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willgrahymn · 3 years

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Two Love

I’m not gonna lie, this is probably some of the gayest shit I’ve ever written.

Summary: In the silence of the night, it feels like there's nothing but them. Loving oneself is not an easy task, and loving another takes work. If we can't love ourselves now though, we can at least love each other. Maybe then we will realize our own worth. Virgil and Roman know this well.

Word count: 2019

Tags: romantic prinxiety, (domestic) fluff, light angst, human au, living together, non-sexual intimacy, cuddling, communication, and marriage proposal ✨

As always, I’ll reblog with a link to this on ao3 :]!

“I wish you knew how lovable you are,” Virgil whispered into the silence.

Roman didn’t respond, biting his lower lip and not once opening his eyes. Virgil frowned, lightly tracing the tattoos on the other man’s chest, stopping to place his palm against the beating of his heart.

The room was quiet besides the sound of the heat coming through the vents and the occasional car passing by outside. Virgil sighed, laying his head against his love. He was warm, too, and he wished he never had to get out of bed again. It wasn’t like the way he wished during a depressive episode though. This was different; it was cozier, and more like home. He closed his eyes as he felt a hand begin to play with the hair at the base of his neck, and made a mental note to trim it later.

“I love you,” he mumbled, his lips ghosting against his boyfriend’s skin. He thought watching the rise and fall of his stomach, breathing in and out, was what made him want to say it.

“I know you do,” Roman responded, and Virgil could hear the tired smile in his voice, “I love you too. You’re perfect.”

“I’m anything but.”

“Then you’re perfect for me.”

Virgil decided he was happy to settle for that.

Roman continued to play with the dark strands before kissing the long magenta bangs that normally covered his boyfriend’s eyes. And he smiled because his hair smelled like the same raspberry-scented shampoo that he washed his hair with not long ago. If there was anything Roman believed he could do well, it was making his boyfriend feel cared for. He deserved it, and the way Virgil always leaned into his touch like a cat receiving ear scratches whenever he rubbed the shampoo into his scalp was something he simply couldn’t pass up when the opportunity arose.

He was beautiful now in Roman’s arms, and he would be beautiful when he woke up in the morning with his hair messed up going every which way. He would be beautiful when black makeup stained his face in tear tracks and he asked Roman if they could go home after a failed night out. There would not be a time when he was not beautiful, because he never gave Roman a reason to see him as anything less than that. He was a work of art. Frayed at the edges, sure, but he remained invaluable nonetheless.

Blinking slowly, Roman watched as his love shifted to meet his gaze. Dark eyes shining in the moonlight that seeped in through their window blinds. They were as gorgeous as the rest of him, he thought.

“What is it, my Night Light?”

“Oh, nothing,” he smirked, “I was just admiring.”

Roman rolled his eyes, a mix of fondness and instinctual doubt settling in his gut. “You see me every day, you’ll tire of me eventually.” He tried.

“We already went through the phase of being sick of each other when we first met, you’re not getting rid of me now.” Virgil teased, and before Roman could think of something else to say to distract from his statement, he started to speak again softer this time. “I meant what I said earlier, about how you’re so much more lovable than you know. I care about you.”

Virgil took a deep breath. He didn’t consider himself good at this sort of thing, but the weight of Roman’s fingers lacing between his own and pulling him closer was reassurance enough.

“I love you, Roman, and I… I just hope that one day, you’ll fall in love with yourself in the same way I did. You deserve to feel like you’re worth it.”

Roman stared at him, his mouth barely open as he replayed the words in his head. He knew Virgil, knew that he was always more on the pessimistic side, and didn’t try to get his hopes up about things to come. Still, he hoped for him. A hand rested against his cheek, thumb brushing lightly against his lips. Virgil smiled, and his heart felt full.

“Thank you,” he said. “I hope that one day you’ll wake up and face yourself in the mirror, and be able to value yourself as much as I do. It’s only fair.”

He took his partner’s hand, kissing his palm. Even in the darkness of their room, he could still see Virgil’s eyes go wide before hiding his face against his chest. It was cute, but he could tease him about that later. For now, though, he just felt lucky that he was allowed to see him like this. No walls up, and no fake dark persona to make sure others would leave him alone. He was just honest, authentic Virgil, and that was all that Roman wanted.

“I could spend a thousand lifetimes with you and it still wouldn’t be enough.” He admitted. “I would relive all the bad days where we didn’t get along, all the bad days where we doubted ourselves, as long as I knew it would bring me back here just like this with you.”

Virgil stared at him, curious and adoring. “You’re a madman.”

“Nothing compared to my brother,” Roman laughed, “but I guess you might be right. If I didn’t think straight before I certainly don’t now.”

Virgil rolled his eyes, a fond smile on his lips. He pulled himself up, face to face with the hopelessly romantic man he’d fallen in love with, dark eyes staring through thick lashes.

With some hesitance, Roman asked. “Have you ever thought about wanting to get married someday? It’s okay if not, I know right now might not be the perfect time to bring it up, but… it came to mind, I guess.”

He held his breath as Virgil considered. He didn’t want to be pushy. All he knew was that if asked, he would accept that commitment, and not dream of another. Because Virgil wasn’t like any of the partners he had known before. He was gentle and rough, sweet and sour, and Roman loved his contradictions. He loved to be loved in a way he could understand.

“Maybe not right now,” Virgil finally replied, “but I’d be happy with that. With you.”

Roman nodded, kissing him on the nose and appreciating the way Virgil’s eyes crinkled when he did.

“That’s okay,” he smiled, and it was the truth. “I just need you to know that if you’re ever ready for that, I’ll be here. I’d love to call you my husband if you’d let me. One of us can surprise the other with a proposal someday, but before that, I want us both to be ready.”

Virgil blinked, slow like a cat. Maybe these kinds of conversations were better left until morning.

“Thank you. I’d uh, I’d like that though, eventually.”

Smiling, Roman closed his eyes. He always dreamed of grand fairytale weddings and proposals, but this, this was good too. Fitting for them. It wasn’t Disney, but they made it work.

Pulling the blanket further over them, Virgil kissed his prince’s cheek only to be pulled into a proper one right after. Soft and slow, Virgil felt Roman’s lips quirk as his hand grazed the rose tattooed at his hip.

Then, he asked. “Of all the people you could choose to love, why me?”

“I think you’re the only one who really gets me,” Roman said, nuzzling into his lover’s shoulder and breathing in the faint scent of lavender. “You smell good.”

Virgil laughed silently, and Roman felt his body shake against him. He could feel that same butterfly-like sensation in his stomach from when he first started thinking of him as more than a friend.

“I think you’re the only person who can understand me though… not in an edgy teenager way, but like with my issues. People see me, but not in the way you do. You’re the one who drove halfway across town to drag my sorry ass out of bed after my ex dumped me and helped me realize it was a good thing. You helped me get out of my comfort zone and experiment with makeup too. I guess in a way, you make me better. And if you can love me with all the flaws that I have, then I can love yours too.”

“Oh,” he whispered, “I didn’t know that.”

“Well, you deserve to. You may be as dark and gloomy as a live-action Batman movie, but you still make my world a little brighter.”

“You’re a dork.”

Roman gasped, pulling back and holding his hand to his chest as if he had just touched a hot stove. “You’re so mean!”

Virgil shrugged, and Roman could practically hear the unspoken ‘it’s what I do best.’ It seemed that in all the years he had known him, he figured out how to decipher the mystery of a man hidden under all that black and purple emo attire.

It was 12:27 AM, at least that’s what the clock sitting on their bedside table told them. Virgil was used to being up late, insomnia and all, but since they started living together Roman insisted he come to bed at the same time every night. He appreciated it though. He liked getting ready for bed together and the weight of Roman falling asleep against him. He didn’t want to admit it, but it helped.

The room was nearly silent, the heat turned off long ago. The quiet sounds of rustling pillows and blankets were the only thing to be heard. Warm breaths lingered on Roman’s skin making his hair rise as soft lips met his jaw. He wondered if Virgil remembered watching him scrub violet lipstick off his face in the theater's dressing room while he giggled like a kid at a carnival. If he asked, Virgil would have told him there was a reason he preferred darker shades.

“Do you think we’ll have kids someday?”

“Don’t push it, Princey. You haven’t even decided if you want to adopt a cat or a dog yet.”

“Still! Could you imagine us as dads? We could have Disney movie nights. We already do that, I know, but we could do it with our kid. I’m perfectly fine with just being pet parents, but could you imagine?”

“I can, actually, and now I’m going to be worrying about our non-existent child and their not yet existing future until I fall asleep.”

Roman glared at him before rolling onto his side. All too familiar with the silly things he did, Virgil waited in anticipation and was pleasantly surprised when Roman finally lunged back over, attacking him with a kiss and laughing against his lips.

“You said not yet existing,” he grinned, “which implies that there will be one eventually.”

Virgil sighed, running his fingers through his partner’s hair. “You’re not getting me to agree to adopt a child in the middle of the night, Ro.”

Humming, Roman nodded an ‘okay’ and let the subject go for now. Virgil didn’t even think before he spoke again.

“I want a future with you, Roman, you know that.”

The softness in his eyes was one Virgil would do anything to protect, and he smiled as Roman snuggled into his chest. He loved him, and with the sound of his heart beating in his ears he was sure that he would do anything it took to keep him safe.

“Get some rest, Sleepy Beauty,” he whispered. “You deserve it.”

In the morning, they would both wake up with their legs intertwined, knowing that they could stay in bed all morning because neither had work that day. Roman would get up first, and Virgil would admire him as he stretched. When Virgil finally did pull himself out of bed and found his future-husband in the kitchen making french toast, he would slump against his back and leave a kiss between his shoulders.

And maybe life was never going to be easy, but that could be okay. Step by step, stroke by stroke, they’d make it through as each other’s sword and shield.

#Sanders Sides #Sanders Sides fic #Roman Sanders #Virgil Sanders #prinxiety #Virgil's Volumes #my god these bitches gay...#reblogs and comments/tags are always hella appreciated but u didnt hear that from me #I FORGOT TO PUT THIS AS ROMANTIC PRINXIETY WHEN I FIRST POSTED THIS OOPS <3 #I guess it's a given but shh

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here4theheartbreak · 3 years

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A Calculated Risk (VHope)

⭒ AO3 Link Here!

⭒ Relationships: Hoseok x Taehyung ⭒ Genre: fluff, strangers to lovers ⭒ Final Rating: General Audiences ⭒ Word Count (Chapter): ~5.1k

⭒ Tags: fluff, getting together, strangers to lovers, anxious Hoseok, art student Taehyung, pre-slash

⭒ Summary: When Hoseok sees the crying young man on the plane next to him, he wonders if the calculated certainty of his life is really worth the loneliness.

⭒ A/N: This fic was written for our lovely sunshine Hoseok’s birthday!

Hoseok was good at staying out of trouble. He kept his head down, his nose out of business that wasn’t his, and his hands clean. It was how he’d gotten to become the youngest sales manager in his company. At twenty-six, it was unheard of to be such a powerful figure in the industry. Yet there he was, flying to a variety of countries, meeting with powerful men and women, convincing them to sign up, make contracts, do business. He liked his job okay. He did it well, he was charming, and he enjoyed being the face of a business that did good things for the world. But a part of Hoseok felt like there was something missing. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Rather… He knew what it was, but he didn’t want to know. He was lonely as hell. Random one night stands in a variety of hotel rooms that started to all look alike across the continents, a series of failed relationships with every gender and sex – most of them summing up to a singular thing. You’re too nice. There was never any excitement in Hoseok’s life, and he liked it that way. Excitement, the unknown, these were variables that did not turn out guaranteed positive results. And that’s what Hoseok’s life was built on. Taking risks was not in his vocabulary.

So, when Hoseok found himself seated next to the stunning young man with dark eyes and big ears on the way home from Canada, despite that fact that he desperately wanted to say something… He remained quiet. And he intended to remain quiet the entire way back to Korea. It was for the best. This man looked like a risk taker. Someone that Hoseok could never make happy.

Hoseok let his eyes slip shut, tapping out a rhythm on his arm rest. They’d been in the air for about an hour, and the young man had been staring at his phone the whole time. Easy then, to avoid contact, he figured.

He heard a sniffle, and grimaced; hopefully the boy wasn’t sick. He couldn’t afford to catch cold. He’d need to pick up some vitamin c just in case. Another sniffle, and a shaky sigh. Hoseok scowled. He cracked one eye and peeked over.

The young man was still looking at his phone, his blondish hair hanging down. But in the part of his exposed face, Hoseok could see tear tracks; he’d been crying. He was crying.

Hoseok shut his eyes again, his mouth forming a fine line.

‘Stay out of it, Hobi. Not your problem. Stranger on a plane. Stranger danger. Avoid risk. Crying handsome boy is a risk.’

“Are you okay?” The words were out of Hoseok’s mouth before he was even aware of asking

The boy looked over, sniffled, and nodded. His chin began to quiver and he shook his head no, but quickly yanked his hood up over his face, pulling his knees to his chest.

“I’ll be more quiet,” he whispered. His voice was low and rumbly, immediately sending chills of the good variety down Hosoek’s spine.

“No, I—That wasn’t it. You just look sad. Can I help?”

The boy shook his head no. “Just a breakup.”

Hoseok winced. “I’ve been through a lot of those,” he whispered, nodding. “I know you’ve probably heard it a lot from friends, but it does get easier.”

“I know. I’m sure it will. I just can’t believe I was so stupid… Coming all the way across the world to see him and he just—” He broke off. “Sorry.”

“No, continue.”

‘What are you doing, Hoseok. This is a risk. Risks are unnecessary in your life. Stop it.’ “It helps to vent sometimes. And we have plenty of hours.”

The boy nodded and chuckled weakly, swallowing hard. “He—We met online. And we hit it off and he promised… He promised me so much. So I saved up for years while we dated.. To come to Canada. To meet him and he just… One weekend and he dumped me.”

“Did he say why?”

“He found someone else. Someone who lives there. Turns out he’s been dating him for about six months… Didn’t tell me.”

“Oh God, what an asshole,” Hoseok muttered, his face twisting up in anger. “That’s fucking low, if you don’t mind me saying. Sure, breakups happen, but to be cheating, and to not tell you before…”

“He said he only wanted me to come so he could try to get a threesome in before we broke up. Figured I’d be happy to get his dick in real life once.” The boy gasped then and closed his mouth fast enough that his teeth clicked. “Oh God, I’m so sorry – that was way too much information.”

Hoseok chuckled. “A bit, but it’s okay. You didn’t sleep with the jackass did you?”

“God no, I’m not wasting my time. He can sleep with his creepy little affair on his own.”

“Good on you.” Hoseok hesitated before sticking his hand out. “My name’s Jung Hoseok.”

“Kim Taehyung. Are you from Korea?”

“Mhm, I live in Seoul. I was in Canada on business.”

“Really? What do you do?”

“I work for a company that helps supply hospitals with different equipment. We have contracts with a lot of countries. I go and sorta try to sell them the products, make sure they’re happy with what we’re doing, contracts, deals, all boring stuff.”

“But you get to travel? All over?”

Hoseok nodded. “Pretty much. It’s one of the perks of the job. Busy, but it’s nice to be on the move. What about you? You look pretty young.”

“Says you. All that stuff, sounds like you should be forty.”

Hoseok chuckled. “I should be. I’m lucky to have this position so young. I’m twenty-six.”

“I’m twenty-four. I just finished college. Art school. So… I’m unemployed.” Taehyung shrugged, looking down at his lap. “My friend says the coffee shop he’s working at is hiring, so I’ll check that out when I get back to Seoul.”

“What kind of art do you do?” Hoseok asked.

“All kinds, mostly drawing and photography. Uh…” Taehyung turned and grabbed his carry on. He pulled out a large black binder and held it up for a second. “You probably—Is this weird?” He asked.

“What?”

“I’m a stranger to you. You don’t really care about this. Or me…”

“I saw a handsome guy crying next to me. And, in talking to him… He stopped the tears. I care.” Hoseok held out his hand, letting Taehyung hand him the binder. He went through it page by page, blown away by the talent he saw encased in thin plastic sheets. The young man had an eye for detail, and for beauty. His photography in particular was absolutely stunning. Everything from piles of rocks to buildings to people, both posed and candid. His drawn art was unique and abstract, making Hoseok turn the book this way and that to really take in everything that was going on.

While he looked, he could feel Taehyung watching him, and could nearly sense the anxiety rolling off him. He cared what a stranger sitting next to him on a plane thought… It was sweet, and sad.

He finally closed the book and handed it back. “You’re only twenty-four?” He asked.

Taehyung nodded, chewing his bottom lip. “That work is stunning for your age, Taehyung. You’re really going to go a long way. I encourage you to look at companies you might not consider originally. Bigger tech companies and others that may not delve into the arts. They’re always looking for designers and photographers, and I bet your portfolio would really impress some of them. It’s probably not what you want to do long term, but a contract with a powerful company could really get you moving in the right direction. At least get you some funding if you wanted to do your own business or something similar.”

As Hoseok spoke, he could see Taehyung’s smile growing. It warmed his heart. Taehyung’s phone buzzed on his lap and he looked down, the smile that Hoseok had just put there drooping.

“The dickhead boyfriend, huh?”

“Ex-boyfriend,” Taehyung emphasized, and Hoseok nodded. “He’s trying to make up with me.”

“And what do you want?”

“Him to go the fuck away. Forever. He broke my heart, he’s not allowed to do this.”

“Then ignore it.” Hoseok shrugged. “Turn off the phone. Let me buy you a drink.”

“Wh—What?”

Hoseok motioned to the stewardess that was making her way down the aisle. “Let’s keep your mind off the jerk, at least until you land. I’ll buy you a drink and we can watch some movies together.”

Taehyung smiled again, his eyes seeming to be searching Hoseok’s face for something. Hoseok motioned to the waitress, handing over his card. “I’ll have a beer, if you have any, and then whatever my friend here wants.”

She nodded. Taehyung smiled shyly. “Uh, I—I’ll take uh… Something sweet?” She nodded.

“I could make you a pineapple rum, if you’d like, it’s pretty sweet.”

Taehyung nodded as well. “I like pineapple.” She handed Hoseok his bottle and his card back after popping the cap off, as well as a cup to pour it in if he wanted. She set to work mixing Taehyung’s drink and passed it to him as well before continuing down the aisle. Hoseok reached out and tapped the screen in front of Taehyung.

“What genre gets your mind off idiot boys? Whatever you want.”

“Uh—I don’t know. I don’t watch movies that much, I guess…”

“Hm.” Hoseok flipped through the screen. “Not romance… Not drama. Tragedy. We could do comedy? Uh.. Action. Uh…”

“That one,” Taehyung pointed at an image of a cover. Hoseok hesitated. “That’s horror.”

Taehyung nodded.

“You like horror, eh?” He clicked it, trying not to sound as panicked as he felt. Good to know he figured – more proof this insane… Whatever the hell he was trying to do… Wouldn’t work. Those who liked horror took risks. And risks—

“I hate horror,” Taehyung said.

“So why watch it?”

“Because it’s scary and I hate it. It’ll keep my attention so I won’t be thinking about him.”

Hoseok hesitated, thinking for a moment. He had to admit, it was pretty sound reasoning. He nodded.

“Do you have headphones?”

Taehyung pulled out a handful of wire from his bag and nodded. Hoseok waved over the stewardess. “Do you have a jack splitter?” He asked. She nodded and dug around for a moment, handing one over to him.

“Thank you.”

They got set up with the splitter and Taehyung pulled down the window shield. Hoseok lifted the arm rest so they could sit a little closer, sharing the same small screen as the movie began. Hoseok hated horror so much. Within twenty minutes he was gripping the other armrest, his leg bouncing nervously. Taehyung had moved almost direction against his side and was gripping his other arm tightly, his eyes wide as he stared at the screen.

Each jump scare Hosoek and Taehyung would both jump, sharing a nervous glance and a giggle afterward.

Hoseok reached up at one point, taking Taehyung’s hand and twining their fingers. When Taehyung blinked at him, he smiled. “Easier to squeeze if you get scared. Less likely to scream.”

Taehyung grinned that bright grin again and nodded, looking back at the movie.

They made it through the rest of it, jumping and squeezing each other’s hands. Hoseok finished his drink and was tempted to order another, but figured sobriety would be an easier state to tackle scary movies in. When it finished, Taehyung reached out, finding the sequel and grinning at Hoseok.

“Another?”

Hoseok hesitated, but nodded. That smile… It was something else entirely. The way his heart picked up a few beats when Taehyung rested his head on his shoulder again, twining their fingers on the seat between them. The waitress came by and smiled softly. “Can I get you two anything?” She asked.

“We’re okay, I think. Taehyung?”

“I’m good. Thank you,” Taehyung smiled up at her and she nodded. The two turned their attention back to the film.

Six hours and three sequels later, Hoseok heard a soft snore. He shifted as gently as he could to see, smiling a bit when he realized Taehyung had fallen asleep on his shoulder. His heart still did that little pitter-patter. This was a problem. How could he let himself fall for a guy he’d just met? A guy who was willing to fly across the world to meet a stranger? A young, handsome guy who probably took risks like Hoseok changed socks and thought that going out without properly re-lacing his shoes every morning was totally acceptable. As Hoseok sat in silence, no longer needing to focus in order to potentially distract Taehyung as needed, his mood soured.

What was so wrong with him that people wanted nothing to do with him? He was safe, sure. And he was peculiar… But he wasn’t a bad man, he thought. Just because he didn’t take risks didn’t mean he was no fun. Or wasn’t a good person to be around. But time and time again that was the message. Not good enough. Not fun enough. Not exciting enough.

And this – this foolish idea that had begun formulating in his head, the fantasy that maybe this young man would be willing to give him a chance – it was frivolous at best. It was an unnecessary risk. The statistics, if Hoseok were to crunch them, were sure to show that the chances of Taehyung saying yes were low enough, staying with him beyond one date even lower, and staying with him long term statistically insignificant. So he was best just getting it out of his head now, before it sat and festered like a wound.

The film ended, as the others had, with a “dead” monster and a jump scare to leave it open, and Hoseok was too unhappy to even startle. He tugged the earbuds out and turned off the screen, sinking down a little to try and rest. And – despite his bitter mood as he drifted off to sleep – he couldn’t help but notice just how nice Taehyung felt on his shoulder.

Hoseok awoke with a good, hard stretch, blinking up at the roof of the plane. “Rest well?” Taehyung’s voice was soft and deep, and Hoseok felt goosebumps rise to his skin.

“I did. Did you?” He asked.

Taehyung nodded, leaning his head on the back of the seat. He shifted over and pulled his legs up into the seat so he was facing Hoseok directly. “Do you have a partner at home?”

“A what?”

“You know… Boyfriend or girlfriend.”

Hoseok shook his head. “Just me on my own. I work too much for dating.”

“Not true, necessarily,” Taehyung argued.

Hoseok half smiled. “That, and all my exes have told me I’m too boring.” He reached out and tapped the screen; fifteen minutes until they were set to land.

“Boring?”

“I don’t like unnecessary risk,” Hoseok explained. “I don’t like being surprised and I prefer to plan things so that they will – in as much statistical assurance as they can – go in the right direction.”

“I don’t see that as such a bad thing.”

Hoseok laughed. “You’d be one of the few. Most leave because I’m just too safe.”

“Sometimes people… Some people… Need safe,” Taehyung argued. He rested his chin on his knees. “I need safe.”

“You’re quite wounded,” Hoseok agreed, wondering if he was reading between the lines in the way Taehyung meant – or if it was wishful thinking.

The two sat in a comfortable silence as the plane descended. At least Hoseok figured it was comfortable. He was anxious, as he tended to be in social situations where he wasn’t sure what the other party was thinking. But Taehyung seemed relaxed, sitting next to him, flipping through his phone. Hoseok wondered if he was reading messages from the ex, or someone new. Did people move on so fast? He didn’t know. Usually other people asked him out, and he calculated the risk based on how well he knew them – not the other way around.

The two got off the plane and headed to the luggage carousel together, not purposely, but also not purposely straying from one another’s side either. As they waited, Taehyung looked over.

“ Am I right in thinking you’re gay?” He asked abruptly.

Hoseok blinked, hesitated… Then nodded. “You are.”

“And single. And a sweet guy who helped a crying stranger on the plane.”

“Wouldn’t you have?”

“I don’t know,” Taehyung admitted, shrugging. He snagged his suitcase from the belt. “Let me give you my phone number.”

Hoseok took his own bag. “Why?”

“So we can go out on a date.”

Hoseok smiled sadly. “Taehyung…”

Taehyung’s smile drooped a little. “Oh. I misread.”

Hoseok shook his head. “Yes and no. You are a handsome young man, and I do find you interesting and fun to listen to. But we don’t know each other. And because of that, I can’t calculate the risk of going out with you.”

“So why not get to know each other? That’s what the point of dating is.”

“True. And I could, except even only knowing you for this short time… I can say with relative confidence that you would have minimal interest in me beyond a date or two.”

“And why is that?” Taehyung asked.

“I’m not your type.”

“Shouldn’t I decide that?” Taehyung chuckled. “You’re cute, nice, independent.”

“And utterly boring. While you’re the type that watches horror movies to feel better, and flies across oceans to meet a stranger in the hopes of finding true love. I could never take such risks. Or any risks, really. That’s why I’m not good for you.”

“Yeah, well look how good taking risks did me.”

“This time, maybe. But that’s the thing about risks. They can end badly. I don’t like that. I don’t like things ending badly.”

Taehyung sighed softly. His head drooped a little but he nodded. “I wish that wasn’t your answer, but I appreciate you being honest.”

Hoseok smiled weakly. “Look, Taehyung. You’re young, you’re handsome as hell, you’re talented. You’ll find a person to treat you right. That’s a good match for you.”

“I hope he’s like you, honestly.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I know enough to know you’re smart and thoughtful. I hope he’s the type of person who’d help a crying stranger on a plane.” Taehyung reached out and grabbed Hoseok’s wrist. He gave it a gentle squeeze. “Risks are scary, but the only way to truly be happy sometimes, is to take them. Just remember that. You took one today and you changed my whole mood – Possibly my whole week. Risks don’t always end badly, but you’ll never know unless you take them.” He let him go and sighed, pulling the handle up on his bag. “Have a good life, Hoseok. Maybe I’ll see you around one of these days.”

“Same to you, Taehyung. Keep your chin up.” Hoseok watched Taehyung walk off before heading off himself. Strangely, as he rode the bus back to his apartment (he’d calculated that the bus was far safer at this hour as opposed to a taxi), he felt… Not so sure about his decision with Taehyung.

He’d weighed his options, and saying yes to Taehyung had seemed like the riskier option. And risk equaled bad news. That motto had always worked for Hoseok. So why did it feel so bad?

As the days passed, turned into weeks, Hoseok thought less of Taehyung. He sometimes wondered where he was, what he was doing, if he found a good job or a nice boyfriend. If he ever thought of the strange, kind stranger on the plane who turned him down in the airport. Doubtful, Hoseok figured. He wasn’t memorable enough.

Whenever he did think of Taehyung, a small, painful knot formed in his stomach. The internet had said it was probably cancer, as those sites are apt to do, but his best friend, a med student, had ruled it as simply regret. Impossible, really, Hoseok didn’t have regrets. That was the great thing about calculating risks. He was confident in his choices and therefore had no need for regrets. Except this one, maybe.

Two and a half months after Taehyung and Hoseok had departed the airport, Hoseok was having a bad day.

He’d woken up late – something he never did. He’d been forced to take a bus because it was safer than a taxi at the hour he’d be on the road, but it also made him an hour late. On the way to his office, briefcase and coffee in hand, he’d tripped – having tied his shoelace haphazardly – and spilled his coffee down his front in an attempt to prevent himself from face planting into the wall. Which meant a trip to the nearby mall – this time walking distance – to get a replacement shirt, seeing as he had a presentation… That he was three minutes and fourteen seconds late to.

After the fiasco of the presentation, Hoseok sat outside for a few minutes during his lunch, attempting to re-gather his bearings and finish his day strong. It was working too. He felt calmer, he felt like the rest of the day would be great. Just a quick pop over to one of the quick eateries to grab a bite before his lunch hour was finished. He flipped his wrist to check the time, scowling when nothing but tanned skin peeked out of his shirtsleeve. Right. He’d forgotten to put on his watch in his rush this morning. No problem, the world was technologically advanced for a reason. He opened his briefcase and pushed some papers around, hunting for his phone. It was tucked away in the pocket. And absolutely dead when Hoseok tried the power button.

He huffed and snapped his briefcase shut.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he called to a middle-aged woman walking across the sidewalk in front of him. He bowed politely. “Sorry to bother you, but do you have the time? My phone is dead.”

“Oh, of course. It’s one forty-three.”

Hoseok’s eyes bulged. He scrambled to his feet, startling the woman.

“Sorry!” He cried, bowing again. “Late back to work. Thank you so much.”

He rushed off toward the office once more, feeling even more frazzled than when he’d left for lunch. How had he sat there for a full hour and fifteen minutes nearly? He never lost track of time like that. His days were simply too busy.

Hoseok berated himself as he turned into his office building. How had his day turned out so badly? He hadn’t done anything different the night before. There was no change in diet or weather or season or schedule to throw him off. So what the hell was going on?

Hoseok was so up in his head that he failed to see the young man turning the corner as he did. The two collided, and Hoseok went down, skidding on his butt as his briefcase, not shut firmly from his earlier panic, opened and scattered papers across the hall. The man in front of him swore then gasped as he fell as well.

Hoseok looked at him, his eyes bulging. “Taehyung?!” He spluttered.

Taehyung gasped, yanking his headphones from his ears. His hair was shorter, a little neater to his head, and he was wearing a nice dress shirt and slacks. He had a black binder under his arm. “Hoseok!”

He scrambled to his feet, setting the binder down and going to help Hoseok gather the papers.

“How have you been?”

“Good, what are you doing here?” Hoseok asked, piling them back in his briefcase.

“I’ve got a job interview. I mean I had one. For my art. This place is looking for a new marketing team member and I thought my photography and art might be good. Plus, I’ve improved my computer art skills too. What about you? Why are you here?”

“I work here,” Hoseok said, standing up straight and brushing himself off.

“No way, what a crazy coincidence,” Taehyung said, grinning. “They really liked my stuff.”

“We’re in desperate need of some fresh blood in that department,” Hoseok agreed. He hesitated, his heart doing a strange little stutter step now that they stood so close to one another.

“How have you been?” He asked after a second.

Taehyung smiled a little distantly. “I’m okay. I got over the breakup. Took some time, but I’ve moved on.”

“Yeah? Found a new partner?” What a strange feeling, Hoseok thought. That clench in my chest. I hope it’s not heart trouble…

“No, still single.”

Ah, it’s released now, probably just a fluke from my crazy day.

“I see,” Hoseok replied lamely.

“And you? Found someone perfectly safe?”

“Not really looking,” Hoseok admitted. “I mean, not opposed, but… I tend not to ask people. Ah…” He shrugged awkwardly. “When do you find out if you get the job?”

“They’ll call me later this week.”

“Ah, good. Well. Maybe I’ll see more of you around then. Must be going now…” He hesitated once more before moving past Taehyung toward the stairs. Taehyung grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

“Hoseok… The airport. When you refused me…”

Hoseok swallowed hard, lowering his gaze.

“I’m glad you did. I needed time to recover mentally from the breakup and get myself back together.”

“Good. I’m glad. You’ll be all the better for it.”

“But,” Taehyung pressed, still not letting his wrist go. “But I haven’t stopped thinking about you. And my interest in you hasn’t faded.”

“Taehyung…”

“I don’t want danger right now, Hoseok. I want you to know that. I want calm. I want peace and relaxation and a steady, firm ground. Someone to support me, that I can support just as much. Someone who isn’t going to go wild, and would rather stay inside playing a board game or snuggle on the couch with a good action movie than go run a marathon. Just so you know.” Taehyung let him go, his face pinching for a moment.

Hoseok hesitated, not sure how to respond. His hesitation must have told Taehyung something though, because Taehyung tugged a pen out of his pocket. He walked over to the entrance desk, thankfully unmanned for lunch, and snagged a sticky note from it. He scrawled on it and slapped it into Hoseok’s palm.

“It’s a risk. I know that. But think about it. I’m free this week… Pretty much all week.”

Hoseok nodded, taking the paper. “I will. Be safe… The cars…”

“I will. Enjoy work.” Taehyung put his earbuds back into his ears and grabbed his portfolio before he headed out the door.

Hoseok watched him go before looking at the sticky note in his hand. Taehyung’s number was written on it, along with his name. Hoseok’s chest clenched again, and his stomach knotted up in that little twist. So maybe he did like Taehyung. He sighed and tucked the number into his pocket before hurrying up the stairs to try and get some work done before he ended up staying late.

Unfortunately, the events of lunch did not lend themselves well to an atmosphere of hard work and focus. Hoseok’s mind kept drifting. To Taehyung, to the number in his pocket, to what he’d said. He wanted safe. He described exactly the type of man that Hoseok was. Safe, boring in the eyes of so many, and said that was his ideal. Was he being honest? There was no reason for him to lie, really, Hoseok figured. So why not be honest. Would it change? Maybe. Probably, if he was being honest with himself. Most of the time humans did change. But was that such a bad thing?

Of course it’s a bad thing. Change is uncalculated… Change is a risk.

“Shut up,” Hoseok whispered to himself. He scooped up his desk phone and dug Taehyung’s number out of his pocket.

Taehyung picked up on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“Is this Taehyung?”

“Hoseok? Yeah it’s me.”

“I’m free tomorrow night. I thought I’d be free tonight but… I seem to be quite distracted and will likely not be leaving the office in time for dinner.”

“Tomorrow night,” Taehyung repeated. Hoseok could hear what he thought was a smile in his voice. “Dare I suggest… I could pick you up something for dinner. If you wanted. Since I know where you work.”

Hoseok hesitated. What if he was late tomorrow because of it? What if he couldn’t sleep? What if he said something silly to Taehyung because he was tired? “I—”

“Too big of a risk?” Taehyung offered.

“Yes. I’m sorry. Was this a mistake? I’m so strange.”

Taehyung’s laugh was bright, and Hoseok’s heart skipped a few beats. “You’re not weird. You are. But I like it. Tomorrow night is fine, but please remember to eat tonight, okay? Even if it’s something quick. You’re going to feel worse if you don’t.”

“You are likely correct.”

“Is this a cell phone?”

“No, office… My cell phone is dead.”

“Well, when it charges, why don’t you text me. You can pick a place, I’m not really all that picky about food except I don’t like super spicy things. We can decide the best way to meet up and the details then, or tomorrow morning and afternoon. Does that work?”

“That sounds good. Very planned… Thank you for being patient and understanding.”

“I want this to work out, Hoseok.”

Hoseok hesitated. “I’d say… It’s a calculated risk.”

“How are the rewards?” Taehyung asked, a grin in his tone. “Do they greatly outweigh the risks?”

Hoseok smiled a little to himself. “No. Frankly, they are… Probably pretty balanced. But with great risk comes great reward, or whatever the daredevils say, right? This reward seems too good to pass up.”

“And what reward is that?” Taehyung teased.

“Oh, one of a kind. A beautiful boy. Even better, one that is okay with me being weird and boring.”

“Sounds like a good reward.”

“I agree. So… I’ll text you when I get off work and charge my phone, okay?”

“I’ll keep an eye out for it.”

“Goodnight.” Hoseok hung up, staring at his phone for a moment after he did. What a risk. That was a huge risk, who was he kidding?

He turned back to his computer, working on spreadsheets while going through a mental list of good restaurants for a first date. It was a risk, no denying that. But sometimes, every now and then, the reward is worth the risk.

#vhope #thebtswritersclub #bangtanarmynet #btsguild #networkbangtan #bangtanxm #fluff #taeseok #taehyung x hoseok

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idkthisisjustforfanfic · 4 years

Photo

two years too late, chapter n i n e

Carly sat on the sofa with wide eyes, the same one you had sex on only a few days before. Harry rounded the island, two cups of tea in hand that rattled against saucers beneath. Tiny white cups, blue details around the rim--you wondered where he got them.

“S’hot,” he said, setting them down carefully on a glass coffee table in front of you. Carly, with a smile on her face, looked down at the tea and then back up at him, “thanks.”

He offered a smile in her direction before heading back to the kitchen, fetching a third cup for himself. A record buzzed along through the speakers of a turntable in the corner of the room, when he came back to the couch and sat next to Carly, he cleared his throat.

“Ask away,” he smiled, a look in his eyes conveyed more to you than it did to your coworker.

“Yeah,” you reached for a notebook in your bag on the floor, you pulled a pen from your pocket and uncapped it. “Maybe we can start with how it feels to be solo--which, I know, the same boring question you get all the time, but--enlighten us.”

The heated air felt stiff as it blew from vents overhead, he seemed to relax into the couch once he took a sip of tea. Carly’s presence didn’t feel uncomfortable, but it made you realize that things with Harry still felt strange.

You weren’t necessarily friends, not unless friends spend the night tangled beneath Egyptian cotton and their mornings sipping tea in oversized t-shirts.

But you also couldn’t say you were more than that. There’d been no conversation, no label, no definition. Nothing lent itself to quelling the voice at night that seemed to echo in your mind.

“S’not boring,” he laughed. “It’s uh--it’s good. Fun to branch out and try new things, took a while to get used to performing without them cause it’s so different. I’ll get more practice though, with this upcoming leg of the tour.”

“Different how?”

“Just not as many people on stage to bounce off of, energy wise. There’s less to hide behind, y’know?”

“Hide?” Carly’s eyes seemed to narrow in on him, her curiosity getting the best of her as she cracked a smile. She’d promised to hang back, let you ask the questions and guide the conversation. While your biggest interview to date might not be your most professional, you wanted to be certain that Carly’s excitement wouldn’t make it the most pathetic.

He thought on it for a second, the cup of tea resting on his knee as he ran a hand through his hair. “It’s just me up there now--I get to be more myself. Not that I wasn’t in the band, by any means, but more opportunity to just be myself.”

A beat of silence passed when you scribbled on the paper in front of you: nail polish remover. You needed to pick some up on your way home. Instead of telling him that asking him questions about work felt weird, you diverted.

“Is that scary ever?”

He shrugged, offering a smile. “Not scary--but intimidating at times. Off the record, for a second,” he laughed. “Just feels cool, y’know? I’m not worried about carrying a giant reputation around like I used to. I mean--I still have a reputation and an image and whatever,” another laugh when he looked over to Carly. “But now I’m just me. Not Harry Styles of One Direction.”

“Right,” you nodded, eyes scanning his face when he looked between the two of you.

You wondered if you seemed too comfortable--if Carly would notice that you knew your way around his refrigerator or the fact that you settled easily into the couch.

“How do you think you’ve changed since the band?”

You hadn’t noticed Harry was looking at you until he turned his head, Carly’s question processing as he took another sip of tea. He hummed for a second, a sigh escaping his lips before he shrugged again. “You mean from the band to now or from before the band to now?”

“Before the band,” Carly’s eyes fluttered over to you, a subtle nod at the relationship between the two of you that spanned over a decade.

“I’d like to think I’m the same,” the corner of his mouth pulled up when he stole a sideways glance at you. He set the tea down in front of him, a clink against the coffee table, but then let out a hefty sigh. “Not possible, I guess. Might be a better question for Y/N.”

They both turned to you, you plucked a piece of lint off of your sock. A shrug of your shoulders, an eye roll when he winked at you. “You’re different in a lot of ways, and yet somehow exactly the same.”

“How does one manage that?” He pressed, a dimple appearing on his left cheek, afternoon light seemed to dance through the floor to ceiling windows.

“I mean--” you looked around the room, taking in the art on the walls and the fact that his flat looked like it ate yours for breakfast. “Didn’t think the kid with plaid bedding would be living it up on Greenwich Street. But you still have bad taste in dessert and a knack for bothering me.”

“I see,” he said, another playful glance in your direction before Carly cleared her throat.

“Mind if I use the restroom?”

“Down the hall,” Harry threw a thumb over his shoulder, slurping loudly at the beverage in his hand.

She let her eyebrows shoot north, nodding her head towards the hallway you’d padded down barefoot numerous times. “Join?”

You looked back at Harry, his thumbs moved over the screen of his phone--likely reassuring someone on his team that everything was fine, despite the fact that they weren’t there. His publicist had been hesitant at first, an interview without a chaperone? He told you that he begged for them to hang back, insisting that this was likely going to be the best interview he ever did. Honest and authentic were the words you heard him use on the phone one night. You ignored the pressure that suddenly fell on your shoulders, hoping you’d do it justice.

“Be right back,” you said quietly, disappearing down the hallway behind your coworker. You looked over your shoulder to ensure privacy before whispering.

“Why do you need me to pee with you?”

She pulled you into the bathroom, switched the lights on before smiling at you. “He’s so flirty with you!”

“What?” You said quickly, eyes squinted to adjust to the brightness that now reflected off of white marble. “No he’s not.”

“Y/N--yes he is. He’s so sweet to you and nice and I know he’s just nice in general but, like,” she raised her eyebrows suggestively, another smile when you rolled your eyes.

“No, Carly, that’s ridiculous.”

“Has there ever been anything between you guys?” Another wiggle of her eyebrows.

“Between me and him?!” More heat rose to your cheeks, back against the door, another eye roll when she nodded. “No! No drunken teenage hook ups and no spin the bottle or whatever you’re imagining.”

“Well, maybe there could be,” she shrugged.

“Can I go now?”

“Yeah,” she laughed.

You turned quickly, hand on the knob to escape back to the living room, your lies would give Harry a good laugh.

“Oh, shit, look,” Carly spoke again, frozen in her tracks, her eyes on the blue deodorant on the counter that you’d picked up at Duane Reade a few nights earlier.

If you were going to be staying over some nights, you needed a few things here. Apparently you’d left the deodorant on the counter after using it, and neither Harry or you thought to put it in the master bath where you typically showered in the morning.

“Looks like there’s someone else in the picture,” she pointed down at it. “Unless he uses Secret Shower Clean scent.”

You stifled a laugh, “wouldn’t shock me. He’s pretty feminine sometimes.”

“Oh shut up,” she rolled her eyes. “Let me pee in peace.”

“You made me come with you!” you defended, mouth open in shock from her demand.

“Go utilize the alone time I’m giving you, please and thanks.”

So you rolled your eyes for the hundredth time, making your way back to Harry in the living room. He pressed a kiss to your lips before Carly reemerged, sneaking around is fun, he decided.

You’d spent years not knowing where he was. There were times when you probably went a good week or two without thinking about him at all. But now the dimmed screen of your phone meant he was probably out with other people, too busy to talk to you or say goodnight.

Work, he’d said. Mostly work and only a little bit of play.

You eyes glossed over the headline, a trash mag online seemed to think otherwise.

Harry Styles parties with new girlfriend in Los Angeles

Alyssa let out a groan when you dropped your phone back on the table, a spoon to her lips as she took another bite of the stew she’d made. “It’s not a big deal--he gets written about like that all the time. And besides, he said there was a dinner, right?”

“S’not the dinner,” you rolled your eyes, feeling more pathetic with each passing second. “S’the drinks and stumbling out of a fancy restaurant.”

“He took you to a fancy restaurant last week!” she nearly dropped her spoon, her eyebrows knitted together when you looked up from the bowl in front of you. Chunks of carrot danced in the broth, steam floated up towards the ceiling, half of a baguette laid on a plate between you both.

Did you even have the right to be upset? Was it fair to assume he wasn’t seeing other people? A week had passed and there was even less conversation about it. You were spending more time at work dreaming up possibilities for the story, more time trying to extinguish whatever fire had sparked in Carly at the mere thought of there being something more between you and Harry.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Alyssa reassured. And maybe she was right, maybe the pounding heart when you zoomed in on photos was unnecessary. Maybe the sweat on your hairline from getting stuck in the thought of him kissing someone else was all a waste of time.

Or maybe it wasn’t.

A facetime call from Jessie the next morning over breakfast only left a bigger ball of anxiety in your stomach. She squealed excitedly when you answered, it was hard to make out her words just from the pitch of her voice. She got into a PhD programme, a wide smile on her face when she told you she’d start over the summer.

“How’s Harry?” She finally asked, pushing sunglasses over her eyes when she stepped out of the office building in which she worked. A lunchtime coffee was necessary for Jessie, she said she’d take you along. A coffee date separated by the Atlantic Ocean, she cooed. How romantic!

“He’s fine--haven’t talked to him in a while.”

Eighteen hours to be exact. You weren’t really counting, it was just that you kept opening the message thread between the two of you, a blatant reminder on your screen that his last text came through yesterday after lunch. Jessie didn’t need to know that your definition of a while had changed now that you were sleeping together.

“Yeah? You looked pretty cozy in his house the last time we talked.”

Her words weren’t challenging, more observational. She made a face at someone on the street, you assumed someone had bumped into her and withheld an apology.

Despite the lack of charge behind her words, anger bubbled in your chest when she looked at you expectantly. “Why are you always asking about him, Jessie? I’ve told you a thousand times! He reached out, we hang out sometimes. S’really not a big deal.” You pressed a button on your keurig, watching as the steam stretched towards the sky when coffee appeared in your mug.

“Whoa, relax--just curious. You used to be the girl who wanted nothing to do with him and now suddenly you’re best friends again.”

You sprinkled sugar into the liquid. “Well people grow up, Jess--he was a dick back then but, I dunno, feels different now.”

“I just, I guess I never thought you’d get over him--and over it.”

“Speaking of,” you looked over to the phone, it was propped up against a box of pasta that Alyssa had left out on the counter. “Jake told me that you left us in the bathroom.”

She was inside somewhere now, likely a Starbucks down the street from her office. Her eyes settled back on you, she pulled a hat off her head, parted lips, no noise.

“Kind of surprising to hear seeing as you knew how much I didn’t want to see him that night.”

Your heartbeat was in your ears, a whooshing that drowned out the voices of local news anchors that drifted in from the living room. Maybe Jessie meant no harm, but the look on her face told you she knew she’d caused it anyway.

“I thought it was funny at first, I didn’t know what was going to happen.”

“Clearly,” you moved the mug over towards the fridge in search of creamer. “Glad your joke was a good laugh for you.”

“Oh, Y/N, come on,” she whined, still frozen inside a coffee shop. She wasn’t in line, you could tell that she had enough privacy to be hashing it out with you. “It was years ago--things are better now. You and Harry are friends and all is back to normal.” Her voice was somewhat pleading, hoping you’d just drop it.

“Jessie I don’t care if we’re friends now,” you said quickly, picking up the phone from its resting place. “I was heartbroken by two guys and you let me stay locked in a bathroom with one of them. That’s bloody mean!”

“I suck, okay? I’m a shit friend and I deserve to rot in hell but I would like for you to remember that Bryn also knew.”

“What?”

“Bryn knew?”

“Did I say that?”

“Jessie!”

“What?!”

“She knew?!”

“Yes! I told her because I was drunk and she said it was mean but then when I told her it would force the two of you to just talk things through she also pretended to not know where you were when Jake and Adam asked.”

“You are both terrible people,” you shook your head, more pounding in your ears, more anger when you realized you couldn’t even call Harry to complain about it because he was busy and you didn’t want to bother him because you weren’t even his girlfriend. “I have to go.”

“Y/N, wait!”

“I’ll talk to you later.”

Three beeps, the iPhone signal that you were now alone in your kitchen, nothing but a steaming cup of coffee to keep you company.

Just like your mother had raised a woman of class, she also raised a woman who wasn’t too proud to admit that she was way too anxious. So on Monday afternoon when the Q train was taking far too long, you decided to give your mum a call.

She’d long been talking you off the ledge when it came to boys or friends and everything in between, but when she answered and asked how you were, you realized it was probably best to keep some details to yourself while you filled her in.

There’d been mention here and there throughout your life in regards to sexual activity, she begged you to buy condoms when you went off to Uni and she even asked after you met Charlie if you’d lost your virginity.

There were boys between he and Harry, but only a few. You decided to keep the topic of sex off the table as you elbowed your way through commuters. Instead, you told her about his flat and the fact that you now had deodorant in a cabinet in the bathroom. You told her about the real date he took you on and the way he bantered back and forth with Alyssa like they were long lost siblings.

She was excited for you, happy that whatever was going on between you looked less like the rubble of a ruined friendship and more like the foundation of something new. She’d always liked him--and something about the fact that his mum lived in the same town probably struck her as a good sign.

Only one place to visit for Christmas!

But you had to pump the brakes, the thought of spending holidays together felt so far off and unlikely that you changed the subject altogether.

“I also, uh, I’m interviewing him for work.”

“You are? Does your boss know that you’re dating him?”

You ignored the lump in your throat--dating him didn’t feel like a good descriptor. Hooking up? That felt more appropriate.

“No. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t even know that we’re friends. My coworker Carly does--but, she doesn’t know that we’ve, you know.”

“So you’ve slept with him?”

“Mum! No--I just,” a exasperated grunt escaped from your lips.

“S’fine, honey, you don’t have to tell me. M’not trying to pry.”

“All I meant was that she knows we’re hanging out.”

“Hanging out,” she repeated your words, you could picture the smirk on her face. It was the same one Katie made when she’d confronted you about it back over Christmas.

“Spending time together.”

“Sleeping at his sounds like more than just spending time together.”

Another sigh, a shift in your energy when the train pulled up. “I just don’t want to get my hopes up.”

She was quiet at that, too. You heard her take a breath before replying. “I know, sweetie.”

“He leaves for tour mid March. Story is due a month before.”

Fellow New Yorkers spilled out from between the train doors, shoving through the crowd to find their way up to street level.

“You’ll have to figure things out before he leaves, then, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The train ride was quick, only a few stops until your feet hit the pavement of your block, four stoops until you’d climb up your own. You helped Alyssa make dinner, a recipe she’d found online for homemade pierogies--far too ambitious for a work night.

But you laughed and drank wine and she danced around the kitchen when Harry’s song came on Spotify.

Look at us now, she laughed. In December we went to see him at Spotify and now he frequents our living room.

You pretended like it didn’t matter, like the dim screen of your phone didn’t sting like a papercut.

But when your phone rang at 11pm and he asked if it was too late to talk, the words I miss you felt an awful lot like a bandaid.

He sent Roger to pick you up from work three days later and told you to bring your overnight bag--you slid into the backseat after Carly left for the subway. A quick lie that you had a lot to finish up before leaving was all it took for her to wave goodbye and say she’d see you in the morning.

You’d never been this nervous to see him. Not the first time you’d gotten tickets to see the band, six months between the last time you saw him and a hug backstage before meeting the others. Jessie had seemed to stake her claim on Liam, both Adam and Jake thought it was ridiculous that she wore a crop top to a concert in the middle of Manchester.

But the stakes were higher now. You weren’t going back to Uni or texting him that his performance was great on an awards show. You were sleeping in his bed and you didn’t know what it meant.

“I’d kiss you if I could,” he let an arm wrap around your waist as he pulled you close, another back room of a restaurant, this time it was Japanese and the host knew your name when you walked through the door. Vince, a man who seemed to only own black clothes, seemed to hover behind you as the host led you through tables, a quiet spot in the back, away from the crowds.

Maybe he could sense your anxiety, maybe he could just feel that you were tense. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you shook your head, cursing your expressive face and settling into the chair he’d pulled out. A glass of wine was already poured for you.

“Smalls, you look upset.”

“Long day,” you lied, a long exhale when he searched your face again.

“I was really busy,” he said it like he knew it wasn’t an excuse.

“What do you mean?” you faked a head tilt, one that hopefully looked convincing and like you weren’t acutely aware of the fact that he’d only texted four times and called once in the five days he was gone.

“I suck at communicating sometimes.”

“S’fine, Harry, m’not mad. We should talk about the interview, anyway. This is work, right?”

He licked at hip lips, his hands nervously twisting beneath the table. “I mean--I just wanted to see you. Have dinner. Catch up.”

“Well we have a story to write.”

“Y/N,” your name fell off of his lips like they were anchored to the earth beneath his feet. “You’re not my coworker. You’re not just a journalist.”

You let his words linger in the air between you, biting your tongue hard enough to draw blood. Then what am I to you?

“Okay,” you said the word because you didn’t know what else to say. Something told you that fighting with Harry in a Japanese restaurant on the Upper East Side wouldn’t look good in a tabloid, especially seeing as this was still being billed as a strictly professional relationship.

So maybe that was where the anxiety was coming from. Whitney was pressing for more of a direction on the story, and no matter how much you knew about the boy with an ink-splattered chest, you didn’t know what to say about him.

It was hard to write the story of a boy who knew you so well, one that had embarrassing memories of you and one whose life didn’t begin the second his face was broadcast on the telly. You weren’t sure how to tell that story: the one of drunken teenage nights and a shifting friendship that suddenly involved hiding from paparazzi and headlines.

Privacy was a luxury, one you were now well aware of. One that haunted your thoughts when you were riding the lift up to his flat or rushing through Union Square at rush hour.

Sharing your story of him would change the privacy you knew. It would strip every sense of it and ultimately add a new chapter that you weren’t too sure of.

But how did you write a story that wasn’t the truth? One with questions about music and girlfriends and funny celebrity run ins? How did you bite your tongue as if you didn’t know his favorite breakfast cereal or the way he washed his hair in the shower?

Agreeing to the interview suddenly felt like you had to bury the part of you that saw him as more than a voice on the radio, muffle the sounds of pleasure that came from your lips when he kissed between your legs.

He changed the topic quickly, a waiter took your order and did his best to act as if Harry wasn’t who he was. He told you about the meetings he’d had in LA, the friends he saw and the way the sea breeze blew. I didn’t miss the weather but I did miss you.

“My birthday’s next week,” he eventually said, his knife slid along his plate before he took a bite. His tone was casual.

“Yeah. Big plans, or?”

It felt like a silly question--of course he had big plans. Didn’t he have people to ensure that his plans were big and the events were thrilling?

“Dinner, I guess, with some friends and some people in New York. D’ya want to come?”

“To dinner?”

“Yeah--Alyssa’s welcome too, if she’s around.”

You were quiet for a second, a sip of wine to avoid an answer. He raised his eyebrows after a second, another bite of food into his mouth as he waited.

“I mean--don’t know if that’s a good idea, right?”

“Because of work?”

You nodded. Maybe you were taking it too far, maybe people wouldn’t care as much as you felt like they would.

But Whitney. Maybe she’d be livid about your apparent lack of regard for the standards and ethics of the field--or maybe she’d be willing to overlook this one based on the extraordinary circumstances.

It wasn’t every day that content producers at The Scoop had an in with one of the biggest celebrities, right?

But even if Whitney did overlook that, there was now the issue that you’d lied. You’d had multiple chances, meetings, phone calls with her over your shoulder to a fake PR person of Harry’s--which was really just an automated voice from your pharmacy that you’d speak over.

Yes, 2pm would be perfect--dial 1 to speak with the pharmacist--Great--dial two if you’d like--I look forward to sitting with him again.

“What’s the plan with this, Smalls?”

“What do you mean?”

“What I mean is when are you going to be okay with people knowing that you know me?”

You stared at the napkin on your lap, a spilled splotch of something on the corner almost looked like a rocketship. When you looked up at him, his eyes looked empty.

“S’going to be hard to avoid right? I mean, the more we do this--” you motioned around the restaurant with a free hand as you picked up your wine. “The more people will put the puzzle pieces together. The internet is a dangerous thing.”

“So maybe we should get out in front of it.”

“I just want to wait, okay? Wait until I can give Whitney the story and figure out a better way to tell her.”

“What about our friends?”

“What about them?”

He rolled his eyes a little. “Why can’t they know that we’re--”

“Because Jessie will be obnoxious--more obnoxious than she usually is.”

He sighed.

“She knew we were in the bathroom.”

“What do you mean?” Curiosity replaced impatience.

“I guess she realized we were stuck in there and instead of letting us out she had a proper laugh with Bryn,” your chest deflated, less anger than the last time you thought about it. “She said she hoped we’d just talk things out.”

Harry let out small laugh, his eyes wandered the room as if he waited for a distraction. “Jake probably can’t keep his mouth shut.”

When you looked at him with confusion on your face, he continued. “Jake’s always known that I--y’know, liked you.”

“Always?” You narrowed your eyes at him, heat rising to your cheeks when you thought about what Jake had said at Christmas. It was stupid to think that Harry didn’t talk to the rest of your friends--especially Jake and Adam--the same way you did. And it was especially stupid to think that Jake and Jessie weren’t keeping each other completely in the loop.

But if you were both disclosing the same secret of having feelings for the other, why didn’t someone take it upon themselves to remove the middle-man and force the two of you to talk?

You shrunk when it clicked. That’s what Jessie had done.

“Yeah, I mean,” he shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t really tell him until, like, probably 2013.”

Another puzzle piece. “Which is when I’d met Charlie.”

“And when I decided to let you just--do you.”

“Do me?”

“S’not like we saw each other much and then I found out you had a boyfriend and--you know. I was busy.”

“Right. Busy.”

And then when you were finally able to talk through things and you both admitted that there had always been something between you, you decided to tell him to never talk to you again.

Harry nodded, a look on his face as if he’d wandered into unknown territory. More wine was poured by the same waiter who stared at Harry with excitement in his eyes. Once you were alone again, Harry stifled a smirk.

“You were really surprised by the fact that we have meddling friends?”

“Guess not,” you sighed. “Would have wished they’d be more transparent about their meddling, though.”

So while Jessie might have done a shitty thing--while they all might have contributed to the worst night of your life--it felt a little easier knowing that they were only trying to help. It even made Jessie’s never ending quest to make you get over Harry feel a bit less annoying.

But only a bit.

You and Harry had been passing like two ships in the night for years, and apparently everyone but the two of you knew it.

“This is serious,” you looked up from the couch, annoyed by the way he threw another goldfish in the air, his mouth open to catch it as it came back down.

“America has the best snacks. That’s serious.” He looked over at you with a playful smirk, eyebrows wiggling on his forehead when your eyes met his.

“If it weren’t your birthday I’d be more mad.”

“Fine--okay,” he settled back and threw a few more crackers into his mouth. “What was the question?”

“Favorite thing about going home?”

“To Holmes Chapel?”

You nodded, desperate to get something good out of him. The last few days had been filled with new ideas from Carly. Write about how normal he is, how down to earth. Do something with him that really shows how normal he is and then write about it.

Sure--that’d be a great read. But you didn’t know how to do that without giving first hand information.

So fine, maybe the interview was a bad idea. Now--after two weeks of trying to do it, you could finally admit it.

“You.”

An eye roll as you shifted on the couch, thankful for the fact that his birthday celebrations didn’t begin until much later in the evening. You’d take as much time bundled in his clothes as you could. “Even if that were true, I couldn’t write it.”

“It is true!” His face twisted, clearly offended before he threw another goldfish towards the ceiling. “You just can’t take a compliment.”

“I can too--just not when they’re fabricated.”

“Fabricated?!” He let a loud laugh that echoed through his living room, a smirk crossing his face when he stood off the couch. “You’re mental. Absolutely, one hundred percent, out of this world, mental.”

“Am not!” You shrunk into the couch when he got closer, a giggle escaping your lips. “Come off it, you’re the one who’s feeding me the bullshit lines.” He leaned down to tickle you, fingers grasping for the sides of your hips. “S’that the type of thing that works on all the other girls?”

He froze at that--a twitch in his lip when he pulled away from you. “No, Smalls--there’s,” his eyebrows dipped, a pause when he cleared his throat. “There aren’t other girls.”

“Oh.”

It was the reassurance that you wanted and needed, but something about it felt off. Maybe it was the way he didn’t lean down to kiss you or the way he pulled away when you reached out to touch him. He went back to the other couch and sat, hand back into the bag of snacks.

“Do you have another question?”

You had a thousand, but none felt like they’d yield a good answer.

You stood in front of Alyssa’s closet that night, hands running down the side of the green velvet dress she’d offered up. The fabric didn’t seem to stretch so much around her chest when she wore it, but it seemed like a better option than the black one you’d already tried on.

Roger came to pick the two of you up, an excited smile on his face when Alyssa marveled at the heated back seats. She repeated the same things Harry had originally.

If anyone asks, you’re there for work. What better way to get to know someone than having dinner with them and their friends? Maybe some of Harry’s friends could be trusted with the truth, but you were thankful for the fact that Twitter had been quiet and hopeful you could keep it that way.

It was a small enough gathering, maybe fifteen others crowded around a family style table in another fancy restaurant--this one had enough private rooms with lounges that you wondered if the general public was even allowed in.

Champagne toasts and sharing stories about the funny things that Harry had done during his 23rd trip around the sun. His manager made a bet that his 24th would be even better.

He slunk an arm around your shoulders towards the end of the night, laughing in your ear when Alyssa talked about the way you mispronounced American words. He seemed to float around the room from group to group, thanking people for coming and letting his glass clink against the others’, a shy smile on his face when people showered him with praise.

You didn’t feel as out of place as you’d hoped. You crossed your fingers for a bad night--one that would permit a slow but steady separation, saving you from the blurry lines that were to come. How often should he call you when he was on tour? Were you supposed to visit?

Instead, you felt accepted by his friends and like they appreciated a new face in the crowd of people who’d been working together for a few years.

“Meant to show you this earlier,” he said after another glass of champagne, flipping his phone around to reveal a text message from Jessie.

Jessie Alby (5:23am): Happiest of birthdays!!!! Hope you have an amazing day and please tell Y/N that I love her and I’m a wanker and I’ll wait as long as she needs to tell all of that to her face. Xx

You rolled your eyes, eliciting a smirk from him.

“She means it.”

“I know,” you said, bringing your glass up to your lips again. A few days since you’d last spoken to her had given you time to settle, less angry about that night and more understanding about why she’d done it--even if it was stupid.

You looked up at Harry--his eyes held your gaze for a second, his dilated pupils a sure sign of intoxication. Jessie might be apologetic, but that was largely due to the fact that she thought things between you and Harry had finally been resolved. She didn’t know about the sex or the sleepovers and she certainly didn’t know about the interview.

The last thing you needed was judgement from Mother Theresa herself.

So you pushed the thoughts of Jessie and the gang out of your mind, thankful for the tiny sliver of New York that felt like a new world. One without memories of throwing up or getting drunk or saying stupid things. Alyssa excused herself just after midnight, a smile on her face communicated her hopes for you to end up in a bed other than your own.

And when you were, Harry smiled over at you from his spot beneath the comforters, his legs intertwined with yours as his eyelashes brushed against his cheeks. “Come with me to Los Angeles at the end of the week.”

“What?”

“Come with me,” he said again, his voice slow, his breathing was fading towards that of sleep.

“Why?”

“Cause I like you, Smalls.”

You were quiet, you watched as his eyes closed, then opened, then closed again. The heat kicked on, a hum in the room before you spoke.

“I like you too.”

“Just us--romantic.”

“Romantic?” You let a giggle escape through your lips, his eyes immediately opened, though he had trouble keeping them like that. A green light from the digital thermostat across the room seemed to glare back at you.

“S’not funny!”

“Okay.”

“You’ll come?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

You nodded, and once his eyes were closed for good, you leaned over to shut off the light, wondering if anyone else had ever kept a stick of deodorant in his flat.

read the other parts here

come talk to me about tytl

tag list: @clorenafila @ainsleesolareclipse @castawaycths @harryspirate @wanderlustiing @ursamajor603 @thurhomish @omgsharry @stepping-into-the-light @rachkon @jdcharliewhiskey @sad-little-asshole @shawnsblue @gendryia @g0bl1nqueen @laula843 @flooome a-woman-without-a-plan @awomanindeniall @shaw-nm @staceystoleyourheart @ohprettylittlemind @anssu-amry @my-fandomful-life @stylesfantasy @bookingbee @mleestiles @haute-romance-quotidienne @craic-head-horan @talk-british-2-me-britbritharry @at-least-im-1 @paigemck00 @rawmeharry @pinkpolaroidgirl @blackxxmagicc @sksspotkitty @nearbyou @kalesouffle @sunnflowerchild @lmk12310

AN: thanks for being so patient with me while i got this chapter written and posted! i was sick and its christmastime and you know how that is. (there are a ton of easter eggs in this chapter about upcoming drama and i know y’all love a good easter egg hunt)

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mental-health-advice · 4 years

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Submissions from 🦚🌺

So took me a while to scroll through to my last tagged ask (for some reason searching didn’t work). So much about staying consistent and actually tagging my stuff from now on. Gosh uff. The one where sibling found possible drugs and the one about mom being xenophobic almost causing shut down as in passing out were me too. I usually either tend to forget to tag or I guess am kinda scared since I feel I send in A LOT? I really don’t know. It’s just a lot going on and I feel bad always (1🦚🌺)

I feel bad always throwing all my stuff at my friends. Especially as one friend a few years ago was diagnosed with depression. Idk what her current situation is tho except that she seems to do better. I won’t ask her since I feel weird about that stuff. Plus really unless she wants to tell me it’s none if my business. But yeah that’s that I guess. Now… I’ve been rejected from the art college/highschool unfortunately so that’s out the window. My therapist suggests volunteer year 2🦚🌺

Whivh we have a social and economic one of I think? Idk. I know social won’t work because of my likelyhood of social anxiety which kinda self explanatory I guess. Economic I’m just scared I wont be able to pull the whole tear through, scared to do stuff wrong etc. Hell I spent 2 low sleep nights crying after the rejection and mom forced the answer out of me when I clearly didn’t want to talk about it. Turned into an argument about how I got forced into abitur/regular highschool 3🦚🌺

And OBVIOUSLY she blames dad for it. Which like… great whatever he told her. My point is HE was more supportive in front of ME than she was. She just tore me down 2 years ago. Next week I dont have a therapist appointment since she will be moving. So I’m praying this week will go by smoothly. Well as smooth as it can go with all the arguments around here I guess. I’m still trying to process everything since March 4🦚🌺

1? 2? I’ve lost track of time … weeks ago she and her bf fought very badly and she essentially ran away for an hour, he claimed he is leaving but then stayed. My younger sisters were all crying, my brothers were just not surprised and I had to try call family members (which calling others is a physical challenge for me) trying to find a way to deal with what happened. My therapist knows about this incident. She now also knows moms bf smokes weed but not about what 5🦚🌺

else we found. I’ll see if I can bring it up soonish since it still worries me… my brother also later confirmed again he caught them snorting it so yeah most likely we are right about it being cocaine. I feel uncomfortable looking up the effects of it but my cousin said that could explain a lot of moms behavior. Shes always been this way I think.I right now dont even remember where I was going with this ask chain hhhh frick.I’m loosing track of myself once again please send help 6🦚🌺

(Have to switch to browser because app again refuses to let me send stuff wtf) My mom also is back onto “oh you just have split personality!” … I have informed myself on DID and OSDD, I have symptoms yes. But I doubt it’s that. In fact my therapist even talks about that stuff with me! I have different parts but mom doesn’t know they exist so idk. I tried to literally tell her how DID is made and she didn’t want to listen. She claims she did almost everything right and I’m making up 7🦚🌺

My trauma. So you would think that she would stay away from assuming such a trauma heavy diagnosis. Welp she actually doesn’t know anything about mental health either way and legit took my brother off his adhd meds years ago because “they changed him too much” and then refused to take him to appointments when we noticed signs of tourette in him because she felt like she fucked up as parent?? Wat?? I can’t make sense of this woman anymore tbh 8🦚🌺

Sorry that this is all over the place, it’s 1am for me rn, I cant sleep really, still am trying to process I won’t see my friend who I was looking forward to seeing this year for 2-3 years and who would have been a temporary escape from this hellhole until at least another year or 2 depending on the situation, being in the top 10 corona countries and in fact second most infected state in germany and really just switching between sliding down to a kid and /or almost passing out 9(?)🦚🌺

almost passing out when trauma responses shut me down and I just can not describe my emotions of the past months other than I just want someone to hug me and to feel safe and to feel like this mess at home and the world isn’t happening. My mind is all over the place and I feel like at this point I’m going insane and I’m not making any sense anymore. Again sorry for the probably stupid rant/,vent that probably made no damn sense idek anymore - final🦚🌺

So much about what I sent in yesterday hoping for the best. 3 hours ago I woke up to a message chain about how we (me and my siblings. We are 6 in total) apparently abuse her and use her. And basically just complaining about the tiniest things regarding chores. For example yesterday I completely cleaned the kitchen and she complained because some dishes stood around since people still ate AFTER I did the chores. Like tf. My friends say it seemed like from the screenshots that she is 1🦚🌺

using us as tools? Idek anymore. She also completely ignored me sending her and asking her stuff about the valounteer year last night since the school rejected me and I need that alternative. Apparently a clean flat is more important than my literal future. On the other hand I for once had a normal conversation with my almost 15yo brother (I’m almost 19, however not mentally and also not in the position to move still especially with the virus and all) and it turned out that he shares 2🦚🌺

Moms views on therapy whivh I’ve mentioned in the past aren’t really the best views on it. So yeah that’s just great. He basically just thinks it’s stupid. Either way. Currently my only way of possibly getting away would be a psychiatric /mental hospital stay. THING IS while I’m bety aware it isnt like in the movies I am deadly afraid of the thought. Not having my freedom to come and go when I please, not being able to meet up with friends or something etc. I would not feel safe and 3🦚🌺

it would just expose me to a lot of stress and anxiety which wouldn’t be any better than being yelled at constantly at home and having mom shit talk my friends. Everything is just kinda a mess with her rn and my siblings don’t see it from my perspective. Like YES we mess up and don’t do things right. She has a reason to be mad. But NO she doesn’t have the tight to essentially abuse us and no her behavior isnt parenting this is manipulation. 4🦚🌺

They only see the first half and think she’s in the right… I myself struggle to differentiate right and wrong and am unable to read situations well, which is why it took me 17-18 years and my friends calling it out to realise this is wrong. But I at least listen… they don’t. I sometimes just wish I grew up in a stable functioning family. Or honestly that she never even had me since she was VERY young when she had me so that’s probably why she never learned how to 5(?)🦚🌺

Act properly towards us. As she had me when she was just my age (18) and then the following 8 years had 4 more of my 5 siblings. I feel she never had time to grow up and learn herself especially considering she was abused herself…. final🦚🌺

Hi 🦚🌺,

It's good to hear from you again! There's absolutely nothing wrong with messaging us often, so feel free to tag all of your asks that you send in! I think that will actually make it easier on both of us, as you'll be able to find responses easier and I can look back on your previous asks easier to make sure I'm not missing anything or repeating myself :) Also, the search function on tumblr is quite picky, so unfortunately it can be hard to find posts. I've run into the same issue with locating old asks on the blog as well!

It's understandable that you don't want to bug your friends with your problems, especially if they have some mental health struggles of their own. However, it might help to think of it this way: mental illness is so common that chances are most people you meet will have some sort of struggle with their mental health, which means you wouldn't be able to talk to anyone about your struggles if you don't want to bother someone who struggles with their mental health. That doesn't seem fair to you! While everyone needs to have boundaries, especially to protect their health, I think it's reasonable to share things with your friends when you're struggling. You deserve that support, especially with everything else you have going on in your life!

It must have been devastating to not get into art school and I'm so sorry that happened! It does sound like volunteering could be a potential route for you to go down, even if it's just until you figure out what you want to do in the future. It makes sense that certain volunteer options can be rolled out based on the nature of the work and the things you struggle with. Perhaps there is something you could do from home that wouldn't trigger your anxiety. For instance, I volunteer for a text-based suicide hotline, which I do from home. I'm not saying you have to do something exactly like this, but it might spark an idea that you or your therapist maybe haven't thought of yet. It's just something to think about.

What's going on with the drugs in your house is definitely concerning and I think it would be a good idea to bring that up with your therapist. It's really dangerous to have these kinds of drugs around with younger kids being there. Not only is it possible for kids to accidentally get into it and harm themselves, but it's also dangerous for them to be around adults that are high because of their erratic behaviors. This is why I think it would be wise to talk to your therapist about this to see what input she has.

It's great that your therapist has talked to you about your diagnoses as well as what you don't have that your mom has tried to say you have. I'm sure it's frustrating to have your mom make those accusations, but I think it's good that you at least have your therapist there to reassure you that you don't in fact have those diagnoses.

It's so disappointing that your friend won't be able to visit as you guys had planned because I know you were really looking forward to that! Unfortunately, coronavirus seems to ne ruining plans for most people all over the world. Hopefully you guys will be able to come up with another plan for meeting up, though it likely won't be able to happen until the pandemic is more under control. Still, at least making tentative plans for meeting in the future may give you both something to look forward to once travel is finally safe again.

I'm so sorry that your mom treats you and your siblings this way. It does sound like she may use you guys as tools, as your friends put it. This is sometimes another sign of abuse/neglect, which honestly isn't surprising considering all of your mom's other behaviors.

What you mentioned about getting out of the house makes sense and I agree that an inpatient stay might not be the best way to go about it. Not only will that be more restrictive, as you mentioned, but most hospitals won't allow inpatient stays unless the person is incapable of keeping themselves or others safe while receiving outpatient care (though I obviously don't know whether this is the case for you). I still think it's a good idea to keep thinking about potential ways of getting out of your mom's house once you're ready for that. One option I'm wondering about is a group home (I think these may be called something else in other countries but it's basically a house where several adults with varying physical and/or mental illnesses live together and there are usually various types of staff who also stay there). These can sometimes be a bit restrictive, but much less so than a hospital would be. I believe they typically have a curfew, otherwise you're allowed to leave during the day. Although I'm not sure if this would be a viable option for you (and it probably wouldn't be anyway until after the pandemic is more controlled), it's just something that popped into my head when thinking about other ways of eventually getting you away from your mom's abuse.

What you said about your mom's parenting vs. manipulation is 100% accurate. It's very common for someone who was abused by parents to go on to abuse their own children unless they put in the effort to change, but know that you still don't deserve to be abused and manipulated. It's not your fault that your mom was abused and never unlearned the negative behaviors she saw experienced as a child. You and your siblings all deserve so much better than this!

-Samantha

#abuse #abusive parent #drugs #drug use #family #🦚🌺#advice #advice blog #mental health advice #mhasamantha

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cecilspeaks · 5 years

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141 - Save Dark Owl Records

The prison of your own mind is undergoing budget cuts.

Welcome to Night Vale.

Today I’d like to open the show with a statement from a local business owner, Michelle Nguyen.

Michelle: An insidious presence has invaded our town. That presence is located in the Night Vale mall and is called the Burger Barn Gladtown Records Express. I’ve seen you shopping there, Night Vale, and I want you to know you’re all murderers with the figurative blood of independent record stores dripping from your hands. “No, no” you’ll say, “that isn’t figurative blood, it’s literal barbecue sauce from the Black Angus barbeque bacon burger and it’s delicious!” You’ll keep blathering on how about “Burger Barn Gladtown Records Express keeps thick juicy beef burgers layered in between your albums, so you can flip past them and impulse eat as you shop. It’s so convenient!” [angrily] Well you know what? Convenience is another words for laziness. When you come to my store, to Dark Owl Records, you have to earn your music! Our extensive underground section is kept literally underground, and you have to dig random holes in the dirt to find it. We don’t provide you with a shovel, you can’t even bring your own. You must use your fingers. Broken knuckles and fingernails peeled back to the quick are the sign of a true music lover. Sometimes, you won’t find music you think you like, but then you realize that the rhythmic grunts and scrapes of bloodied hands into rocky earth is itself music.

Anyway, come to my fundraiser tonight at Dark Owl Records. It’s a party, and parties are the worst, but I don’t have the money to pay my bills anymore and it’s your fault, so just show up and do the right thing, or I’ll go out of business. Ok, thanks!

Cecil: Thank you, Michelle. Our radio station is doing a remote broadcast live today at the Save Dark Owl fundraiser. We’ll do some interviews and there’ll be live bands, and it should be a lot of fun. Hope you see you down here, Night Vale! Come show your support for local small business.

But first, a word from our sponsor. Today’s program is brought to you by the Burger Barn Gladtown Records Express. The popular franchise mashup had its grand opening only three weeks ago and is already a booming success. From their regional frosty treats, like the cactus thorn malt, to their wide selection of best of complication albums. There’s something for everyone at Food Barn Gladtown Records Express. And by popular demand, there’s now extra fry sauce on everything, including the Bluetooth headphones. You don’t even have to ask for it. You have to ask if you don’t want fry sauce, and you have to give a good reason why not, like uh, a signed doctor’s note. Burger Barn Gladtown Records Express. Your community entertainment culture conglomerate.

And now, a public service announcement.

Deb: Hey old friends! Corporeal humans, cor-corporeal humans, former babies, future corpses, this is Deb, a sentient patch of haze, speaking for the department of motor vehicles. We know you haven’t heard from us in a while. But [blows raspberry] we haven’t heard from you either. Relationships are a, [clicks tongue] two-way street, so to speak. But [hiccups], I know there’s been some tension and things have gotten a little weird between us. No need to get into that right now. Or ever again, as far as we’re concerned. But if you wanna come over some time and just talk, just say hi or anything, then the department of motor vehicles will be opening our doors for one hour every weekday between 2 and 3. That’s all we have to give emotionally right now. Self..care. We would like to see you again though just to [emotionally] hear your voice. We hope you’ve been doing well. [hiccups] We’re a little drunk, and it’s late. Man, we just got done watching Carol for the third time in a week. [angrily] And you haven’t really been posting on social media lately, so we just wanna know what’s going on with you. [drinking noises] Again, no pressure, no strings attached, and if it gets crowded you could always take a number as usual. But the DMV wants you to know whether your number 19 or 99, you’re always number 1 to us! [snorts] [cries] We, we miss you. We miss you.

Cecil: Listeners, we’re here live at Dark Owl Records, and the fundraiser is getting off to a great start! People are buying shards of records they dug out of the ground, there’s a cake with thick black frosting and undulating tendrils. Mm, looks delicious! There’s an effigy of the Burger Barn Gladtown Records Express with a lot of long pins sticking out of it. And at the center of all the excitement is Dark Owl owner herself, Michelle Nguyen, and her girlfriend Maureen. What a treat! Hey you two, wanna say hello to all of Night Vale? Ah that’s weird. Uh, Michelle sent me a text right now while simultaneously staring unblinkingly into my eyes from three feet away. Uh, her text says: “We heard the spot you did for Burger Barn Gladtown Rec Ex and we are not speaking to you at this time. Please leave my party, Cecil.” Oh I get it, oh no, this is a, a simple misunderstanding, Michelle. See, in radio journalism, we have a moral responsibility to play ads and make lots of money. I see where you’re confused. Does that help clear things up? Aaand Maureen is pouring ice coffee all over my laptop. I’ll go find a towel, while you go to the weather.

[A Pale Sun Rises Over New York" by Scrawnyman, https://scrawnyman.bandcamp.com]

Michelle: Hey, this is Michelle. Cecil had to go away, but there was a hastily assumed agreement I would take over the show while he’s gone, so here I am, Michelle. Broadcasting live from my own party, which is better than mingling with people and being all social and stuff, right? Uh, no offense to anyone who’s here, but this is the first party I’ve ever agreed to attend and it was only out of desperation. I mean, all parties are born out of some form of desperation. Ugh, parties are the worst! I wish everyone would go home. No, no, don’t go home, it’s so nice that you’re here… I guess. But you know what else is nice? Being alone. Or mostly alone. That’s really what independent record stores stand for, you know? Individuality, independence, isolation. Don’t follow the herd, go home, be alone. It’s the best.

Oh shoot, I was afraid something like this would happen. I mean, everything’s fine, there’s just a little situation out back. I’m gonna hand the mic over to Maureen while I deal with this.

Maureen: Um, hello? Hey, uh, this is Maureen. Don’t be scared or anything. A-actually be scared, but not about what I’m going to tell you. So what happened is some people were digging in the underground music section and the ground kind of split apart and now there’s a giant, like arthropod thing. Uh, it’s tearing people’s limbs off and whatever. Seems really mad and people are screaming, there’s like a lot of blood, blood is so stupid. But Michelle has it under control now. She’s kicked out everyone but the spider crustacean thing, because it was the only one who wasn’t being fake about its love of music. So yeah um, come on down to the store. Uh remember: we’re here to save Dark Owl! And even though the biggest section is the not for sale rack, there’s still a lot of great things to choose from. I know that some of the best things I’ve ever found have been here. Michelle, for one. Uh, don’t tell her I said that.

Also earlier today, I was crawling around inside the ventilation system, and I thought it would be really narrow and claustrophobic like air closed shafts usually are, but actually it kept growing wider and taller until I could stand up and walk around. I could even run if I wanted to. The ducts and passageways unfolded in front of me and I felt totally lost, but in a good way. I ran and ran and somewhere along the way I lost my flashlight and it didn’t matter. I could see with a sense other than vision, maybe it was taste. Ductways tasted like an everything bagel, and that guided my way. Then I could taste voices outside the vents. A voice I knew well was talking to a customer about a color limited edition single of “Love Will Tear Us Apart” on one side and “Love Will Keep Us Together” on the other. The record’s cover art depicted the eruption of Mount St Helens, but like a year before it actually happened, which makes it super valuable. I followed the taste of their voices, which was like green apples but the artificial candy flavor version, and I ended up in the obsolete media bunker behind the register, where I lay down on a pile of warm Sheena Easton singles and CD-roms filled with corrupted Limewire files. And that’s where I am now. Aand I’m gonna take a nap. Bye! [snoring]

Michelle: Hey Night Vale, I’m back. It’s all under control now. Sorry, I have kind of a contentious relationship with my neighbor Matt. He’s a 15-foot coconut crab that lives underneath the lot behind our store. We usually get along OK, but he really does not like parties, and I should have told him in advance, but I was busy and totally forgot, so my bad. Anyway, I let Matt eat the patrons who were wearing airpods and he was happy, so the party is still going strong. Most of the people are dead or have been kicked out, but I wanna make it clear that the party is still happening. So come on down to Dark Owl Records and save our store! Honestly, things are so much better now that everyone’s gone, so this is really the perfect time to show up. We have some special listening stations where you can browse all your favorite genres, like silence, post-silence, proto-silence, under-silence… I know you guys might not have heard of under-silence yet, but that’s like when the headphones are projecting what’s inside of you back into your own ears and you can hear your internal organs processing blood and fluids, and you’re filled with the awe of how all these seemingly archaic gooey parts can possibly work together to keep you alive and functioning, and you eventually pass out and/or vomit.

[sighs] I really don’t know what I’ll do if I have to leave this place. I’ve spent so much time here, I don’t even remember where my house is. One night after work, I walked down the street I thought it was on, but nothing looked familiar. And I kept walking for hours. I finally saw my house, but when I walked in, the door opened into the kitchen instead of the living room, and there was this family I’d never seen before eating dinner. There were four large serving bowls of mashed root vegetables on the table. The family didn’t notice me at all, they ate their mush and talked about their days. The mom was worried about the new boss at work, and the son forgot to go to his dentist appointment, and the daughter had a chemistry test that went okay. I didn’t want to freak them out, so I et myself out the back door and kept walking until it as morning. And in the cacophonous creak of dawn, I ended up back at Dark Owl just in time to open for the new day. And it didn’t matter, you know, that I couldn’t find my house because –

Wait, what’s this? An empty-eyed courier child just handed me an envelope. There’s a, there’s a check inside, and it’ a coupon for something called the “100 percent fish hot dog”, and a hand written note. It says, “Hello, my name is Jules, and I’m the franchise owner at the new Burger Barn Gladtown Records Express. Here is the rest of the money for your fundraising goal. When you become a franchise owner like me, you’ll think to yourself, ‘oh cool I’m an entrepreneur now, I’m going to be my own boss. I’m finally going to have agency in my life, you know?’ At least that’s what I thought when I filled out he online personality test that told me I had what it takes. I’m a type 23: outgoing but grounded. I’m detail-oriented but I can also see the big picture. I’m competitive, but I follow the rules. Classic type 23.” The note goes on. “But there are so many rules, Michelle. You have to conform when you’re in a franchise. And if you don’t, you’ll go under. Not merely monetarily, but to this place they refer to only as the cavern. If you end up there, you don’t ever come out again. Anyway, one rule is that we need at least one business competitor to remain open at all times. Until our lobbyists overturn the Sherman anti-trust act, we need Dark Owl Records to stay in business. So please take this money. I don’t wanna go to the cavern. Please, Michelle. Sincerely, Jules.”

OK, not sure how to deal with this right now if I’m honest. This person opened up a rival record franchise, and now they wanna give me money from their corporation to stay in business? I dunno. I need to go soul searching. I need to listen to some ambient room tone tracks used under famous movie scenes. I really like the one from the diner in “When Harry Met Sally”. Whatever, I guess. [steps, door closes]

[steps] Cecil: Night Vale, I’m so sorry I left you. I went to get a towel to clean up the spilled ice coffee, and there was this giant spider lobster thing, he-he cornered me and I couldn’t escape. He just kept talking and talking and god, he was boring! The worst person to run into at a party. I didn’t know how to get out of the conversation without being rude, uh I finally said I’d go grab us both a slice of cake and sidled out of there. I hope everything went OK while I was gone. Let’s see. Oh, there’s no one really left. The radio gear has been abandoned except a sleeping Maureen under my chair. There’s an inordinate amount of blood on the floor, and hey looks like the little cardboard thermometer that shows the fundraising goal has been fully colored in! Wow! We did it Night Vale! I guess that means there’s enough money to keep Dark Owl in business, at least through this month’s bills. That’s the thing about bills, they keep happening.

Well, whatever the future holds, the party was clearly a success. As was this ultra fun remote broadcast. So music lovers, kick back, put on your fry sauce-dosed headphones, listen to your newly purchased album shards, and put some vitamin E cream on those knuckles! Stay tuned next for the cla-cla-clack of CD cases being browsed, like a fluttery little heartbeat in the darkness.

Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: A good way to tell if an artistic idea is worthwhile is to remember that the most successful video game of all time is “a plumber steps on turtles”, so who knows?

#welcome to night vale #eisode 141 #save dark owl records #wtnv transcripts

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shootwinterfest · 5 years

Text

we only have this moment

Shoot Secret Santa by @youre-lacking-vitamin-me!

Despite their day jobs (or maybe because of them), Root and Shaw manage to hit all the “normal” relationship milestones. In their own way, of course.

-------------------------

LOVE LETTERS

(the way to a girl’s heart is long and winding, especially if it’s her digestive tract)

The postcard sticks out like a sore thumb.

Probably because it’s in-between six hundred kilos of cocaine, John thinks, not bothering to put on gloves as he reaches for the glossy paper. It’s probably fine: there are fingerprints on everything from the steering wheel to the tiny plastic baggies in the dealers’ coat pockets – they probably won’t need some horribly kitschy postcard with a generic beach background and a WordArt ‘Havana!’ on it for evidence.

It’s the kind of thing that diplomatically-minded people – people like Finch – would gently suggest exchanging for a different one, maybe one that looks less dated? Slightly less tactful individuals, not to mention names but – okay, Shaw – on the other hand, would probably set it on fire.

John sighs and turns it around to look for an address or maybe a name or any identi – oh God.

The back – if at all possible – is worse: it’s literally covered in those pointy S’s he vaguely remembers sketching on his notebooks back in middle school. Hundreds of iterations of the same letter, in various sizes, are littered across the surface. It looks like a high school desk; or worse, one of those rappers nowadays with all the facial tattoos.

He tucks it into his jacket pocket, shuddering at the thought of having to choose between paperwork and Shaw’s wrath. But there’s no escaping it, so he trudges down the alley that will seal his fate.

---------------

Back at the subway station, he drops The Abomination™ as he passes by Shaw. It flutters – turns in the air – catches on a breeze that smacks it into the wall – floats lazily down to land just left of her foot. She doesn’t even glance at it.

“Pick up your trash,” is what he gets instead.

“It’s not trash,” is all John gets out before he remembers that yes, yes it is; it is absolute garbage and why do they even keep picking them up? He motions to an alcove where four other sheets of pointy S-adorned paper – a scrunched-up note, an advertisement flyer, some high schooler’s art project, a torn bit of newspaper – hang menacingly. “It’s another one of those.”

---------------

Three weeks, seven papers and two rolls of masking tape later, a form begins to take shape.

“It’s a heart,” Harold remarks, and it’s the absolute wrong thing to say, judging by the way Shaw is reaching for the gun on her thigh. “I mean! It… is? But who would –”

“Three guesses, Finch,” Shaw grinds out.

John adds, “And the first two don’t count.”

---------------

“Don’t you think it’s romantic?”

“It’s creepy.”

“But it’s how everyone in middle school used to get a date!”

“Like that didn’t just prove ‘creepy’,” John mutters.

Shaw doesn’t pay him any attention, “You’re taking dating advice from how fourteen year-olds ask each other out? Twenty years ago?!”

“Worked back then,” Root shrugs, mildly offended that her masterpiece isn’t being appreciated. Fourteen hundred and six pointy S’s – the initials of Sameen Shaw – and counting. It looks beautiful up on the subway wall – could use a little more lighting, and the last piece, of course… and apparently more masking tape, considering Sameen just ripped the whole thing down the middle.

“This,” Shaw shakes the offending swathe of paper and launches it onto the subway tracks, “is not how you get someone to go out on a date with you,” she spits out, marching off with John and Harold limping after her.

---------------

That’s what she says… until the last piece arrives as a large stuffed-crust pizza decorated with a pointy S made of pepperoni slices. With Root in full pizza delivery girl getup.

She tips her cap, “How about now, Sam?”

Shaw’s cheeks are bursting, her eyes roving up and down the red uniform. “… only if there’s more pizza involved.”

-------------------------

SLEEPING TOGETHER

(love may not mean letting them walk all over you, but it does mean being a mattress once in a while)

Sameen can barely blink herself awake before she hears the stressed, “Don’t move, Miss Shaw,” from six feet to her left.

“Finch, wha-”

“Don’t. Move.”

Something kicks into overdrive. She’s been in this situation before. Given, only a handful of times, and she’d been lucky to have expert bomb defusers near her the first two and Cole the last time around, but she’s survived stepping on pressure plates and triggering trip wires – now’s no different.

Except it is. A cursory glance around shows her she’s still in the subway, there is no call to panic stations, and nobody is ordering her to stand on the edge of her foot for the foreseeable future – probably because she’s lying down.

Until she sees who is next to her in the makeshift bed. And groans. Because of course she’s here now, after weeks of radio silence and general wondering where the hell the other woman had pissed off to next.

Sameen doesn’t realise it now – won’t realise it until it’s much, much too late – but somehow, Root is everywhere: hidden amongst the computer junk and too-big clothes flung left, right and centre across their – the, not their – apartment, collected as notes and pictures in-between the pages her copy of Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám… and possibly in whatever remains of her heart.

And now she’s also tucked into Shaw’s side, clutching a fistful of tank top and drooling on have-seen-better-days blue sheets. Also hogging all the blankets.

“Really, Finch?”

“Shh sh sh sh shhhh!!!!!” he motions wildly with his arms and touches a finger to his mouth in what she assumes is supposed to be a placating gesture. Shaw flops down none too gently, but it does the trick, and he continues, “Miss Groves returned yesterday evening after a run-in with some of Samaritan’s agents – her friends, Mister Casey and Mister Daizo – were able to apprehend them before they could do any real damage… other than that to themselves.” He turns a little green at the thought of Samaritan’s lunatics offing themselves, but composes himself. “She’s busy sleeping off whatever drug cocktail they injected her with, although judging by her recent sleep patterns, it might be a while before she wakes up.”

Shaw only raises an eyebrow.

Finch swallows, clears his throat. “Miss Groves needs this sleep, Miss Shaw, so if you could find it within yourself to stay still for a few more hours…” his gaze drifts off to the mess of brown curls spread across the pillows, “… it would be much appreciated.”

Shaw rolls her eyes, tries to shift so Root is lying less on her arm and more on her own. It doesn’t work. Not exactly the way she planned on spending her Thursday morning, but –

“What about Mister…” Food. Something about food. Pasta? Couscous? “… our current target?”

“Ah, yes! As luck would have it, Mister Reese has already apprehended Mister Rice, the gentleman you were following yesterday, and we haven’t received another number yet.”

The mark’s name has Shaw’s stomach growling; a corner of Finch’s mouth ticks up.

“Is there anything I can get you that could help during these… trying times?” he asks, doing his best not to piss Shaw off any more, but still not willing to quite give up on the teasing tone.

“Burrito… s. And Bear.” She glances at the cocoon Root has managed to tangle herself up into. “… and another blanket.”

“Right away, Miss Shaw,” he motions for Bear to come, asks him to zit, Bear! Mooie hond! En ga maar slapen – blif hier, grabs his hat and the last bedspread on the table, offers it to the angry assassin before taking his leave.

Harold pretends not to notice Sameen tucking the blankets more securely around Root as he closes the door behind him.

-------------------------

MEETING THE PARENTS

(a mother always knows)

“Sameen?” Root startles, and instantly knows she’s screwed up.

The woman in front of her stands ramrod still, using oh-so familiar eyes to rove over her leather jacket and the laptop in her free hand and the way she shifts to adjust her falling bra strap. They linger on the visible portion of her cochlear implant (Root wants to curl her fingers up to her ear and push her hair back over the offending instrument, but she’s terrified that a single move will send the lady running, and she can’t have that – not yet) before meeting her eyes; beautiful, but so, so guarded.

The accent is obvious, and the grammar isn’t perfect, but the words shake something deep in her core anyway, “I am sorry, but afraid I am not my daughter.”

And Root knows that – because Shaw is three thousand miles away, pulling herself through an air vent while shouting profanities loudly enough that she might as well be right next to her; Root’s arm, along with the phone, falls to her side, the still-connected call forgotten.

It’s like looking twenty years into the future, wondering if she’ll ever get the opportunity to see the real thing. Nothing and no-one is safe, as the hundreds of scars between them prove time and time again, but right now, she’s looking into an older woman’s eyes and finds some part of Sameen staring right back.

Until she isn’t. The tinny sound of Sameen’s voice yelling “Root! Where the fuck did you go? Oi, Root!” forces those eyes to the phone in Root’s hand, and she shouldn’t be able to see the screen lighting up with Sam scrawled all over it, but for whatever reason, she’s smiling anyway. It’s almost like she knows –

A mother always knows, Sam, Root hears her own mother say to a girl who no longer exists.

Brown eyes lift back up, twinkling in amusement. “She has always had terrible potty mouth, that one.” The woman turns to leave, but gives Root a once-over, calculating, appraising. There’s a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Take good care of her, Miss Root,” she murmurs, and then she’s gone as quickly as she appeared.

Four minutes and fifty-three seconds too late, a young woman standing just outside of Houston’s city centre whispers, “Yes, Mrs Shaw,” to no-one but herself.

-------------------------

HAVING CHILDREN

(or, well, you know; dealing with the one that actually matters)

“You know, when you said that you’d be ‘coming around sometime this week’, I kind of expected it to be for a ‘haven’t seen you in three years; how’ve you been?’ reason rather than a ‘one of your classmates is next in line to be head of the Bartonelli crime syndicate but their half-whatever wants them dead so here I am to save the day’ reason.”

Shaw blinks at Gen over the rim of her milkshake. Wonders whom she has to sleep with around here to have her drink Irished up so she doesn’t need to have this conversation. Then she remembers that she’s in a McDonalds and that alcohol consumption is frowned upon at eleven in the morning and that Root is the Machine-only-knows-where, so there goes that plan.

Gen doesn’t give up, “Where’re John and Mr Finch?”

“Unavailable.”

“So why are you here?”

“Lovely question.” She slurps at the milkshake

Gen leans to the left, trying to get a glimpse of whatever is down the aisle. Her eyebrows shoot up into her hairline at whatever she sees, “Why’s Miss Davenport here?”

“Who?”

“Dee eye-thea teasha,” Gen supplies through a mouthful of burger. Some swallowing later, she repeats, “The IT teacher. Well, one of them. She’s new – all the boys and even some of the girls are madly in love with her because she’s got gorgeous brown hair and wears really tight jeans.” She gnaws on her lip and contemplates her burger before continuing, “And if rumours are to be believed, she hacked her way into the county test score database and gave everybody forty-two percent.”

“She sounds familiar.”

“She’s also walking towards us.”

Shaw turns around just as someone – Miss Davenport? – appears at her shoulder and bends down to push a straw into what’s left of her melting milkshake. A manicured hand wraps around the glass, displacing the condensation, and Shaw follows it to a pale arm to the sleeve of a black blouse to –

“Hi, Sameen,” Root hums, and presses a kiss to Shaw’s cheek.

---------------

“Aren’t you going to introduce us, Sam?”

Root looks like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. Shaw wants a drink with an alcohol content of at least 40 percent. Gen is… still gaping.

“Shut your trap – the flies are coming in.”

She does – and promptly bites her tongue. Sameen sighs and pushes her now more milk than shake in Gen’s direction; she moves to begin picking at her now-lukewarm fries, but has to swat away a hand before she can pull the box closer, away from the fry-snatcher (more like try-snatcher) slouching in the booth opposite with her too-tight jeans and gorgeous hair. Shaw would throw a chip at it to ruin in, but the idea of wasted food makes her decide to pop it in her mouth instead.

Root’s still looking at her expectantly, saccharine smile never wavering.

There’s a huge chunk of burger in her mouth, so Shaw just nods her head in Gen’s direction, “Djenn,” before kicking the hacker under the table, introducing her as, “Woot.” She swallows and glares, picking at her teeth. “Don’t discuss. Some of us are still eating.”

They don’t. They start talking about her instead.

Which is infinitely worse.

---------------

“Why Regina Bartonelli, anyway?” huffs Gen as she trudges up the stairs to her dormitory, playing with her keys to find the right one.

“Why not Regina Bartonelli?” Root counters, smirking, like she knows where this is going. Shaw doesn’t, but she motions at a door, imploring the girl between them to unlock it so she can enjoy the scotch stashed in one of Finch’s computer tower skeletons.

Gen has to think about that. “I… she… it always seems like she’s at the centre of everything. Nicest art project, so everyone crowds around. Her house is apparently so huge it’s bigger than the school!” She tugs the door open. “And, well. She’s pretty much the prettiest girl in our grade…”

Ah.

“And you’ve noticed, have you?” Shaw teases. Gen – outraged and burning red to her ears – slams the door in their faces.

Root swoons dramatically before throwing herself into Shaw’s arms, crocodile tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “Oh!” she sniffs less-than-delicately, “they grow up so fast, don’t they?” and Sameen bursts out laughing.

-------------------------

MEETING THE PARENTS (REPRISE)

(just because the dead can’t hear you, doesn’t mean you didn’t say anything)

“Your daughter’s in love with a sociopath,” Shaw greets the headstone in front of her, and wonders what in seven hells she’s doing.

Although, to be fair, it isn’t like she can have this conversation with anyone else.

Fusco would offer her a confused nod, a pat on the back, and a platitude he’d remembered from whatever book he’s currently skimming over. And maybe a donut he still has left from lunch. Finch would clap his hands over his ears two words into the first sentence. The Machine would use anything she said as information for the next sorry sucker that needs advice. Zoe would tell her to put a ring on it.

That doesn’t really leave anyone. Except maybe John.

Wonderboy is interested, and sympathetic, but she doesn’t know how to explain to someone who has feelings that she’s not doing whatever-this-is with Root because of some weird outpouring of hormones and neurotransmitters and – you know what, she totally is. Why isn’t she having this conversation with John?

She’s halfway into getting up before she realises she drove two hundred miles out of her way to have this not-a-discussion with a dead woman. Back to squatting. Might as well have the talk now.

The wind comes up, tugging at her hair and clothes, throwing dust in the air. Even as she sits here, at the edge of the potter’s field on the outskirts of Bishop, Shaw doesn’t think she could ever understand how forlorn Root must have felt in this town.

Mrs Groves doesn’t say anything. Her name stares back up at Shaw from the small, grey headstone, and in that moment, means absolutely nothing. But this does:

“And, well…,” Sameen pauses, thinks of the words. “I… I think that, if – if I could love anyone… it’d be her.”

-------------------------

BEING A FAMILY

(this is love – in finale)

“Excellent food you have here,” Sameen comments before heartily biting into the pepper steak she’d snaffled from the pan. “Really top-notch. Almost like alcohol at parties without adult supervision.”

“Please don’t chew with your mouth full, Miss Shaw,” Harold reprimands reflexively as he puts down the second bowl of roast potatoes, smiling despite himself.

“Oh, never mind, mom is here,” she teases, moving to scoop another helping of spuds on her plate before John can get at them.

They’re supposed to be celebrating Christmas, because while we may not have a normal lifestyle, we shouldn’t shun the incorporation of at least some normalcy into our lives, some part of Finch’s speech creeps unbidden into her thoughts; even though Shaw doesn’t do Christmas, she does do food and alcohol and good company on the rare occasion such as this one, and it feels warm, comfortable, like home.

There’s some clinking in the background that draws her back to the present, where she hears, “… so if I may make a toast –” Harold invites them all to do as he does, lifts his glass… and says nothing. Despite his ten-minute speech yesterday about embracing the holiday spirit and ensuring we do not lose our moral fibre, he’s completely at a loss for words. Quiet tears begin slipping down his cheeks.

“Hear, hear,” John murmurs, pulling Harold back into his seat. She lifts her glass and tips it in the general direction of the table, turns to Root to do the same. But Root isn’t there.

Well, she is. But not really. She’s lost in the Christmas lights and cheer and atmosphere, looking around as if to capture it all, as if it will all be gone tomorrow. In one go-around, they catch each other’s eye: Root smiles shyly, and Shaw finds herself gazing directly at the insecure twelve year-old girl that’s usually simmering beneath the surface. Her eyes are almost glazed over in wonder at the mess of tinsel and fairy lights and assorted baubles that Bear dragged around the subway earlier this morning. If her mother ever had to see this place, she’d probably have a cadenza.

But right now: “It’s Christmas, Sameen,” she whispers, fingers grasping at Shaw’s hoodie as if to anchor herself back to the ground.

To help, Sameen shifts closer, presses her leg against Root’s thigh, and tucks their heads together conspiratorially. The now less-full glass is held up, daring Root to bring hers closer, to make sure this is real.

“Here’s to us,” she grins, and clinks their glasses together.

#shootsecretsanta #shootsecretsanta2018 #shoot #person of interest #youre-lacking-vitamin-me

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a-mountain-ash · 6 years

Text

A Very Winchester Mystery

A special little ficlet for @ain-t-bovvered‘s 800 follower “Tales of the Winchesters” project! I visited the Winchester Mystery House a couple years back and couldn’t resist. Even tossed in a little personal easter egg from my time there because it was too good and I swear the ghosts played a little prank on me. Also, I’m sure the WIL CFO is perfectly decent person, but I needed someone to commit the crime :P

We know who the Winchesters are. We're not talking the originals, of course, though I suppose it's not out of the realm of possibility for them to be related. We are ghosts, after all, so the realm of possibility is quite large. We mean the new Winchesters. The brothers. The ghost slayers.

You see, the thing about this place that we inhabit is that it's very popular. Everyone comes here. Demons, ghouls, vampires, werewolves. They enjoy a little bit of whimsy as much as the next fellow. Some people even drag their own personal ghosts with them, pulled along by their attachment to some piece of jewelry or other. Those times are when we get the good gossip.

The Winchesters almost got me last week, but I got away because my daughter here was catching a flight for this vacation she's on. I guess that Dean boy doesn't do planes.

Sam and Dean smoked my aunt's bones a few year's back when she was haunting me. Now I'm a ghost, too. Irony, amiright?

'Pretty sure I'm half way to angry spirit, and I'm afraid the Winchesters are gonna nab me before my boy stands at the alter in a couple months. You guys have any tips on how to stay on the good path?' 'Sure Fred, find some good friends if you can. We have poker nights once a week to vent. Congratulations on the engagement!'

And that, my good listener, is why we are a little bit worried. To give you some background, the Winchester Mystery House is a big thing. People spend real money to come walk through Sarah's wacky rooms and miniature stairwells. Personally, at this point in our ghostly existences, we don't totally understand the appeal, but the point still stands that people are here constantly. They're always with a tour guide, but every now and again, people get away from the group and we have to set them straight. Nicely of course. We weren't lying when we told Fred to find some friends. Being together all these years has really helped us stay on the straight and narrow.

What you have to understand is that we all want to be here, and not for revenge. Absolutely none of us were trapped here and if we really wanted to, we could probably find a way to get a reaper to come take us up, though none of us knows how. Sarah Winchester was the most excellent of ladies. During our lives, she took care of us and our families well and we are simply repaying the favor in death. We keep the property safe, defending it from harm, and keeping the still hidden rooms clean until the property managers finally find them. Occasionally we play a little mischief on tourists who get off the beaten track, like that time some sisters missed a sign and found their ways into a private area and we shut the gate on them. They got out fine, but they knew what happened, and stayed on the path after that.

Anyway, it all started a few weeks ago when apparently somebody in the higher-ups of Winchester Investment LLC decided to get greedy. We don't really understand how that whole situation works because we only know what we hear or see in the newspaper, but we know enough. WIL is in charge of this whole operation and they run it for the descendants of John and Mayme Brown, the couple who bought the house after Sarah died, may she rest in peace. One night, someone tried setting the estate on fire. Nothing of this scale had ever occurred before and we may have lost our cool, just a bit. It happened again a week later. Needless to say, the Winchesters and their angel friend Castiel were all here now, and we were going to have to try really hard to get them to see what was happening here before they found a way to burn us all.

As it happened though, the Winchesters were surprisingly willing to listen to reason. It might be because we steered them into a room with only two doors, one of which lead to a 15 foot drop off and the other of which we blocked off with 20 or so ghosts strong, but you know, technicalities. They listened.

"Cas, what just happened?" Dean asked.

Oh my goodness, he was gorgeous! Those eyes. Mabel would definitely want to see him. She hadn't seen a cute tourist in weeks.

"Obviously the ghosts are preparing to kill us, Dean. I didn't think that would require an explanation."

The angel was a funny one. We've heard tell of them coming down to earth, but none have come to the house. They must think they're above fun, but we all knew this one is a little different.

"Yeah, yeah Cas. Thanks for the pep talk. I mean, how many of them are there. You can see them, right?"

"Ah, of course. There are currently 19 of them in the room. I believe there are a few more outside the door, but I don't have x-ray vision so you'll have to bear with me."

We really could have appeared to them then, but it was far too good a show to end it straight away. The tall one, Sam, looked like he'd swallowed a whole lemon while he looked between his brother and the angel. Castiel and Dean were so focused on talking about us that it was entirely impossible they'd forgotten about us. Watching them waffle and bicker before us in their FBI suits, it was hard to believe the vast quantity of stories we'd heard all the years before.

"Alright, well what are we going to do about it?" Sam finally asks practically. "We can't go shooting salt rounds inside a century old work of art and we don't have enough salt for that many ghosts at once."

At this point, we were seriously confused about how they'd acquired the reputation they had. That said, the threat of shots being fired at dear Sarah's carefully chosen wallpaper was enough to make a few of us show ourselves. When our best diplomats, Mr. Jones, Margaret, and John, materialized before them, their reactions (or lack thereof) were disappointing though not surprising. After all, with decades of ghost hunts under their belts, nothing should really shock them anymore.

"I would strongly recommend that you do not fire inside our home." Margaret spoke first, in her best friendly intimidation voice. She practiced it daily in front of Sarah's looking glass.

Despite her warning, Dean raised his gun anyway. Effie giggled invisibly at the glorious eye rolling his actions earned him from both Castiel and Sam. The older Winchester swung his gun in her direction. Admittedly, it was fairly impressive how good his aim was from sound alone. Had he fired, he would have hit her squarely in the head.

"God, Dean, what did she just say?" Sam was definitely the reasonable one of the two.

"Yeah, yeah. I heard her. Ghosts say lots of crap, though. Just being on the safe side."

"We will definitely not be allowed back inside if we damage this home, Dean. Even if they do think we're FBI."

"Ugh, fine." Dean lowered his weapon as Castiel placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "What are we supposed to do then?"

"Listen to us, you goon." Mr. Jones spoke then, finally seeing his in. He was a gruff older man, his skin tanned despite his deathly pallor from hours in the sun picking fruit in Mrs. Winchester's orchards. He had died very suddenly one day when a branch had snapped and his ladder had fallen with him at the top.

"We're listening." Sam said quickly before Dean could speak again.

"We're good spirits. None of us are vengeful. We chose to stay here after our deaths, even after Mrs. Winchester passed, in order to protect her property. This place was a good home to many of us and she cared for our families like her own. We just help maintain the property and keep the visitors safe."

"Then why the recent deaths?" Castiel asked.

"Someone is sending people to try and burn the estate to the ground. We believe it must be someone at the organization trying to collect insurance money or something." John spoke now. "One of our younger ghosts, Elmer, lost his temper the first time. The second time, it was Charlie. We aren't vengeful spirits, but protecting this place is our purpose and someone is trying to destroy it."

"You can see we're very much in possession of our faculties, even after almost a century. More for some. But this home must be protected. If it is lost, we truly will go insane." Margaret had dropped her ominous tone in favor of something friendlier.

"Won't you disappear?" Dean asked. "Isn't it the house that you're attached to?"

"No. We are connected to the entire estate, down into the soil that we tended and farmed. We cannot be burned with this house, but if the house burns we will have nothing grounding us to our purpose and then we truly will become vengeful."

"We can't have you killing people, even if they are arsonists." Castiel answered.

"Then help us!" Effie appeared suddenly. She had always gotten impatient with too much talk. "We can't have this house destroyed and you can't have us killing more people. You must be able to do something."

And they could.

With our help concealing the security cameras and silencing the alarms, they snuck back onto the property after hours. We used Castiel as a communication conduit and when we found yet another man entering the property with gasoline and matches we alerted him and they called in an anonymous tip that someone was attempting to burn the estate. Rather than kill the man, we detained him until the authorities arrived and took him away.

A week later, the CFO of WIL was brought in for questioning and one of the Mayme descendants themselves took his position. Every once in a while, when the world isn't ending, the Winchesters take a day or two to come visit us. Castiel always brings the best gossip.

#supernatural #season 10 #dean winchester #castiel #Sam Winchester #winchester mystery house #talesofthewinchesters #tales of the winchesters

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bedbellyandbeyond · 6 years

Photo

Round 2

(Story Post; No Art at End)

“Hey! Welcome back!” Rheni said as Camilo came through the door. “You hungry?” Rheni was in the living room on his computer. Over the past four years he’d been studying programming and found that he actually had a knack for it. About a year and a half after starting, he picked up a job online programming for a small game company based in town. With the second income, he and Camilo were able to move out to a two bedroom apartment. Camilo had finished his undergrad and started graduate school. For his work excellence and high GPA, the EID subsidised his tuition so long as he remained in the astronomy major so he was shooting for a PhD. It felt like everything was on the right track now. And yet Camilo was in no proper mood when he got home that day. Pickle ran to the door to see him but he didn’t really have the energy to engage her. “I’m not hungry…”

“That’s too bad cause I ordered Greek for you,” Rheni said pointing to the food on the kitchen counter. “Guess you can have it later? Or for lunch?” “Oh… Yeah, thanks Rheni,” Camilo said. He trudged into the kitchen and looked into the bag. “My favourite. I’ll save it.” Rheni looked away from his laptop to look at Camilo and frowned. “What’s up, babe? You don’t look too good.” “Rheni, it’s alright…” Camilo went over to him and put a hand on his head. “What are you up to.” “Work,” Rheni said as Pickle ran over and hhoppedup on the couch beside him. “Editing game code.” “Sounds fun,” Camilo said, although sarcastically. “Actually, it’s pretty fun,” Rheni said. “It’s like I get to see what the game looks like but in written form sort of.” “Uh huh…” Camilo sat down beside him and pulled his dog into his lap. He started petting her and she wagged her tail, nuzzling up against his neck. “…I’m pretty sure I’m pregnant again.” Rheni let go of his mouse and turned to Camilo. “You’re not serious.” “I am,” Camilo said. “I haven’t been feeling well, and I bought a pregnancy test after work and it was positive…” He dropped his head into his hands. “Oh god, Rheni, I don’t want to go through that again…” “Have you seen Syd about it yet?” Rheni said wrapping an arm around his partner. “They’d help.” “I told you, Syd’s in Europe,” Camilo said. “They left a couple days ago.” “Right… Well I’m sure there’s a replacement.” “Rheni, I don’t like seeing all different doctors…” “Well, what other options are there?” “We could just wait til it happens.” “You need to be checked out. It we find out early on, it might be possible to change the result.” “Change the result?” Camilo asked. “You were there. Syd said we’re not genetically compatible as parents. We can’t have kids. It’s just going to end like before. We’ll just be prepared this time.” “But what if this time is different?” Rheni asked. “What if it survives?” “Rheni, it can’t,” Camilo said. “And even if it could…” He frowned. “I don’t even want to think about that.” Rheni frowned. “Think about what? Us having a child?” “Well, yeah.” Camilo rubbed his stomach. “We can’t have kids, you and me. It’s too much.” “…Is it?” Rheni asked. Camilo frowned. “We can’t have kids. We’re both studying and working. You can’t even leave the apartment. I don’t want to be pregnant ever. Do you even know how much dysphoria I was dealing with during that miscarriage?” “Well… Okay, I get that you don’t want to be pregnant,” Rheni said. “But maybe after this, however it turns out, maybe we can adopt or something?” “Rheni, I don’t even know if we can think about that kind of thing right now,” Camilo said. “Not as we are. We already have a goal. That’s getting you into society. Maybe even getting your body back. The EID is working hard alongside our allies to look for the people that did this to you. We should be thinking about that, not children.” “…I just don’t see why we can’t think about both,” Rheni said returning to his programming. “But that’s fine… I guess I’m just getting ahead of myself.” Camilo sighed and kissed Rheni’s cheek. “…I’m not outright saying no to kids. But…If we looked at it like we were a typical couple…like two honeymooners or something…I still feel like we’re not in a stable place to raise a child. I know I’m not. I’m young and I feel really overworked these days between school and work. And if I pursue my PhD, that feeling probably won’t go away for a very long time. And you, you also have work and classes. We just don’t have that kind of time.” “Well, I… I don’t really have that much work,” Rheni said. “The programming classes could end whenever I want. I’m not bound to a curriculum… And the work is really flexible. I’ve just been doing a lot of it, because I don’t really have anything else to do. And it helped us get this apartment.” “I hear you but if I may be selfish, I can’t and don’t want to have a kid right now,” Camilo said. “As I said, it’s too much.” “Okay. I understand,” Rheni said. “Either way, I want you to see a doctor at the EID. Do you know who’s replaced Syd?” Camilo shook his head. “No, but I’ve heard Fay talk about him. He thinks the guy’s crazy.” “Crazy in a personal way or crazy in being a doctor?” Rheni asked. “What?” “Well, like you can be crazy on your own time as long as it isn’t hurting anyone, but like if he has crazy medical practice, then I don’t want him anywhere near you.” “Oh… I think it was personal crazy…” Camilo said. “Fay was going on about ghost hunting or something.” “Ooh, a ghost hunting doctor!” Rheni started wiggling in his seat. “Can he make a house call? I want to meet him!” “You’ll meet him at your next physical,” Camilo said. “I should go on my own.” Rheni pouted. “I want to meet a ghost hunter… And my next physical isn’t for another month. Syd could be back by then.” “I don’t know what to tell you,” Camilo said. “I’m gonna go by myself.” “Okay, fine…” Rheni sighed. “Maybe if I fake an injury, they’ll have to visit.” “You can’t get injured,” Camilo said. “I can too!” Rheni said. “I can get burned or evaporated or my nucleus could get separated from my body.” “Those all have simple solutions though,” Camilo said. “Add water and put your nucleus back in.” “Well… my nucleus could get damaged,” Rheni said. “Do you know what to do if that happens?” “Um, no…” “Well me neither so we’d have to call a doctor,” Rheni said. “You’re not going to fake an injury,” Camilo said. “Just wait until your physical.” “Can’t you at least tell him I want to meet him?” Rheni asked stroking the back of Camilo’s neck. “I want to know if the bathroom ghost is real.” “There’s no ghost in the bathroom!” Camilo said. “The vent is under the toilet paper. That’s why it floats.” “There’s a presence. I can feel it.” “What do you even do in the bathroom, anyway?” “Practice faces.” “You’re so immature.” “Hey I’m getting a lot better at colours,” Rheni said holding out a hand and giving it a slightly skin like peachy colour. “If I can get the shape just right, I might pass.” “As human?” Camilo asked. “Yeah. Like if I can get the shapes and colours right… Hair is the hardest. It’s so wiry… I can’t get the texture right.” “Babe… I’m gonna go lie down,” Camilo said setting Pickle down on the floor. “Not trying to ignore you… I’m just not feeling well.” “Aw, do you want me to come give you snuggles?” “Naw, you finish your work. I might be up later.” “Okay. Rest up. Take Pickle with you at least for snuggles.” Camilo gave him a kiss on the cheek then went to bed, their peppy pup bounding after him to give all the snuggles she could.

Rheni: We’re gonna get through this, you know?

Cam: Yeah…

#lore #camilo #rheni #rhenilo #slime #slime man #pickle

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arazialotis · 6 years

Text

Back of A Cop Car

Word Count: Around 4500

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: The reader meets Sam in her last year of high school and is head over heels for his older brother Dean. When they finally get a moment alone, it is short lived and they both end up in more trouble than they signed up for.

I can’t credit for originality on this one. Heavily based on/ inspired by the song Cop Car (Keith Urban/Sam Hunt take your pick) and I apologize if other writers have done the same, but I wanted to share my take on it. And if y’all like it, I may continue it where the reader leaves off, so let me know your thoughts.

Warnings: Language

This is purely for a hobby and my enjoyment. Maybe some of you will enjoy it too. I am by no means a writer so I apologize in advance for any mistakes or grammatical/spelling errors. I appreciate any feedback or suggestions!

Art by the fabulous @atc74 Thank you so much darling for putting this together. You continue to amaze me with all you do!

@misguidedconqueress also deserves a big shout out for always double checking stories before posting! Thanks so much hun!!!!

You has just turned 18 when the Winchesters first came to town. Sam and you had an instant connection in your AP American Literature class. He was so shy, it was completely adorable. You invited him to a study group at the library after class. Of course, you forgot to mention the group only consisted of you. Regardless, you hit it off right away. Studying everyday after school for weeks. In hindsight, you realized his subtle hints of not being around for long.

With Sam, conversation was so easy. You could talk about anything; politics, philosophy, theology. You worked on college applications together. You applied for a local university, but Sam sent in applications everywhere. He was initially on the fence for Stanford and Yale, just applying mainly for state colleges, but you encouraged him to do it. After all, there is no harm in trying. And if anyone in this small white-picket fence town could make it, it would surely be him.

Sam’s brother, on the other hand, was not so easy to talk to. He was too old for school but you saw him every day when you and Sam left school together. Dean was his name, and every afternoon he’d be leaning against that classic Chevrolet. You’d part ways with Sam, always looking his brother up and down until he would glance your way. Every day, you’d pull your books in closer, quicken your pace, and pray to God he didn’t realize you were staring. You loved Sam but you were infatuated with Dean. On your walk home, you would feel the engine rumble past as you imagined driving off in it with him.

Sam and you trotted down the steps of the school. Today Dean was wearing his leather jacket. The sun brought out his freckles and you swore you could pick out gold flecks in the jade eyes. You unconsciously licked your lower lip.

“So, I’ll see you tonight?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, my mom usually has dinner ready around 6:30, if you want to come around then.” You confirmed. “Don’t forget your copy of Catcher in the Rye.” You reminded him.

“Homework on a Friday?” Dean scoffed.

“We have a joint report due Monday.” Sam came to your defense.

“All I’m saying, these are the prime years of your life… Live a little.” Dean advised as he looked you up and down. “Isn’t there a party or something happening?”

You looked at Sam and chuckled. “Nerds like us don’t get invited.”

“A girl like you doesn’t need an invitation…” Dean flirted.

“Oh really? In that case I’ll be ready at 10.” You emphasized the sarcasm by rolling your eyes. “See you later Sam.” You began walking off.

“Hey sweetheart.” Dean called after you. “You want a ride?”

You turned around, seeing a mischievous smirk on his face that was driving you wild. “No thanks, I’m just a few blocks down.” You pointed near the direction of your house.

“I wasn’t talking about the car, babe.” He winked.

You instantly turned around and picked up the pace, faster than usual, embarrassed because you couldn’t deny desiring his offer.

Sam shoved Dean on the shoulder. “Fuck off man, leave her alone.”

Dean raised his hands defensively. “Hey, if you want dibs go for it but uh.. She’s definitely into me.” “You don’t know…” Sam looked at him confused.

“You can tell she’s thinking about it right now…” Dean’s gaze wandered to you. “She wants it so badly, considering giving into her darkest urges. She’s not just holding her books, she holding herself. Insecure, never being that open to anyone but the way she swings that ass tells you she may just be confident enough to follow through.”

“You are repulsive.” Sam spat.

“Oh, we have a hair flip.” He called Sam’s attention back to you. “Now the secretive glance back… wait for it…” You completed Dean’s prediction, looking back over your shoulder. “Oh! And finally the tugging at the shirt.” You followed his words again. “She definitely wants it.” He smiled with glee. “Damn, I miss high school.”

“You don’t know her. Trust me you’re not her type.” Sam argued.

“Sam, I know all girls and she’s a dead giveaway.” He smirked before jumping into the Impala.

Sam patted the hood of the car and sighed joining Dean in the car. Just one more year of this, and then he’d be off on his own.

Dean reached over and shook his hand through Sam’s hair trying to lighten the mood. “What’s with the hair Rapunzel?”

---

“So, you got the car tonight?” You greeted Sam at the door.

“Yeah, it was like pulling teeth, but I got it.” He spun the keys in his hand.

“Well, come meet the family… if you dare…” You teased with a wink.

“Hey. Y/N…” He stopped you before entering. “I just want to apologize for my brother…” “Sam, you don’t need to apologize. You are not your brother.” You assured him as you played with your necklace.

“I know. He can just be a real dick sometimes.” He vented.

“Seriously, it’s okay.” You promised. “Come on, dinner’s ready..”

By the time dinner was over, Sam was wrapped around your father’s finger. You were actually surprised he didn’t offer a dowry. The two of you studied in the living room. Your book was filled to the brim with post-its. You compared notes and worked on typing your joint report, occasionally checking Sparknotes to make sure you were on the right path.

Sighing as you laid on the couch, you put the book over your face. “I can’t take anymore of Salinger.” You complained. You flipped over facing Sam. “You want to watch a movie or something?”

Sam set his book down, stretching and looking at his watch. “Shit. I forgot, I have to help my dad out with a project tonight.” He quickly started gathering his things.

“You can’t just help him out tomorrow?” You asked.

“Nah, he needs it first thing in the morning… for his work.” Sam explained.

“Okay.” You understood, but didn’t hide your disappointment.

“Hey, but we’re still on for tomorrow, yeah?” He questioned.

“Yeah, I’ll be there around 3. We can finish this lame project up.”

“Sweet. See ya Y/N.” Sam left in a hurry.

Your father entered the living room. “What’d you do to scare him off so quick?” You rolled your eyes. “Nothing, he just has some family stuff going on tonight.”

“You know, your mother and I were talking… We think he should come around more often.” He suggested.

“We’re just friends, Dad.” You refuted.

“Well, he’s a nice boy.” He stated as you turned to go to your room.

“Wait til you meet his brother.” You muttered under your breath.

An hour or two had gone by as you passed the time listening to music and doing your nails. You immediately stopped singing along the moment you heard tapping on your window. Your heartbeat accelerated and you started taking shallow breaths while wondering if you should go get your parents. After another set of taps, you built up the courage to pull back your curtain only to find that handsome devil with the green eyes.

“You gonna let me in?” He asked, his voice muffled through the glass.

You unfroze, unlocking the window and pushing it up.

“Jesus, I’m glad I guessed the right room. It might have been a whole different conversation.” He commented as you undid the screen.

“Shh.” You scolded as he stumbled in. “What the hell are you doing here Dean?!” You whispered.

“Well, I know I’m a little late, but we had a date for 10 if I recall…” He slyly smirked.

“You can’t be serious.” You called him out.

He raised his eyebrows. “Deadly.”

“So a party then?” You suspiciously asked.

Dean sat down at the edge of your bed. “For two.”

“We can’t stay here…” You warned.

“I’m still new to town, got any ideas?” He questioned.

“A couple…” You thought. “Let me get changed first.” You started looking through your closet. “Do you mind?”

Surprisingly, he respectfully turned around. You sauntered out of pajama bottoms replacing them with jeans and throwing on a white tank top. You quickly glanced in the mirror, smoothing out your hair.

“How old are you again, Y/N?” He asked.

“18.” You confirmed, slightly annoyed behind his hidden reasoning. Turning off the radio and lights, you straddled your window. “Ya coming?”

“Hell yeah.” Dean exclaimed, stunned by your eagerness.

He followed you down the trellis and onto the street. “Where’s your car Winchester?” You teased.

He twirled a set of keys in his hand. “I got stuck with Sam’s beater tonight…”

You scoffed. “Sam does not have a car.”

He opened the passenger’s door to a 1983 Ford Fiesta. “He does, he just doesn’t want anyone to see it…”

You chuckled and hopped in.

“Piece of crap…” Dean muttered as the gears grinded together. He finally was able to get it started. “There we go… So where you taking me?”

You directed him to the old quarry that had since been filled with water. “Pull over here.” You instructed. “We’ll walk the rest of the way.”

Crickets chirped, as you rustled through an informal trail, used by you and other kids. Dean analyzed you, trying to figure you out, believing his preconceived notions had been wrong. A cross around your neck continued to throw him off. The path led to a chain link fence with a clear ‘No trespassing’ sign. You pulled away part of the fence as Dean hesitated.

“Chicken?” You teased him, tongue peeking out. You knew that the property had been abandoned for years, there was no reason to worry.

“Yeah right.” He waved off and followed you through.

You continued to lead the way around the quarry to an old, rusted structure. It overlooked the lake and was the best view of the city. Even though it was only three stories, it managed to capture your little world. Most of the lights in the city were off, aside from the street lights, giving the atmosphere a dullish glow.

“Wow.” Dean whispered when he made it to the top.

“Now’s your one and only chance for a Leo reference.” You giggled.

Dean didn’t hold anything back. “I’m King of the world!” He yelled with outstretched arms.

You hollered along, causing you both to buckle over laughing.

“So, welcome to the party.” You said as you sat down on the ledge.

“Some party.” Dean sat down next to you.

“Well, you’ve only just arrived… we’ve got games.. Truth or dare, would you rather…” You continued when Dean didn’t jump on those. “We have music, dancing if you're lucky.” His eyebrow raised as his intrigue grew. “We’re clean out of food and drinks, we’d have to make a run if you are interested in that. And we have a pool.” You stretched your hand out to the quarry. “Although, I would advise against swimming… It’s haunted.” You warned in a hushed tone.

“Oh really?” Dean asked skeptically.

“Oh yes.” You assured. “Where do I even begin… the drownings… or the miners even before that.”

“That doesn’t make it haunted.” Dean debated.

“It starts with the faint whisper in your ear, the shiver down your spine, to alert your senses of something you can’t see. Then the sound of wet footsteps or perhaps a smell of smoldering metal. That’s your signal to start running.” You improvised.

“No such things as ghosts.” Dean denied, knowing fully well you were just playing with him.

“My friend actually saw an apparition once… said it was reaching out to her, asking her to come join it in the water…” You gritted your teeth and looked around. “Okay, enough, I’m creeping myself out.” You snuggled up closer to Dean as he chuckled.

“So uh, back to party games… you don’t happen to know 7 minutes, do you?” He questioned, swallowing thickly.

“Only 7? We play it much longer around here.” You nipped your lip as your focus darted between his luminescent green eyes and his lips that were growing ever closer.

Both your attention was cut off by the flashing blue and red across the quarry. Dean’s desire had flushed replaced with concern.

“Oh, there’s a road over that way,” You pointed in a general direction. “They’re just making a shortcut.” Except the lights become brighter and another car entered the quarry.

“We gotta go.” Dean stood up.

“There’s no way they can see us up here…” You rationalized. “Beside, we’re young, they’ll let us off with a warning.” You turned around but Dean was already halfway down the ladder.

You sighed but followed suit. Once you reached the bottom, he grabbed your hand and guided you through the brush. You could have sworn he discarded something along the way but the world was going by in a blur, you didn’t get the chance to see what it was.

Your heart was pounding out of your chest and you were struggling to keep your breath. But soon you heard sirens closing in.

“Shit!” Dean yelled, quickly before halting to a stop to avoid crashing into a fence.

He immediately hopped up to realize the top was covered with barbed wire, he could suffer through it but didn’t want to leave you alone. He let go, and grabbed you to crouch down covered by the shrubbery. He placed his fingers to his lips. You nodded your head and tried to hold your breath. Soon, the sirens stopped wailing even though to could still see the lingering blue and red. You eventually heard voices and flashlights started scanning the area. One of Dean’s hands held onto yours as the other rubbed his brow. Sighing out of guilt, you squeezed Dean’s hand reassuringly. He glanced up to find you contagiously smirking, and he couldn’t help but smile back.

You nodded to the police car. “We’re going to get caught either way.” You mouthed.

“Okay.” Dean agreed.

With one pair of hands still interlocked, you slowly started to stand up with your hands raised above your head. Flashlights focused onto you, with police yelling in the distance. One officer, shone his light in your eye. Instinctually you blocked the light with your free hand.

“On the ground, now!” A voice ordered.

You rolled your eyes. “We were just on the ground…” You muttered under your breath.

But both of you cautiously got onto your knees and then laid flat, placing your arms for compliance with cuffs.

“Hey man, easy.” Dean pleaded as they slapped the cuffs on you.

Dean was cuffed as well, a little too tight. They brought both of you over to the hood of the cop cars and patted you down.

“Guys…” You started. “Really? We’re only a couple of kids, you know.. Having a good time…” You tried to imply.

An officer sternly looked at you but remained silence.

“We just wanted to get some space away from my family, so we could be together…” You continued explain.

You met Dean’s eyes across the hood of the car. Damn you wished you had been faster to kiss him. He mimicked your smirk thinking the same thing. Another officer started reciting the Miranda rights.

“Okay, this is fucking ridiculous.” You squirmed in the arms of an officer. “We weren’t doing no harm. Who the fuck owns this anyways? It’s been abandoned for years! Everyone uses it for their hook up spot!” You rambled out excuses. “I wanna talk to Officer Stevens!”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get to talk to him down in county.” Someone assured you as they escorted you into the back of the squad car.

They pushed your head down and shoved you in, as they did the same to Dean. “You gotta light?” You asked with poison in your eyes.

“Shut up.” The officer ordered before slamming the door.

Dean started chuckling as his door was shut too.

“What?” You demanded, anger still fuming.

“There’s no chance in hell you smoke.” He continued giggling.

“... I could.” You responded embarrassed. “Besides if they are going to treat me this way, I might as well give them a little fire back.” You deeply sighed the weight of your consequences finally bearing down.

It hit Dean too. “My dad is going to kill me.”

“I’m so sorry… Seriously, I’ve come out here countless of times, no one ever seemed to care.” You tried to reconcile your guilt.

“It’s not your fault.” Dean assured.

You attempted to break the heaviness. “At least it will make one hell of a story.” You smirked.

“You got that right.” He looked you up and down.

You sighed, closing your eyes and leaning your head on his shoulder. He couldn’t help but grin gazing down at you. Had his hands been free, he would have reached over to tuck the loose strand of hair back behind your ear. The blue and red lights danced off your skin disorienting time and space. You matched Dean’s deep and steady breaths soaking up each feeling of infatuation as just the two of you existed in that moment.

The trance was abruptly ended as an officer forced his way into the driver’s seat. You kept your head against Dean’s shoulder but peaked an eye open to analyze the officer. He was staring directly ahead, refusing to speak yet glancing back occasionally through the rearview mirror, most likely awaiting orders.

You lifted your head to get a better view. He was young, quite young. Quickly deciding to change tactics, you flipped your hair back, pursued your lips together, and leaned forward giving him an optimal view.

“Say uh… you don’t really need to take us down to the station do you?” You smoothly questioned in a breathless voice. The officer looked back through the rearview mirror and his eyes widened. “Because you know, I’d do almost anything just to be let off with a warning.” Dean pinched his lips together and looked out his window in attempt not to burst out laughing at your overly exaggerated attempt to flirt your way out of the situation.

The officer cleared his throat. “You know, it’s nothing personal sweetheart. I’m just following orders.”

You huffed instantly sulking back into your seat. As the cop pulled out of the quarry, you chewed on your lip infuriated by the situation. It wouldn’t matter anyways. Soon you’d be at the station and be able to talk to Officer Stevens. He was friends with your parents and you often ran into him at school drives and volunteering events. He would be able to speak of your character.

Your thoughts were broke as Dean purposely nudged his knee against yours. He was grinning like a child. You couldn’t help but silently giggle. “What?” You whispered.

He shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing.”

God, you should have taken your chance. You kept thinking over and over.

It wasn’t long before you arrived at the station. Both of you were fingerprinted. You were guided over for mugshots.

“Hey Winchester.” You yelled as he was still getting the inked wiped from his fingers. “Bet’cha can’t do better than this.” You pouted your lips and popped an eyebrow.

The cop rolled her eyes.

Dean was next. “Who do you think invented blue steel, sweetheart?” He asked, immediately going into the pose for his shot.

You couldn’t help but laugh even while being escorted into the one holding cell together.

After silence grew and officers dissipated, you nuzzled closer up against Dean. “So, tell me everything.” You gazed into his eyes with fascination.

He laughed, surely not going to give you the truth. You were still too naive for that. “Where to even start…” He thought.

“At the beginning, I mean, we got all night.” You encouraged.

And he did. Well, leaving out the details about demons and monsters. He told you about life as a kid, when his mom died, what life was like growing up on the road and how much a nuisance Sam could be especially when he was younger. He told you about his hopes and dreams but that he would most likely go into the family business. You sighed, being able to pick out that same tone of resentment you heard from Sam.

“But enough about me, what about you?” He asked.

“I’m going to be a cop.” You teased giggling. Dean lightly chuckled. “I’m serious, tonight has inspired me.” You played with profound conviction. “No, but seriously…” The next person who walked through the door, broke your train of thought. “Oh, thank God.” You whispered and stood up to gain his attention.

“Y/N?” Officer Stevens called from across the room. “What the hell…” He trailed off into a whisper walking closer to the cell. “What in God’s name are you doing in here?” He noticed Dean looking him up and down.

“Listen, we were just at the quarry, minding our own business and not doing any harm… you know everyone goes up there on weekend nights and it’s never been a problem before.” You pleaded your case.

“Jesus Y/N.” He rubbed his forehead. “I should call your father.”

“I’m 18.” You sternly reminded him, slightly panicking not wanting your parents to find out.

“Which means you could be tried as an adult.” He warned. “What’s gotten into you? You should know better.” “Like I said… no one's ever cared about the quarry before.. So what’s going on?” You asked him. Another officer called him over. “Just give me a minute… I’ll be right back.” “So that’s your guy?” Dean clarified.

“Don’t sound so pessimistic… he’ll get us out.” You assured, unconvinced yourself.

A few more minutes passed and Stevens came to unlock the cell. Both of you started to walk out.

“Just you.” He ordered and Dean sat back down on the bench.

He guided you over to his desk in which you sat across from him. “So I shouldn’t be telling you this… Well, first I need your alibi for Wednesday night, around 9:30…”

“I already told your partner during processing…” But he still stared at you blankly. “You’re my alibi… we were both helping clean up at the job fair…”

“Oh, right right right…” He remembered. “You’re not the problem anyways. It’s your friend’s..” “Dean.” You corrected.

“Yes, it’s his story that is not adding up.” Stevens explained.

“Why do you need our aliblis anyways?” You asked.

He sighed. “Like I said, I shouldn’t be telling you this. And you have to promise not to spread this around.” You nodded your head in agreement. “There’s been a string of murders around the tri-county area. We are keeping it out of the media as much as possible, not wanting to cause panic.”

“Like a serial killer?” Your eyes widened.

Stevens nodded concerned about worrying you.

But you loudly scoffed. “And Dean is a suspect? Yeah, right!”

“We can’t confirm his alibi, and his prints were found at one of the scenes.” The officer explained.

“Have you tried his brother Sam?” You asked.

“Sam?” Stevens recognized the name.

“We go to school together. His number should be in my phone, wherever your partner threw that.” You suggested.

“Okay, we’ll check into that but for now you are free to go.” He sipped on a cup of coffee.

“I’ll stay.” You stated, looking back at the cell.

“Y/N…” He warned.

“No, I want to stay with Dean. I got him into this, so I’m going to stick it out until he’s cleared. Call my parents or whatever, but I’m staying.” You demanded.

After a few more minutes of convincing, your stubbornness pushed through and you were escorted back to the cell. For a brief moment you hesitated, swallowing a lump in your throat concerned you may have just locked yourself back up with a murderer. But that was ridiculous, you laughed it off.

Hours continued to pass. Both you and Dean were growing weary. You tried to keep his spirit up by cracking jokes but eventually fell asleep leaned against him. It was dawn when you woke to the sound of the bars opening. Both of you had finally been cleared. On your way to the lobby, you noticed a man with dark hair and a salt and pepper beard. You could see the anger practically radiating off of him.

“Fuck.” Dean muttered under his breath.

It must be his dad, you deduced, even though you had never seen him before. The man turned and walked out the front door as a police officer handed over your confiscated belongings. Both of you made your way to the front door. The Impala was waiting at the curb. Dean’s jaw and fist were clenched.

“Hey Dean,” You rubbed his shoulder trying to soothe him.

He turned towards you and for a second you saw fear in his eyes. You leaned up and pecked him on the lips, attempting to distract him and yourself from your impending fates. He instantly smiled and drew you back in, his arms wrapped around you while deeply pressing his lips against yours. You became lost in his world until a passing officer cleared their throat. You pulled back embarrassed and ashamed, remembering the trouble you had gotten him into.

Dean lifted your chin to meet your eyes. “Hey, I wouldn’t trade last night for the world…. Whatever happens, remember that…” You nodded, thinking the same. “Let’s do this.” He grabbed your hand and lead you out the front doors.

….

Ten years later you sat behind the sheriff’s desk with your newly hired deputy across from you.

“My point is, we all make mistakes, that was one of my biggest, but look where I am now. Yeah, you screwed up, but it’s not the end of the world.” You encouraged.

She looked at you wide eyed. “But what happened afterwards?” “That’s… that’s… I was trying to reassure you that everything was going to work out.” You stated confused.

“Yeah, yeah, I understand and you have been a great support through all of this, but I need to know what happened.” She persisted.

You sighed and took a sip of coffee. “I was grounded for two months and my parents made me participate in community service even though there were never any charges.”

“And Dean??” She demanded.

“I never heard from him again. I texted Sam a bit. But that weekend they left town supposedly due to their dad’s job. I asked Sam to come live with us so he could finish out his senior year in one place but that after that his phone was disconnected.” You tried to explain as emotionlessly as possible but it still stung.

“What about the murders?” She continued.

You smirked, that’s why you hired her in the first place, she had the potential to be a great detective. “Another murder happened the night we were locked up. Eventually that’s what cleared Dean to go free. They stopped after that. Police at the time determined that the killer had committed suicide.”

“Wow, that is crazy.”

“Mmhmm.” You agreed. “The town hasn’t seen anything like it since.”

“Until now.” She corrected.

“Until now…” You repeated, looking at the files of recent murder victims sprawled across your desk.

-----------

Continue to Part 2

Forever Tags: @nanie5 @sea040561 @crushing83 @mogaruke @deanwinchesterforpromqueen @ginamsmith @jotink78 @blushingdean @sup3r-pott3r-lock3d @dancingalone21 @li-ssu @highonpastries @daddy-kink-confirmed @weewooweewoo1212 @carryonmyswansong @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @atc74 @superapplepie @coolness22 @cassieraider

DeanxReader: @akshi8278 @mywillfulwinchester @dainty-hibiscus @boxywrites @its-not-a-tulpa @mrsbatesmotel53 @tacklesackles @creepykatftw @aubreystilinski

#dean winchester #dean x reader #supernatural #spn #spn fanfic #spn fandom #sam winchester #dean x you #dean x y/n #fanfic #fanfic series

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phaniecastello-blog · 6 years

Photo

Part of their world

((This was meant to be my PC2 but ended up being something different. If you read it I will love you forever!!

It contains Phanie’s reaction when she found out she was selected, more details about Loretta’s participation at @spencer-schreave’s selection and her opinion on the rest of the selected lol. And at the end there’s a little fight interaction with @victoria-seaberg. (Thank you so much for the RP, girl, I looooove yooouu) Hope you enjoy it, was fun for me to write it. ))

“…Selected” I muttered, with an unfinished nacho with guacamole on it, in one hand and staring at the TV, jaw dropped by the surprise. “Oddio! … They just said my name! I’m a selected!” I shouted this time. My voice echoing in the big living room. I dropped the mutilated nacho back in the plate and get up feeling so full of adrenaline and emotion that I would be able to run 10 miles if I would had wanted. I could hear more names being mentioned on the background, but I stopped watching and I run towards Camila when I saw her coming from the hallway, frightened by all my shouting. I hugged her tight.

“Cam, my name got picked for Prince’s Nate Selection!”. I broke the hug before I could strangle the poor woman.

“Congratulations, Miss!” She said squeezing my hands as a sign of support. She was smiling at me, but that smile faded after a few seconds of inner thinking. “… I guess that means you will leave us, right?” I could read the sadness in her face but there was something else.

Is that angst?

I gave her a frown face, confused; looking for a reason inside my head, until I founded it.

“Oh, don’t worry. I will make sure she treats you all, nicely… besides, she will be out almost every day; she’s busy, doing the new collection’s promos” Camila nodded and opened her mouth to speak when the house’s phone started ringing. She nodded again, this time as a petition to leave the room and ran towards the phone at the hallway.

As soon as she left the enormous grin showed on my face again, remembering my name being mentioned by Harvey Steve.

What if it was a mistake?!

The idea paralyzed me, momentarily.

Nah, the would have called by now or something.

The sound of subtle bells coming from my cellphone gave me chills. I checked the notification flipping on the smooth, white couch; a message from Lilith read on the screen in caps:

“THE STUPID PHONE DOESN’T STOP RINGING! I will send you all the interviews schedule for the next days… Oh, palace staff will visit you soon… Congratulations, btw”

Seems like the media was giving my assistant quite a time. I smirk, relieved that it wasn’t me, the one who had to deal with them, at least for now.

“Miss, your mother called, she said you get ready for a celebration dinner with her. She will be waiting at Faustino’s Restaurant”

“Received” I said as I run upstairs.

“Mmm… delicious as always” I muttered while I softly patted the corner of my mouth with the white cloth napkin. Noises of silverware clattering against plates and dinners were surrounding us “…so, the visit will be just to let me know the rules and the schedule of the departure day?” I asked Loretta over the arm of the waiter who was pouring more Champagne into her glass. He must be a new worker here, because his hands were shaking and he hadn’t realized that was the wrong side to serve the drink. Loretta was giving him an annoyed gaze, but she choose to ignore him and turned to face me.

“That’s right, just protocol” She answered with a carefree tone. “That day you’ll get to the airport and share the plane with a bunch of immature, exhilarated and most of all, unclassy, ladies” She exclaimed frowning with disgust. “You better know now, all of them will be unbearable; trying to get Nate’s attention all the time; giggling around, pretending to be ladies… ugh! It’s like I’m seeing it, again” I looked down, playing with the napkin on my lap, feeling uncomfortable. “And you will met Audrey, that little hypocrite, sh..”

“I think that’s enough, mom… I just wanted to know about the arrival. Besides, we had talked about not to express that way about the royals” I interrupted her, irritated, before she started to vent about how unfair was her elimination back at King’s Spencer selection. I had heard that story a thousand times before and it always include tons of negative adjectives for all the characters, except for her, of course.

She was always the victim in the story and I might had believed everything she said if I hadn’t read all the magazines concerning last selection, already. I documented myself buying old articles and watching old videos; everything was there! It seemed all you did in that competition was recorded or published somewhere and it would never being forgotten. Back then, I was horrified, embarrassed of all I read about Loretta. Several accidents happened to the girls caused by her, but she always made it look as an accident. They were also rumors of her seducing the guards to help her in several things. Like the rats that a few of the selected found in their closets. I wonder how they did to avoid the video cameras, because there was no recordings of that event.

That day I confronted her, crying out of disappointment. She didn’t deny the fact she wanted to eliminate her competition, but she also assure me not all of that was true.

“…the media always take advantage of some facts to lie and exaggerate things.”

She acknowledged. Since then she had been focused on her work and I hadn’t know about her doing anything like that to other people. Except for her temper and her judgments, she might had changed a lot.

“Yes, I know you like her, everyone loves the benevolent Queen, but that’s because no one knows her like I do.” She had raised her voice and the people of the next tables were starting to look in our direction, she probably noticed it, too because she changed the tone to continue. “… I just want you to be aware, bambolina, getting along with lower castes is not easy”

“Well, you will be glad to know, this time there are plenty of two’s in this competition; I was reading their names and basic information on my way here, it was all on the Illéa Illustrated web page.” I acknowledge sipping my glass of champagne. Her face reflected concerning for a short moment. I was tempted to mention that one of her favorite customers were selected, too; but I didn’t feel in the mood to talk about Victoria.

“You are my daughter, and that makes you the best, don’t worry” She reached for my hand over the table and patted it. I noticed she was saying all that to herself more than to me; and I wished I could tell her I was so much more than just her daughter. Even though, I loved her, I didn’t want to be just the shadow of the tree, most of all because that tree didn’t have the image I would wanted, but I gave her a big smile, instead. She glimpsed at her watch letting my hand go “We better go now, you have to be rested for tomorrow’s runway show”

The runway was a success, as always. The media and the guests loved every single design of the new collection, and I felt like a fish in water, I grew up in this events, modeling at every single runway of Castello’s House; and I was good at it, walking up there, made me feel like a princess and I really enjoyed doing it. Every time I worn a dress to model it I can’t help to thought about all the process it passed for: The sketches, choosing the correct colors and fabrics, sewing, adding details, until this moment. I wasn’t wearing just clothes, I was wearing a little piece of art. The negative part of this kind of the events was that most of the people participating in them didn’t seem to share the same thoughts as me. Most of the skinny, beautiful, ladies surrounding me didn’t even care for the clothes they were wearing, the only thing they cared about is looking good, became famous and get lots of money out of it, not to mention the guests. The males just wanting to admire the models and the females wanting to prove they had lots of money to buy all the collection, even if they didn’t even know the names of the fabrics or the time it took to sew every single gemstone in the right place of it. Those people never able to see beyond themselves. They said they loved fashion, but they didn’t know what fashion meant. What sad and empty lives. I thought while I clapped and smile leading the models at the end of the runway.

When I arrived to the after runway party a bunch of journalists and cameras ran to surround me. They didn’t want to lose their opportunity to ask me about the new collection and most of all, the upcoming selection. I couldn’t hide my smile when they mention the last one.

“What does it feel to be a selected?, Which was your reaction when your name was mentioned on The Report? Are you excited to meet Prince Nathaniel?”

I managed to answer every question with sincerity. Everything was doing fine, until…

“Should the other selected be concerned any rats in their bedrooms? Are you going to be as entertain to watch as your mom was? Are you going to continue the Castello’s legacy?”

Why did they always had to ruin everything!? I continue smiling trying to break my way through the cameras with Pete’s help.

When we finally could enter to the party I found my assistant Lilith inside. “Having fun?” She asked sarcastically

I sighed “I’m having a blast! Can’t wait to travel to Angeles”

“Oh, btw, your mother invited Calgary’s Mayor to give a little speech about you in public” She said, reading everything on her tablet, which she always carried around, like it was like it was part of her body.

“What?! Here?” I asked surprised. These was the kind of things I had to be informed of, not the rest of the guest list that Loretta kept talking about all the way through the runway, that morning.

“Yeah, Loretta didn’t accept his offer to made you a party opened to all the citizens and commoners, as she called them, so, we are taking advantage of the media here to do this… maybe they will ask you to say some words for the people, I don’t know” She continued as if it wasn’t so simple to make a speech in front of everyone. This will be on TV and I didn’t have anything prepared!

There wasn’t much to do about it, so I just nodded and walked passed her towards the bar, feeling dizzy already. “Hi, Martini, please” I said to the efficient barman. As soon as I got my drink I start giving it small sips, looking at the people moving on the dancefloor. Suddenly I glimpse a tall, black haired girl wearing a dress that matched her hair, walking towards me. I turned around on my bench facing the shelves full of all kind of bottles of alcohol, hoping she didn’t come anywhere near me. I wasn’t in the mood to resist a fight to maintain a civilized conversation, as I always had to do with her.

There were two kind of people who approached me at parties, attractive men acting charming and flirtatious to assure a permanent job at House Castello and ladies pretending to be my friends to get the same. I have actualy take advantage of those to have some “friends” to talk to at parties. And finally, there were, the envious, pretentious, people who liked to play word games to annoy me and prove my patient. Victoria Seaberg was the master of those.

I was hardly praying for her to ignore me, when I felt some fingers playing with my hair.

“Hey Stephanie, I barely recognized you with all that hair” Victoria said in a mocking tone. I rolled my eyes wondering why God didn’t listened to my prayers and counting to ten to be ready to try my best to breathe slowly. After all that, I faced her.

“Hey! I barely recognize you sober” I greeted, smirking.

She gave me the fakest of her smiles “Oh, babe, don’t worry, I’ll teach you how to hold your liquor.”

I laughed at her offering. If I had problems with my drinking, she would be the last person I could get help from, not that she was an alcoholic, but I was sure I drinked much less than her. “I’m okay, but I will give you a call, in case I need a tutor” I sipped my Martini. “Hope you are enjoying the party” The last phrase was meant to be a goodbye, but apparently it didn’t seem like one.

“In fact I am. Your mom knows who to invite” She looked radiant, obviously this was his natural environment.

“Well… it’s not like we have a choice, we have to invite everyone who is involved in the campaign or might be interested in it.” I said sighing. That was actually true, but I said it for her to acknowledge, her presence was not so pleasant for me. I didn’t like me when I behave like that, but this kind of people manage to bring out the worst part of me. I wasn’t going to let her mock me.

Victoria chose to ignore my statement turning around to order a Mojito. I suspected it wasn’t the first one of the night. “How are you liking the party?” She asked.

“You know how much I love these parties, so I’m doing fine” I answered. I knew people thought I didn’t like to party, but it wasn’t that I didn’t like them, actually if I had real friends I would party with them all the time, but when you have Christmas everyday, suddenly Christmas becomes boring and monotonous.

“Everyone knows you’re quite the party animal” Victoria laughed.

“Yep, that’s me” I said sarcastically, proud of myself for being able to control my annoyance so far, despite her never ending provocations.

“Well if you want to become future queen, you’ll have to get used to social events” Her hand patting my shoulder as if she was a friend giving me advice.

My head starts hurting when I remembered she was a selected too, which meant I will be living under the same room as her, soon. “Ohh, I’m sure I will be surrounded by way more interested people then” I had tried hard to control myself, but she kept pushing me. I knew how to fight back, it was in my DNA, I was educated by Queen Bee. I covered my mouth mockingly and continued “Not that you are not interesting, in fact, I’m glad we are going to be there together” I smiled, but it was obvious I didn’t meant that.

She smiled back as a person about to show her best cards in a poker game. “I can’t wait to see what some etiquette lessons will do for you. Don’t forget to bring your notepad, it will help you remember the things you’ve learned once you are back home.” I fight back the urge to throw my drink on her sparkly black dress, but the last thing I needed was the press all over me, asking questions and comparing myself with my mom, again, but Victoria was openly attacking me this time.

Just go away, you are not like her, ignore those words…. Oh, wait, just one more thing…

“Awwe, you always concerned about me, thank you for your advice, I have one for you in return. Careful with those snacks, they can be tricky… and I heard from my mom that designers will be more strict with the weight fact, in the future” Victoria wasn’t a model by profession, but her popularity and beauty have made that some designers invited her to hit the runway just for publicity and she was obtaining good money out of it. I knew that suggesting she was gaining weight was going to drive her crazy, and it did; the prove was she got really mad this time, I could saw it in her colored, furious eyes. “Speaking of which, you will have to excuse me because I have to find Loretta” I put my glass on the bar and stood up to leave.

“Firstly. I don’t have a problem with snacking, I know how to contain myself. Secondly, I happen to do sports, maybe you should try it sometime. And lastly, there’s nothing you can do about a boring personality, which happens to be your case.” I should have known she wasn’t going to let me have the last word, but despite I still could hear her words, I didn’t care about them anymore.

I waved at her “Sorry, I can’t stay to chat, have a nice trip back home and see you in Angeles.” She said something but I couldn’t understand her words, I wasn’t close to her anymore and the music was loud. I walked away feeling satisfied for my job back there, but guilty because I behaved like one of them, and that was exactly what I had been running from all my life.

#Something between Challenges

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i-amusemyself · 7 years

Note

All of the 'Get to Know Me'.

Aaaah tysm!!!

1: 6 of the songs you listen to most?

(Jokes on you I only usually have 3 songs on repeat at any one time :’-D ) Atm though: Work Song - Hozier, Rats- Miw, Wastelands- Amber Run, Dragula- Rob Zombie, Fireflies- Owl city (yh really), To build a home- The cinematic orchestra.

2: If you could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be?

I…don’t know. I’m really not that into meeting ‘idols’ or anything. I guess it’d be pretty cool to meet Kaitlyn Alexander but honestly I’m not sure the anxiety would be worth it.

3: Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 23, give me line 17.

“It’s a body,” I said, “A dead body.” lmao

4: What do you think about most?

I imagine what life is going to be like when I get to uni or who/what it’ll be that finally makes me happy.

5: What does your latest text message from someone else say?

“Off to stuff my face with chinese food, talk to you later bro”

6: Do you sleep with or without clothes on?

Clothes on unless it’s above 25 degrees bc I don’t wanna die (like that)

7: What’s your strangest talent?

Lmaooo talent?! Me?! Idk I’m learning how to do special effects makeup and a couple of people have said its p cool. Also I can do this weird thing with my tongue where it basically rolls in on itself (seems to be genetic)

8: Girls… (finish the sentence); Boys… (finish the sentence)

Girls are all ethereal goddesses out of my league.

Boys are not my area of expertise.

9: Ever had a poem or song written about you?

As if lmao! Ain’t no one ever liked me that much.

10: When is the last time you played the air guitar?

I can’t remember so I did it just now to make up for it.

11: Do you have any strange phobias?

I hate cuddly toys with battery packs in them with a passion.

12: Ever stuck a foreign object up your nose?

Nooo

13: What’s your religion?

Don’t have one, I’m an atheist.

14: If you are outside, what are you most likely doing?

Cleaning up my rabbits’ mess.

15: Do you prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it?

Behind it I think

16: Simple but extremely complex. Favorite band?

Honestly it depends on the time of day, when I last ate, the luna cycle… I genuinely don’t have one I can’t answer that

17: What was the last lie you told?

Um, I lied about what I watched on TV last night lmao

18: Do you believe in karma?

I’m not sure, I kinda just hope it exists and that helps keep me sane.

19: What does your URL mean?

It’s pretty self explanatory lmao

20: What is your greatest weakness; your greatest strength?

I don’t know, for the weakness I’m torn between caring too much and saying the wrong thing.

And I wouldn’t call it a major strength but I have a lot of patience.

21: Who is your celebrity crush?

I don’t know (I barely have an interest in anything atm), given I have an entire fanblog dedicated to them I’ll say Kaitlyn Alexander again

22: Have you ever gone skinny dipping?

Nope not yet

23: How do you vent your anger?

I have a personal blog ( @the-emotional-equilibrium ) that I rant on

24: Do you have a collection of anything?

I have an embarrassing number of kermit memes on my phone

25: Do you prefer talking on the phone or video chatting online?

Video chatting for sure, I like to be able to see people’s faces (also I hate phone calls they’re too awkward).

26: Are you happy with the person you’ve become?

I think I’m a work in progress really. I’m happier with myself than I used to be, but there’s always things I want to change or could improve on and I know I’m never going to be perfect.

27: What’s a sound you hate; sound you love?

I hate the sound of fabric being ripped, it makes me shiver but I love, idk, that sound when you’re just lying outside and you can hear the birds and stuff. Idk, I don’t listen to much besides music.

28: What’s your biggest “what if”?

Argh, erm, I wonder how different life would have been if I’d learnt to stand up for myself earlier. I’d probably have fewer regrets.

29: Do you believe in ghosts? How about aliens?

Ghosts I’m really not sure about. Up until recently I would’ve said no, but honestly I don’t know what to believe anymore. As for aliens they’re definitely real.

30: Stick your right arm out; what do you touch first? Do the same with your left arm.

Right arm: A cushion on the sofa. Left arm: The wall. Exciting right?

31: Smell the air. What do you smell?

Chicken! (Making lunch atm)

32: What’s the worst place you have ever been to?

Lmfaooooo idk???? Not a physical place anyway. When I was really little I once had to stand outside in the snow for about 3 hours and I remember being pretty sure I was gonna die, like it was such a horrible feeling being that cold.

33: Choose: East Coast or West Coast?

East coast! I mean, that’s just based on where my friend lives and nothing else but

34: Most attractive singer of your opposite gender?

Lmfao opposite?! Okay so let’s just assume that means a guy but erm? Idk? Okay I admit I have a slight thing for half the guys in MIW so lets just go with that

35: To you, what is the meaning of life?

To have the best time possible and end it with minimal regrets. Also to try to help other people to have a better time to.

36: Define Art.

Stuff you can look at that takes actual talent and imagination.

37: Do you believe in luck?

Not really? I mean sometimes I might consider things Unlucky but tbh I have no idea what I mean by that.

38: What’s the weather like right now?

Pretty boring tbh, it’s just a grey sky with a bit of a breeze.

39: What time is it?

2:49 pm

40: Do you drive? If so, have you ever crashed?

I passed my test a few months back but I haven’t driven since so thankfully I haven’t had a chance to crash yet

41: What was the last book you read?

The 5 people You Meet in Heaven….and that was last July smh

42: Do you like the smell of gasoline?

Love it. It’s the smell of my childhood.

43: Do you have any nicknames?

Most people at school call me Scaz and most my friends outside of school refer to me as Chorlo. (or Wholemeal Chorlo if your name is ellie)

44: What was the last film you saw?

I watched Shrek 2 last night lmfao I forgot how good it was!!

45: What’s the worst injury you’ve ever had?

I’ve broken quite a few bones but I’m lucky never to have done anything awful. Um, the worst was probably when I broke my elbow or when I tore my side open on a nail jumping off a fence.

46: Have you ever caught a butterfly?

Aaah yeah I used to catch them every summer!

47: Do you have any obsessions right now?

I guess I’m between obsessions at the minute; though I’m kind of hooked on supernatural ngl

48: What’s your sexual orientation?

Fuck knows. Not straight. I defo like girls but idk about guys.

49: Ever had a rumour spread about you?

Multiple smh. This one girl once spread a rumor I was a lesbian and I was gay for her (before I even came out) and tbh she’d have been lucky. (She was kinda obsessed with me, she was probs suppressing something). It did kinda ruin my confidence though because of all the reactions so I didn’t come out for another 2 years.

50: Do you believe in magic?

I don’t know what to believe anymore, but I’m kind of open to learning more about it.

51: Do you tend to hold grudges against people who have done you wrong?

Yeah smh. I have a pretty high Grudge Threshold in that I give people a lot of chances but once they reach that level there’s no going back and I won’t forget what they did.

52: What is your astrological sign?

Libra

53: Do you save money or spend it?

I either save it for months or blow my savings in an hour.

54: What’s the last thing you purchased?

A bus ticket?

55: Love or lust?

Love defo

56: In a relationship?

As if lmao

57: How many relationships have you had?

Three, but none of them lasted that long

58: Can you touch your nose with your tongue?

Nope

59: Where were you yesterday?

At home all day working

60: Is there anything pink within 10 feet of you?

I’m sitting on a pink sofa lol

61: Are you wearing socks right now?

Yeaaah, one is glittery the other has skulls on which sums me up pretty well tbh

62: What’s your favourite animal?

I love so many animals I don’t know!! Capybaras? Alpacas? Giraffes? Chimps? Idk?!

63: What is your secret weapon to get someone to like you?

Lmaoooo I have no idea I haven’t found it yet

64: Where is your best friend?

3918 miles away on the east coast of the USA (I get to see her in 9 days though I’m so excited!!)

65: Give me your top 5 favourite blogs on Tumblr.

(I won’t tag them but in no particular order) Pansexi-unicorn, onetinygay, shrekthelesbian, oneshappyplace and only-slightly-dangerous

66: What is your heritage?

I’m white as a toilet m8. Nah a lot of my family comes from Denmark/scandinavia which you can kind of tell from looking at me tbh

67: What were you doing last night at 12AM?

Sleeping. Sorry that’s not more interesting.

68: What do you think is Satan’s last name?

I think it’s like, double barrel as in May-Trump or something

69: Be honest. Ever gotten yourself off?

Maybe..

70: Are you the kind of friend you would want to have as a friend?

Errrm, sort of? I try to make an effort, so that’d be nice. But I’m so quiet and shy sometimes that if I was friends with myself we’d probably never talk lmao

71: You are walking down the street on your way to work. There is a dog drowning in the canal on the side of the street. Your boss has told you if you are late one more time you get fired. What do you do?

Save the dog, no doubt about it. If my boss is that much of a dick I’ll probably lose my job sooner or later, so I might as well lose it helping out a doggo.

72: You are at the doctor’s office and she has just informed you that you have approximately one month to live. a) Do you tell anyone/everyone you are going to die? b) What do you do with your remaining days? c) Would you be afraid?

a) I’d tell the people closest to me, but maybe not straight away depending on how I thought they’d react.

b) I’d probably blow my saving and go travelling. I mean, what else is there to do? Oh and finish bingewatching all my shows at that time bc dying on a cliffhanger would really piss me off.

c) Maybe a little? Just because once you die you’re alone with whatever the hell comes after (pun not intended).

73: You can only have one of these things; trust or love.

Argh?! Trust? I guess? No point having love if you can’t trust people.

74: What’s a song that always makes you happy when you hear it?

Little Talks by Of Monsters and Men and Fireflies by Owl City. They both bring on such nostalgia.

75: What are the last four digits in your cell phone number?

6666 as far as the internet is concerned.

76: In your opinion, what makes a great relationship?

Just like, having someone you can chill with and open up to. Someone where you don’t have to care about embarrassing yourself with or worry about constantly because you trust them. Just like, a super cool friendship but with kissing.

77: How can I win your heart?

Don’t be afraid to be yourself I guess. I love interesting people that don’t pretend to be someone else. Also interesting people with swords.

78: Can insanity bring on more creativity?

Who am I to answer that? Idk, I suppose yeah.

79: What is the single best decision you have made in your life so far?

Cutting off shitty people and actually valuing myself enough to find new friends.

80: What size shoes do you wear?

7 (could be a lot worse given my height)

81: What would you want to be written on your tombstone?

Something along the lines of “I’m just dormant” or “Nothing is set in stone.”

82: What is your favourite word?

Un sacapuntas

83: Give me the first thing that comes to mind when you hear the word; heart.

Break

84: What is a saying you say a lot?

“I amuse myself” or “what the fuck”

85: What’s the last song you listened to?

Alive (i think its called) by Sia

86: Basic question; what’s your favourite colour/colours?

Black, red and purple

87: What is your current desktop picture?

It’s a galaxy spacey thing

88: If you could press a button and make anyone in the world instantaneously explode, who would it be?

I’m torn between Putin and Kim Jong Un (no need to worry about Trump, I’m sure someone already has a plan.)

89: What would be a question you’d be afraid to tell the truth on?

The third question in my inbox rn lmao

90: One night you wake up because you heard a noise. You turn on the light to find that you are surrounded by MUMMIES. The mummies aren’t really doing anything, they’re just standing around your bed. What do you do?

(I was so tempted to say “ask if they prefer being the big or little spoon” why am I like this)

Idk id probs strike up a convo whilst looking around the room for the best weapon just in case.

91: You accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they endow you with the super-power of your choice! What is that power?

Hmmm, I think mind reading would be useful but it might make my anxiety even worse! So that or teleportation.

92: You can re-live any point of time in your life. The time-span can only be a half-hour, though. What half-hour of your past would you like to experience again?

Any half hour when I wasn’t stressed about exams lmao (bonus if the weather was good)

93: You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be?

A guy did something that I wish he hadn’t and I’m still fucked up by it sooo that.

94: You have the opportunity to sleep with the music-celebrity of your choice. Who would it be?

I honestly don’t know, it’s not something I’ve thought about with “music-celebrities” lmao

Edit: Hold up I’ve just remembered Halsey exists.

95: You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere. You have to depart right now. Where are you gonna go?

The place I’m going in 9 dayyys!! (Or Copenhagen)

96: Do you have any relatives in jail?

Not that I know of.

97: Have you ever thrown up in the car?

When I was really little and hopefully never again

98: Ever been on a plane?

Yup a couple of times

99: If the whole world were listening to you right now, what would you say?

For fucks sake can’t you all just educate yourselves and get along? Stop. Killing. Each. Other.

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mynameisdreartblog · 5 years

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Romantic Composers 3

Libra: Antonín Dvořák. Nightclubbing, nightclubbing; we walk through town. We learn new dances. We… Oh, I didn’t see you there. "Oh? How about: Oh, Libi, you know that it’s really late and you should be going home? This place doesn’t need your maintenance all the time to stay afloat." Right, but I gave up the nightclubbing style a long time ago: Is it not fair to expect me to set the mood correctly and make my choices where they need to be? Can I commit to something for once in my life, or are you that incessant? "It doesn’t matter, you look so tired from a day of elevating and descending the staircases. Think of what I’m doing as a merciful reminder." [,] I’d be offended if you weren’t my own, but I’ll stop the "nightclubbing" if it appeases you. <A echo occurs upon the moment Libi says "nightclubbing."> While I’m at it, you can stop being so authoritative and demanding in your speech: It’s clear informality isn’t your strong suit. […] "Then what is it? At least I can go to sleep at a reasonable hour." …Am I appealing enough on the surface? Is that your issue with me? I mean, all the lore can come later; what we should care about now is whether or not I’m memetic enough to plaster on shirts. "In my opinion, I think you’d look lovely on a graphic T-shirt." That’s the most agreeable opinion you’ve had all night… "Nightclubbing, nightclubbing; we walk through town, we learn new dances." [,] It’s a good song, isn’t it? I’ m an admirer of Grace Jones’ work. "Yeah, I could tell; you’ve been playing her over the speakers of this place every so often." Do you like how I try to select a track for the mood you’re likely to experience? "That’s rather creepy; I’d rather it be on coincidence than on purpose." Well, you give some, you take some: I give fitting ambiance and I take a sense of privacy… "Libi?" Yes? "Are you trying to stall for something?" What? I’ve no concept of stalling: I spend every waking moment of my time on earth doing something worthwhile, you just need to redefine what you perceive as such. "You’re stalling right now, Libi. Are you waiting for something to end, like your shift perhaps?"[…] I need to stop talking to myself.

Cancer: Edvard Grieg. «I’ve hypothesized who could eventually be my greatest villain, and I once thought that it might be someone so stuck in certain instances of time, and can only present them to an exterior through aesthetic presentations, and a supernatural ability to alter the surrounding environment and attitudes to match whatever suits the hauntological current…» Cool, but I’m in a bad spot right now and I’m waiting for a lane to open up. I could just go right now and ignore everyone else, but courtesy is my policy. «Courtesy? Anyone who has ever driven a vehicle here has no understanding of the concept of courtesy. Now, get in the damn right lane before somebody clamors over us.» Jeez, what’s gotten into you? «Aside from a couple of pathogens, it’s the fact that I wasn’t given my required smoking break today. And those cigarettes are necessary for someone like me, otherwise I’d crack under the pressure.» I know you Springe… <Boitatá adequately changes lanes, angering the person behind her.> …and I know you can handle a little bit of shit before you have to puff another one. <Springe remarks in their head how Boitatá manages to be a better driver than Gonçalo: The one who owns the damn truck.> Well, it’s not a high hurdle: Anyone who survives under a terrible workplace long enough will be able to survive under it better than the rookie. Er, that’s what you’re talking about, right? <The truck stops at a very askew stop-sign.> «Yeah, but once you’re in it long enough, you wonder whenever the expiration is coming. Absolutely nobody talks about it because it’s taboo, but eventually we have to wonder when the work will be done. Like, there’s no reason for this hospital to exist anymore…» [,] Uh, there’s plenty of reasons for it to exist, like the fact that people still get sick and still need medical check-ups to make sure they’re healthy. I get where you’re going, but maybe a better example could’ve been used, like retail. There’s no point to the work of retail anymore, is there? «Yeah, but I get to listen in on all the drama of it. Plus, I just like the comfort of a gas-station, you know? Nowhere to go but again throughout the store’s hallways.» <Springe continues to babble about the "vibes" of a retail workspace for an uncomfortable length of time.> …Wow, you’ve never worked in retail, huh? <A loud thud can be heard from the side of the truck, indicating that some sorta postage was hit.> «I mean, no, but I imagine it’s fairly nice in comparison to hard labor doing construction or agricultural work.» <An omnipotent force decides that this conversation has no defined point, and needs to be disrupted with a mildly traumatic moment so that interest can be reimbued.> Holy shit, I’m in the wrong lane! Let me try and make a turn here. <Boitatá forgets to make the three-point turn a three-point turn, and the rest ensues.> [,] «Oh, goddammit, you got the truck stuck in a ditch!» A three-point turn was too risky, but yes, you can call me a clown if it helps. «You know what, you’re such a clown that I can think of the depth of how clownlike you are. There are people driving buy laughing, well, they don’t really care, but they oughta be laughing.» […] «Now that I think of it, we may one day meet someone driving a similar vehicle in the same ditch, who’s as much a clown as you!»

Virgo: Pyotr Tchaikovsky. «Bluma, your little nieces and nephews are here!» Oh cool, I love meeting them; I just hope I don’t have to tell them stories again: That’s a pretty exhausting thing for me even if they all love it. «Oh, I’m sure they won’t be as needy this time as they were last time.» <Multiple hours pass through the afternoon where Bluma sits on the couch, disassociating at the little dust particles dancing on her walls. There’s no Internet where she is and neither is there a close-by hangout spot. She finds herself so desperate for entertainment to look upon old photobooks: She remembers how much of an ugly child she was. Seriously, she had like, three puffs of hair coming out of her scalp, looking like a big claw: It was awful. [,] Bluma puts up the photobook, and she decides to lay down again, thinking about all the tasty food she could be eating but is being reserved for her piranhas of nephews. She has conductive thoughts about how this distribution method should be reformed to benefit her and her nephews whenever they’re here, but it fades away because she knows her ability to change things quite well. [,] Twenty minutes pass and Bluma lays on the couch thinking about the things her nephews are interested in: She remarks that their favorite toys tend to match the colors they wear. Either that was a choice by their parents or a choice by themselves. Regardless, it didn’t do much when Bluma was hit in the leg by one of them abruptly: Not hard enough to cause minor bruising but enough to hurt.> Ugh, thank God they’re only gonna be around for two more days. <The brutality of that attack reminded Bluma of the fact that she brought a collection of graphic novels with her. Well, the truth is that she always knew they were there and brought them with the purpose of finishing them, but the dysfunction settled in and she lets the itch decay until she forgets why they were brought in the first place. The same thing happened when she had to read old literature for the summer, and it’ll unfortunately happen again for something she expressed interest in.> […] «Bluma, it’s getting late and your nephews are heading off to bed. I think it’d be nice if-» How many of them are going to bed? <Bluma’s mother hops back a bit.> «Only two.» That means I’ll only tell two-thirds of the bedtime story. […] Ah, so we’re getting ready for bedtime here? <One of her nephews shakes their head in a pattern of remarkably strict obedience, the other is half-awake and barely responds.> Alright, here’s a special one that I only tell to people I really care about. <Bluma pinches the cheek of the nephew half-asleep.> [,] I’m the gymnast who performed as Mickey Mouse, and I was the best damn Mickey Mouse there was. They needed someone acrobatic to perform in that hot costume, and I was the only one willing: I was desperate for money back then, and I was a limber enough body to perform. <A loud crash is heard from the room on the opposite end of the house, and Bluma has the instinct to know that it was the third nephew. She turns her head towards the noise and raises herself from the kneeled position.> Guess you’ll never hear the end of that story.

Sagittarius: Ludwig Van Beethoven. «The "horrible disaster in pitch darkness lit momentarily by camera flash" mood in these paintings is incredible. <The pompous gallery-viewer steps back to grasp a better taste of the wine they just drank.> Yes, that was the je-ne-sais-quoi I was looking for. <The gallery-viewer swivels their glass of wine for an emote.>» Thanks, that theme was intentional. «I must say, was there any major works that inspired such a marvelous piece, or was this entirely a product of your evergreen imagination?» I’m not familiar with a lot of artwork: I barely saw it throughout my life except what I’d see as remnants of a scalded village. «Oh dear!» Yes, I’ve lived a very hard and traumatic life, and I feel like these works best represent that in a bite-sized, visual form. «Color me impressed!» Now, it’s not as much a concern for me because I’ve vented my emotions through my art so much that they’re more material than they are chemical. So, it’s fair to say that it’s far more uncomfortable to approach my work than it is to approach me. «I wouldn’t say you’re an uncomfortable person. In fact, you’re the warmest person I’ve met so far: Better than the previous exhibitionists, that’s for sure.» I’d say I’m more real than you, for sure. «I’d be inclined to agree, and reasonably, anyone can- wait, what did you say?» <The hint of a vignette starts to appear in the corner of the viewer’s vision.> Oh, it was nothing personal, but it’s just that my sense of cutting to the feeling has been finetuned over the years, and I feel like what you’re doing is a persona. There’s nothing more to it than that, and I’m not sorry. «Um, there has to be more to your critique that that. No, I’m sorry: If you’re one to create such work as this, then you can communicate a poetic assertion of what’s wrong with me.» <Rossouw grabs her temple and pinches it.> I just told you I’m a woman of few words: I thought the paintings told you that. «You’re more lucrative than I ever thought. I just might pay you for the service I’m getting!» <Rossouw releases the pinch and shows a more noble smile. She looks over to her friend, playing the same act as her but being far more successful with it.> I’m not a prestigious artist, but I like to pretend I’m an art connoisseur that tells rich folks how to develop good taste. «Yes, you’re right: I had absolutely no refined taste in what I liked before; that was until I saw your amazing artwork. From there, I knew all that I needed to know about your style, your movement, and your followers.» I’m, uh, glad I managed to change you so radically. <Rossouw turns back to her friend, having a conversation with a normal viewer that looks pleasant and filled with firm convictions.> <Rossouw’s viewer has their vignette slowly overtake their vision, now covering a good quarter of it.> «You get to the point so quickly! You know me so well! I’m practically a new person now that I’m exposed to your work. Consider me a disciple! You are more real than I could imagine: To you, I’m nothing but a barrier to destroy.» Yeah, how much are you willing to pay me? «Oh, so confrontational! You don’t dance around anything!» <Rossouw thinks to herself.> Are they really trying to rub something in? <Suddenly, her friend winks at her, and then she snaps.> What the fuck is going on? Why is this happening? Who is this man? «Artist divine, I will tear down all works that oppose your straightforwardness!» <With their eyes now pitch-black, Rossouw’s viewer begins launching himself at other exhibits, clawing at them with their hands, attempting to desecrate them.> <Rossouw’s friend walks towards her, pats her on the shoulder and says: Don’t worry, this happens more often than you think, especially with a personality like yours.> <«Rossouw turns back.»> He didn’t pay me. Why the fuck did he promise what he didn’t deliver? […] «I created an art-piece in your honor!» <Rossouw’s viewer pans her view towards a destructive piece that looks someone like the text following this.> <«--»>

#Zodiaccupuncture #Zodipunc #Libra #Cancer #Virgo #Sagittarius

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purrfics · 7 years

Photo

Summary: As the group are suddenly surrounded by the undead, they must work together to get back to camp. However, their nightmares are far from over. Meanwhile, Sally gets to know Bri. Jessica and Sabrina are met with a dilemma. Chapter: Six - Darkness Upon Flames Author’s Note: Credits: Gif 1 Gif 2

[Masterpost] [Quotev] [Blog]

Robbie squints his eyes at the dead pushing itself against the glass on the door. “Is it alone?” Grace asks, staying low.

“I doubt it.” Drake says.

Melissa begins feeling around the walls, running her fingers along and trying to find something of interest. Darryn grabs at her upper arm.

“Stop. We’re not getting out of here.”

Melissa nods, Grace turns, standing and looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

“What do you suppose we do, genius?”

“Grace.” Flake warns lowly.

“No. I’m serious.” Grace says, louder than before.

“Can you lower your voice?!” Nancy asks.

“This is how I normally talk.” Grace spits, putting her hand on her hip.

Darryn puts his hand on his gun, which sits in the holder of his belt. Grace notices this slight movement in the dark and scoffs.

“What’re you going to do, kill me?” She asks him. Melissa removes her arm from his grip and rubs her hand up his arm, snuggling into it.

“Put the gun down.” She whispers in his ear, the whole group watching in anticipation to see what the man does. Darryn sighs quietly and removes his hand from the gun, Grace grins.

“That’s what I thought.”

“We should stop bickering and look for a way out of here.” Tanya says after a few seconds. “Melissa was right to look around the walls.”

“Does anyone have a flashlight?” Drake asks, Carlos shakes his head.

“We didn’t have time to grab anything. Not that we had much.”

“You tore that garage apart, ate everything in two months?”

“Hey. That’s not a lot of food for five people.” Carlos tells Grace.

“Right.” Grace nods, pushing her hair up inpatiently, watching Melissa look around the room with Tanya.

“You found anything, blondie?” Drake asks, Melissa turns and looks at Drake angrily.

“My name is Melissa.”

“Right.”

“There’s a vent.” She suggests.

“We can’t go through the vents.” Darryn argues, loudly.

“Do you have anything better to do than rebuttal our suggestions?” Grace snaps back, “Or can we get out of here?”

“There’s no noise coming from outside the door right now, If we’re quick we might be able to get outside.” Darryn suggests.

“You’re suicidal, mate.” Drake says as both him and Robbie head over to the vent.

“It’s bolted shut.” Tanya says, crossing her arms as the boys approach.

“See.” Darryn says. Flake takes out his sword and stares at the vent, running his index finger over the screws.

“Step back.” He tells them, Melissa raises her eyebrows as the trio step back, Grace shakes her head from behind them, turning on her heel to look out the door. Flake uses the tip of his sword to attempt to stick it inside the screw to unscrew it from it’s position and release the vent.

“Can you do it?” Melissa asks. Flake shrugs.

Darryn heads over to where Grace is and puts his hand on the door knob, Grace’s eyes dart down to his hand.

“What are you doing?” She asks.

“I’m goin’ to find us a way out of here.” Darryn tells her, pulling gently against the door handle, the undead from outside toppling inside, falling to the ground. Darryn raises his foot and stomps viciously down on it’s head, brains splattering on the floor and bouncing on to Grace’s exposed ankles.

“Okay, then.” She peeks outside as Darryn carefully moves out, “I’m coming with you.”

“Hell no you aren’t.” Darryn tells her.

“Where are you guys going?!” Drake asks angrily, his voice hushed to almost a silent whisper.

“Don’t worry about us.” Grace says, stepping out of the room and into the sunlight that comes in from the large glass window on the roof. To their right they spot three of the undead aimlessly walking around the hallway.

“Damn it!” Flake growls, his sword slipping out of the screw.

“Just leave it, we have to go.” Tanya tells him.

“No, This is a safer way.” He tells the girls.

“Grace has started leaving us, if the dead are attracted to them, It’s game over for us. We have to stick together.” Robbie tells the others.

“He’s got a point, uh, whatever his name is.” Carlos says, leaning against the door and looking out at Darryn and Grace dealing with the undead.

“Now.” Grace whispers, pulling out her gun and hitting the first dead over the head, it stumbles forwards and she hits it again, causing it to buckle to the ground. She kicks it on the back of the neck and Darryn stomps it’s head. The other two shuffle quickly towards them and Darryn disposes of them with his gun, the gunshot ringing out down the hallway.

“Hey, look.” Grace says, heading down the hallway until she stops at a red box, containing an axe inside. She uses her gun to smash the glass, causing it to shatter. She grabs the axe and waves up in front of her. Darryn nods and walks back to the room with the rest of the group.

“Are you coming or not?” Darryn asks. Drake nods, gesturing to the group to follow him. Flake grumbles and pulls his sword away from the vent, slipping it back in it’s holder.

“We’ll have plenty of time to escape if we stick together.” Melissa tells him. Flake nods. The two follow behind the group, out the room. “Who’s the leader of your parade?” Melissa asks.

“Me, you wouldn’t guess so.”

“Oh, I would. You seem like the leader type.” Melissa tells him.

“How can you tell?” He asks as the group make it to a balcony, Grace and Robbie hanging their heads over to look at the floor below them, spotting the large amount of undead that have now flooded the ground floor.

“I can just tell.” Melissa smiles. Grace turns, handing the axe to Nancy.

“Uh, thanks.” Nancy smiles, gripping the axe with both hands.

“You seem like you have a good swing.” Grace tells her, eyeing her up and down. “You from the military?”

Nancy raises her eyebrow, as does Darryn. “No, actually.” She smiled, blushing slightly.

Grace shrugs. “Always worth it to ask.”

“Can we stop having small talk and get out of here?” Darryn pipes up, gesturing his head towards the balcony. “If you haven’t noticed, there’s a lot of dead down there who want us for lunch.”

“We’ll have to go up to the roof.” Drake says, “Now.” He orders.

“Who said you were in charge of this mission?!” Flake asks.

“Does it look like we have time to discuss group roles?!”

“Let’s just go, alright!” Robbie yells over the growling from below, turning his head over his shoulder to see some of the dead beginning to make their way upstairs. “We don’t have much time…”

---

Sally guzzles down the last of a bottle of water, tossing it to the side and it hits off the metal ground.

“Are you feeling better?” Bri asks, pulling a bag pack against herself, standing over Sally.

“Yeah. I just need a day.” Sally says. Bri nods.

“That’s fine. We can wait.” Bri sits down on the floor next to her, holding her knife close to her chest. “Tell me about yourself.” She asks.

Sally looks at Bri, shrugging her shoulders. “Like what?” She asks.

“What was that place? Why did you blow it up? Ya know.”

“Oh, it was just some stupid warehouse, they used to hold festivities and events there a lot, so it was a well known place. Uh, me and a few others camped out there when this all started. It got invaded by those things and uh… I wanted to blow it up, to end it.”

“End it?”

“Yeah. Kill them all.” Sally says. Bri raises her eyebrow, inhaling loudly.

“The people? Or the--”

“The dead.” Sally cuts her off, “I just want to find my friends, now.”

“I get it.” Bri says, twiddling her thumbs. “I had this friend, his name was Jamie,” Bri starts, biting her bottom lip as her voice decreases into a small whisper again.

“What happened to him?” Sally asks.

“He died.” Bri says, rather bluntly. Sally looks down, thinking for a moment.

“How?” She finally asks, Bri smiles sadly.

“You can figure it out, can’t you?”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t” Bri shrugs, wiping one eye and tugging one knee against her chest. “I’m glad I saved you, you know.”

Sally exhales sharply from her nose, not believing Bri.

“Why?”

Bri shrugs, “I could have saved a murderer, I saved you.”

“There’s nothing special about me.”

Sally closes her eyes, resting her head against the wall. Bri smiles at her.

“Maybe he has a little crush on you.” Jessica says, holding an empty mug in her hands. Sabrina scoffs at her, rolling her eyes. “Don’t get me started on that.” Sabrina says, rather angrily.

“It could be a possibility.”

“The only reason he follows me around is to get out of the gates, he’s stupid and is going to get himself killed.”

“Maybe so.” Jessica shrugs, putting the mug on the table and turning it until a cat’s face on the mug faces the two girls.

“Whatever. I just want to be left alone.” Sabrina says, standing.

“You don’t want to talk anymore?” Jessica asks her.

“It’s good therapy, but I’m just going to go for a walk, or something.” She tells her, heading towards the door. She gets to the door, putting her hand on the doorknob and turning to look back at Jessica.

“I’ll talk to you later, then.” Jessica tells her, Sabrina nods.

“Sure.”

The group of Drake, Flake, Grace, Robbie, Carlos, Darryn, Melissa, Tanya and Nancy make their way upstairs quickly. Flake leads, swinging his sword at an undead as it appears at the top of the stairs. “We should stay ahead of them.” Flake says.

“What happens when we get to the top?” Darryn asks.

“We find a way down from there. Fire escape or anything’.” Carlo says.

“And if there isn’t?”

“Babe, don’t be so negative.” Melissa tells Darryn.

The group continue making their way through the building, passing by rather expensive pieces of art. They soon find a door which reads ROOF EXIT.

“This is our way out.” Flake says.

“Better hope so.” Darryn says, turning around to check behind them. “Any minute we could be surrounded.”

“They don’t move that fast.” Drake says, rolling his eyes.

“Have you not seen some of them? Faster than any man I’ve ever seen.” Tanya mentions, Robbie bites his lip, rather worried at Tanya’s comment as Flake pushes open the heavy door, his sword pointing out. As soon as he opens the door, he feels a cool breeze from the roof.

The group quickly get out onto the roof, Drake holds the door open as they begin looking around.

“Where from here?!” Nancy asks.

Grace and Flake begin making their way over to the edge of the roof, joined by Melissa. The duo look over the edge, realizing they’re rather high up.

“Well, shit. Do you see anything?” Grace asks.

“Flake, look out!!” Nancy cries out, a loud growling filling the air as something grabs at his ankle, he suddenly tumbles down to the ground as a dead hangs from the building, gripping at his ankle. Grace lets out a small scream, jumping back as Nancy comes over, swinging her axe down and slicing against the dead’s arm, Flake pulls his ankle off of the dead, causing it to grip against the roof instead.

“Nancy, again!” Flake calls out, grabbing his sword, which he had dropped. Nancy grunts as she swings the axe down again, slicing right through the arm and causing the dead to tumble off the building. “I’m sorry.” She quickly says, her hands shaking as she wields the axe.

“Why are you sorry?” Flake asks, standing up and sliding his sword into the holder. Nancy visibly shakes, shrugging her shoulders.

“I told you, you have a good swing.” Grace comments, smirking.

“Sabrina!” Calls out a small voice, Sabrina’s eyebrows raise as she turns, being greeted by the small Sammy, rushing towards her. “What’s wrong?” Sabrina asks, going down on one knee to be equal height with Sammy.

“It’s mama! You have to be quick!” She says, Sabrina’s eyebrows furrow as the little girl suddenly grabs her hand and before she knows it, she’s being dragged towards a cabin.

Sabrina and Sammy get inside the cabin, she lets go of Sabrina’s hand and points towards an ajar door. Sabrina makes her way inside slowly, pushing open the door she spots Mika sitting up on the bed and by her side is Molly.

“What is going on here?” Sabrina asks, her eyes travelling from Mika down to a pile of tissues strewn around a bin, the tissues crumpled and bloodied.

“Hey, here!” Carlos calls out, approaching a fire exit that leads down to the front of the building again. “Oh yeah, let’s get caught up, again.” Darryn mocks.

“Would you rather stay up here and die?” Carlos asks.

“I could take my chances.”

“You’d be dead in a day.” Drake pipes in, Darryn turns to face him.

“Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Someone who’s trying to stay alive just like you, is that a problem?” Drake spits, gripping his gun angrily.

“I am in charge,” Darryn tells him, “I’m the only one with a level head in this damn group.”

“Excuse me?” Grace asks, annoyed.

“Shut up.”

Darryn is about to continue speaking but he hears the sound of a gun cocking, followed by a metal barrel being pushed against the back of his head. He scoffs, blinking as he slowly raises his hands. “You really gonna shoot me, son?”

The person behind the gun, Robbie, nods. “Maybe. Drop your gun.”

“You’re all whacked in the head.” Darryn tells them as he drops the gun. Flake stares at Robbie, angered, although he’s unsure who he’s angry at.

“We can move past this.” Flake tells the group as Melissa stares at him. “We can’t be hostile to each other.”

“Hell no we can’t.” Melissa says, sounding angry as she leans down to grab Darryn’s gun. “You think you can point a gun at my boyfriend and expect us to work together?”

“Melissa, they can help us. We’ve got nothing now.” Carlos tells her.

“I don’t care!”

“Can we move, please?!” Drake yells, “I’m sick of everything that’s happened today and I want to get home.”

“Yeah, I have a sister to get back to, unlike the rest of you.” Grace says, turning to Robbie “Except you.”

Robbie lowers his gun, nodding as the group pull themselves together, one by one heading down the fire escape.

“If you think we’re going back with them, you’re wrong.” Darryn says to Carlos.

“You want us to die?” Carlos asks him.

“No, but I’m sure we have a better chance of survival if we stay out here than go back with them.”

“We can hear you, you know!” Grace snaps to the duo behind her. Darryn stops talking.

“No-- I asked you to get--” Mika begins, she begins coughing slightly, pushing herself up further in the bed. “Mom?” Molly asks worriedly.

“I’m okay.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Sabrina asks, “Were you ever going to tell us you were sick?!”

“Yes… I was…” Mika says quietly, her bottom lip quivering. The room falls silent.

“I need a minute.” Sabrina says, throwing her hands in the air as she makes her way out of the room, Jessica follows behind her.

“What are we going to do about her?” Jessica asks.

“We can’t do anything.” Sabrina tells her, “I just want to be left alone.”

Sabrina makes her way out of the cabin, Jessica sighs and rubs her forehead, worried about what to do. She makes her way back into the bedroom.

Sabrina rubs her face, groaning loudly in frustration.

“What else could go wrong today?” She asks herself, looking around and her eyes stopping on a figure at the end of the camp, she squints to try and see who it is and notices it’s Mark at the edge of the cliff, again. She begins walking.

“Hey.” She calls out, Mark doesn’t hear her, or pretends not too, either way he begins to try and climb down the cliff. Sabrina begins running faster, “Hey!! Stop!!” She yells, her legs moving faster and faster and she notices his legs disappear down the cliff.

Mark looks up at her, his hands gripping at the dirt. “Hey, Sab--” He begins but Sabrina grabs him, coming to a steady halt as her hands grip around his collar and also his hair. He yells as she tugs him off the cliff, landing on her back and Mark rolling and coming to a stop just a few feet away from him.

“You’re a dumbass! What the fuck is your problem!”

“Calm down.” Mark says, pushing himself up and brushing off his clothes of dirt.

“Stop fucking doing that, next time you do it I won't be there to pull you up and you’ll plummet to your death.”

“I wasn’t falling!” Mark yells, standing up and shoving Sabrina down. “I was safe!!” Sabrina swats her hand at him, slapping him hard on the arm. She scrambles backwards and gets up.

“I’m done wasting my breath on you.” Sabrina says, turning and quickly making her way back to the front of the camp.

“If you tell my dad, you’re dead!” Mark yells at her, Sabrina holds both her middle fingers up at him, growing tired of being inside. She continues heading towards the front, eventually reaching the gates where she can see Cooper keeping guard.

The group finally make their way down the fire escape, Flake slices at the undead that lurk below and they manage to exit the small alleyway and get back out to the main building. “Watch out.” Grace says between gritted teeth, holding her gun up as over fifteen of the dead still lurk outside on the street. The group began firing shots, taking down the dead one by one. They begin backing up as the dead start coming closer, some spilling out of the building.

“Robbie, can you get the truck for us and bring it around for a quick get away?” Flake asks, clinging onto his sword as he gets ready to slice some heads.

“Uhm, sure!” Robbie nods,

“I’ll come with you.” Grace says.

“No, It’s fine. You stay here and help.”

Grace raises her eyebrow, Robbie nods, reassuring her everything will be fine before running and taking off around the corner and down the street.

“You just sent that kid to slaughter.” Darryn comments as Flake passes by him. “Just keep firing.” Flake says blandly as he whips the sword upwards, slicing into heads as the dead drop like flies.

Robbie continues running down the street as fast as he can, firing his gun at several undead that he passes as he turns a corner. “Shit.” He exhales, out of breath as he notices three of the dead surrounding the car. He cocks his gun and begins slowly making his way towards them. They notice him as he approaches, one of them snarling as it limps towards him, the other two begin running, rather quickly towards him. “Holy shit.” He exclaims as he fires a bullet into one of the runner’s skulls, the other suddenly tackles him to the ground, Robbie’s gun flies across the street and slides under a car. He grips at the runner’s arms as hard as he can, pushing back as he feels the blood from it’s mouth dripping onto his face, it’s mouth coming dangerously close to his neck as he can see the other one making it’s way towards his legs.

He adjusts his arm so his lower arm is rested under the undead’s chin, pushing back against it’s weight. He feels it’s breath against his face, he starts yelling, his other arm outstretched to grab onto something, anything to help him fight off the creature.

He grabs a stray stone lying on the road and jams it roughly into the dead’s head, it get lodged inside but the dead continues to growl into his face ferociously, he can feel the dead’s hands travel down to his stomach and beginning to scratch it. He uses all his strength to push the dead off of him, managing to shove the dead just far enough up to stop it clawing at his stomach.

Suddenly, the dead’s head explodes into blood, a gunshot ringing out from behind him. Another one going off as he pushes the body off of him, shaking as he scrambles backwards, heavily breathing as he looks at the two dead bodies lying on the ground, the slower one dangerously close to his foot.

He pulls his shirt up, checking his stomach before slowly turning his head around, his eyes traveling upwards until he locks eyes with Grace.

“I told you I should have come with you.” She smiles, the sun shining from behind her, lighting her up like an angel. Robbie smirks, shaking his head as he holds one hand out in front of him, watching as it trembles.

#original fic #original fiction #zombie fic #original story #fanfic #fic #fiction #zombie #apocalyptic #gore #dead weight #horror

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