to consider, right, Stanley?”

“Uh- Ford?”

“But if I bought the black boots I would get an extra pair of laces. Might be helpful.” He smiled wryly, at this point only seeking to press his brother’s buttons. Or to corner him into paying the cashier like any self-respecting adult. While lost in the multiverse he could excuse petty thievery in a matter of life or death— which in his case, it often was— but in his home dimension surrounded by CCTV cameras and noisy bystanders to witness such an act? Shoplifting shoes, of all things? Inexcusable.

“Ford, the sales woman is coming back.”

“Hmm....”

“Ford, I’m beggin’ you. I’m literally begging you to choose. I didn’t even bring my wallet!”

He picked up the black boot, and brought it close to his face as if he were attempting to solve some nebulous, vexing equation that had woven itself within the stitching. “Perhaps I should try on the first pair again to compare the two...”

Without forewarning Stanley ground his tightly closed fists into the plastic cushion of the bench. Ford’s entire body seized up in response to the unexpected motion and suddenly he found himself trapped within an insufferable second of infinity, hidden between ill-timed words and reminders of this unwanted fortune.

“Sweet Moses, stop actin’ like a damn child and just pick a pair!” his brother snarled, eyes ablaze with ire and his brow dropping a dark shadow onto his face.

Dazedly, Ford wiped Stan’s stray spit off his cheek. All the light and vigor drained from his body in an instant. He threw the black boots back onto the shelf, collected his original pair in his arms, and— without sparing a single glance at Stan— began to stride towards the entrance of the store.

Everything that occurred after that passed by without much conscious input or recollection.

At some point, he was vaguely aware of collapsing into the back seat of a car— that anciently old El Diablo, red, its luster worn down from years of loyal service— and of painted blurs of green, brown, and blue whirring past his window. And he supposed he faintly recalled a few things... impassioned shouting, bumbling apologies, (‘M sorry, god I’m sorry I didn’t think didn’t mean to say that I didn’t mean to—), strong arms hefting him up like a rag doll... even through the impressions these stimuli left were hazy, as if they originated from miles away.

Ford.

Fingers wove through soft fabric.

Ford, talk to me, please!

This familiar motion, once a source of comfort, left him empty for once.

Ford. Sixer. Come on, listen ta’ me, please! I said I was sorry...

The gravelly voice faded into the recesses of his mind, crushed by the memory of the words that had shattered his morale once and for all.

A child. He called me a fucking child.

Is that all anyone could see of him anymore?

He hugged his original boots closer to his chest. Could feel the weight of the stolen ones on his feet. His eyes grew damp, and for once in his long, fatiguing life he didn’t even bother wiping them dry.

#my writing stuff #smaller than he seems au #gravity falls #stanford pines #stanley pines #stan and ford #gravity falls fanfiction

124 notes · View notes

magicalthoughtsendinterriblefics · 7 years

Text

4Chips - Requested

Requested by anon: Hi!can u make a one shot with Sherlock where he finds out she self harm(he couldn't deduce it&they're together)&he takes her out 4chips like in the lying detective&twalk around London &shows her that she doesn't need to do this with lots of fluff?

Pairing: Sherlock x reader

Word count: 2,120

Warnings: Cutting - mentions of blood, pain and depression.

A/N: This was such a release to write...

Enjoy!

Sherlock was out on a case; (Y/N) calculated he would be away for at least three more hours. She had no idea what the case was about, or who ended up being the criminal, and she didn’t care at all. She needed to do it.

That day had been rough, and she was feeling less than nothing. Sherlock was far too focused on his case and ignored her, as usual. Not that she expected much from him, they had only been together for a month and Sherlock wasn’t precisely affective. But sometimes one just needs a little bit of attention.

He was a know-it-all. From the instant they met, Sherlock deduced everything about her… Almost everything about her. He always missed a detail and the one he missed on her was one of the most important part of her life, whether she liked it or not.

Hiding the scars wasn’t hard. London was a place so cold it wasn’t weird to wear sweaters and multiple layers of clothing; also, Sherlock hadn’t tried to get intimate with her, maybe his disgust for other humans or the fact that, for a whole month, he had gotten a case right after the other.

She locked herself in the bathroom, taking off all of her clothes and the small razor blade she carried in her makeup bag. Nobody had ever noticed it, she could’ve worn it as a necklace and everyone would’ve thought it was a fashion statement but it was more than that.

Her inner pain was far too hard to bear, and needed to be opaque against something else. Physical pain, yes, that was her only way out. When the brain is too focused on the outside, it forgets about the inside.

Her tears ran a second after her fingers grabbed the blade. She knew it was wrong, she knew she had to stop, but she lived in a world where no one noticed how much she ached; no one noticed her suffering, her fear… Not even the Great Sherlock Holmes, who everyone thought of a master mind, someone who no one could keep a secret from him.

“Ha-ha” (Y/N) whispered at the thought, she had hidden something from him and she hadn’t been discovered.

The cold blade ripped her skin as she moved it swiftly over her thighs. The burn gave her a sweet release, something no therapy could, but she was insatiable. She needed more than one cut to forget about his inner pain for the rest of the week. Hence, she made another one, and another one, and another one until the bathroom floor had small droplets of blood.

She stayed there, observing the red liquid running down her shivering skin. It was warm, and dark… When people thought of red liquids to forget, they usually think of wine, but this… This was more intoxicating than any wine.

She was too mesmerized by it, and so she didn’t hear when Sherlock arrived two and a half hours earlier. If she had only known that the criminal wore too many fluorescent colours to sneak in the darkness… It was harder to cut a cake than to trap him.

Sherlock noticed the locked door before even touching it. He knew (Y/N) was there, he had asked her to wait for him because Watson insisted that he owed her a date. But she was quiet, only a soft sob could be heard from afar, almost like a whisper and Sherlock – aware of the many death threats he and his friends received daily – couldn’t think of something else but to drop to the floor and try to see something from the little separation from the door to the floor.

He didn’t have a clear view, but he saw the droplets of blood as well as her bare feet next to them. Judging by her position, she was leaning over the toilet, like she had fainted, and so Sherlock panicked. He opened the door with a kick and revealed (Y/N), wearing only her underwear, with a blade in hand and with dry blood all over her legs, arms and belly.

“What did you do?” He whispered, falling to his knees.

“Sher…” She breathed out. He was disappointed, sad even, and (Y/N) couldn’t stand to hold his gaze so she turned her face away from him. More tears escaped her eyes, and the kind of pain she felt then couldn’t be solved by more cuts.

She felt his cold hands over her legs, tracing her cuts softly like a hard touch would make them bigger. “I don’t understand…” He said, “Since when…”

“Years.” She muttered.

“It can’t be, I couldn’t…”

“Deduce it.” She interrupted, looking down at him. “This isn’t something you just deduce, Sherlock.”

“But why?” He inquired sadly, “Aren’t you happy?”

Happy, such a vague state. Happiness wasn’t the exact feeling she felt, yet it wasn’t completely untrue. She felt happy at times, like when Sherlock kissed her for the first time, but said happiness was soon covered by the dull darkness of numbness. She wasn’t precisely sad, either. She simply felt nothing, and that is the worse feeling in the world.

“I don’t know.” She whispered, “It’s like I can’t feel anymore… Everything that should make me happy feels dull… I know what I have, I know who my friends are and that they are there for me… But they feel so empty, like a blank piece of paper. I’m drowning in an empty pool, Sherlock.”

He nodded. “That’s what depression feels like.”

He stood up with a jump and went out to look for the first aid kit. She tried to argue, but Sherlock had made his mind and he was now curing her cuts. First, he cleaned them with alcohol, slowly and making sure to blow cold air every so often so it wouldn’t burn her. Then he used a pink liquid that turned red on her skin, it was meant to heal her faster. Finally, he put her bandages to avoid any kind of unfortunate contact with the fabric of her jeans.

Sherlock extended a hand to her. “What?” She inquired, alternating her gaze between his sad eyes and his hand.

“We’re going for chips.” He said. (Y/N) had no idea what he meant, but as long as he acted like a regular boyfriend for once was more than enough.

(Y/N) stood up, and before they could go out Sherlock begged her to change into something less tight. That way, her cuts would be able to “breathe” and heal faster. She agreed and ended up wearing one of Mrs. Hudson’s maxi dresses from when she was young and a coat Sherlock lent her.

Sherlock didn’t order for a cab, instead they walked. (Y/N) felt her cuts with every step she took, but it was part of the process and she was used to it. Sherlock remained quiet; he was holding one of her hands, which was a lot of PDA for him. But then again, what she did was out of the ordinary for him, and even if he denied it, he felt a little guilty.

It was just a cart, with a man charging and giving his clients bags of chips. Nothing special, nothing unique, but the simple smell of it mixed with the petricor of the rain that had just fallen was heavenly.

Sherlock payed for two bags and then lead her to sit on an empty bus stop. “These are the best chips in all London.” He said happily and ate one. (Y/N) mimicked him.

“Are you mad at me?” She inquired softly. Sherlock hesitated to reply.

“No.”

“No?”

“No.” He looked down at her, “I’m mad at myself for not… For not noticing.”

“No one notices ever, it’s not your fault.” She tried to comfort him.

“But I’m not a common person.” Sherlock insisted, “I’m Sherlock Holmes… And your boyfriend.”

(Y/N) looked down, not knowing what to say. She felt a tad bit embarrassed for being caught; if she had waited until she got back to her own flat, maybe things would be different.

“Tell me, why do you do it?” He asked.

“It eases the pain.” He nodded.

“The pain of…”

“Living.” She stated.

“Living isn’t painful.” Sherlock tilted his head a little.

“It isn’t a fun ride either.” He chuckled.

“There are so many things about life worth living for…” He whispered, “Let me show them to you.”

“Sherlock…”

“No, please.” He begged, “I know you must feel like crap right now, especially because you’re wearing a dress and its winter. But please, come with me… If it doesn’t help, we’ll find another way.”

“Sherlock Holmes begging.” She joked as the professional she was to change the subject.

“Please.” He said once more. He was uncomfortable with the word itself, just like (Y/N) felt uncomfortable with talking about her self-harm; and if Sherlock didn’t interrogated her, she wouldn’t force him to beg more than what he had just begged.

“Fine.”

The streets of London had a lot of people considering it was past midnight by then, but it was part of the beauty. “Look at that.” Sherlock pointed at the Buckingham Palace that shined from afar. “You see the lights illuminating it?”

“It’s impossible not to.” She said.

“Don’t you think they’re beautiful?” He inquired softly. He has the mind of a scientist or a philosopher…

“Yes.”

“And look at the bridge and the London Eye, and the boats at the Thames… They are all illuminated by small lightbulbs.” He continued, “One lightbulb would look awful, but when you mix them all they create this… Show.”

“What’s your point?” She asked.

“My point is that what you are feeling is like… Like the darkness from the night… And the small bits of happiness are the lightbulbs. If one focuses on the parts with no lights, they miss the ones that are illuminated…” He explained and the excitement was palpable on his voice.

“Sher…” And before she could finish, he dragged her back to the streets.

Sherlock walked with her all over London, telling her witty jokes and deducing things to impress her. He also didn’t miss a single chance to make some cheesy comparison, trying to get her to understand that life was worth living and that self-harming wasn’t the way.

They got to the darkest place in London. Away from the centre, from the crowds, a spot where the city was visible from afar like a film happening in a different time, on a different area. It would’ve been beautiful if it weren’t for the smell of garbage.

“This is where you are now.” Sherlock spoke, “It’s dark, it stinks and it was an amazing view of the lights, but it’s not quite there… You need to get back to the lights, (Y/N).” He turned to see her face to face.

“It’s not as easy as taking the tube or walking.” She mumbled.

“That’s why I’m here.” He said softly, “I will help you, (Y/N). Let me save you.”

“I…” She tried to move away, but Sherlock held her tightly against his chest within an instant. It was the first time that he truly hugged her instead of the usual absentminded hug they were used to.

And maybe it was his warmth, or the peaceful beat his heart had against her; maybe it was how amazing and understanding he had been with her, or the fact that he had showed her that he could feel as well, and most importantly, that he understood her feelings. More tears streamed down her face, but they weren’t sad tears, but rather the kind of tears that carry all the pain away with them, leaving one free of sorrow.

Sherlock held her until there were no more tears to be cried, and then he took her back to the city where they sat on a bench at the edge of the Thames and observed the first boats leave and how the city became alive slowly. The world was spinning, the people were doing things, following their routines, and they were only spectators.

Sherlock observed in awe as she took consciousness of her surroundings, the things she had ignored in the past. It was like a new born baby discovering the world for the first time, starting by the simplest things. He hadn’t let go off her hand since they sat there, and so his touch was the only thing keeping her truly warm; she felt like, if she moved, she would freeze to death.

“Are you feeling better?” He asked in a whisper.

“Yes.” Sherlock shifted closer to her, letting go off her hand to wrap his arms around her in a warm embrace.

“Good.”

*Requests are ALWAYS open.*

Masterlist.

Sherlock Tags: @resurrection-huntress @oaisara @charlottemalfoy @zena-dukmak @just-a-blog00 @wefracturedmotivation @beccamullz @newts-fan-case @sugarshai

#bbc sherlock #sherlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock fluff #sherlock imagine #imagine sherlock #sherlock imagines #sherlock oneshot #sherlock one shot #sherlock one-shot #sherlock fanfic #sherlock fanfiction #sherlock x reader #sherlock au #sherlock reader insert #the lying detective #benedict cumberbatch

699 notes · View notes

proseasmic · 6 years

Text

Inarrêtable - XIV

A Week Later

He hadn’t meant to match with her.

Marinette, that is.

Or maybe he did... Subconsciously, of course. He wouldn’t have done it on purpose... but the white crème suit seemed to call to him when he looked over his outfit options. Of course, he’d be wearing Gabriel; his father would no doubt disown him if he wore anything else, school dance or not. The suit jacket was a cashmere blend, very luxurious to the touch, and underneath he wore a crisp white shirt topped with a crème-silk vest accented with a pastel pink tie. Wearing pink wasn’t an issue for Adrien; as a model, he was often shoved into things of various colours, and he also liked to chalk it up to how comfortable he was with his masculinity.

Because he was the one who required the bodyguard, Adrien arranged for his friends to join him in the car and they’d all ride to the dance together. First stop was Nino’s, then Alya’s, and then Marinette’s where she was supposed to be with Luka. Adrien didn’t much like the idea of having their relationship waved in his face, but Marinette had been so grateful and happy when he offered that he couldn’t find it in himself to be mad about it.

When his bodyguard pulled up to Nino’s place, his friend was already there, wearing black dress pants, a matching vest, and a purple dress shirt with a black tie. Alya must have been wearing purple, and he had to hand it to Nino:

“You clean up good,” Adrien said as his friend slid into the seat next to him.

“No need to lie to my face, dude,” Nino said but he grinned anyway, pinching at Adrien’s jacket with a raised brow. “We all can’t look like a damn model.”

“I’m serious,” Adrien answered as the car peeled back into traffic. “Alya won’t be able to keep her eyes off you.”

“You think?” Nino seemed a bit nervous. “I’m not used to this whole monkey suit business.”

“Ah, come on,” Adrien clapped his friend on the shoulder with a grin. “It’s not everyday you can wear a monkey suit; enjoy it while you can!”

“Don’t you wear these pretty often?”

“And I can assure you that I know they’re the closest thing us mere mortals can get to a super suit,” Adrien grinned.

They pulled up in front of Alya’a building just as Nino was texting her, and the boys opted to go up and see her instead of waiting in the car. Adrien let Nino lead the way, and as soon as they got into the kitchen, Alya’s mother began to fuss over them, getting her camera ready to take pictures.

“Alya, Nino and Adrien are here!” Marlena called. “Are you almost ready?”

“We’ll just be a sec, Mama!” Alya’s muffled voice called back. Adrien’s brow furrowed.

‘We?’

Alya eventually emerged from her room, done up in a tight fitting purple dress that matched Nino’s shirt. Her hair was pulled up into a high ponytail (that she proudly announced was her “power pony”) and she paired everything with black pumps and a clutch her mother had lent her. Emerging from the room behind her, looking like some kind of flower fairy, was Marinette. It was like her dress design had been magicked off the paper and into reality; she had made it perfectly, the bodice fitting snugly against her torso with the A-line skirt flaring out to her knees. Her hair was pulled back into an elegant twist at the back of her head, and she opted to wear white flats instead of heels, most likely knowing her own clumsiness.

Adrien was floored. She was stunning. She looked beautiful. Like a… Princess. He’d given her the nickname as Chat Noir without really thinking about it, but it suited her. He then realized he was staring and cleared his throat.

“Marinette, what are you doing here?” Adrien asked, hoping he sounded casual. “I thought we were picking up you and Luka from your place.”

“Oh, we had a change of plans,” Marinette said with a smile. “He had a late band practice, so he said he’d meet us there.”

Adrien noticed how her shoulders drooped and he frowned. He found it was getting harder and harder to like Luka right now.

“Alright, photo time!” Marlena exclaimed, and Alya groaned.

“Mamaaaa, we’ve got to go!”

“No, you guys go ahead,” Marinette said to Alya and Nino. “You guys should get a photo to commemorate your night! You both look great.”

“Oh no, we’re not leaving you and Adrien out of this,” Marlena said. “Not when you both match!”

Adrien knew he and Marinette realized it at the same time. They both glanced at their own outfits before looking at each other’s and the two of them instantly flushed red.

“We’re not-“ Adrien stuttered. “I didn’t do it on purpose!”

“Yeah, we’re not-“ Marinette floundered. “I’m going to the dance with Luka!”

“Since he’s not here,” Nino quipped. “Why don’t you two just get a photo together? We can do a group picture! Just a bunch of friends.”

Marinette seemed to relax at that and glanced at Adrien. He met her gaze and shrugged with a sheepish smile and they joined Nino and Alya in the shot. Adrien stood next to Marinette, eventually having to put his arm behind her as they were all instructed to squish in together for the photo by Marlena.

After a quick photo session later that Alya grumbled though (“Now I know where you get it from,” Marinette said jokingly), they were finally on their way down to the car. Nino and Alya led the way, arm in arm, and Adrien fell into step next to Marinette as Marlena waved them off.

“Bye, have fun!” She called. “Make good choices!”

“I never got a chance to tell you, Marinette,” Adrien said as he opened the car door for her. “Your dress looks incredible! It turned out really well.”

Marinette chuckled. “Oh, thanks; I’m really proud of it. I think it’s my best work yet!”

“You should be proud,” Adrien smiled.

“You look really nice, too,” Marinette gave him an earnest smile as she smoothed a part of his jacket. She paused at the softness before she pulled away (Adrien’s heart squeezed sadly) and turned to get into the car. “But then again, you always look really nice.”

“Thanks,” he said with a wistful smile as he slid in after her.

-----------------

PREV ---- NEXT

Find me on A03

Buy me a KoFi?

#miraculous ladybug fan fiction #miraculous #miraculous lb #miraculers #fanfiction writer #adrienette #adrien agreste #marinate dupain-cheng #marichat #ladybug and chat noir #the tales of ladybug and cat noir #the tales of ladybug and chat noir #tales of ladybug and cat noir #luka couffaine #romance fic #ml ladybug #ladybug #cat noir #chat noir

0 notes

threeorphanpilgrimage · 7 years

Text

Chapter 71 - Wide Open Spaces

Clementine felt the wind stinging at her face as she pedaled down the road. It was warmer today, but still not nearly enough for her liking. The snow had disappeared almost as suddenly as it had come, and once again it felt like they were on their way to an early spring, or maybe they were just a few days closer to an ordinary spring now. Looking out at the vast empty fields of the Osage Nation, midday sun lighting every withered blade of grass, Clem was disappointed to find no signs of civilization beyond the power poles running beside the road, her only clues to a possible oasis in this desert of emptinesses.

Seeing a barn approaching on the horizon, Clem stopped pedaling and started coasting along on her momentum. A wooden fence came into view, and Clem suspected this was another cattle farm instead of the kind they were looking for, but seeing it was the only building for miles she stopped to check it out. Deploying her bike’s kickstand, Clem removed the tomahawk and raincoat stashed in her saddlebag and climbed over the decrepit wooden fence.

There wasn’t much in the pasture but a few stray weeds, but Clem could see something piled up in one of the corners across from her and a couple of bodies lying in the dirt just before that. Approaching them, she could see their decaying limbs had been twisted into unnatural positions, and their clothes were little more than darkly stained rags now, but she still raised her tomahawk and punctured the nearest one’s lifeless skull. Approaching the second body, Clem felt a leg bone snap under foot. Suddenly, the second corpse twitched, causing Clem to jump backwards in response. Watching anxiously, Clem saw that the walker’s head could only barely pivot in place using the torn strains of flesh that were once its neck. It could only fruitlessly chomp at the air, or even the dirt depending on which way its head bobbed; Clem put an end to its pitiful existence.

Reaching the corner of the field, Clem discovered what she had seen before were piles of bones that probably use to belong to a couple of horses. Their skeletons had been picked clean and left to bake in the sun, with weeds growing in the spots shaded by their presence. Looking ahead, Clem noticed the corner of the fence had been knocked down and past it she saw one more animal’s skeleton. Whenever that was the last one or there had been others who had escaped, she didn’t know.

Clem headed for the barn next, where she found nothing of interest, then the farmhouse just beyond it, which wasn’t much better. There was no food left, the dressers were left half-empty from when the previous occupants had fled, and the interior dotted with leaves, dirt, and other things that had likely blown in through the windows over the last two years. Having found nothing of value, Clem returned to her bike and resumed her lonely search.

“Pawhuska’s gone,” informed Devlin over the radio. “I was holding out hope this far into Osage land we’d find signs of them, but nothing.”

“When we investigated Hominy and the surrounding area, you said the damage was much worse than you expected and speculated it was possible troops from Oklahoma City could still be here into the Osage Nation,” reminded Sin. “Do you think they could be this far in?”

“Doubtful,” said Devlin. “We already knew the people living out here had consolidated on the area bordering Tulsa a long time ago. Even if OKC came in this far, Pawhuska looks abandoned like everywhere else, not burnt down and shot to hell like Hominy was…”

“I guess there’s probably not any Osage left,” concluded Sarah.

“Or any troops,” added Sin.

“Or if there are, they went in a different direction than us,” noted Devlin.

“We’re already halfway across the Osage Nation, and we still haven’t found anyone,” said Sarah. “Although, it’s a big area.”

“And empty,” added Sin. “This is our third day, and we still haven’t found a suitable place for the farm.”

“Only because you two are so picky,” retorted Anthony. “We’ve found tons of abandoned farms now, but for every single one you guys say—”

“We need to find the right one,” recited Sarah.

“Yeah, that,” said Anthony.

“I gotta ask, do we have any room to compromise on this?” said Patty. “I mean, multiple water sources, one big enough to fish in, two acres of flat farmland, buildings with roofs right for rainwater collection; can’t we get by without the fishing or—”

“You were all worried about the workload necessary to run a farm, as you should be,” reminded Sin. “Sarah and I devised what we felt were the bare minimum of necessities needed for the seven of us to run a self-sufficient farm without any help. Remember, we have no running water, no electricity, no animals, and we’re going to have to grow many different things. Farms usually grow many of one thing because different crops have different requirements, but we’d have no one to sell a surplus to, so—”

“I get it!” insisted Anthony.

“I did find a small river,” reported Patty. “I guess I can follow it for a while, see if it borders any farms.”

“Keep us posted.”

Clem slowed to a stop as she spotted something sitting in the road. Using her binoculars, she could see it was a black bicycle; Patty’s bicycle, which she had lent to Jet. Clem had known he was making a sweep of this area, but didn’t think she’d already looped back into the area he was surveying. Rolling her bike up to his, she looked around for any sign of the boy and spotted someone standing on a small hill in the distance.

“Jet!”

Clem watched as the figure turned around; it was him, and he started waving for her to come closer. She hopped off her bike and started walking across the hill. “Did you find something?” asked Clem as she moved up to join him. “It looks like it’s just cattle farms and ranches around here, no…” Clem looked out at the mass of metal debris blanketing a field leading up to a large broken metal tube. “Whoa.”

“Yeah.” Jet started moving down the hill, Clem following behind him. Charred chunks of metal littered the entire area, seemingly weaved into the thin layer of dead grass they were walking across. Even trying to avoid the bigger pieces, Clem heard harsh metal crunches under her shoes as she moved forward. Most of the debris was so badly burnt it was difficult to tell what they used to be. It wasn’t until she got closer to the tube in the distance an image of a passenger plane started to form in Clem’s head.

Approaching the broken fuselage sitting just beyond the debris field, Clem found herself becoming tense. Jet pulled his machete while Clem readied her tomahawk as the two stepped into what remained of the dark tube. Listening to their feet echo across that metal gave Clem a shiver, and carefully scanning the area made her paranoid something was going to jump out at her.

Jet suddenly raised his machete over his head as he pulled open a large cabinet, only to find nothing inside. Facing forward, the pair found themselves staring at a partially opened door just ahead. They moved in close, Jet approached the door while Clem traded her tomahawk for her pistol. He slowly pulled it open and Clem could see a wrecked cockpit inside. Jet briefly stuck his head back past the entrance then looked back at Clem.

“It looks empty.”

She followed Jet in, discovering a couple of seats facing cracked windows that looked out over the empty fields. Clutching her gun in her hand, Clem crept past the edge of the seat only to discover it was empty. There were a few stains on it that may have been blood, but were so faded it was hard to tell. Looking over, Clem saw Jet standing right beside her examining the other empty seat.

“I guess we shouldn’t have expected to find anything,” concluded Jet.

“You never know anymore,” said Clem as she put her pistol away.

“We’re out of the sun in here,” noted Jet. “You want to stop for lunch?”

“Sure.” The pair shut the door, piled their equipment into the corner and removed a couple of cans from their packs. Sitting down in the seats, Clem found something odd about looking out at an empty field through a cracked windshield. Observing the desolate landscape from the confines of an abandoned vehicle didn’t feel much different than sitting in the Brave actually.

“Thanks again for the hat.” Clem looked over to see Jet was wearing the Apollo cap she had given him not long after they met.

“It’s no problem,” she assured. “I’m surprised it fits you; I thought it was too small for me.”

“Granddad did some stuff to it make it bigger,” said Jet as he removed the cap. “He said I should just get a bigger hat, but I told him I’m probably never going to find another one like this now that we’ve left Houston. I think he likes that it says ‘Failure is not an option’, so he made little cuts in the back that let me stretch it out more; he’s handy like that, when he wants to be. Although I guess it’s silly wanting to keep this so bad, but…”

“You like it,” concluded Clem. “That’s a good enough reason to keep it.”

“I tell myself that I’m wearing this to remind me that if people could travel into space, then we can at least survive,” mused Jet. “But really, I just like it, like you said. If you had any more NASA stuff I’d wear it too.”

“We have a NASA jacket for when OJ gets bigger, but I don’t think your granddad could ever stretch it enough for you to wear it,” informed Clem. “We used to have a toy space shuttle too, but OJ lost it.”

“How?” asked Jet. “Doesn’t he stay in the RV most of the time?”

“He does, but he managed to lose it anyway. One day he had it, the next day he didn’t, and we couldn’t find it anywhere. He did the same thing with a pink marker we gave him once and some other stuff. Sarah thinks one day we’re just going to find some spot in the Brave where OJ has been hiding everything, but I think he probably just threw them in the trash and we didn’t notice until it was too late.”

Clem fished some corn out of her can and started chewing on it.

“So what do you think happened?” said Jet.

“To this plane?” asked Clem.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Maybe someone was bitten, got on a plane, turned into a walker, then caused it to crash.”

“Yeah, probably.” Jet twirled his spoon around his can and sighed. “I remember when it all started, there was a plane crash on the news.”

“You think it was this one?” asked Clem.

“No, they said this happened near Dallas, so I guess there were two plane crashes that day… at least. At the time, people were worried about if it was terrorists or an accident or… something else. I guess it was the last one.”

“We still don’t really know what happened,” said Clem. “Not really, other than people turn into walkers now when they die or get bitten by one. You didn’t hear anything on TV that told you why this happened did you?”

“No, at least I don’t think; it all happened so fast,” said Jet as he shook his head. “I remember waking up that morning, seeing that plane crash on TV, and thinking how horrible it was. Around noon, the news was on every major channel, and they were talking about a riot in downtown Houston, and Granddad called to say he’d be coming home early. By the time he got back, there was an emergency broadcast on every channel telling everyone to stay indoors. It stayed on TV for a few days, then there was nothing…”

“I remember me and my babysitter being annoyed most of the channels didn’t have our favorite shows on, so we just did other stuff. It wasn’t until I was getting ready for bed did I know something was wrong. My babysitter thought she heard someone knocking on the door and went to check.”

“It was a walker, wasn’t it?”

“I heard her scream, then I found her in the kitchen, bleeding all over herself… then she tried to kill me. It just got worse after that.”

“I always thought things would have to get better eventually, but they never really did,” spoke Jet in a quiet voice. “Well, except meeting you and Sarah and Patty.”

“Things got better after you met us?” asked Clem. “I mean, we just told you how bad things really were and that New Orleans was wrecked.”

“Yeah, don’t remind me. But, for once, people said they would help us, and you did… that was probably the best thing that happened to us in a long time.” Clem looked over at Jet, hunched over in his seat and he scrapped the bottom of his empty can. “Thanks…” he spoke in a whisper.

“Don’t thank us yet,” insisted a weary Clem as she tossed her empty can aside. “We’ve still got a lot to do.”

The pair gathered their equipment and returned to their bikes to pedal off in opposite directions. Clem didn’t like traveling alone, likely no one did these days, but with such a wide area to search they had little choice. No matter how far she went she could only find more empty space spreading out in every direction. If not for the utility poles and what remained of the road, Clem would suspect that no one had ever lived here to begin with.

Eventually, she found a worn but still paved road breaking from the highway, with power lines leading off in the same direction, meaning there had to be something this way. Following this path for a while, she found herself passing by a fairly large pond; a possible water source for their own farm Clem thought. She was going to detour towards it for a closer look when Clem noticed a truck parked on the road in the distance.

Skidding to a sudden stop, Clem used her binoculars to examine the vehicle. She could see the truck was parked between a gap in a fence, which was obscured by the dead trees bordering it. At first she assumed the truck was being used to block the road, but upon closer inspection she noticed the hood had been popped and one of the doors was open. Clutching her gun as she approached the vehicle, Clem saw more signs of it being abandoned, with all the tires being flat and the seats being covered in a thin layer of dirt. Checking under the hood, Clem saw a lot of disconnected cables and stray tools resting on the engine.

Moving past the truck and the fence, Clem discovered a one-story house just beyond them. A quick survey of the building revealed nothing out of the ordinary or any recent signs of habitation. Stepping out onto the back patio, Clem spotted something at the end of the yard she hadn’t noticed during her immediate inspection of the house’s exterior. Moving past the swimming pool half full of murky green water, Clem discovered three grave markers.

They weren’t as crude as the crosses made from random scraps of wood the military had left behind in areas they cleared out, but they were still primitive. They were little more than planks of wood cut in the shape of graves, the words carved on them barely legible. The first two graves had just names, likely James and Eleanor from Clem’s best guess, but the third one had ‘I’M SORRY’ written across it in big letters. Looking down, she saw this last marker stood in front of a grave that was still partially open.

Peering into it, Clementine could see the outline of a corpse only half covered in dirt, the vacant eye sockets of its head staring up at her. As distasteful as she found to do so, she gripped her tomahawk tightly and swung its blade into the rotten skull, creating a sickening crunch as she caved in what remained of this person’s face. Pulling out her tomahawk, Clem spotted something metal sitting in the corner of the grave.

Pushing aside the dirt with her hand, she discovered a pistol sitting right next to the deceased's head. Examining the weapon, she found it was in poor shape, filthy and rusted likely from being left in the dirt for so long. Removing the magazine was difficult as it refused to slide out, and even using her bayonet it was hard to pry the piece from the rest of the gun. There were still six bullets inside, and one more in the chamber after Clem managed to cycle the rusted pistol.

Tossing the gun itself back into the hole, Clem noticed a shovel lying in the grass not far from the grave. The house had been devoid of even scraps of food, with jars of condiments having been scraped clean. The broken truck was the only transportation she had seen in the area, with not even so much as a bicycle left in the garage. Considering the gun she found in the grave and the words on the wooden headstone, Clem surmised this person possibly shot themselves after running out of food, likely even climbing into their own grave before they did it.

Whenever or not that was the fate of the other two people, she couldn’t say. She hadn’t seen any overt messages or notes in the house, and she wasn’t keen on going back to look for one. All Clem had was the message ‘I’m sorry’ on the final grave, and even trying to decipher its exact meaning unsettled her. Looking at the still uncovered corpse, Clem felt a sudden urge to finish it. Whenever motivated because of sentimentality or guilt from literally robbing their grave, Clem picked up the shovel and started moving dirt into the hole one scoop at a time.

“Sound off,” Clem heard Devlin say through her radio. “Everyone okay?”

“Yeah,” said Clem as she grabbed her radio. “I’m fine.” Clem took a deep breath as she placed the radio back on her belt, then started shoveling again.

“I’m okay,” she heard Jet say next. “Still haven’t found anything that you guys want though.”

“We’re okay too,” assured Sarah.

“No one has had any luck?” asked Sin.

“None,” reported Patty’s voice.

“You think we’d at least find someone’s leftover crops by now,” reasoned Anthony. “Didn’t you say these Osage people were already growing stuff?”

“They were attacked near the end of the growing season,” answered Devlin. “If they were any survivors, from the Osage or OKC, they probably took whatever was left before leaving.”

“Yeah, but surely there were some corn farmers or something around here,” said Anthony. “Shouldn’t we at least see something growing after they left? I mean, corn grew in the wild before right?”

“Not like we have now,” said Sarah.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Anthony.

“In one of the books I read, it said that most of the fruits and vegetables we eat are only the way they are because people started growing them.”

“What?” asked Patty.

“Well like corn, the book I read said thousands of years ago, corn was a really small and dry grass, and it wasn’t until people started growing it did it change and get a lot bigger like the corn we have now.”

“It just… got bigger?” asked Jet.

“It likely mutated over dozens of generations after it was domesticated,” speculated Sin. “Farmers would obviously want to maximize their yield, so they’d do everything they could to make their crops as fruitful as possible, and over hundreds of years the plants themselves would adapt to their new conditions.”

“Yeah,” said Sarah. “But that means they’re used to being grown on farms now, and don’t do well in the wild.”

“Are you serious?” asked Anthony. “You’re saying we can only grow food on farms now because that’s what they’re used to?”

“Some foods,” said Sarah. “Others were bred with similar or different fruits and vegetables to make them better, or make new ones altogether.”

“Make new fruits and vegetables?” asked Devlin. “Like what?”

“Well, I read lemons were something people created by mixing two different citrus fruits,” said Sarah. “Animals wouldn’t eat something so sour which means they wouldn’t spread its seeds, so the only way they could exist is if people invented them.”

“We invented lemons?” asked Anthony in disbelief. “Um… we invent any other fruits?”

“I seem to remember reading that bananas were similar to lemons,” said Sin. “The ones we got at stores don’t have seeds because they were created by cross-breeding two different types of bananas, and the result was a bigger and better-tasting fruit with no seeds.”

“Wait, if they don’t have seeds, how did we ever make more of them?” asked Patty.

“Probably through cloning,” said Sarah.

“Are you serious?” asked Patty.

“Well, cloning a plant isn’t like cloning animals,” said Sarah. “You cut off part of it, plant it in the ground, then take care of it until it grows into a new plant on its own. When strawberries stop growing berries, they grow these long vines called stolons that grow away from the plant and into the dirt to make a new strawberry plant just like the old one; they actually clone themselves.”

“Stolon?” asked Clem as she stopped shoveling for a second. “That word sounds familiar.”

“Yeah, Dr. Bostwick said it when she was… well not teaching us about plants really.”

“The problem with cloning is there’s no opportunity for the species to adapt if its environment ever changes,” said Sin. “What I read also mentioned the bananas we have now, or had, were actually smaller than the ones people ate until the nineteen-fifties. A disease wiped out most of those types of bananas though, and since they were all clones of each other and couldn’t produce different versions that could possibly adapt, they died out and we had to switch to a different type of banana that wasn’t susceptible to the disease.”

“I thought you were only an expert on oil or something?” asked Anthony.

“I’ve done a lot reading on horticulture and botany lately,” said Sin.

“Me too,” added Sarah.

“How the hell did Valkaria keep all those orange trees going if this stuff is so complicated?” asked Patty.

“Southern Florida was probably the right climate for orange trees to grow,” said Sin.

“And orange trees don’t usually need to be pollinated to grow fruit,” added Sarah. “So you just have to worry about keeping them alive.”

“What about apple trees?” asked Devlin.

“I think I read they need to be near a different kind of apple tree to pollinate each other, otherwise they might not grow any apples,” said Sarah. “I’ll have to check, I brought notes for apple trees.”

“Devlin, do you know what kind of apple trees those saplings should make?” Jet asked.

“I have no idea,” answered Devlin.

“This is all making my head spin,” said Patty.

“I always thought you just put seeds in the ground and that was it,” said Anthony.

“Agriculture is complicated; if it wasn’t, famine never would have been a problem.” Clementine paused as Sin said that. She found herself staring at her own shadow laying on the mound of dirt in front of her, the headstone resting just past it. “The surpluses of food we used to enjoy weren’t by accident; we arrived at that by careful design.”

“And cheap labor, don’t forget that,” added Devlin with a hint of derision. “Which we don’t have.”

“We don’t have anyone who’s an expert on this stuff either,” said Sarah. “If Dr. Bostwick was here—”

“She’s not,” said Clem as she tossed the shovel aside. “Nobody is…” she said as she turned away from the graves. “It’s just us.”

“Yeah, I know…” said Sarah.

“Unless one of you find a suitable site soon, we should prepare to move on,” said Sin. “Sarah and I will check the map to see where we can try tomorrow.”

Clementine returned to her bike and continued her search of the area, finding more emptiness and a few scant abandoned homes that weren’t adequate for their needs. Moving into the late afternoon, Clem reunited with Jet, who confirmed he had no success either. The pair started pedaling back the way they came, eventually arriving at a lone neglected airstrip where two semi-trailers and a couple of familiar RV’s were parked.

Standing behind the Brave, Clem saw Devlin leaned up against the RV.

“Was just about to call you kids,” said Devlin as he tossed his cigarette aside. “You two okay?”

“Yeah,” said Clem as she hopped off her bike.

“Except we didn’t find anything, again,” added Jet.

“Join the club.” Devlin grabbed Clem’s bike and carried it over to Brave’s bike rack. “Pawhuska was a total bust; not even any infected left.”

“We found a crashed plane,” reported Jet as Devlin moved the second bike onto the rack.

“A plane?”

“What’s left of one,” said Clem. “It crashed a long time ago, probably right after everything got bad.”

“Probably just one of many,” said Devlin as he set the second bike on the rack. “That first day, we were hearing reports of all kind of things. Some of us thought it was actually a coordinated attack before we realized it was an outbreak… or whatever the hell it was.” Devlin sighed.

“Do… do you know where Granddad is?”

“He went to chill in his RV after I brought it back from Pawhuska,” said Devlin. “Guess he needed a break.”

“So do I,” said Jet as he headed towards the Sunseeker.

“Me too,” said Clem as she took off her backpack.

“You sure you two are okay doing this?” asked Devlin as Clem headed for the Brave’s door. “I mean, I talked with Sin and he said he was willing—”

“It’s fine Devlin.” Looking over her shoulder at the man, Clem could see the unsettled look resting on his usually chiseled face. “I get it bothers you kids are doing this, but the sooner we find somewhere to stay, the sooner we’ll all feel safer.”

“You ever change your mind or just want a break, you just tell me.”

“I will… thanks Devlin.” Clem managed to force a smile on to her face for the man. She was grateful for his concern, but her mind was too preoccupied to fully appreciate it right now. Heading into the Brave, Clem found herself stepping over boxes and maneuvering past a still unassembled crib in front of the couch just to reach the fridge to store her raincoat.

Tossing her backpack aside, Clem headed for the bedroom as quickly as she could while stepping over large boxes sitting in the way. Inside she found Sarah sprawled out on the bed, surrounded by binders and books while a map was laid out in front of her. She didn’t even look up when Clem entered the room, and appeared exhausted herself.

“Kem-men!” Clem watched as Omid climbed over his crib’s railing to get to her faster.

“Hey OJ,” said Clem as Omid landed on the pillow set outside his crib.

“Omid,” dictated Sarah.

“Huh?”

“You should start calling him Omid,” said Sarah without looking up. “Now that he’s starting to learn words, we shouldn’t confuse him by calling him different names.”

“Kem-men,” repeated Omid as Clem looked away from him.

“He can already kind of say our names,” said Sarah. “But I don’t think he knows his yet because you and I call him different things.”

Clem found herself irritated that this was the first thing Sarah said to her upon her return. “I’m back by the way…” Sarah looked up, clearly annoyed herself, prompting an awkward stare down between the pair for a few seconds before Sarah sighed.

“Sorry,” she said as she looked away. “I had a lot of time today with nothing to do, so I was trying to get him to say Omid and noticed he had trouble with it, even though he’s getting better at saying Sarah.”

“Sah-rah,” repeated Omid.

“Listen to you,” said Clem in a sweet voice. “You’re talking like a big boy now Oh… Omid.”

“Oh-muh,” babbled Omid.

“That’s about as close as he gets right now,” said Sarah as she carefully crawled off the bed.

“I’ll start calling him Omid,” assured Clem as she set him down.

“It won’t be forever, just until he learns his name, and only when he’s around; it doesn’t matter if you call him OJ when it’s just us and he doesn’t hear you.”

“Where’s Patty?” asked Clem.

“She said she was going to meet up with Anthony and check something out before they came back.”

Clem pulled her radio from her belt. “Patty?” Clem waited for a second, but received no answer. “Patty, are you—”

“Give me a minute,” whispered Patty in a harsh tone.

Clem looked over at Sarah and saw she was every bit as concerned. Without thinking, the pair moved back towards the front; Clem collecting her backpack and Sarah heading for the driver’s seat, both anticipating trouble. Watching through the windshield, Clem could see Sin stepping out to meet Devlin, the two men clearly worried about what they had heard over the radio. Sarah already looked ready to turn the key when there was another cracking sound from the radio.

“Okay,” said Patty. “I think we found it.”

“Found what?” asked Clem.

“Sarah, are you there?” asked Patty.

“Yeah.”

“Get your map.” Patty passed along some directions and both RV’s headed for the nearest road. The sun was setting now, but Patty assured the group they didn’t have far to go. From her seat, Clem eventually watched as something come into view just beyond the vast empty fields spread out before them. She could see the orange glow of the sunlight bouncing off water on the horizon. It was pleasant at first, then somewhat blinding as the size of the body of water they were approaching became apparent.

“I think we found a water source,” said Sarah over the radio in awe as she slowed down to get a better view.

“Yes,” said Sin, sounding stunned. “I see that.”

“Bet the fishing’s good too,” added Anthony.

As they drove along a road bordering the lake, Clem could see just how big it really was. It paled in comparison to Lake Pontchartrain or even the Indian River, but it still dwarfed every meager pond and stream they had seen since entering the Osage Nation.

“The lake is just the start,” said Patty. “You’re gonna love what comes next.”

Following the road through a dead forest and over what looked like a small swamp where the lake met the land, the trees began to thin out and an old wooden fence came into view. Beyond that, Clem saw a fenced in field with a pond in the corner and what looked like a stable. Across from it was a big farmhouse with a chimney, along with a smaller guest house and a big shed. Rounding a corner, Clem found themselves moving down a driveway to where Anthony’s truck was parked.

“Come on out,” prompted Patty. “We checked the area, it’s safe.”

Stepping out with the others to examine her surroundings, the group was immediately greeted by Patty and Anthony.

“Whatta think?” asked Anthony as he gestured to their surroundings. “Pretty nice huh?”

Clem moved over to the fenced-in field to study it closer. It was pretty quaint compared to the other fields she had seen, but still seemed big enough for their needs. Staring at that patch dirt, she started envisioning rows of vegetables growing there and her coming out every morning to water them from the large pond sitting in the corner of the field.

“That stable’s roof would be good for rainwater collection.” Clem looked up to see Sin was studying the large structure just past the field. It was long and metal, with deeply slanted roofs. “If we could put some gutters up, we could probably collect barrels of water easily every time it rains.”

“This looks like at least two acres,” said Sarah as she stared out over the field. “At least… I think it is.”

“I also found what looks like a pretty new tractor in that barn that I can probably get running,” said Patty “I think this place was in the process of changing owners or something because the house is almost bare.”

“Bare?” repeated Clem as she moved to get a better look at the house in question.

“Almost nothing in there but some basic furniture; dressers, one big bed and a smaller bed in a separate room, a few tables, chairs, and so on,” listed Patty. “Looks real sturdy though, like they had just finished renovating, two stories, plenty of room, one and a half bathrooms, even has this old timey looking stove that’s part of the kitchen.”

“One and a half bathrooms?” asked Jet.

“One with an actual bathtub on the second floor and then there’s a closet with a toilet and a sink on the first floor,” said Patty.

Studying the house, Clem saw it had a big welcoming front porch leading up to a bright red door. Seeing the chimney in the back, Clem started reminiscing about the many nights she and Sarah had spent in front of a fire in Spokeston, and checking one of the second-story windows, she imagined what the view must have looked like from up there.

“What about the guest house and the shed?” asked Sin.

“Pretty much the same, mostly empty but they look sturdy,” said Patty. “There’s also a storm shelter on the edge of the yard.”

“Ugh, stay away from that,” cautioned Anthony.

“Why?” asked Clem. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s creepy.”

“Creepy?”

“It’s small and dark and cramped.”

“It’s a storm shelter Anthony,” said Patty. “It’s what they’re like.”

“Well then I don’t like storm shelters,” said Anthony as he crossed his arms.

“We could probably put up chainlink fence around all of this and the driveway, keep any stray infected who wander in away from us and our vehicles while we’re sleeping,” proposed Devlin. “And all the cover will make this place harder to see.”

Looking around, Clem noticed the entire area was surrounded by dead trees, almost like they were encircling this tiny farm. At the moment their branches were bare and casted twisted shadows over the area, but as spring came and leaves returned, they would block out any view of the outside area, as well as hide the farm from sight from anyone looking in. Again, Clem found herself picturing what it would look like, and found the idea of a home tucked away in a small forest very comforting.

“I’m concerned about how close this place is to Pawhuska though,” said Sin. “We can’t be more than a few miles away, and that lake we passed is big enough that it’s probably on most maps of the area.”

“Being close to Pawhuska might not be a bad thing,” said Devlin. “It might not have any food, but there’s still plenty of tools and goods we can salvage; save us a long trip back to Tulsa if we ever need anything.”

“The lake is on the map in my atlas, but it doesn’t list a name for it,” said Sarah. “It’s a lot smaller than the one we checked out near Hominy though.”

“You can’t have it both ways man,” said Anthony. “Anywhere with a big ass lake or river isn’t going to be totally isolated because other people are going to want water for the same reasons we do.”

“We did spend some time scouting around the edge of it,” said Patty. “Lot a little small docks built just past the shore, probably for people to go boating in the summer, but we didn’t see any other farms or big houses, let alone one as close as this.”

“That’s another thing, there’s some distance between that lake and this actual farm,” said Sin. “Trying to build a trench out to here from it would be a challenge.”

“Seriously?” asked Patty. “This is pretty much everything you and Sarah have been asking for. We haven’t seen anything else even close, not on these damn country roads we’ve been searching.”

“And the longer we wait the closer we’re going to get to the growing season,” said Sarah. “It’s already early March, and we haven’t even started yet.”

“Kem-men! Sah-rah!” Clem spun around to see Omid slowing climbing down the Brave’s steps one at a time.

“I gotcha you.” Clem picked up the boy, then looked ahead at the spacious house and large yard in front of her. “I vote we stay,” announced Clem suddenly.

“Ditto,” said Anthony.

“I think we all do except you,” said Patty as she turned to Sin. The man crossed his arms and looked out over the land, slowly evaluating everything with a careful eye. “Well?”

“I think we should search the immediate area a little more thoroughly.”

“Granddad, are you seriously—”

“Just to be sure there are no immediate threats in this region, or even better places to settle on this same lake,” explained Sin. “We can do that tomorrow, and if we don’t find anywhere better to settle, we could probably make this place work for us.”

“Good enough for me,” said Patty. “Anthony, give me and Devlin a lift back to the airstrip so we can bring the trucks up. Unless we stumble upon Xanadu in northern Oklahoma tomorrow, we’ll probably be off-loading them before long.”

“Got it.”

“Come on Clem, we should—” Clem took a step towards the house.

“Let’s go inside,” she said.

“Why?” asked Sarah.

“To see our new home.”

“We don’t know—”

“If we stay here, it’ll be our new home; don’t you want to at least see what it looks like first?” Clem looked down to see Omid trying to approach her while Sarah held onto one of his hands. “Omid wants to see his new home.”

“Oh-muh,” he repeated as he kept trying to pull free from Sarah.

“All right,” said Sarah as she took a step forward, bringing Omid close enough to Clem to hold his other hand. “Let’s check it out.”

The trio pushed past the big red door and emerged into a spacious foyer. The house was largely bare as Patty had described it, but Clem found herself quickly growing comfortable with her surroundings anyway as she kept envisioning filling in the empty spaces with their own possessions. Their books in the book shelves, their pots and pans in the kitchen cabinets, even their laundry hanging in the backyard.

The living room was spacious with a massive brick fireplace positioned in the back, which the girls had to stop an excitable Omid from crawling into. Sarah suggested a table in front the fireplace would be a great place to spend evenings playing games together. Picturing it, Clem saw it as something big and open like the cabin while being cozy and comfortable like their home in Spokeston; she felt warmer just thinking about it.

Heading back to the foyer and towards the stairs, the pair stopped to help Omid climb his way up. He still struggled to scale each step, but seemed to enjoy the challenge, looking more determined with each one he conquered. Reaching the top, Clem pushed open the nearest door and the trio entered an almost entirely empty room. Except for the window and the empty closet, it was a bare four walls and Clem was about to leave when she felt Omid pulling free from her grip.

“Omid, come on.”

“No,” said Omid as he pulled away from the girls. He walked further into the room, awestruck or perhaps just confused by his surroundings.

“I don’t get it, what’s he looking at?” said Sarah.

Clem watched as Omid stood in the middle of the room, his mouth agape as he kept staring up at the blank ceiling.

“He’s never been in a room this big before,” realized Clem.

“He hasn’t?” said Sarah. “At the Space Center we—”

“Not like this, where it’s just a regular room you stay in,” said Clem. “Everywhere he’s stayed has always been really cramped. Even back in Spokeston, he stayed in a bedroom with us, and it was smaller than this. This is… it’s like more space than he’s ever had before.”

“You’re right,” noted Sarah as she knelt down to get a better look at Omid. “Do you like this room?”

“Do you like your new room?” corrected Clem.

“Ruh-roo.” Omid eventually turned his gaze downward, and instead started walking over to the window. Clem scooped him up and held him up to the glass. “Ah-bree-duh-ah-sah!” he cheered as planted his hands on the window.

“It’s perfect,” said Clem with a smile.

“Really?” said Sarah. “It’s empty.”

“Exactly,” said an excited Clem. “We can make a room just for Omid, one that he can grow up in and be happy in for years.”

“All we have to do now is learn how to run a farm,” said Sarah, sounding less enthusiastic.

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter - First Chapter

#three orphan pilgrimage #top #chapter 71

0 notes