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aquafaith · 3 years

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My lengthy, angry ACOSF rant review.

Spoilers, TW for mental, emotional, physical, and sexual abuse.

I loved ACOTAR. I still love ACOTAR. I always will love ACOTAR. But every book afterwards made me give up more and more. ACOMAF romanticized an abusive relationship and assassinated characters for the author's convenience. ACOWAR was a bunch of boring and inconsequential death scares. ACOFAS was all-round dreadful. And each book kept shitting on and pushing away Lucien for no reason.

I'd like to preface this by saying I hated Nesta too. I hated the way she treated Feyre in ACOTAR especially, and I wasn't even too excited for this book because I wasn't that keen on Nesta as a character.

Nesta's POV and her backstory changed my perspective. It does not excuse her actions. All Nesta stans can hold these characters accountable for what they do - trauma is a reason, not an excuse. I, and many others, sided with Nesta because of the way she's treated by everyone else in this book. Also, if you're going to hate Nesta for not teaching Feyre how to read and letting her hunt at fourteen, (which I did, and are very valid things to hate), AT LEAST hold Elain accountable too.

This book. This fucking book.

Shall we start with the intervention? Feyre on her little power trip thinks that her boyfriend that hates Nesta and Nesta hates back, Nesta's ex-best friend, and her possible mate who she never talks to should be at this stupid fucking intervention??? Excuse me???

Remember in ACOMAF when Feyre wouldn't shut up about how rich Rhysand is? Feyre literally has four or five houses and is always talking about how much jewelry and lingerie she can afford because Rhysand is so rich??? Well, Nesta has a few shots. So you know what Feyre does? Humiliates Nesta at this "intervention", TEARS DOWN HER HOME, and forces her to go to the Illyrian training camp.

That was the god awful premise for this book.

Did you think Elain wasn't there because she was against the "intervention"? Nope! She was packing Nesta's belongings without permission.

Remember in ACOMAF when it's made a big fucking deal that locking up a traumatised woman is extremely damaging? Well, when Nesta decides she doesn't want to be in Illyria, Feyre locks her in the House of Wind. Nesta can't fly, so her only way of leaving is down the TEN THOUSAND STEPS, that Feyre KNOWS Nesta isn't capable of climbing.

Feyre's pregnant. In ACOFAS she randomly decided that she wanted a baby to remember Rhysand by if he dies. Which doesn't make any sense because they made that stupid fucking death pact in ACOWAR. It's just SJM superimposing her pregnancy onto her early 20's protagonist. Ignoring the fact that Feyre isn't ready for a baby and Rhysand CERTAINLY isn't, and with a war just ended and another looming and so much trauma and a DEATH PACT are all such horrible circumstances to bring a child into, Feyre is already pregnant. Remember when SJM made a big deal about Fae babies being so hard to conceive, and Feyre said in ACOFAS they wouldn't have to worry for a long time because it can take years to conceive your first Fae child? Well it's been no more than 3 or 4 months and Feyre's already pregnant. Yep.

Also the birth will kill her. Because of course it will. Rhysand KNEW this, and still agreed to try for a baby.

There's no solution. Abortions don't exist for some stupid reason, and a C section would apparently kill Feyre?

(Wasn't this book supposed to be about Nessian?)

In ACOWAR, Cassian was on the battlefield with his entrails around his knees. Someone had to literally hold his guts in for him, and he's fine, but you're telling me a C section would kill Feyre?

Don't worry, this is just setting up the AWFUL ending to this book.

ACOSF amounts to Nesta being gaslit into believing her abusers are right. Her friends and family slut shame her and shame her for her lifestyle constantly. Cassian says it took him decades to work through some of his trauma, and he tried to drink and fuck it away too, but suddenly when Nesta does so it's heinous? Nesta's barely twenty five and she's expected to cope better than these ancient immortals.

Hell, didn't SJM write ACOMAF? Nobody expected Feyre to pick herself up so quickly. The IC (excluding Rhysand) respected her boundaries for the most part and understood when it was grief, trauma, and turmoil that made her angry, sad, want to be left alone, etc. But that's all forgotten here.

Amren also compares Nesta to the people in, and says she belongs in, The Court of Nightmares. You know, the murderers, abusers and rapists? This innocent woman who had a few shots and a bit of sex is on par with them, apparently!

The sex scenes.

SJM is scared to say vagina so she says sex.

She says seed to mean semen.

Apparently the word cunt turns SJM on. I just found Cassian saying that kinda cringe because I'm Bri'ish so the word cunt really isn't a big deal.

Back to the baby killing Feyre, because this is definitely what we all wanted from this book as indicated by the change in covers and format and title... Rhysand decides not to tell Feyre. He tells her friends and family, and tells them not to tell her.

SJM loves sweeping Rhysand's abuse from the first book under the rug and claiming it's always about Feyre's choice... where is that here, MAAS? WHERE IS IT?

Anyway, when Nesta rightfully decides to tell Feyre (although it is kind of out of spite), Rhysand threatens to kill Nesta.

And I believed him. With the way he treats his """mAtE tHaT hE lOvEs sO mUcH""" and all the people he's mindlessly killed before, do you really think he wouldn't kill the person who gave Feyre an inch of autonomy?

So what does Cassian do? His lover who he cares deeply about and suspects is his mate has received a death threat from tHe mOsT pOwErFuL hIgH lORd iN hIsToRy.

Cassian simply gets Nesta out of the court.

EXCUSE ME?

He doesn't breathe ONE word to Rhysand about this. This Illyrian WARRIOR who fought with his GUTS HANGING OUT didn't dare step up to the hIGh lOrD who he considers his brother and sparrs and fights with all the time?

Cassian literally does nothing.

Was it not Rhysand himself who said Mated males are dangerous? Can kill anyone who looks at their mate? Can be dangerous simply leaving the house? Rhys and Feyre both pull the Mate card to justify their bad actions on the other's behalf... and Cassian just tried to get Nesta out of the court?

Also, this High King bullshit.

I swear to fucking god, if SJM DARES to make this abusive, power-tripping, mOsT pOwErFuL hIgH lOrD eVEr, husband-insert of hers hIgH kInG, I will fight her in the street.

My beloved Lucien is in this book. Only for him to be used and shat on.

I really liked it when he calmed Cassian down with just a look though. Yes please fox man.

Helion is also in this book. Nothing to do with Lucien.

Eris is also in this book. ERIS. Lucien's eldest brother. The same one who abused him for years, but according to SJM he's slightly better, because at least he didn't agree to kill Lucien's lover. He betrayed his daddy that one time, therefore Eris is good. Y'know, the same Eris who abused Mor? Left her laying on the Autumn Court border with a nail in her womb? Well SJM is going back on her own canon to redeem yet ANOTHER abusive male, while continuing to demonize Tamlin for things he only happened to do when SJM decided the villain from the first book was sexy.

Nesta and Cassian are Mates.

Remember when Mates were supposed to be a rare and sacred thing? Now SJM dishes them out like Oprah.

I don't want these characters to be mates. I want to see them slowly fall in love. But SJM is incapable of writing that so she forces them together with the mAtInG bOnD. That's literally the only basis for most of these relationships, Feysand especially.

The only relationship where the bond would make sense is between Helion and The Lady of Autumn. Who still isn't named. But I will die on the hill that they're mates, I can feel it between them.

I wanted someone to die in this book. I predicted that it would either be Helion or Tarquin, but Tarquin isn't even in this one.

And the ending.

SJM can't write a decent climax, so she kills both Feyre and Rhysand for the second time. Yep.

The baby is being born which stupidly kills Feyre, and thankfully takes Rhysand with them.

Nesta decides to save them. Bad choice. But she decides to save them! Because she's so powerful and she ATE THE CONTENTS OF THE CAULDRON and she's CONNECTED TO THE MOTHER.

Do you know what happens.

Nesta loses her powers.

NESTA.

LOSES.

HER.

POWERS.

The powers we've hardly seen, the powers that were briefly mentioned and used ONCE in ACOWAR, then we saw like two flashes of in this book? They're GONE now. GONE SO NESTA CAN SAVE HER ABUSIVE SISTER AND ABUSIVE HUSBAND WHO ABUSES THEM BOTH.

Nesta is just an Amren now. They both fought for their powers, and had to give them up to save people who didn't deserve it. Now they're anticlimactically trapped in powerless bodies.

Also, and I can't BELIEVE I didn't originally include this - do you know what else Nesta TRADED HER POWERS FOR?

Illyrian anatomy so she can carry Cassian's baby one day.

EXCUSE ME?

I am so fucking SICK TO DEATH of the narrative that every woman needs a man and children to be happy. SJM clearly loves this because she's literally only keeping Amren and Nesta alive now to be sex objects to their partners and nothing else seeing as their POWERS WERE RIPPED AWAY FROM THEM, and now NESTA TRADED THOSE POWERS TO HAVE A BABY SHE DOESN'T EVEN KNOW SHE WANTS? Nesta does NOT strike me as a motherly type. She's the wine aunt, she and Cassian are the couple that go on holiday a lot and and babysit their nieces and nephews, but nope. Nesta HAS to have children.

The Feysand baby is called Nyx. That's just so underwhelming, you go from these huge, multiple syllable names like Amarantha and Morrigan and Lucien to Nyx? I get it's supposed to be unique but it's not even meaningful. It's just more shit-flavoured icing on the hAHa nIgHt uWu cake. I prefer Renesmée.

Nesta is wrong somehow. She says she's sorry as she's saving them. FOR WHAT? For being a little rude to Feyre as all sisters are? And rightfully hating your sister's abuser?

Oh yeah, remember in ACOWAR when Nesta took care of a comatose, starving Elain for months? Elain is randomly okay now because she takes care of her mental health the stereotypical way of baking cakes, and not drinking and fucking, which she shames Netsa for.

Remember the slut shaming, demeaning comments that the whole iNnEr cIrClE made about Nesta? They all expect apologies from her. For some reason.

Nesta has done nothing wrong. She coped with her trauma and minded her business in her own ways, and she's expected to apologise to the people who control and emotionally abuse her.

Nothing that any of these characters did to Nesta is right. Nesta wasn't okay at the end, this wasn't Nesta's healing story. This is Nesta being shamed and degraded until she submits.

Oh I can't believe I forgot to write this in my first draft of this review, do you know how Nesta "overcomes" her grief about her Father's death and her conflicting feelings about him and his life and her guilt? When she visits his grave for the first time, she takes Nyx.

NYX.

She holds NYX up to the grave and talks about how it's his grandson.

GO AWAY YOU STUPID DEMON BABY THIS IS NOT YOUR BOOK.

Speaking of, it's revealed that Nesta was abused by her mother and grandmother in this book? Something we were all looking forward to is seeing more of the Archeron's mother seeing as Feyre was so young when she died, but... nope. She gets a few vague mentions, and this newly revealed abuse is entirely glossed over. Nesta was also actively groomed by an older man at 14. But SJM glosses over this because of course she does.

Finally, the bonus chapters.

My edition came with a bonus chapter from Feyre's POV. It was pointless and I hated it.

There's another bonus chapter from Azriel's POV. Once I'd finished this book, he was one of the few characters I still harboured a shred of respect for.

Then I read his bonus chapter.

This exists to purely objectify Elain.

Whether you ship Elain with Azriel, or Lucien, or neither, this chapter is disgusting. He thinks about her coming on his tounge, and other things simply just to please him.

He then dares to suggest that "the Cauldron picked wrong" in choosing Lucien as Elain's mate?

No Azriel, SJM picked RIGHT in not giving each Archeron sister a bAt bOy.

Rhysand does the only right thing he's ever done by telling Azriel to stay away from Elain, but then he has to ruin it by clarifying that it's only so they can manipulate and use Lucien more.

Oh, and Azriel wants to kill Lucien.

Need I remind you that Lucien respects Azriel? Lucien is another victim of the Night Court's needless, baseless torment, and Azriel is no exception.

Lucien stays well out of Elain's way because she makes it clear that she's not interested in a mate, but Azriel wants to kill him simply for being her mate.

Lucien has done nothing. And I mean literally NOTHING to warrant any of this treatment. From the bAt bOyS, from Feyre, from his family, from SJM, from the deluded part of this fandom that think he's done wrong. NOTHING.

All I liked about this book was the Lucien scenes (which is a given), ((although I hated the way everyone talks about him behind his back)), Nesta's relationship with the house, Emerie and Gwyn, the evidence that Gwynriel is endgame and subsequently Elucien, and the book love. Everything else was horrible. Oh, and Nesta hates Rhysand. I love that for her, because everyone else bows at his feet.

Oh yeah, when Nesta DARES suggest that Rhysand is an "arrogant, preening asshole" which I think is a compliment, Cassian can't take Rhys' cock out of his mouth for one second, and has to get mad at her for having an opinion. Don't even get me started on Azriel in that scene.

If each book after ACOTAR made me slowly give up, this book made me give up altogether. I cannot go on to support this victim-blaming, abuse-forgiving, misogynistic series. I've given up on SJM, and the only characters I care about anyone are Lucien, Nesta, Helion, and Tarquin. I'll continue to read this series to see if SJM redeems herself, but I'll be downloading them for free. I'm not giving this piece of shit any more of my money.

I hope we don't get the Lucien book. I don't want her to slaughter my fox in the way she slaughtered LITERALLY EVERYONE ELSE.

Thanks for listening.

Edit: I put the review on Goodreads!

#anti acotar #anti acomaf #anti acowar #anti acofas #anti acosf #anti sjm #anti feysand #anti rhysand

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dontshootmespence · 3 years

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As I Watched In Sorrow

Summary: After experiencing an unimaginable loss, Y/N floats through life, living for...she doesn’t know anymore. When it all becomes too much, she’s greeted by a woman in black with a deal so sweet, she can’t bear to let her grief and her morals get in the way.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 6,864

Warnings: Probably one of, if not the saddest thing I’ve ever written. Please heed the warnings! Suicidal thoughts and near actions, death of a child, betrayal, a crisis of faith/hatred for Chuck/God, brief mentions of sex, knives, self-hatred. Lots of shit.

A/N: This fulfills my entries to @stusbunker Lie to Me in Melody Challenge - a prompt from a Carole King song, “As I watched in sorrow, there suddenly appeared, A figure gray and ghostly beneath a flowing beard, In times of deepest darkness, I’ve seen him dressed in black, Now my tapestry’s unraveling - he’s come to take me back” and @covered-byroses 3k celebration with the prompt “shadow.” Shadow here is definitely more of an abstract than physical thing. Hopefully it works. Sorry to both of you that this took approximately 8,000 years. This takes place around season 8/9 solely for the fact that I needed the antagonist to have years of pent up rage toward the Winchesters.

Closed blinds did little to shield the slivers of morning light from burning her skin. As she tossed the blankets aside, she inhaled the stagnant air and closed her eyes against the sun. Though little, it was still too much. Turning off the lone lamp she’d forgotten the night before, she slowly ambled into the bathroom, popping open the familiar bottle and downing the necessary pills dry.

A glimpse in the mirror made her shiver. Her skin pallid and pitted, eyes sunken and dark despite the fact that she hadn’t worn makeup in weeks. Wetting her toothbrush, she propped the mirror open, unable to bear the reminder. Lazily, she pulled the brush across her teeth, more a societal necessity than a want or a need. She needed to grab food and it just wasn't okay to walk out of the front door without her teeth brushed.

Clothes didn’t matter though. The gray sweat-suit she wore to bed would do just fine. She dragged her gaze over the entirety of her bedroom, searching for her purse so she could go and get this over with. When the cursory glance didn’t lead to her bag, she began go through the other rooms - the kitchen, piled high with unwashed dishes and half-eaten tv dinners, the living room, where scattered dolls and a teddy dressed in a little pink tutu sat dutifully waiting for the return of their owner, the dining room, where she could practically still see her sitting, excitedly waiting for dinner. It wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

Shuffling toward the front door, she looked in the coat closet, finding her hobo bag dangling limply next to the small, lavender windbreaker studded with unicorns. Had she not been in such a state after coming home the night before, she would’ve noticed it here, and put her bag somewhere else. She reached into the bag and opened the glasses case, slipping the oversized sunglasses over her eyes. Just because she needed to go out didn’t mean she needed or wanted to be assaulted by the sun. Why couldn’t it just leave her alone? Steady darkness had been her comfortable umbrella for weeks. Couldn’t the light just leave her be? Darkness was an old friend.

She stepped outside and locked the door behind her before heading toward her car. As a neighbor pulled out of their driveway, she glanced at a bumper sticker that hadn’t been there before.

When life gives you more than you can stand, kneel.

“I did,” she whispered.

----

Later that night, another half-eaten tv dinner was tossed on top of the already packed garbage can. Why was she even doing this? Continuing? Was there even a point?

She went through the motions, turning on the television to watch a TV show before she pulled the covers over her body once again. But it was useless. With more purpose than she’d had in weeks, she walked into the living room and reverently picked up the tutu-wearing bear, propping it underneath her arm as she gathered the remainder of her pills from the bathroom. She’d just refilled the prescription; it would be enough.

Slipping back under the covers, she placed the bear next to where her head would lay on the pillow and reached for the pill bottle slowly, but with no hesitation.

A faint whisper emanated from the behind her, where the overwhelming shadow of her apartment fought against the moonlight coming through the once-again closed blinds.

“I can help you.” A whispery voice said, clearer than before.

“Great, I’ve lost my mind.” She heaved a heavy sigh and twisted the bottle cap open.

With a quick flap of what could only be described of as wings, a woman appeared behind her, emerging from the shadows. “I’m not here to hurt you,” she said softly, holding up her hands as a show of her promise. “I want to help you.”

“Who the hell are you?” She asked, getting up from the bed and backing toward the corner of the room. “Why are you in my house? Get the hell out.” To her disbelief, the other woman walked toward her, through the mattress, as if she wasn’t real. “I’ve gone insane,” she said, shaking, trembling fingers combing through her hair. “I’ve lost my mind.”

“You haven’t,” she countered.

“What the hell are you then?”

“I’m a Reaper. You can call me Tessa.”

A tear rolled down her cheek. “What? Like the Grim Reaper?”

The brunette, wearing an unassuming combination of a leather jacket, black tank and ripped jeans, seemingly floated toward her, smiling. Softness radiated from her, welcoming, despite the situation. “That’s what you tend to call us,” she chuckled. “But we aren’t cold, hooded, evil figures. We’re only here to help you cross.”

Cowering in the corner, a realization began to come over her. “When we die. Is that why you’re here? For me?”

“No,” she replied, moving toward the bed and grasping hold of the teddy bear. “Truthfully, you aren’t supposed to die for a long time. I’m here because I think we can help each other.”

She shook with anger. “How could you possibly help me?”

Tessa lovingly stroked the teddy bear’s head. “I can give you back what you want most.”

Her heart skipped a beat, eyes glancing quickly at the worn stuffed animal. “That’s not possible. Why would you bring her back to me if your job is to ferry people to the other side?”

“Astute,” she replied. “Strictly speaking, it’s not something we’re supposed to do. Make deals with the living that is. As Reapers, we maintain the natural order, taking souls to where they remain for eternity because if they remain on this plane, many times, most times, they turn bad, shadows of their former selves. Order is what’s important.” Tessa paused, as if carefully considering her next words. “There are two men - brothers - that over and over and over again, defy the natural order.” The reaper’s voice became louder and louder as she spoke. “They cheat death. Time and time again. Those above me, my bosses so to speak, they don’t believe I can do my job anymore. And I’m at risk of losing it. You see, this is what I am. Without it, I’m lost.”

For the first time since this strange woman entered her home, for the first time in weeks, actually, she laughed. “So you’re about to lose your job and you want revenge on the people you can’t reap? Am I supposed to feel bad for you?” She ripped the teddy bear from Tessa’s hands and clutched it to her chest. “You take innocent five-year-olds from their mothers - to give to a God that strikes down someone so small and I’m-I’m-I’m supposed to care?!” She screamed, sliding down the wall toward the floor. “You and your God can burn.” Sobbing, she buried her head into the teddy bear, ignoring the looming darkness overhead. If she was to die right now, then so be it.

“Reapers have no allegiance to God. Frankly, I think he’s a heartless bastard.” She continued matter-of-factly. “But he is who he is and our job is simply to make sure these soul’s stay pure. Some we take to heaven, some to hell. Wherever it is they belong.”

“My baby?” She asked, chancing a glance at this creature disguised as a human.

“Heaven. I promise you.” Tessa crouched down to meet the woman’s eye. “Everyone has their own personal heaven. In hers, you’re there. Playing with dolls, snuggling in bed together, reading books. She’s happy.”

She clapped her hand to her mouth to stifle another sob. “Why her? She was just a baby. Why did I have to watch her wither away? Why?”

Tessa caressed her cheek with the pad of her thumb. “I don’t know. I can’t begin to understand His logic. But I can bring her back to you, just as she was, free of sickness. You can live a happy life together.”

“But you need me to kill someone.” The prospect hung heavily in the air. What did these men really do besides cheat death? Was that really such a bad thing? Wasn’t in human nature? Did they deserve to die? Her heart raced with possibilities. “How do I know you’re telling the truth? That you’ll keep your end of the bargain?”

Tessa held her hand out. “I’ll bring you to where her soul rests.”

Instantly, she was transported, at Tessa’s side, from her dim apartment, to a never-ending expanse filled with light. Doors came into focus. “You’re kidding,” she said. “Heaven is full of doors?” Tessa quickly walked her around corner after corner, ensuring they weren’t seen by anyone else, until they came to her door. “My baby.” Her fingers slid over the name on the door. And dates. 2008-2013.

“She’s in here,” Tessa whispered.

Beyond the blinding light, a park came into focus - one she recognized. One she’d taken her baby to time and time again. From behind the playground, she ran, screeching with delight as her mother chased after her. She barely recognized herself. “This is her heaven,” Tessa said softly, her arm link with yours, almost like a friend. “She plays with you.”

“Can she seem m-?”

“No. Not the you standing here. That one is her projection of you.”

Filled with a resolve she hadn’t know since the moment her baby was placed in her arms at the hospital five years ago, she turned to Tessa. “What do I have to do?”

Tessa smiled, a small sigh of relief escaping her. She pulled a piece of paper from her jacket pocket. “This man will come into your life. I need you to let him in. He’s a strong man, but he’ll let his guard down with those he trusts. You need to be one of those people. Once you are, I need you to kill him. He disrupts the natural order, and we...have a history. He doesn’t trust me.”

“Why do I need to get him to trust me first?”

“That’s for me,” she admitted. “This history...he’s the reason I am where I am. It’s purely revenge on my part.” She loathed to admit it.

“But I-”

Exasperatedly, Tessa held the woman’s face in her hands. “He has cheated death over and over again. And your daughter couldn’t. How is that fair?”

“It’s not,” she seethed, taking the paper from Tessa’s hands. “How long do I have? I’m assuming I’m on some kind of a timeline.”

“One year,” Tessa replied. “If you can’t do it, the deal is void and I’ll find someone else who can help me.”

“I’ll do it. I promise,” she whispered. Before she knew it, she was back home and Tessa was gone. Unfolding the paper, she read the seemingly innocuous name.

Dean Winchester.

----

The following morning, she woke in her apartment, the teddy bear still firmly in her grasp. “Worst dream ever,” she whispered, sitting up in bed. She glanced toward the nightstand, where a piece of paper sat. Dean Winchester.

“It wasn’t a dream?”

This man will come into your life.

So he’d just cross her path? She had to sit here and wait?

Tired and dumbfounded, she pulled the laptop toward her lap and typed in his name, searching for some record of the man she was supposed to let into her life. A few Dean Winchesters came up, a character in a book series, a teacher out of the Midwest, an escaped convict accused of killing a number of women. Wonderful. None but the convict made an impression. Could this man, doing his best impersonation of Blue Steel after being accused of murder, truly be the one who crossed a Reaper? Cheated death?

Closing the laptop, she sighed, dropping her head into her hands. What the hell was she doing? How was she supposed to kill a man? A man she didn’t even know? “No, I can’t. I can’t,” she said emphatically. “This is insane.” It wasn’t real? Right? As if to prove her wrong, she felt a darkness at her back, heavy and insistent, but leading her toward the light nonetheless.

----

For the first time in weeks, she shrugged her army green coat on and headed out to the nearest bar instead of taking a bottle home from the supermarket and falling asleep after downing near all of it. Warm light bathed her as she walked through the door and sat at the far end of the bar. Her usual bartender, Zach, seemed surprised at her presence. “Haven’t seen you around in a while. What brings you back?”

“The quality booze,” she replied dryly. Some people wanted to pour their hearts out to their bartender, not her though. “Sick of supermarket wine.”

Thankfully, he didn’t push, instead bringing over her usual. Maker’s Mark neat. Sipping, she quietly hissed the burn, its warmth feeling different now, teasing. Maybe it was the fires of hell licking at her insides for what she was contemplating, the lengths she would go to in order to see her little girl again.

The familiar, high-pitched bell chime alerted her to the presence of yet another patron of the bar. He came to sit a few seats away, ordering a whiskey on the rocks. When she looked up, she saw him. The Dean she saw in the mug shot - Mr. Blue Steel.

Tipping the rest of her drink back, she swallowed her morals down along with the booze and eyed Zach for a refill. When Blue Steel caught her eye, she smiled and gave him a soft wave. He was cute. She could do this. She had to do this. Without her baby, there was nothing. He walked over, taking a seat on the stool next to her. “Hey. I’m Dean. Dean Winchester.”

“Hi, Dean,” she said softly, taking the refill from Zach’s hand. “I’m Y/N.” She frowned into her drink before she continued. “My friends and family call me Sunshine.”

----

Dean was easy to talk to; smooth, like the bourbon she’d been sipping on for near an hour. He was open yet guarded. Secrets lay behind his eyes, just as they did hers. Though they hadn't spoken for more than an hour, she could tell he’d gone through more in life than others did in 10. Behind his mega-watt, ladies man smile sat years upon years of pain. “So Dean,” she started, swirling the amber liquid around in the glass. “What brings you to a bar in the middle of nowhere at 11:00 at night?”

“Bad day on the job...” He replied, gulping down a hefty swig of his own drink. “Really bad day. Just need to forget, you know?”

She nodded, understanding settling into the marrow of her bones. “More than you know, Dean. If you want to get anything off your chest, I’m all ears. Think of me as a sponge.”

“Thanks, Sunshine.” The nickname sounded foreign on his lips; she hadn’t heard it in so long. But from his pouty pink lips the name sounded comforting. She wanted to lean into it. “I’m not sure it’s something you would understand. I don’t mean that in bad way. Just...I don’t think you’d believe me.”

If the previous night’s happenings hadn’t occurred, she might have been shocked, but she wasn’t sure if she could be shocked now. This Tessa wanted Dean dead, so presumably Dean was involved in all manner of shit that she would’ve never imagined. “I’ve seen some shit,” she replied, tipping the last of her drink into her mouth.

Dean’s eyes scanned her quickly, as if assessing how much she’d actually seen and whether or not she could be trusted. “D’ya wanna go for a drive? There’s a lake about 10 minutes from here.”

This was stupid. Following a man she didn’t know, having seen his mugshot before, but there was an aura about Dean and it drew her in. Plus, she had to do this - for her baby. When she nodded, he held out his hand to her and smiled. Maybe he wouldn’t be a good man. Maybe she would be doing the world a favor. Something told her she wouldn’t be so lucky. As they walked to his car, she felt the darkness, the guilt, the shame, clawing at her back.

----

Outside the bar, the moon hung near full in the sky. “This is my Baby,” he said proudly, running his hand along an old Impala. “Through everything, she’s been my constant.”

Dean opened the passenger side door for her and slammed it closed before sliding into the driver’s side like a hand into a glove. She could see he was made for this car.

As the engine roared to life and they pulled out of the parking lot, Dean asked the one question she didn’t want to answer. But if she was going to get her back, she had to. “So, what brought you to a bar in the middle of nowhere at 11:00 at night?”

Taking a deep breath, she said her name. For the first time in almost two weeks. “My daughter.” She spoke so softly Dean almost couldn’t hear her over the rumble of the Impala’s engine. “I lost her 43 days ago. Cancer. She’d just turned five.”

“Fuck.” Dean smacked the wheel of the car. “I’m so sorry. No one should have to watch their kid go through that.”

A tear fell from her eye but she quickly wiped it away. “No, they shouldn’t. I hope you’re not a religious man, but...if God’s up there. He’s a dickhead.”

“I’m not a religious man,” he laughed dryly. “I have faith in humanity, most of the time, but God’s a vindictive asshole.”

She laughed and let her head hit the headrest just as they pulled up to the lake. The moon seemed closer here, silhouetting them as they walked toward the pier. “D’ya wanna talk about her?” He asked. “I’m all ears too.”

Sitting on a bench near the lake, she told him all about her baby girl. Her father hit it and quit it, leaving as soon as she found out she was pregnant. “I was petrified to raise her myself, but I wanted to be a mom,” she said, voice catching in her throat. “I brought her into this world by myself. I raised her myself. Worked two jobs to make sure I could give her the life she deserved. She was diagnosed with leukemia just after her 4th birthday.”

At first, she’d tried not to cry, but it was no use. “Sorry, I’m just-”

“Raw still?”

“Yea.”

“I get it,” he replied, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

She leaned into it, a warmth she hadn’t felt since her daughter insisted on a goodnight kiss the night God took her away. He wrapped his arm around her like this is exactly where they were supposed to be. “Anyway, she knew what was happening, even though she was so young. She was the one that kept me sane. Somehow. You wanna know what she said to me the night she died? Her last words?”

“What’d she say?”

“She’s the one who called me sunshine. She said my smile reminded her of sunshine. Before she fell asleep, she took my hand in hers and said ‘when I go to sleep, look at the sun and think of me. Then I’ll be with you every day.’”

She heard Dean sniffle and turned her head to see a tear fall from his eye. “It sounds like she was wise beyond her years.”

“She was.” Shaking her head, she pulled herself together and changed the subject. “What about you? What happened on the job that brought you to a random bar in the middle of the night?”

He was hesitant at first, asking if she believed in things that others thought impossible - ghosts, vampires, demons. Before Tessa, she would’ve said no, but now it seemed plausible. “I do.”

“I hunt them. The things that go bump in the night that no one believes in. I’ve been doing it since I was a kid.”

Her heart ached for him. Only a tragedy could get a young boy into such a horrific line of work.

“Tonight, my brother and I lost a father and son because we couldn’t move fast enough.”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” she said softly. She felt this innate desire to comfort him, to tell him he’d probably done all he could, but something in her told her Dean wasn’t the kind of man to rid himself of guilt with so few words. He carried it with him. “I really am.”

“Thanks, Sunshine.”

----

For the first time in weeks, she awoke the next morning to the burn of the sun, but her instinct wasn’t to shield her gaze. Instead, she craned her neck backward, hair slipping against the cool leather of Dean’s jacket. They’d fallen asleep on the bench. “Morning, Sunshine,” he mumbled. “Didn’t mean for us to fall asleep on a park bench.”

“Me either,” she replied honestly. “But honestly it’s been the best sleep I’ve had in months.”

Dean grumbled in agreement. Apparently, he wasn’t much of a morning person. “Wanna grab breakfast?”

She hesitated a moment before her stomach entered the conversation. “I’d like that.”

At the diner, she ordered bacon and eggs and toast to Dean’s pancakes and bacon. Then they ordered an extra side of bacon to split because neither could get enough bacon. They didn’t speak another word of her daughter or his job. “Favorite color?” He asked. “Mine’s red.”

“Green. Three favorite foods? Obviously bacon is one.”

“Pizza and a big fat juicy burger.”

“Pizza and bacon, and then probably really good sushi.”

Dean made a face and they laughed. He liked grade-B horror movies and Disney movies, though he wouldn’t admit to the latter to many. She loved psychological thrillers and gross out comedies. “The really stupid ones that make you question your intelligence,” she laughed. “I like turning my brain off.”

As they paid, Dean pulled her close. “Maybe one day, we can watch one of those together. Order a pizza.”

“Meat lover’s?” She offered, handing him her phone so he could give her his number.

His smile shone brighter than the morning’s sunrise. “Is there any other kind?”

With ease, they strode out of the diner and back into the worn leather seats of the Impala. She still didn’t know this man, not really. He was a monster-hunting, leather jacket-wearing lover of bacon, pizza, crappy horror and Disney, but she didn’t know him. Yet, she gave him her address without a thought and allowed him to walk her to her front door. “Sunshine, with my job, my brother and I are kinda all over the place, but I’d like to see you again. If that’s okay with you.”

“That’s more than okay with me.”

Dean returned her soft smile and slipped his fingers between hers, tugging her gently until her lips were mere millimeters from his. She glanced at them, inviting him to kiss her. Whatever she imagined him doing, he took her by surprise, pressing the most of chaste of kisses to her lips before pulling away. “I’ll talk to you soon, Sunshine. Okay?” He squeezed her hands in his, a further affirmation of his promise.

When he began to walk away, she called after him. “Thanks, Dean.”

“Anytime.”

----

It was nearly two and a half weeks before they saw each other again, but in the time apart, they texted and called nearly every day, each time letting the other in on a little more of who they truly were outside of their first meeting. “What do you miss most about being a kid?” He asked, voice low and whispery.

“Sam sleeping?”

“Yea,” he replied with a yawn. “I’m not tired yet.”

“You sound it,” she said. “Would it be too cliche to say not having to pay bills?”

Dean chuckled. “Yes, I mean something that tells me something about you.”

“There was a lake nearby my house when I was a kid. Well, not nearby, more like a couple hours away. But my parents would take me there a couple times a year. We’d build sand castles and look for seashells. I miss that. What about you?”

“I didn’t really have much a childhood. I was learning how to hunt before I turned 10. When we were young though, I read to Sammy a lot. Help him get to sleep, you know? I miss that.”

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

“Don’t be. It’s in the past.” This time he yawned so hard he could no longer deny that he needed to pass out for the night. “We’ll be passing through in a couple of days. Can I take you on an actual date?”

Smiling sadly to herself, she rested her hand over her tightening chest. “Looking forward to it.”

----

As promised, Dean showed up at her door two days later with a bouquet of flowers in hand. “How did you know these are my favorite?” She asked, inhaling the sweet scent.

“Educated guess. Now, we’re gonna go to one of my favorite burger joints-bar-tavern things in the area. They have this killer bacon cheeseburger with an egg grilled into the middle of it that you have to try. They also have pool, so I can teach you how to play.”

During one of their nightly phone calls, she asked them how they made a living doing what they did. Hustling pool, the occasional credit card fraud. You know, the usual, he’d laughed.

You’ll have to teach me.

“Sounds amazing.”

Reaching into the closet for her jacket, she glanced at the small purple coat, still hanging there, and felt her heart skip a beat. How was she able to go out and smile and have fun barely two months after losing a piece of her heart? It felt so wrong. And yet being with Dean felt so right, so natural.

He’s a strong man, but he’ll let his guard down with those he trusts.

She swallowed back bile and quickly pulled her jacket out, closing the door against realizations and realities she couldn’t indulge. Plastering a fake smile across her face, she slipped the jacket over her shoulders and allowed herself to believe for one moment that life wasn’t as cruel as it seemed to be.

----

“Sunshine, I think you might be the perfect woman,” Dean laughed.

At that moment, she was acutely aware of the grease running down her chin. “What this whole, chipmunk look with food in my mouth, guzzling beer is a turn on for you?”

Dean licked his lips and took another bite of his own burger. “Yup.”

“I can’t help it, this might be the best burger I’ve ever had. And that’s saying something.”

“I told you,” he laughed. It didn’t take long for them to finish their food. “Burger is filling, but they have killer pie too. Wanna split a piece?”

She nodded and watched as Dean easily flagged down the waitress and asked for slice of “good ol’ apple.” “The best one they have, followed closely by cherry.”

Dean looked horrified when she grimaced. “Not a big cherry fan. Blueberry, peach, apple. That’s about it on the fruit pies.”

Less than two minutes after the pie came to the table, it was gone. “We should probably go,” Dean said, craning his head back to the door where a line of hungry dinner guests were waiting. “I think our waitress might kill us if we stay any longer.”

Chuckling, you stood up and reached for your wallet before Dean insisted he pay. “First date, remember?”

“Thanks, Dean.”

Hand in hand, they walked out the diner and toward the Impala. It was so easy to be with him and more often than not he found herself smiling when he was nearby. But she didn’t have the luxury of falling in love, not if it meant she never got to see her daughter again.

Tessa said he needed to trust her before...before she did it. “Up for a surprise?” She asked.

Dean raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback. “Sure, I never get surprises anymore. Where to?”

Without telling Dean what she was up to, she directed him where to go. Less than five minutes later, she approached a park - the same one she used to take her daughter to. “I used to take my daughter here,” she said, zoning off as a vibrant picture played before her eyes. A little girl in a yellow dress ran across the grass and toward her favorite slide. “Sorry. Got lost in a memory.”

Dean’s easy-going smile from earlier faded away when he saw the sadness in her eyes. “We don’t have to be here,” he offered, looking back toward the car.

“No, it’s okay.” It really wasn’t. But it was a reminder of why she was here, why she was doing exactly what she was doing despite the darkness eating at her from the inside out. “I wanted to share. There’s no one here at night.”

Dean chuckled and pulled her in to kiss her before running onto the playground set like a giant child. He ran up the metal slide and stuck his head out through a tube. “Come on! Let’s play!”

Allowing herself the opportunity to let go, if only for a moment, she ran up to meet him and chased him around the small area before she tripped and fell, bringing her down with him. “Been a while since I’ve been a kid,” he said, helping her up. They sat on the wood mulch of the playground underneath the slide and he pulled her close. “Thanks.”

“It’s no problem.” For a moment, she hesitated. “You said you used to read to Sam right?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Did anyone ever read to you?” When she looked back, she saw sadness in his eyes. “No?”

“Not that I can remember.”

“Close your eyes.”

Without hesitation, his eyelids fluttered closed. She reached into her pocket for her phone, hand shaking at the intimacy of the moment and the pain she felt. As she read - Vonnegut, considering he’d mentioned it in passing during one of their phone calls - he relaxed into her. Eventually, his head lay in her lap, her fingers twirling his messy brown locks. Hours passed. The only reason either noticed was due to the placement of the moon, now bouncing off the slide and onto the metal of a nearby bench.

Dean sat up, sleep pulling at his eyes as he kissed her cheek. “Thanks, Sunshine. I can’t remember the last time I felt that relaxed.”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she replied, softly. “Me either.”

----

Two months passed before they saw one another again, but not a day went by with at least a text. Sometimes it was just “I’m okay. Still alive,” other days they were able to actually talk, asking each other the most random questions in an attempt to know one another inside and out. “Hey, Sunshine,” Dean said as she opened the door.

Smiling, she allowed herself to be pulled into his embrace, his lips finding hers. “Hello to you to, Dean. I’ve missed you.” In the months since they’d seen each other, she’d made an attempt to clean her home. TV dinners were no longer piled up in the kitchen. Garbage was taken out when it needed to be. Occasionally, she would even open the blinds. Still, her daughter’s bear sat on the windowsill as a reminder of what she needed to do.

Dean was unlike any other man she’d ever met and with him, she found herself content, even happy. But what did that say, if she allowed herself the happiness her little girl never got to experience?

“Now, I know I said a couple days ago that we’d go get a bite to eat, maybe take a drive, but then I got an idea. Trust me?” There was a boyish glint in his eyes she couldn’t deny.

Her mouth dropped open when she saw him remove a blindfold from his back pocket. “Kinky!”

“Not like that...not yet,” he replied, eyes full of hope.

Dean wrapped the blindfold around her eyes and led her to the car. He would entertain a single question about where they were headed until shortly later, he stopped, picked her up out of the passenger seat and placed her on the ground before removing the material covering her eyes. “We’re at the beach,” she whispered in disbelief. “You remembered.” Tears burned at the corners of her eyes, emotion running wild. Despite the beautiful weather, the shadows nipped at her feet.

“Of course.” He crouched down to kiss her and wiped the tears away with the pads of his thumbs. “I made macaroni salad, pie, and I brought all the fixings for the perfect burger, which I can make on this.” He pulled out a small grill. “My George Foreman! This is the best thing in the world.”

As promised, Dean made delicious bacon cheeseburgers with a runny egg in the middle, just as they’d had at the diner months before. After every ounce of red meat was gone, they walked along the beach, toes in the sand and looked for seashells. Given that the nearest real beach was hundreds of miles away, seashells were a rarity, but it was perfect nonetheless.

The sun began to set, blue giving way to purples and pinks as they swayed together on the beach. “My place,” Dean started, “The place I share with my brother between cases, it’s about a half hour from here, do you want to-?”

“Really?” She asked. Her stomach dropped. He trusted her. Enough to bring her home, to the place he shared with his brother, the only other person in world he cared for. “You sure?”

“I am.”

If only she was too.

----

Despite how much Dean talked about him, Sam wasn’t what she expected him to be. She grasped his outstretched hand and feigned shyness, unable to look him in the eye knowing what she would eventually do. “Dean talks about you all the time,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I knew you had to be some kind of woman.”

“Dean’s told me a lot about you. Mostly good,” she replied with a smile. “It’s great to finally meet you, Sam.”

After she said goodnight, Dean led her down the wide hallways of what they called “the bunker,” his hand heavy and insistent on the small of her back. Inside, he backed her up against the wall, against the shadows, and captured her lips in a kiss so delicate and sincere she would’ve collapsed were it not for him.

In spite of herself, she sunk into his embrace and wrapped her arms around his neck as he carried her to bed. He trusted her. She knew it in the way he touched her, moaned her name, drank her in. But mostly she knew it in the way he fell asleep peacefully at her side that night.

----

On the morning after their night together, Dean had practically begged her to move into the bunker. “When you leave, I miss you. I hate...being without you.”

She’d been hesitant, but with each excuse he’d countered it. “You make me happy, Sunshine.”

Everything in her had screamed to run, but the earnestness in his gaze pulled her in and she’d complied. While they were away on cases, she would walk around the bunker, gaining more and more insight into the man she’d fallen in love with. Tessa had to be wrong. Dean was a good man - the best she’d ever met.

Screaming into the cold concrete walls of the bunker, she called for Tessa. “I know you’re watching me, you bitch! Answer me!” She slammed her fists against the wall, but no amount of pain could make her feel. “Where the fuck are you?!”

Barreling through the halls like a storm, she gasped when she turned the corner to see her there - the same determination emanating from her as the night they’d met. “Having second thoughts?”

“I can’t do this,” she sobbed, falling to her knees in front of the reaper. “Dean is not the man you think he is. He doesn’t deserve this.”

Disdain radiated from each word. “You only know the man he claims to be.”

“No! I know him. He’s kind. He’s gentle. He does what he does for love. And if he crossed you it’s because you deserved it.” Tears streamed down her face.

Tessa’s gaze melted from soft and endearing into furious and frightening in a matter of seconds. Picking her up by the throat, Tessa tossed her back against the wall. “You’ll follow through on our deal or I will alter it. Get rid of him and you will get your daughter back. She’ll be just as she was and the two of you will live a happy life together. Go back on your promise to me and I will make sure your daughter’s spirit rots in hell for the rest of eternity!”

Sobbing, she clawed at Tessa’s hands. “My daughter did nothing to deserve this! You-”

“BUT DEAN HAS!” She bellowed so loudly it felt as if the walls shook. “And I will use whoever and whatever I need to make him pay.”

“You can’t. You said yourself your bosses don’t trust you anymore!”

“True.” She spoke coolly, her fury gone and replaced with something along the razor’s edge of composure. “But they want Dean dead as badly as I do, if not for the same reasons. Get rid of him, Sunshine,” she said mockingly. “Or I will find someone who will and your daughter will burn.” Without another word, she left her trembling on the floor of the bunker, shadows closing in from every angle.

----

As the weeks passed into months, she awoke each night, screaming, picturing her daughter calling out for her from the fires of hell, begging for her to save her. Dean would lull her back to sleep with made-up stories he used to tell Sam and fervent kisses that said what he couldn’t.

With the deadline looming large, she tried to think of any way to get the job done. At first, she thought of drugging him with pills. An entire bottle would do the trick and he would fall asleep not knowing the monster that shared his bed, but Tessa wouldn’t allow it, appearing to her again. “I can’t get near him, but you can.”

She was in over her head. Her choices were slim. Either tell Dean, bear the brunt of his hatred and never see her daughter again, or do as Tessa commanded, hate herself and save her daughter’s damned soul. Self-hatred streamed through her veins, but she had no choice.

What started as “kill him in whatever way you can” had morphed into Tessa brandishing a knife she was to use. Every time she tried, pulled the knife from her pocket and attempted to do the unthinkable, she saw his green eyes fade away into darkness. For weeks, she made herself ill, throwing up every day and shivering to sleep in Dean’s embrace at night.

Dean thought she’d been cursed as a way to hurt him, but they couldn’t find any evidence. They’d taken her to the hospital, but unsurprisingly she’d had a clean bill of health. Only she knew the cause of her pain.

“Come on, Sunshine” he said excitedly, “I have a surprise for you.”

Taking his hand, she followed him out of the bunker to a clearing in a forest just a short way away, where he had another picnic, like the one so many months before, set up underneath the stars. “It’s been 11 months since the first night we met. I probably should’ve waited for a full year, but I couldn’t help myself.”

Awash in darkness, she began to cry. He pulled her close and they began to sway, a clumsy dance that brought a smile to his face. There was no time left. Reaching into her pocket, she grasped the handle of the knife. “I’m sorry, Dean.” Before she could stop herself, she plunged the blade into his chest.

He grabbed the blade, hissing in pain as she pulled herself away. “Why?” He choked, hands shaking around the knife’s handle. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she sobbed, backing away. “I had no choice.”

A moment years in the making, Tessa made herself known, kicking his phone away before he could call for help. “How does it feel, Dean? Knowing the woman you love betrayed you?”

With a self-satisfied smile, she disappeared momentarily, only to reappear with her baby girl at her side. Dean made the connection. “I could’ve helped you. I would’ve...I-”

Tessa ushered her away, demanding she run as Dean fell to the ground. “I’m sorry,” she breathed, holding her daughter tight to her chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Mama. I’m okay.” She remembered nothing.

Through the tear-stained forest, Sunshine ran from the light - the memories of Dean’s touch, his soothing voice, his gentle kiss - and into the darkness, her constant.

#i lied to stu #cbr's 3k celebration #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester fanfiction #dontshootmespence #as i watched in sorrow

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jae-daddy · 3 years

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im jaebum mini series

one / two / three / four / five / six (final) masterlist

pairing: jaebum x reader x jinyoung genre: friends, angst, jealousy plot: you and jaebum have been really great friends. things have been going smoothly because neither of you were in a real relationship, flings? sure, but girlfriends/boyfriends? no. so when Jaebum starts going out with Emma (a bitch), you can’t help but act out <3 a/n: im sorry, I didn't yugyeom would turn so wild yikes. hope you enjoy <3 but this fucking gif!!!! omfggggg AHHHHHHHHH

Okay, so things were not going according to plan.

You had to bring back Yugyeom, aka Dickdown 9/10, back into the game.

It had been three months since Jaebum officially started going out and nothing was changing. They were continuing as normal; Emma being a bitch and Jaebum acting as if he loves her.

It was quite sad really to see Jaebum slowly lose his sunshine. But he had chosen this path, but his destination will not be happily ever after with Emma. It will be with you; you are going to deviate him from the path he was taking towards his doom.

After endless nights spent in your room, alone, after you sent the boys away. You would think about how to make Im Jaebum realise that he, in fact, loved you and not Emma the bitchy hook-up girlfriend.

It took time but you finally figured it out.

You had always known that you wanted to fuck Jaebum one day, but you knew that day would come eventually. But when you saw that window close, you realised it needed to be now. So, you just have to show Jaebum the window to fuck you was closing too, then he’ll leave Emma, and rail you and you’ll live happily ever after.

You needed a boy to do this with, and after endless swipes and scrolling through your contacts, you decided you needed him back. Jaebum already knew Yugyeom existed, and his dick down game was amazing too. If you had to be loyal (while going out with Yugyeom to make Jaebum jealous) you would preferably do it with someone who can make you cum two times (even you couldn’t do that).

And no, by make you cum twice, you don’t mean make you cum the second time after a little relaxation. No, he made you cum twice at once; cum, a little touchy touchy, cum again.

It was truly fucking magic.

Yugyeom was truly magical. You didn’t know why he lacked that one point.

Oh, well.

But it seemed like the plan was working well.

Jaebum studied Yugyeom as Yugyeom politely chatted with Emma.

He didn’t care the first time Yugyeom showed up to the catch-up dinners. He acted surprised and thought it was you just calling him back for a good time.

But then the third time happened, and the fourth. And now as Yugyeom sat next to you for the sixth time, Jaebum was confused and bewildered seated in front of you.

You were a true master brilliance.

You sighed as you sipped your wine gracefully.

You scrunched your face at the taste and swapped it with Jaebum’s whiskey. Jaebum gave you a pointed look, but you pouted and Jaebum rolled his eyes as he took a sip of your wine.

“Seems like things are going great,” Emma poked, trying to look for holes in the relationship between Yugyeom and you.

You beamed at her as you leaned against Yugyeom, “As you said, Emma, love happens when it happens.”

Jaebum left out a scoff from the side, and you bit the inside of your cheeks to stop yourself from grinning in victory.

“Aww,” she cooed, her lips smiling but eyes gleaming with evil. “How did you guys get back together?”

“It’s quite romantic, really,” Yugyeom smiled lovingly at you, making Jaebum’s face twist with distaste as he quirked his eyebrows in disbelief. You nodded along, satisfied with how delightfully this was working out, “Y/n called me up a month after she broke things with me. In the time we were separated she realised how much she loved me.”

“Really?” Jaebum croaked, giving you a knowing smile. He knew how much bullshit that was. During that one month away you were doing perfectly fine, in fact, you had told Jaebum all about your life going well and all the other guys you met.

There was no rain for a single moment in that short one month.

Yugyeom nodded, smiling innocently. He held your hand as he smiled at you softly. You looked away from his guys feeling ashamed.

You were such a bitch.

Absolute trash.

He was such a good guy with really fucking amazing sex skills and you were just using him in this little game.

You met his eyes, trying to smile as he squeezed your hand comforting you, “It’s okay. We’re together now.”

“Oh, are you exclusive?” Emma leaned forward with interest. You recognised what she was doing. She was doing this so if there were any feelings in Jaebum’s heart for you, they would go away because you were with someone else.

Silly her, Jaebum was just as fucked as you. If anything, this would draw him in closer to you.

“Not yet,” you replied curtly, you eyes darting to Jaebum’s before you lowered them to your drink, trying to avoid Yugyeom's.

“Not yet,” Yugyeom echoed, his voice a bit heavy.

“Oh,” she pouted, faking sympathy. “Take your time. It took Jaebum and I a while to get there, and look at us now.” She held his hand in hers and kissed the back of his hand.

You grimaced.

“How’s the book going?” You asked, after a while. Jaebum looked at you a small smile on his lips.

“It’s coming along great,” he beamed at you, his eyes almost disappearing. “Jinyoung is a great editor, he listens to what I want.”

“Has he said anything about Persephone yet?” You asked as you popped a fry into your mouth. Jaebum held his mouth open and you fed him one. “He acted like such a know it all.”

“He is knowledgable, y/n,” Jaebum teased, making you roll your eyes. “He hasn’t told me yet, but he’s having a meeting tomorrow, so I’ll know for sure the day after. You wanna come along?”

“Can I?”

“Sure, just don’t try to fuck him,” Jaebum shrugged. You watched him carefully, his tone was playful, but his eyes avoided yours and his shoulders looked tense.

“What are you not telling me?” You narrowed your eyes. Jaebum looked up with you, his eyes wide with pretend innocence.

He was hiding something.

“Does Jinyoung want to fuck me?”

“Maybe- No.” He answered sternly. “No, you cannot sleep with him.”

Yes. Fuck yes, please. You want a piece of that smarty good-looking cocky asshole.

“So he wants to?”

“Y/n,” he warned.

That’s not a no.

“Oh my, he was kind of cute.”

“Stop,” he groaned. “You cannot sleep with my editor.”

“I won’t.”

You lied.

“You won’t?”

Not until he was done with the book at least.

“I won’t,” you held both your hands up, as you stared at him in accusation, “I will not ruin your book, Jaebum. You have no faith in me.”

“I do, y/n,” Jaebum gasped, trying to hold your hand but you took it away. He reached for it. He caught it and held it as his thumb drew soothing circles at the back. “I have faith in you-”

“But not him because he wants to rail me?” You smiled, and Jaebum smacked your hand away with an annoyed smile.

“You are so annoying.”

“You love me,” you blew him a kiss, and he rolled his eyes.

You chuckled looking over to the side to find Yugyeom and Emma watching the both of you.

Shit, you forgot about Yugyeom.

“Get used to it,” Emma laughed lightly, but there was no smile on her face as she brought the glass to her lips, “They tend to forget other people exist too often.”

Jaebum stared at the table, biting his lip as if he knew he would have to deal with this later. He bought the wine glass to his lips and began chugging it down.

You peered over at Yugyeom who stared between you and Jaebum, “Have you both ever fucked?”

Jaebum choked spraying the wine over you. You gasped, freezing as you felt droplets fall down your face.

“What the fuck, Jae?”

“Shit,” Jaebum laughed, coughing. You tried to hold on to the anger but it slipped away as you found yourself trying to stop yourself from laughing. Jaebum coughed harder as he began choking on his laughter, “Sorry.”

You both fall into fits of laughter as Jaebum reached over and dabbed your face with a napkin, “God, you should’ve seen your face y/n.”

“You’re lucky I enjoy you too much to kill you,” you snorted taking the napkins and dabbing yourself dry. “You’re such a cunt.”

“Hey, blame your nine outta ten!” Jaebum laughed holding up his hand. You froze as you bit your lip.

“Nine out of ten?” You felt Yugyeom stare at your face.

“Oh, that was his rating wasn’t it, y/n?” Emma added, you turned to look at her and then straight across at Jaebum.

He told her.

It wasn't a big deal, but he fucking told her.

“What, so you share this everyone?” Yugyeom snorted, his voice edged with anger.

“Hey, man, calm down. it’s not that serious-” Jaebum spoke softly, trying to diffuse the tension.

You kept looking at him, how could he tell her?

“Yeah, Yugyeom,” Emma added, her voice fast-paced with phoney panic. “She does this for all her one night stands. You’re one of the highest, or was it the highest?”

Her eyes met yours. You noticed that tiny twist at the corner of her lips.

She wasn’t trying to show Jaebum how in love Yugyeom and you were to get him to stop liking you. She was trying to ruin you and Yugyeom.

That conniving little bitch.

“Oh thanks,” Yugyeom got up, throwing his napkin onto his plate.

Shit.

Fuck.

What are you supposed to do? Are you meant to chase after him?

You don’t even like him that much. It was only a matter of time anyways.

But what happened here wasn’t good, you did hurt him. But at least it was a good rating, a fucking nine out of ten. It could’ve been worse, imagine if he was a four, that would’ve been embarrassing.

But he was obviously hurt enough to storm out of here. You should stop him, shouldn’t you?

At least for the sake of the plan.

And it was a good time, you can’t just let him walk away hurt.

“Yugyeom, wait,” you called out as he disappeared out the door. You shot up from your seat, tossing your napkin on the table, “Shit.”

You ran after him like a lunatic person. The lady at the counter tried to stop you, but you pointed to the table, “My friends and my purse is there, I’ll be back.”

You didn’t wait for her to reply and ran out of the building. You found him a few feet away and you chased after him. Your feet began burning in the heels, and your heels disgracefully slapped against the pavement with loud clacks that echoed through the late-night streets.

“Yugyeom, stop,” you rasped as you reached for his shoulder. He turned when you touched him, and you held in a gasp.

You are a terrible person. You are a horrible person.

He looked at you with so much hurt and betrayal that it made your heart stop. You didn’t even love him, and you felt so terribly bad for the way you hurt him.

“I’m sorry, Yugyeom,” you breathed, as he gently pushed your hand away from his shoulder. “This was before we broke it off. I told him in the beginning, I didn’t think he would tell Emma. I’m sorry.”

Yugyeom just shook his head as he stared up at the starless night sky.

“Come on, Yugyeom,” you snorted, trying to bring in some humour. “It was a good rating anyway-”

“No, just stop.”

“What?”

“Just stop,” he laughed, his eyes not focusing on you because of how enraged he felt. “You don’t like me. I’m not stupid, y/n. I’m not blind. I know you like that shithead in there.”

“He’s not a shit head-”

“Oh, he’s not?” Yugyeom snorted, he chuckled darkly, without any humour, “He just acts like that and gets away with that.”

“What are you talking about?” You shook your head confused.

“He and his girlfriend have been nothing but assholes to me from the day I stepped inside that restaurant with you. His girlfriend being a bitch- I don’t know why the fuck she being that way, but she was. But, him. He was being an ass because I was with you. I was the one fucking you. He couldn’t stand that-”

“Yugyeom, we’re just friends-”

“Right, just friends. Fuck, you’re stupid if you think friends are like that.”

Omg Yugyeom, that is exactly what you have been saying since day one. But you need to make Jaebum realise that, so let’s go back inside, Yeomie.

“Let’s just go in,” you pleaded, sighing.

“No,” he shook his head.

“Okay, let’s go back home.” You reached for his hand, but he jerked it away, forcefully making you stumble back. You bumped into something and regained your balance.

“I was really willing to give this a try y/n,” he spat at you. The sweetness and loving-goodness on his face vanished as he scoffed at you, “But you are nothing but a fucking slut. You don’t have a heart, you’re dead inside. You should really stop fucking other people to fill that empty void inside you. You will always remain as lonely as you are right now.

“No one will ever be able to love you. And you know what? You won’t remain attractive forever. And when you can’t get dick anymore, you’ll realise just how ugly you are inside. The only thing you’ll be left with is some fucking disease or worse, a child who would hate having a worthless whore like you as their mother-”

You can’t think of anything. It’s all blank. There’s not even a ringing, there is no bright whiteness blanketing your mind. There is nothing as you stand there soaking in the words he said to you.

It hurts...

You saw the leer on his lips start to grow into a grin, as a frown settled on yours.

But you didn’t say anything.

And then, you saw a fist fly towards Yugyeom’s face. It was all in slow motion.

You saw the panic and fear in his eyes as he focused on that strong fist flying towards his lips; that smirk falling as he cried in slow motion.

You heard the crack. You saw spit fly out his mouth. You saw his eyes shut as he groaned falling to the ground in pain.

And then the world sped up again.

You saw Jaebum climb onto him. Yugyeom’s collar was tight in his grip as he landed another punch on his face. Yugyeom cowered groaning as he started to bleed red.

And then another punch, and another.

Your hands were shaking as you pulled Jaebum off Yugyeom, “Jaebum, stop.”

You pulled Jaebum off with all your weight, your fingers wrapping around his knuckles as they whitened around Yugyeom’s collar. He pulled Yugyeom up with him, his eyes dark with anger.

You pushed them apart and squeezed between them. You turned to Jaebum, holding onto his wrist to make him drop his hold on Yugeyom.

“Jaebum, please stop,” you cried, and he glanced at you for a moment before staring back at Yugyeom.

Jaebum looked at back down at you as you pleaded. His jaw tight as he shook Yugyeom by the collar, you trembled in panic. Jaebum leaned in close to Yugyeom, his front pressing against your body. You placed your hand on Jaebum's chest to hold him back.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Jaebum sneered at Yugyeom. Yugyeom snorted, the blood smearing over his cheek. “Don’t you dare ever come near her again! You hear me?”

“Jaebum,” you begged softly, as he let Yugyeom fall back with a jerk.

Yugyeom stumbled back but found his balance, he walked away holding his hand up, “Keep your slut.”

“You fuck-” Jaebum snarled towards him, but you stopped him, grasping his front.

You made him look at you, as you held his cheek. You shook your head frantically, and Jaebum calmed down as his raging eyes met yours, “Please don’t.”

Jaebum bent to meet your eyes as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. He held your face delicately as his eyes searched over you, “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. You stood there letting Jaebum check over you. He finally took a deep breath as he took a few steps away from you.

He looked up to the sky before he closed his eyes. He ran his hands through his long dark hair before linking his fingers at the back of his neck. His head faced the ground, his eyes closed, taking deep breaths in.

You stood there on the empty pavement, watching Jaebum as he calmed himself down.

You were shaking.

You were shaking too much, and you felt so cold. You were shivering, but it was a nice summer night tonight. Your teeth were clattering too much, for the wind to be the cause of it.

Your heart was still pounding in your ear. Your hands shook by your side as you waited for Jaebum.

You just wanted to go back in and finish your dinner. You wanted to return back to normal.

“This is exactly what I have been saying, y/n,” Jaebum spoke, his cold voice cutting through you. “This is what I mean when I said I can’t always look after you.”

He didn’t need to do this for you. You didn’t need him to.

You didn’t say anything and just watched him as you folded your arms for some warmth. The chill suddenly getting worse.

“Is this- Is that the kind of boys you want to spend your life after?” He looked at you, his eyes judging. Your brows furrowed at his words, at the way he was looking at you. “If you keep on living your life like this, I won’t always be there to protect you.”

“I don’t need you to protect me,” you finally said. “I didn’t ask for your help. I had it under control.”

“You were just standing there, staring at him while he said all that to you!”

“Everyone is entitled to their opinion,” you weren’t the nicest to Yugyeom. You were using him. He wasn't important; his words didn’t affect you, you just hadn’t expected them and didn’t know how to react.

“Those were not opinions, y/n,” Jaebum took a step towards you, his jaw jutting out. He was mad. “He was insulting you, calling you those names. Saying those things to you.”

“It doesn’t matter to me,” you shook your head, as you looked at Jaebum. You didn’t know why he was acting like this.

If anything you should be mad at him.

“Of course it doesn’t,” Jaebum chortled darkly, as he rolled his eyes. “You didn’t like him, you just brought him around for laughs.”

“I did like him.”

A lie.

“Oh really? You did?” He retorted, sarcastic.

“Why not?” You took a step towards him. You hated fighting. “Emma always says to find love so I was giving love a chance.”

“Oh stop that fucking bullshit,” Jaebum groaned, as he rolled his eyes.

“No, you stop,” you told him. You took a step forward and pressed your index finger into his chest. “The only reason this all happened was that you brought up the rating.”

Okay, low blow. You knew that was not the reason, but you needed something to shoot at him with. You can’t just stand there and listen to Jaebum.

And you were mad about this. How could he tell her things you’ve told him. What else has he been telling her?

Did he tell her about that incident where you peed yourself?

��You even fucking told your little girlfriend about it,” it was your turn to scoff up at him. You pressed your finger into his chest making him take a step back. “You fucking told her something I told you in confidence, Jaebum.”

“That wasn’t even that important,” he moaned, defending himself.

You shook your head, feeling your cheeks heat.

“It is important because you told her something I had told you. You are my friend, not her. What else have you told her that I’ve told you?” Jaebum stared down at you, his lips curling into a furious frown.

“Do you go and tell her everything in detail. Tell her all my little secrets. Do you have fun-”

“I have to tell her shit because you fucking act like this.”

“What?”

“I ignore it, but subtlety isn't really your forte, y/n. I see the way you both look at each other. Why would she not feel uncomfortable with me hanging out with you when you act like that?”

“Your precious girlfriend keeps it going too, Jaebum. it's not just me. And what do you mean by act like that? Like what?"

“Like a fucking a brat!”

Fuck off.

A brat? Really.

“Oh, so you can’t hang out with brats? Really? Say what you really mean, Jaebum!”

“You sleep with anyone who blinks at you, y/n. Why would she not be scared?”

You took a step back, hurt.

“Don’t act like a fucking saint, you were fucking anything that walked until a few months ago.”

“I’ve changed.”

“Fuck off you have,” you howled, laughing. You sobered meeting his eyes as you took a step dangerously close to him. “I see the way you look at other girls, Jae.”

You’ve seen the way he looks at you.

“Don’t act like you don’t want to fuck them.”

Don’t act like you don’t want to fuck me.

“I don’t,” he took a step closer to you. Your feet in between his, your nose brushing against his. His forehead resting on yours, his lips so close to yours.

He wasn’t looking at your eyes anymore. His gaze focused on your lips.

His hands gripped your waist, so tight it hurt, as he pressed you against him.

You gulped tilting your head towards him.

“I don’t,” he whispered. He closed his eyes as he blew out a low breath.

“I don’t,” he repeated more to himself.

He let out a sigh as he untangled from you.

“Let’s go in,” Jaebum said, offering you a hand, after a moment.

You didn’t take it. You stared at it, and then at Jaebum.

“We said things we didn’t mean to, let’s go back inside, y/n.”

You looked at his hand. Your chin trembled as you met his eyes again.

Fucking shit don’t cry.

Damn it.

You felt your vision blur.

Damn.

“I didn’t care what that little shit had to say about me. What he says doesn't matter to me, he is no one to me,” Jaebum’s eyes softened, his lips parted as he saw a tear fall down your cheek.

Jaebum had never seen you cry. Only once, and that was it.

“But I care what you say,” you couldn’t continue as you shut your eyes tightly to stop the tears. But they kept coming, and you furiously wiped your chin where you could feel them pool. You turned away from Jaebum as you ordered him, “Go get my coat and purse, and pay for mine and Yugyeom’s share with my card.”

You felt him hesitate, for a second before he walked into the restaurant.

You found a couple of stairs and sat on the third from the bottom.

You continued wiping your tears as you thought of what Jaebum said to you.

After five minutes, Jaebum walked back out and sat next to you.

“Emma’s going to finish her food before leaving,” he told you. You nodded, keeping your eyes down.

Don’t say it.

“Is that why you won’t have sex with me?” You asked, your voice raw and quiet. “Because I drop my panties at anyone who looks my way?”

“No,” Jaebum answered immediately. His voice soft and filled with regret. He turned towards you. You felt him hesitate, but he gently placed his fingers under your chin as he made you turn towards him. “I didn’t mean that.”

“You said it. People say things they think when they’re angry,” your bottom lip trembled, and you saw the panic rise in Jaebum as he took you in.

“I-” he started before sighing. He hugged you, hiding you into his chest and he wrapped his arm around you. “I would never think that about you. It’s just Emma and I have been fighting over this and I don’t know... I guess I heard it so many times it’s just in my head now. But that is not what I think at all.”

“It’s true though,” you replied, muffled.

Jaebum brushed your hair soothingly as he let out a little chuckle. You felt it vibrate through him. It felt good; his warmth, his heartbeat, his smell, the soft hum of his through his chest as he talked. “How can I judge you when I was like that too? I was worse than you. But there’s nothing wrong with having sex with a lot of people. It doesn’t make you any better or worse.”

“Then why not?” You asked, sniffling into his chest.

Jaebum stilled for a second, before replying, “I guess the timing was off.”

“Huh?” You leaned back to look up at him.

Jaebum wiped the tears from your cheeks, chuckling, “You look like a mess when you cry.”

You glared at him and he laughed.

“When we first became friends, I thought you weren’t into casual hookups. You had only had sex with your long-term boyfriend, so I left it. I was having hooking up with so many other girls, I thought it wasn’t right to do that to you. I wasn’t sure if you ever wanted to have sex with me, and you were such a good friend I didn’t want to ruin it. But then, you started hooking up with others.

“And I thought, ‘Oh, I guess she just didn’t want to hook up with me.’ And then the timing went off, and I didn’t want to risk losing you.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, taking it all in.

“You won’t,” you whispered. Jaebum looked at you.

He leaned forward and rubbed his nose against yours. You blew out a breath as rolled your eyes.

“I won’t," he whispered back.

What the fuck does that mean?

“Come on, I’ll take you home,” he got up, offering you a hand. You took it, standing up and grabbing your things off him.

“Not today, Jae,” you tried to give him a smile, but it didn’t quite make it. “I need to cry tonight.”

“I’m sorry about the things I said, y/n,” he took a step towards you, but you moved away. “I won’t tell Emma things anymore, I promise.”

You nodded, walking towards the Main Street with Jaebum following behind you. You waved a hand stopping a taxi; one stopped instantly, and you were pleasantly surprised.

You were about to get in, when you turned around to Jaebum, “Did you tell her about the pee incident?”

Jaebum’s eyes widened, and you shook your head with disappointment.

Fucking shithead, that was a take-to-your-grave secret.

“Never talk to me again,” you told him, getting into the taxi before he could reply.

You trust a boy with your soul, and he shows it to some chick for a bit of personality.

Disgusting.

166 notes · View notes

novelconcepts · 4 years

Text

fic: souvenirs you never lose

prompt, for @karatam: five scars Dani found on Jamie’s body (and one she left behind on her heart)

It takes Jamie time, to open up. This does not surprise Dani in the least; the Jamie she met at Bly wasn’t the sort to show off--not her innermost secrets, and certainly not her body. Even innocuous bits, elbows and forearms and collarbones, were covered half the time in thick jackets and jumpsuits. She didn’t see Jamie’s knees for the first time until they slept together.

It feels less like Jamie is hiding something, and more like Jamie appreciates a certain barrier between her body and the rest of the world. Dani can respect that. Knows the value of armor, of a good sweater and pounds of hairspray and the effort to be seen only as you choose. And what Jamie chooses, mostly, is to be seen as the job. As soil under fingernails, as hair messy around her face, as small hoop earrings and old t-shirts and overalls. Jamie doesn’t much put in the effort, because she’s busy channeling all of that effort into more important things. Dani likes this about her.

Still, for the first month or two, she doesn’t see much of Jamie’s bare skin. Maybe because Jamie is still working out the angles of their relationship in her head, easing in gently even as she’s taking enormous leaps of faith on little more than Dani’s word. Maybe because they’re leaving England (where, even in summer, a chill holds dominion over most nights) for Vermont (where, by the time they arrive, fall is chipping away at what remains of the year). Either way, for a while, Dani thinks Jamie is hiding in baggy sweaters and loose jeans because it’s just Jamie.

It isn’t until they’re in bed in a hotel in Pennsylvania that she thinks for the first time: maybe it’s about something else. Maybe it’s about the lives Jamie lived before meeting her. Maybe there are some boxes Jamie holds close to her chest, will need time to unlock.

Dani can be patient.

“It was a pot,” Jamie says, like that’s the whole of the story, but a story is never so simple or so short as that. In fact, it was not just a pot, not just water, not just a child left to raise a baby like she’d ever be prepared for something like this.

Jamie, maybe eight years old--she has trouble thinking back this far, has trouble remembering anything from this time with an adult’s clarity--stands as tall as her meager height allows whenever she’s in this house. Shoulders thrown back, chin up, the way she’d seen her mum in shops. Don’t let it get to you. Don’t let it land. Just keep your chin up, eyes forward, and keep walking.

Jamie, maybe eight years old, with hair that hasn’t been trimmed in months and hand-me-down trousers from Denny, who scuffed his shoes and scowled and said nothing, because what could he do about it? Denny, who keeps his distance, who hasn’t had a kind word for her since she can’t remember when. Jamie tries not to mind. Tries to understand, with an eight-year-old comprehension of human instinct, why her big brother is so determined to shut her out.

They call her mum things in the street, and maybe that’s why she left. Maybe sticks and stones aren’t all that can tear you up, in the end. Jamie’s had her share of both, has limped home and mopped up tattered knees and scraped cheeks more than she likes to recall, but maybe words can do the same kind of damage if there are enough of them all bound up together.

Or maybe she left because Jamie wasn’t big enough to wrap her arms around all the little aches her mum was made up of. Maybe because Denny turns up his nose at anything he doesn’t like, and Mikey screams all day, and Jamie--sandwiched between them with no way out--is just too small.

She’s trying. She’s trying so hard. Mum’s gone, and she hasn’t seen Dad in...what’s it been now, days? A week? She’s losing track fast. Losing track of a lot of things, really. She’s falling asleep draped over her desk, sneakers dangling off the floor, waking to wadded up chunks of paper drenched in someone else’s spit clinging to her neck and hair. Her homework, when it gets done at all, usually gets stolen out of her bag and shredded before she can turn it in. She’s starting to hear the whispers at night, falling asleep with one eye open, one arm wrapped around Mikey’s tiny frame: Whore. Cunt. Your mum’s a--

She doesn't even know what these words mean, but they live beneath her skin like razor blades, and she is so small, and so tired, and only eight, only eight, only--

The day the pot goes over, she knows. Something prickles at the back of her neck like a bad itch, like a bug bite, like the worst kind of déjà vu. She’s got Mikey in one arm, bouncing him up and down the way he likes, and the other hand is trying to stir pasta. It’s one of the only things she knows how to make, and Mikey probably should have something more, something better--baby food, or fruit, or something--but Dad’s been gone for maybe-days, maybe-weeks, and Jamie hasn’t figured out how she’s going to buy groceries yet. Problem for another day, she keeps thinking, the idea growing more fringed and frazzled by the hour.

She’s standing on a chair, baby in one arm, stirring, and it wouldn’t have happened if only she were bigger. It wouldn’t happen if only she could stand taller, if only she didn't need to climb on things to reach, if only she had been able to sleep last night under all Mikey’s whimpers and Denny kicking the wall they share and the hisses of whore, your mum’s a dirty whore reverberating through her head.

She’s swaying, bouncing Mikey up and down, up and down, and then she’s swaying too far. Too far to the left, too far to correct, and before she knows it, gravity’s got her in a headlock. She pitches sideways, the chair skidding out from under her with a squeal on linoleum, and Mikey is already bawling. Even before her stirring arm yanks the pot. Even before the water sloshes over, all bubbles and steam and Jamie distantly realizes she is shrieking. Her right shoulder comes up in a protective shroud around her little brother, taking as much of the splash as she can stand, and her shirt is pasted to her skin, pasted and bubbling and Jamie hadn’t known anything in the whole world could hurt as much as listening to Mikey screech from against her chest.

“Just a mistake,” she says, yawning in a dimly-lit hotel room. “Just a mistake that a little kid makes on too little sleep and too much responsibility. It’s okay.”

Dani, fingers tracing the edges of raised skin, watches her. Jamie’s head is turned away, her body tucked into the space where Dani suspects she’s always sort of been waiting for someone to lay. Jamie is bunched up tight in the too-high AC, her knees pulled up to her chest, her hand holding gently to the arm Dani has draped loosely over her waist. She feels small in Dani’s arms, which is strange, because Jamie always feels like she takes up so much space in the world. Brass bells on her laugh, brass tacks in her smile, walking like she was told one too many times to sit down and her only response was to flash the finger.

Dani sometimes wishes she could walk like Jamie does. Breathe like Jamie does. The closest she comes to it are nights like this, pressed close in a bed barely bigger than a twin, Jamie speaking slowly, tiredly, to the opposite wall.

“You protected him,” Dani says softly. She doesn’t so much like the feel of the scar under the pad of her finger as she does the sensation of Jamie breathing beneath her hand. Jamie, exhausted from a long day on the road, still pressing backward into her like she can never get close enough.

“Had to,” Jamie says sleepily. “Was so little.”

Dani gets that, understands what it is to hold something small and precious and innocent, and know the world doesn’t care about any of it. The world doesn’t want to keep small, soft things safe. The world just barrels on, riding its own track, and damned be the rest of them.

She bends her head, presses her lips to the top of Jamie’s shoulder, waits for permission. Jamie exhales, leans her head back.

“Go on, then.”

She smiles against the soft slope of Jamie, of the lightly freckled skin where no secret memories lurk, and drops a kiss right on the edge of the scar. Jamie doesn’t move, doesn’t push her away, just breathes lightly in and out as Dani explores the spot where a child’s error in judgment left a permanent brand. She traces the map of it with soft lips, careful not to do anything that might cause Jamie unease, careful to simply embrace this part of a woman who pretends it was just a pot because it’s easier than admitting the rest. How much guilt she must have carried for years after. How much it had hurt in ways that have nothing to do with searing burns.

Her hand tightens across Jamie’s stomach, pulling her reflexively closer, and Jamie arches her back. Her breath is coming a little quicker now, her laugh deep in the shadows cast by one tiny lamp.

“S’just a scar,” she says, and turns in Dani’s arms to kiss her lips. “Just a scar, Poppins. S’all right.”

A few months go by, Christmas stumbling past with all the grace of a young puppy, the winter months unspooling after in its wake. Eventually, the world begins to wake again. The days warm, the sun casting its light on a new apartment, and Jamie--for the first time since Dani’s known her--is wearing shorts.

“You’ve never told me about this one,” Dani says, seated on the floor of the living room, surrounded by clean laundry. Jamie is on the couch, legs dangling on either side of Dani’s shoulders, a book propped gently against Dani’s hair.

“Which?” she asks absently, flipping the page. Dani shakes the book away, pressing her thumb lightly to a spot high on Jamie’s right inner thigh. Jamie sucks in a showy breath. “Gettin’ a bit handsy there for all that laundry, Poppins.”

“One,” Dani says, “you can get down here and help me fold. Or two, you can tell me about this one.”

Jamie tosses the book aside, leaning over to look. “Ah. That. Was just a bad jump.”

Dani can tell right away that this is like the burn, that nothing with Jamie’s past was ever just anything. She rests her head against Jamie’s knee, gazing up at her, waiting.

Jamie doesn’t advertise it or anything, doesn’t think anyone really needs to know, but she’s always been a good runner. Had to be, when she was little, when the other kids were big and strong and the only thing standing between her and a busted lip was to take off like the wind at the first sight of them. Had to be even more in foster care, when quick thinking and quicker legs were maybe the only chance she had at a peaceful evening.

She’s not much to look at, seventeen and gangly, hips still figuring themselves out and legs prone to tangling when she’s tired. But, oh, can Jamie run.

She’s running now, in fact. Running like all the world’s vices have her number and are ringing her up, and it feels good to move like this. Arms pumping, chest expanding and contracting around heaving breaths, eyes wild. A woman dives out of her way, almost upending her shopping cart, and Jamie laughs like she’s got the breath to spare.

It would all be better, maybe, if she didn’t have the goddamn police on her tail.

If she didn’t have a rather damning piece of fine silver tucked up under her shirt.

If she could be sure why she was doing this in the first place.

But no matter. No worries at all. It’s just pavement beneath her battered old work boots, just the breeze tearing at her hair and the dirty glares of complete strangers, and Jamie thinks, Yeah, you wish you could move like this. You wish you had the fucking freedom.

Hands, catching at her jacket tails. Big hands, broad-palmed and nasty, and if they close over anything that counts, she knows she’s done for. Knows this is the price of living free: sometimes, you’re free to make choices that get you run down. Not that she cares. Not that she minds it in the least. So long as she can run like this, Jamie figures she can go just about goddamn anywhere.

She shrugs the groping hands away, hears one of the uniformed men swear as she bolts left down an alley. She knows this street like the back of her hand, knows if she can just get to the end and up over the gate, she’s home free. The cops are older, bigger, slower to swing around such a tight corner, and Jamie’s leap takes her halfway up the chain link before she even has to start her mad scramble.

She’s all seeking hands and desperate boots, gasping around the burn in her lungs where a fresh smoking habit is not doing her endurance any favors, and she’s laughing still. Even as she goes over, even as she feels something barbed catch along her inner thigh and tear, she’s laughing. Blood, spilling hot down the leg of her jeans, soaking black into the faded denim. Still, she throws her head back and brays insane laughter toward the sun.

She’s still laughing when she rounds the corner and slams straight into the barrel chest of a beat cop. Not the grabby one; he’s still puffing his way over the fence behind her. This one has mean eyes and a shark’s grin, and when his hand closes over her forearm, all the laughter seventeen years can produce goes rotten in her chest.

“That,” the cop says, “doesn’t belong to you.”

Jamie, lungs heaving, silver hot against her belly, feels the shredded skin of her thigh pull tight, and winces.

“Went in not long after,” she says, shrugging and resting a hand lightly atop Dani’s hair. “Stayed in nearly five years.”

She says it like everything’s okay, like it doesn’t hurt to remember a teenage girl who felt her only recourse from the world was to steal from it. Dani shifts, pulling Jamie’s leg higher on her shoulder, and kisses the jagged remnants of the day Jamie saw her freedom stuffed into a cage.

“Honest,” Jamie breathes, watching her with eyes gone dark with some mix of desire and memory. “It didn’t even hurt all that much.”

She’s lying, Dani can tell; Jamie’s a terrible liar, so bad at it that she rarely bothers. She holds Jamie’s gaze, feels the uncomfortably sharp edge of the scar against the soft skin of her lower lip. Jamie’s brow pulls like she’s warding off something dangerously akin to shame.

“I did it because,” she says, and Dani kisses the spot a little harder, shifting to her knees on the carpet. Jamie swallows hard, leaning back against the cushions. “Dani, I was...”

Don’t, Dani thinks. Don’t say my name like you’re confessing something. She presses her face against the hot skin of Jamie’s thigh, tries to imagine being young and desperate and foolish. It isn’t so hard to do.

“You were just a kid,” she says, muffled. Jamie rests a hand lightly on the back of her head, giving her permission. “Just a kid running from so much.”

“It was stupid,” Jamie says thickly. “I was--”

“Doesn’t matter,” Dani says, so fiercely she surprises herself. “Doesn’t matter who you were at seventeen, Jamie. Do you have any idea how stupid I was at seventeen?”

They could go back and forth all day--Jamie’s mistakes stripping her of five years of freedom, Dani’s nearly stripping her of a lifetime. They could, but Jamie is looking at her with such love in her eyes that Dani knows it isn’t the time. It just doesn’t matter, not as much as this place and Jamie’s smile and knowing they're both who they need to be for one another, regardless of the past.

Her hands are moving toward the zipper of Jamie’s shorts, her mouth light and gentle on Jamie’s skin, and they don’t talk about the scar again. Even with Jamie moving her hips restlessly, even with Dani’s tongue teasing and tasting, even as Jamie grasps her by the hair and makes the most wonderful sounds above her, Dani keeps her thumb pressed gently into that spot. Reclaiming it, in a way. Giving Jamie a dose of what it feels like to fly, to forget all her mistakes, to know only what it is to be loved.

She likes to think she knows Jamie’s body pretty well by the time she finds the third scar. They’ve been together three years--three years of blessed, shocking serenity, and Dani feels good. Has felt good for so long, in fact, she’s almost forgotten anything else.

That always feels a little like rattling the bars of some enormous cage, like taunting something huge and bestial she still can’t make out among the trees. Still. It’s no less true.

They’re in the kitchen, of all places, when she notices it. Jamie’s shirt has ridden up as she stretches to retrieve a plate from the cupboard, and there--just under the strap of her bra--a mark Dani’s never really registered before along her ribs. It’s a small thing, a puckered spot smaller than the nail on her pinky.

“What’s that from?”

Jamie twists awkwardly, trying to look under her raised arm. “Ah...bit of a mishap with a sharp implement.”

“At the shop?” Dani frowns, trying to imagine what kind of barbed plant it would take to skewer Jamie in such a way. Trying, too, to imagine what would keep Jamie from sheepishly showing her the same night, allowing Dani to patch her with rubbing alcohol, bandages, a long kiss.

“Uh, no, actually. Inside.” Plate recovered, Jamie drops back down and tries to sidle around Dani toward the stove. Dani raises an eyebrow.

“Inside like in prison?”

“Just about the only place I can think of gets described as such,” Jamie says lightly. Dani jabs her gently in the shoulder.

“So, how’d this one happen?”

“Accidentally.”

Her voice is too light. She’s doing a little dance back and forth, trying to pass Dani, who finally relents.

“You got accidentally stabbed. In prison.”

Jamie sighs. “I suppose you’ll want this tale, too, mm?”

Dani gives her a look, half-exasperation, half-deeply entertained. A well, yes, Jamie, if it isn’t too much hassle to clarify the time you got shanked in prison look. She hadn’t even known she had a look like that, but bless Jamie: always teaching her new things about herself.

It’s not as bad as it seemed at first, Jamie learns quickly. Prison isn’t a picnic by any stretch, but for the most part, the other women leave her be. Maybe it’s something about the way she walks, a trick picked up before she was even into her teens: a good healthy swagger keeps at least the lowest-tier assholes at bay. Walk like you know what you’re doing, walk like you own the place, people are often less likely to take interest. Self-preservation’s a hell of a thing, especially in a place like this.

She doesn’t make friends, exactly, and maybe that’s for the best. The last friends Jamie made all had too-pretty eyes, too-quick smiles, hands that could produce a knife or the wallet out of your pocket with equal glee. She’d fallen in with them in all the wrong ways, these girls who knew too much of the world and were all too willing to share it with a gutter rat who kissed like it was the only thing worth doing, so long as no one went talking about it later.

Prison feels like that life magnified to its highest order. Still some pretty eyes, still some too-quick smiles in here, but no one Jamie feels secure even chatting up for long. Everybody in here is in for a reason. Some reasons less justifiable than others, maybe, but still.

Still, there is one girl. Jamie’s been in for maybe two years, maybe three--gets hard to keep track, after a while--when this one arrives. Fresh meat, as the worst of the women say. Walk says she’s been around the block, but Jamie’s fair certain she can’t be older than Jamie herself was upon arrival. Just a kid.

Kids make bad choices sometimes, she knows better than anyone. It isn’t her problem.

Even so, she finds herself trailing along in the kid’s wake. Keeping an eye out. Kids who walk like that sometimes get skipped over--Jamie did, after all, but Jamie also knew when to say when. Head up, mouth shut. The back half of that plan is crucial to survival.

This kid doesn’t seem to have gotten the memo. Every time Jamie comes around a corner, it seems like she’s walking in on another bag of bullshit. The kid, always picking fights with women bigger, or crueler, or more capable than she is. By the time Jamie realizes it, she’s taken to talking these women down. An extra pack of cigarettes in exchange for letting the girl live to see another day. A shift in the garden traded for a shift doing laundry. The women grudgingly accept Jamie as one of the level-headed among them, even if they don’t particularly love her for it.

Not my problem, Jamie thinks each time she sees the girl raise hackles, and each time, she finds herself making it her problem anyway. Stupid. But maybe if she’d had someone in her corner, someone watching her back...

She’s been cleaning up after this kid’s messes for about three weeks when it happens. Jamie’s just minding her business, just walking around the yard, and suddenly...there’s pain. A weird, blazing, hooked-talon pain radiating up through her side.

Pain, and the bared teeth of a teenage girl.

“You keep the fuck out of my business,” she hisses, brandishing the sharpened bit of what Jamie’s pretty sure was once a toothbrush. “Hear me? Fuck out of it.”

Jamie, hand clapped around a small puncture in her jumpsuit, pulls her palm away streaked with red. She raises her eyebrows. “Clear as day.”

She doesn’t see the girl again. Doesn’t question it. Can’t bring herself to wonder if it was a transfer or something else altogether. All Jamie knows is, this is what comes of sticking your nose into other people’s shit.

“Wasn’t my finest hour,” she says, checking that the chicken in the oven isn’t actually on fire. “Just left me feeling dumb, really. Imagine getting poked by a goddamn toothbrush.”

“You said it was an accident,” Dani points out. Jamie sighs, opens the fridge, closes it again.

“It was. Wasn’t meant for me, not really. I just happened to be there. She would’ve stuck anyone silly enough to step in her path.”

There’s a look in Jamie’s eyes Dani isn’t sure she’s seen before. Something tired and responsible, though not exactly guilty. She moves closer, carefully sliding Jamie’s shirt up until the tiny scar is lit by the overhead lamp, gleaming pink against Jamie’s pale skin.

“I knew better,” Jamie sighs, leaning her hip against the counter as Dani gently touches just beneath the scar. “Saw myself in her, y’know? Same caged-animal desperation. Same darkness. And I didn’t think I could save her or anything so...fucking noble, but I thought maybe she just needed a little time.”

Time, thinks Dani, right. The one thing none of them are ensured enough of.

“Never tried anything like it again,” Jamie says, taking Dani’s hand from her ribs and kissing her knuckles. “Never saw the use. I was in the garden by then, and actually giving therapy its due, and by the time I was up for anything like real human connection, I was out. Probably for the best, though. Imagine if she’d gone for my face.”

She’s teasing, trying to pull the sympathy from Dani’s frown and replace it with something brighter. Dani lets her. There’s little point in dwelling on a scar Jamie has already put to bed, after all.

“It was good of you,” she says before letting the subject drop. “To try.”

“Maybe,” Jamie says softly. Dani cradles her face in both hands, willing her to believe it. A small smile touches Jamie’s lips.

“Speaking of trying,” she says, giving Dani a light kiss on the cheek. “Think the bird’s burnin’.”

The fourth scar, Dani doesn’t feel too terrible about missing. She only finds it by accident one night, sitting on the side of the tub while Jamie soaks off a long day, and only then because her hands are busy massaging Jamie’s scalp.

“Hey,” she says softly, so as not to shatter a mood built of lit candles and quiet music. Jamie leans her head back, questioning. “There’s something here...”

“Nothing big,” Jamie says, in that tone of voice that says she knows Dani will want to hear anyway. She sighs, patting gently at the foam of bubbles climbing the sides of the tub. “Just another tale of my misguided heroism...”

Dani laughs. “For someone who says she doesn’t care, you sure do get into a lot of hero-shaped situations.”

“Takes one to know one,” Jamie teases, and some of the light fades from Dani’s grin. She doesn’t want to talk about that. Doesn’t want to think about it much. A night a thousand years ago in a lake a million miles away, and though she can feel it all creeping in at the edges, she thinks there’s still time to turn her head.

“Anyway,” Jamie adds in a slightly louder tone. “Anyway, how are you only just finding this now? With all the times you’ve pulled my hair...”

Her hand is creeping toward Dani’s knee, armed with a thin trail of bubbles. Dani shakes her head.

“After,” she says, “you tell me the story.”

Jamie moves into the little flat above the only pub in Bly and thinks, Right. Home. The way a person who’s never really had a home does, she’ll reflect later. When you think a home is just four walls and a bit of furniture, a place to lay your head. At the time, in this moment, it feels better than anything she's ever had.

She's already decided how the next year--maybe five, maybe ten, maybe the rest of what she’s got ahead of her--will look. Nothing complicated. Nothing big, or heavy, or loud. No pretty eyes. No quick smiles. No one to tell her they’ll love her if only she’d do this one little thing for them, no one to tell her they’ll kiss her if only she can keep her mouth shut about it afterward.

Just this, she decides, looking at the tiny flat with its tiny sink and tiny bathroom and tiny spot where she’s just managed to wedge a bed. Just this, and the job. Don’t need much else to get by.

It’s a good job, one she was unaccountably lucky to snag so soon out of prison. There’s so much green, she can feel her head spin to look at it all, and knows there is fortune in being asked to care for such an expanse of life. Five years ago, she doesn’t know that she could have done it. Doesn’t know if she could have been trusted. These days, she can’t imagine anything better.

A good job at a great old manor, flowers as far as the eye can see, and this little flat. She’s doing all right for herself, Jamie. She’s doing just fine.

Though the pub is a bit much some nights.

She usually comes straight home after work, uninterested in playing nice with the very specific breed born into Bly. There are some, she supposes, who are pleasant enough, but the grand majority remind her of watching her father climb into and out of a coal mine. They have the same blank expressions, the same vapid smiles, the same shape of mouth that so easily tends toward words like whore, whore, your mum’s a--

Nah. Better keeping to herself, really.

Every so often, though, despite the noise and the company, she treats herself to a drink. Just one, usually alone at a corner table or the far edge of the bar. At first, there were men who tried to get involved, men who thankfully got the message--or if not the message, at least one similarly postmarked not interested--fairly quickly. Good for everyone. Jamie’s patience is only so thin, and there is something deeply alluring about a sharp fork on a bad night.

She’s thinking about this on the night one of these men--one she remembers fairly well from a couple of weeks back, dark hair and patchy beard and bad aftershave--takes it upon himself to visit the backside of a woman’s skirt. His hand is trembling, a whiskey reverb taking the wheel, but it lands exactly where he’s aimed it. The woman, tall and angular and nervous, flinches away.

Jamie casts a quick glance around, reading the room. Everyone saw that. A pub like this, in a town so small; everyone sees everything. And yet, stunningly, no one is moving.

The guy knows it, too. She can see it all over his face, the triumph of having gotten away with a misdemeanor. Did it even happen, if no one calls him on it?

Best not find out, she thinks, and before she’s got a handle on this impulse, this stupid impulse that once got her stabbed in a prison yard, she’s up and moving. Just got out, she reminds herself, even as she’s stepping between the man and his target.

“Lady doesn’t look like she’s having a good time,” she points out. There’s a feral smile on her lips, one she hasn’t entertained in a very long time. Never ended well, nights that put this smile on like a coat of deepest red.

“Don’t remember asking,” the man sneers. His breath is so stained with alcohol, it nearly sends her reeling. The woman behind her makes a tiny noise.

“We could ask,” Jamie says, faux-brightly. She twists at the waist, just enough to glance at the woman. “You having fun with this pack of shit?”

“Hey,” he snaps. “Bitch. Who the fuck asked--”

She loses her brief struggle with restraint on bitch, her head punching forward into his nose. It hurts, a little. Hurts him worse. He’s staggering back, blood streaming between his fingers when he reaches up. She’s gratified to see he nearly pokes himself in the eye in the process.

“Might wanna,” she adds to the woman with a little nod toward the door, watching as the drunk’s intended prey rabbits on out into the night. It feels good in a way she doesn’t entirely like, listening to the blood sing in her ears. Men like this shouldn’t be allowed in public. Men like this are--

A crashing, tinkling sound, as if from very far away. Jamie’s eyes go dizzy, her hand fumbling for purchase on the bar to stay upright. Glass rains down out of her hair as she gives her head a small, aggrieved shake.

A bottle. This fucker has a bottle--well, what remains of it after introducing its length to her skull--in hand, his eyes wild. Jamie stares at him with gray disbelief, blood trickling down the back of her neck.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” she says thinly, just getting the words out before another man throws himself at the first. Then, a woman, apparently deciding the night has been too dull to stomach. And her friends. Before Jamie knows what’s going on, the world has devolved into the very particular chaos of a bar brawl, people slipping and screaming and slapping at each other with aplomb.

Right, she thinks distantly, too aware of the blood pooling sticky under her collar. Head injury. Maybe time to...

She’s back upstairs, the door double-locked behind her, before anyone notices. Briefly, while pressing a damp cloth to the back of her head and gazing at her nerve-wrackingly gray pallor in the mirror, Jamie considers calling Lord Wingrave and telling him she needs tomorrow off. Imagines how he’d sound, clipped and unyielding, over the phone line.

Of course, she won’t do it. Of course not. This job is important. This flat is important. Everything else?

Everything else is just a reminder of why she’s best left to her own devices.

“So, anyway,” Jamie says, absently patting a foam of bubbles into a small tower. “That’s why I didn’t spend much time in that little pub. If you were curious.”

“Jesus.” Dani can’t quite find something more coherent. “Jesus, didn’t you press charges?”

“For what?” Jamie looks honestly puzzled. “Small town bar, small town life. It happens.”

“You could’ve been concussed!” Dani says, louder than she means to. “You could’ve gone to sleep and never got back up again!”

Jamie reaches up, touches her cheek gently. “Hey. Poppins. Easy. I’m here. Right here.”

Dani realizes the breath is pounding out of her faster than it’s coming back in, a sure sign that she’s about to tip over the precipice of something dark and exhausting. She leans into Jamie’s hand, squeezes her eyes tight.

“Hey.” Jamie’s sitting up, knees squeaking along the bottom of the bath as she shifts. Water drains over the edge of porcelain, soaking into Dani’s skirt, trickling onto the tile. “Hey. With me, yeah?”

She lets herself be folded into Jamie’s arms, finding balance in each deep breath Jamie draws until Dani is able to match her. Jamie is still sopping wet, slippery, and the most stable thing in the room.

“Still here,” Jamie says against her ear. “Bit battered around the edges, but it’s nothing new, is it? You still like me this way, dented packaging and all?”

“Love you,” Dani corrects in a thin gasp. Jamie squeezes tighter.

“Exactly. That scar? It healed up. Like all the rest. It’s just a memory now. Can’t hurt a fly.”

Dani reaches up, combing searching fingers through Jamie’s hair until she finds the spot again. That strange raised bit she must have touched a hundred times, and only just registered. Someone hit Jamie there. Someone hurt Jamie there.

“I’m all right,” Jamie says, enunciating every word right into her ear. “Save for being a bit chilly. I don’t suppose you can help with that...?”

She’s tickling Dani, moving to kiss her neck with sloppy good humor until Dani finally breaks. Even so, for a moment longer, that image holds: Jamie alone, Jamie holding a cloth to her bleeding scalp, Jamie with tears in her eyes and a decision never to care branded on her heart.

“I love you,” Dani repeats, so forcefully, Jamie pulls back to look at her.

“I know, Dani. I love you, too. Now. Hand me a towel, or get in here with me, I’m cold without you.”

The fifth and final scar, Dani doesn’t have to look for. Jamie shows it off herself, wearing an expression Dani remembers all too well from a panic attack, a shrub not quite big enough to hide behind, a mention of just how many times a day the average Bly groundskeeper bursts into tears.

It’s a bad day, and this is Jamie’s way of making her smile again. Jamie, whose body she knows so well now, whose heart she knows even better, who wears her ring and has barely left her side in days.

It’s a bad day. They’re in bed, one of the last places in the world Dani still feels completely safe. All of the mirrors are gone from this room. The pictures on the walls are strategic in placement, making sure Dani can never catch an accidental glimpse of herself--or not--in their glass. This room, where she sleeps with Jamie each night and wakes to Jamie each morning, is a bastion against the monsters.

“Here,” Jamie says. She is, as Dani prefers her, without pants, hair up in a messy tangle, gold band gleaming on her finger. She is also, baffling Dani, holding up the bottom of her left foot.

“What...?”

“This,” Jamie says, “may be the final frontier.”

“Your...foot,” Dani replies slowly, wondering if the increasing bad spots are taking a toll on her memory. Maybe this is a conversation that would make sense, if only she hadn’t spent so much of yesterday in a daze.

“My foot,” Jamie says confidently. “More specifically: this.”

She’s pointing to a spot about midway down the sole of her foot, a spot Dani only just now can see is actually a small three-pronged scar. She frowns.

“What happened there?”

She’s a bit afraid to ask, if she’s honest. Jamie has told her so many stories over the years, and they’ve gotten progressively more intense, progressively more violent. She's not sure her heart could take it if Jamie were to tell her this was from some unexpectedly grievous injury.

“You sure you want to know?” Jamie asks gravely. “It’s quite the story. I mean, really, this is among my best. I’ve saved it just for a night like this one.”

Her mouth is somber, but her eyes are dancing. Dani feels herself smile, just a little.

“Tell me,” she says, settling her head in Jamie’s lap.

Jamie has been working for the Wingrave family for a couple of years, and it’s been better--and worse--than she could have imagined. The land is sprawling and fertile, incredibly eager to grow whatever she plants. Her rose gardens--and they are her gardens, make no mistake--are thriving. Sometimes, she thinks they’re doing better even than the human residents of Bly Manor.

It’s been a rough couple of years, even with the fulfilling nature of the work. She’s met people she can’t help regarding with a deep affection bordering on family: Hannah, and Owen, and Rebecca, and the kids. She’s met some she doesn’t get on with so well: namely, that prick Peter Quint. And things have happened, things no one could guess at or control. Lord and Lady Wingrave, once so kind and generous to her, are gone. Rebecca is gone, too, in a fresher sense. Jamie’s starting to think letting any of these people in was a mistake. People have a way of vanishing.

The plants, though. The plants are lush and green and loving. It’s silly, but Jamie thinks they believe in her more than anyone else ever has.

This middle ground between grieving people and loving the gardens of Bly is where she’s grown most comfortable, and it is that comfort she blames for being surprised when things change one sunny day.

She’s been puttering around the greenhouse for a couple of hours, glad to have the time away from prying eyes and whispering children. Flora and Miles--Flora more than Miles, lately--are charming, even wonderful, for kids, but they’re also under the age of thirteen. Jamie rarely knows what to do with kids that small, save for tossing them over her shoulder and teasing them mercilessly. They make her think of days long gone, of brothers not seen in two decades, and it scratches a strange, painful itch she doesn’t like thinking about.

So, the greenhouse. Quiet, off-set from the main property, a nice place to prepare pots and experiment with seeds. She likes it out here better than anywhere, except maybe the roses.

She especially likes how no one visits her out here. Not even Hannah or Owen, who know her better than most, and therefore understand a person’s need for solitude. No one comes out here at all--which is why, when she raises her eyes and spots a figure passing the window, she almost shouts with surprise.

Blonde, she registers. Blonde, and a sweater in some pastel off-shade of purple, and--

Who the hell...

She’s drifting toward the door, she realizes only when her legs carry her through and out onto the lawn. The woman is walking with Flora, talking to her in a voice that does not carry out to Jamie. The new au pair, she realizes. Rebecca’s replacement. Of course; they were bound to find one eventually.

And something about this one...

She isn’t looking where she’s going. It’s a rookie mistake, especially out here where the ground slopes and there are as many holes dug by rabbits as by Jamie’s own hand, and while she’s gazing after the blonde woman’s retreating form--

--her foot comes down on the upturned teeth of a fallen rake.

The breath whistles out of her through clenched teeth, pain shooting up through the bottom of her foot in radial bursts. She hops for a second, grabbing hold of the greenhouse wall, and grasps her ankle for a better look.

“Son of a,” she hisses. These boots were good, once, but good only lasts so long on a fresh-out-of-prison budget. Three of the four teeth she managed to land on have punched straight through the base of the shoe and into her skin.

“Jesus,” she mutters in mild disbelief. Years without injury on this property, and the first time she deals herself a good one, it’s because she was mooning after some woman she’s never even seen before, Jesus fucking wept.

At least she’s way out here, all on her own. At least there are bandages and a slightly less beloved pair of boots to change into. No one ever has to be the wiser.

“You see?” Jamie makes a grand gesture, wiggling her toes. “My most glorious story yet.”

Dani sits up, mouth working, unable to land on any one expression. “Are...did that really happen?”

“Did I step on a rake like a true goddamn idiot because I’d just caught my first glimpse of one Dani Clayton, you mean?”

“Yes,” Dani says, her throat suddenly dry. Her eyes are itching, tears pulling at the corners. Jamie smiles fondly.

“I did. But I recovered myself marvelously. Bet you didn’t even notice the limp.”

“You weren’t limping,” Dani recalls, remembering in a hot rush how Jamie had strolled into the kitchen that afternoon. She’d looked so at home, so confident. Dani had felt instantly, wildly, as though they’d already done this once before. Like taking a test to which she had all of the answers.

“I was not,” Jamie confirms. “Because I’d already spotted you once and made a fool of myself, and I was not about to pull that trick off again. Did you think I was cool?”

“The coolest,” Dani says, unable to stop the tears from spilling over onto her smile. Jamie pulls her close, kissing her forehead, rubbing comforting shapes into her back.

“Then mission very much accomplished. Want you to know, though, it did hurt like a--”

“Why are you telling me now?” Dani asks from against her chest. Jamie pauses.

“Why am I telling you my deepest, most embarrassing secret?”

Dani nods, sniffling a little. Jamie thinks on it.

“Because,” she says at last, reaching down to tip a finger under Dani’s chin until their eyes meet. “There are some people you don’t want to keep anything from. Some people who have earned rights to every story in your book. That one? That scar? No one knows about that. Just me. And now you.”

It means more than Dani could possibly explain. More than she could clarify, even to herself. Jamie, seeming to understand the hugeness of such a small moment, pulls her close again, kissing her with all the weight of thirteen years finally at home.

Jamie’s body is a map of scars, she thinks sometimes. A map of all the strange little accidents and intricacies of a human experience. Things that have gone wrong, so wrong, in her life as to leave a permanent mark in their wake. They’re on her back, her thigh, her side, her scalp, her foot. A road map of a life lived fully, if not always precisely well.

None, though. None could match this one.

She won’t show it off to anyone. Won’t have an ugly raised bit of flesh where the wound sealed over and made itself whole enough to carry again. Won’t have a cute story of clumsiness or a vicious tale of chivalry to back it up. This kind of scar, she thinks, is different in a way no one could understand unless they bear its ilk themselves.

The letter stays by the bed. Every night, before completing the ritual of Dani’s shirt, Dani’s pillow, Dani’s reflection refusing to show itself in the bath, Jamie picks it up. She had it memorized by the end of the first night back here, alone, pressing as close to Dani’s side of the bed as she’d dared. One night, spent back in their bed with all its pillows and blankets and emptiness.

And then, never again. She reads here, sometimes, remembering the way Dani would lean back against the headboard and watch old movies. She’ll do paperwork among sheets where Dani once lay, sprawled naked and happily asleep. She makes the bed each day as though it had been slept in the night before, rumpling the blankets a little before leaving the apartment so she’ll have something to fix when evening comes around again.

But she doesn’t sleep here. Not without Dani. Not ever.

She stays, instead, on the couch. Turns it to face the front door, with the lock that always seemed to stick with Dani’s key in it, and turned smooth as butter for Jamie. She props that door open with one of her oldest shoes, careless of whether it will still be there in the morning. Dani’s shoes, the heels she hated and the flats she wore everywhere and the sneakers that had started off Jamie’s and been slowly co-opted onto Dani’s side of the closet, stay safely tucked away. If one of those went missing, the price of some desperate thief in the night, Jamie suspects she’d lose her mind trying to track it down.

She stays on the couch, door open just a crack, bathtub full. That first night, she’d thought about just laying down in that bath and letting herself fall asleep. A bad thought. A thought running contrary to Dani’s final word on the subject. That Jamie was, above all else, to keep going without her. That she believed with her whole heart that this was the right answer. That she’d see Jamie again, and Jamie would be able to tell her off then, tell her off, and kiss her blind, and love her endlessly.

But first: this one thing. This one last, hopeful thing. To keep living. To keep going.

The worst thing, Jamie thinks each night, laying with pillows behind her back and her eyes on the door, she’s ever asked of me. Maybe the only bad thing Dani has ever asked of her in almost fifteen years. Dani was never cruel, not once, but sometimes Jamie is still angry with her for this much. For doing exactly the one thing she knew Jamie could not deny her. For asking this kind of oath.

She can’t show this kind of scar to friends at parties, can’t find the words to spin out a pretty story about how it mapped its way onto her body. All she can do is sleep with it each night. Wake with it each morning. Walk with it each day. Sleep. Wake. Walk. And know, deep down, that there is nothing like a scar left by someone like Dani.

Nothing in the world like it.

Sometimes, with her eyes squeezed shut and one of Dani’s shirts against her skin, she thinks she can still feel a hand tracing the spot on her back, that spot just under her shoulder where a small girl once dragged a boiling pot off a lit burner. Sometimes, if she closes her eyes hard enough, if she lets herself drift through the black dots behind her eyelids, she imagines slim fingers finding the raised edges, mapping them with such care, such wondering love.

She wishes Dani could ask after this one, too. She wishes more than anything she could turn a corner and there Dani would be, asking how she missed another one, how she possibly could have one more story to unburden. How would I even explain it, she wonders. How could I even tell this kind of tale?

Maybe she’ll work it out, someday. Maybe. She can’t imagine anyone wanting to hear it. Can’t imagine anyone understanding the kind of print, the kind of wound, the kind of sear one person leaves on another when they’re gone for good. Maybe someday. Maybe Owen would, or Henry. Maybe she could...

But not now. Not yet. The wound is still open, still bleeding, and every day, she finds something new to pick at its edges. A journal Dani bought and only wrote in three times. A sock lost under the couch on laundry day. A package of those silly hair ties Dani liked, the ones Jamie liked to pull gently from her hair until it tumbled in waves around her shoulders.

The place still smells of her. Jamie knows that will change, is nearly wild with horror at the idea of it. She goes to the shop in a daze one day, impulse-buys an entire cart of Dani’s shampoo. Her brand of deodorant. Her perfume, used only on special occasions like birthdays and engagement dinners and when she just wanted to get Jamie into bed for the hell of it.

This is what a scar does, Jamie thinks, staring fixedly into a mirror that stubbornly refuses to show her blonde hair and a wry little grin. This is what a scar is. One that sits in your chest. One that sits here, and tears itself back open every time you think you’re starting to heal. It picks at you. It owns you.

A story for another time, maybe. Another night, maybe.

Right now, Dani is a scar Jamie couldn’t share even if she wanted to. Dani is hers alone to carry.

She sleeps, and she dreams, and from somewhere far, far away, she imagines Dani pressing a kiss against her heart.

#the haunting of bly manor #the haunting of bly manor spoilers #fanfiction #dani x jamie #jamie x dani #anyway this is also all karatam's fault so go yell at her for making it happen #I hope you're pleased with yourself. it certainly acted as a great distraction from this extremely stressful day #and now I'm a mess so you're welcome #also I'm sorry in advance to anyone currently in class

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sincerelyella · 3 years

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So Close - Water Under The Bridge Part 1

Book(s): The Royal Romance & Open Heart crossover (AU)

Pairings: mentioning of past Liam x Ella (MC); Ethan x MC

Characters belong to Pixelberry; Ella Brooks belongs to me.

Song inspiration: Water Under The Bridge by Adele

Summary: Ella was stuck in between two men, Bryce and Ethan. When she had to make a choice, she ultimately chose Ethan … but he refused. Now what?

A/N: An anon request - thank you for your support, I appreciate you! The love and support I received was so amazing and it definitely helped me change my mind. Hopefully this fic was what you had in mind 😘

Warnings: Adult language; sexual innuendos; drinking alcohol

A huge thank you to @dcbbw for reading through this and helping me plot; also @openheart12 for prereading and listening to my whining about this fic being garbage 🙈 love y’all.

Warnings: Angst, possible adult language

Words: 1102

Ella stared at her phone after sending a message and willed it to light up with a text from Ethan. She felt the tears well up in her eyes, but she quickly blinked them away. Ella came to terms with the fact that she had feelings for both Bryce and Ethan, but they were very different. Being in a relationship with either of them didn’t feel right; choosing between the two made her stomach do flips. It seemed like whomever she wanted; she would lose in the end. With Bryce, she did have a sexual attraction to him but didn’t see them going the distance. She had a casual thing with Bryce at the beginning of their residency, and she never expected him to catch feelings. When he finally confessed to her that he wanted more, she said no. She saw Bryce as a happy-go-lucky man-child who loved to flirt and show off his body. Could I be with someone like that? She shook her head; she would always be wondering if he was faithful … and Ella shared no man.

With Ethan, it was that slow burn, the I-like-you-but-I’m-going-to-pretend-I-don’t kind of vibe, and she hated games. Ella was warm, charismatic, and loveable, and the entire hospital adored her; she couldn’t fake anything even if she wanted to. If she tried to be in a relationship with Ethan and had to hide it from everyone, including her friends, it would eat her up inside. On the other hand, Ethan was brilliant, but he was grumpy a lot of the time and cold, and the staff either swooned after him or hated him. Ella had come back from her trip to Miami a week ago with Ethan, and things got a little … complicated. He kissed her, then walked away. The man always walked away from me. The plane ride home was awkward, she refused to look at him, and they barely said a word to each other. The entire week she avoided him like the plague, but she finally had enough of hiding.

She felt the tears well up in her eyes again, and this time, they felt like hot trails of acid burning her skin as they slid down her cheeks. Ella wiped them away angrily with the back of her hand and almost dropped her phone when it began to vibrate.

**20 minutes later**

Ethan’s apartment building towered over Ella as she stared up towards his windows. She took a deep breath in, walked up the stairs, and pressed the button for his flat. The front door buzzed almost immediately, and she pushed the door open. The ride in the elevator was quiet, even though there were four other people there. As soon as Ella got to the top floor, she exited and slowly walked towards his door - number 502. She was dreading this moment. It felt like either her heart would be broken, or her life would just be starting … and she had a feeling it was going to be her heart that takes a hit. Ella stood outside of Ethan’s apartment for a few seconds before she pressed the doorbell. She heard Jenner bark a few times, and she smiled, but it quickly faded when Ethan opened the door and just stared at her.

“Rookie,” he gave her a tight smile.

“Hey.”

“Come in,” he stood back and waited for her to come inside before he shut it. “What brings you by?”

“I …” her voice caught in her throat, and she cleared it quickly. “I … wanted to know what this is between us, Ethan.” She met his gaze and held it. “What are we doing?”

He let out a sigh. “We aren’t doing anything; we can’t.”

“Why? Who says we can’t?”

“I say it, Ella,” his voice gets stern. “I say it. I can’t jeopardize your career. We can’t be together. I need you to understand that.”

Ella heard his tone change and narrowed her eyes. “What I understand is that you have been leading me on. The longing looks down the hallway, the tiny hints of flirting now and then … MIAMI!” She shouted and startled Jenner on the couch. “One minute, you don’t want anything to do with me, and the next, your mouth is sucking on my neck! Make up your damn mind, Ramsey!”

Ethan stood still for a moment in shock. He had never heard her raise her voice, even to patients that piss her off. “I haven’t been leading you on! I DO have feelings for you; I just can’t act on them!”

Ella took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. Once she was calm, she began to speak. “I’m done, Ethan,” she enunciated her words as she stared into his eyes. “This back and forth thing with us, I’m not doing it anymore. You don’t want me; I get it.” She paused to make sure no tears fell from her eyes. He’s not going to see me cry damnit. “We’ll have a professional relationship just like you want, nothing more.”

His eyes had something storming in them; they glistened as he stood there staring at her. “That’s not-” he stepped forward and reached out for her, but she evaded him.

“Don’t,” she shook her head and walked around him towards the door. “I told you, I’m done.” She let herself out of the apartment and shut the door. Ella stood in the hallway for a moment to see if he would follow her. He didn’t.

**15 minutes later**

Donahue’s wasn’t too busy since it was a Tuesday night, and Ella preferred it that way. She walked inside, headed straight for the bar and ordered a vodka cranberry. She turned in her bar stool and surveyed the drunk people on the dance floor, dancing like they didn’t have a care in the world. Lucky bastards. There was a group of men sitting at one of the booths laughing and carrying on. They looked like a bunch of pharmaceutical sales reps or lawyers with their businesslike attire. Yeah, lawyers always wore fancy clothes like that. Ella twirled back around to face the bar, noticed her drink was there, and took a sip. Five minutes later, a man came up, stood next to her at the bar, and ordered a glass of scotch.

Ella swirled the last of her drink around in her glass. “A scotch sounds way better than this watered-down cranberry vodka I ordered.”

The man turned to look at her with a smile on his face, and both of them froze.

“L-liam??”

#So Close #open heart #open heart fandom #open heart fanfiction #open heart fanfic #OH #Ethan x MC #Ethan Ramsey #Liam x mC #Liam Rys #crossover #trr au #trr choices #choices open heart #the royal romance au

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norvicfiddler · 4 years

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Michael Emerson - The Hatch podcast, Jul 28, 2020.

The following is my transcription of part of an interview Michael Emerson recorded with the The Hatch earlier this year. I’ve concentrated on the parts where he specifically talks about Ben as a character, but you should go and listen to the whole thing, as he has some nice behind the scenes anecdotes (and who doesn’t want to hear Emerson talk for half-an-hour, right?). If you’re interested in Lost at all, or TV production, the whole podcast is worth a listen (despite the hosts’ inexplicable love for Sayid). They have a load of other great cast and crew interviews.

(transcription note: the ellipses indicate pauses, not cuts)

about The State of Things to Come

‘I think it’s the turning point in audience sympathy for Benjamin’

h: really? we thought letting his daughter be killed was one of his worst crimes

‘It’s a terrible crime, but, evidently an innocent one, because he thought they had a set of … … parameters or rules about engagement. And one of them was, no-one in your family would be harmed.’

‘That’s why it’s unthinkable to him. Keamy doesn’t even wait for the countdown, he doesn’t even let him finish, his … tawdry little speech about how she’s nothing to him. Oh it’s, so sad. But, human.’

h: how’s Ben handling things at this point?

‘Well, he’s kind of on autopilot, I mean he’s doing what he … thinks or knows, to do but, it’s not one of the more successful phases of his career, and, he must be … I thought he was, desperate. And, you know, trying to maintain an image which we’ll eventually see, it’s a false image. But, here again this is all humanizing for the character, I think. He’s guilty of hubris, he’s guilty of pride, he’s guilty of … ignoring obvious signals. All that stuff. But, that’s just him.’

h: Ben tells Locke he always has a plan. Does he?

‘Right, what kind of plan is it that you have, Benjamin? ‘cos it doesn’t seem like a great plan (laughs). OK, so you have one, so you’re thinking ahead, so you fancy yourself a gamesman. How’s that workin’ out for ya?’

h: what is it that’s making Ben break down?

‘Yeah, I think his bravado was always kind of false. I don’t think he was naturally, a, warlord or a commandant, or, a … leader, even. It was something that, was an exhausting amount of work for him. He was supposed to be some other kind of boy, ya know, some other kind of life. I guess he was doing the best he could. Ah, I tried to find the pathos in it. You know. You’re, you’re overmatched. Now, what do you do? You don’t have any fallback, you don’t have any assistance, you don’t have any mentors. There’s no-one to go to, for help. So he kind of slowly loses his mind, in the way you would, under those circumstances, when you’re … ill-suited for your role.’

on filming that scene with Keamy

‘Well, we knew it was going to go to a heavy place, so, I can’t remember the exact discussion, but there was some question about … let’s save the heavy lifting for the end. Let’s, take care of all the mechanical business of handing out weapons and choosing windows and, you know, where’s Keamy, and Alex and, all of that. And we’ll shoot aaaall of that stuff, and at the end of it all, we will turn the camera on your, sad little face, you know, in that one pane of window that you can see through. And then, we will figure out … how to play it. Or, what it is.

But … I have to say. I wouldn’t even call that in the top ten of difficult moments for me, in that series. Cos, it’s just … a bare naked horror, and shock and, an ungraspable mourning and, to know that you made … like a … cosmic mistake. And it cost … the life of someone. So, I was ready to play that.’

‘It ends up taking care of itself … in some way. I mean, if you have, if you feel an empathy, for the situation or, for the character. I always feel kind of empathetic about whoever I’m playing. I get them, I get, Ben. He’s tryin’ to be something that he can’t, fully live up to. But he has some skills, he has a skillset. He’s a good talker! He’s straight on psychology.’

h: he’s trying to talk his way out here

‘Right, it’s a good strategy. In, in a chess game, he senses “Oh, let’s undervalue the pawn. That’s the way to save her.” But, it was the wrong choice, because he wasn’t playing the game he thought he was.’

on Keamy’s countdown

‘In the … world of dramatic countdowns, that’s a cheat too. We didn’t even get the countdown. We, you know, no trickle of sweat ran down anybody’s face. It was just, you know, five four boom! WAIT! WRONG! NO! (laughs)’

h: there’s a real electricity between Ben and Keamy in this scene

‘Partly that is just actor chemistry. I look at him and, what he embodies, and what he sounds like, and it’s like anti-matter to my matter. You know, he’s just like, he is the non-Ben. But, whenever you say that … then, you have to think OK but, there are some … shared … character … traits (laughs). He’s been ruthless. All of that is contained, in a way, in this one episode. The facets of, Benjamin and his strengths and weaknesses and stuff that works and stuff that doesn’t.’

h: did Alex hear what Ben said?

‘Of course, whether she hears him or not, Benjamin Linus will always believe that she did.’

h: how does this change Ben from here?

‘Well, I think it’s where … whatever passes for faith, with him. With the island, with Jacob. I think it, that faith is now … it’s cracked open. He, there’s no going back, from this. So what, I dunno, his forward momentum, his plan from now on will be … flawed and a little half-hearted, I think. Or desperate.’

h: does this lead to him killing Jacob?

‘Yeah, I think there’s a direct line, from this episode to that, sure. Can’t remember what my lines were exactly, when I killed Jacob, but, it was about him not supporting me. Me having given all. And by all he means, my own blood, my own child, and that means this little to you? Then die, you SOB! That was kind of his attitude.’

h: like if God had let Abraham kill Isaac, how would Abraham feel about God?

‘I think Benjamin was tested in a way that Abraham wasn’t.’

h: is redemption something Ben can hope for?

‘It’s not on his mind at the time, obviously. He’s just scrambling, just scrambling. And the end of the series, shows him unredeemed. So, he’s so caught up in the action of things, that he has no reflective mode I don’t think. Well occasionally, like … when he has that father/son, argument with Jacob or there are some other moments where he even reveals his, his weaknesses and doubts and, his sense of betrayal. But mostly, he can’t see anything else to do but just keep on, keep on with, whatever crazed plan there was in place. Before everything went wrong.’

on the scene with Widmore

‘That scene to me was really satisfying, ‘cos I thought the threat of it, the gamesmanship was, really high stakes. It was fun to be Ben and to keep a lid on it, that much. The fact of him being in the man’s bedroom. You don’t need to raise your voice, when your enemy wakes up, and you’re in the room. So then you just … you just say what you need.’

h: Widmore calls Ben a rat

‘Yeah, that’s alright. Ben doesn’t think he’s a rat. Ben thinks he’s … an avenging angel. So, he can call me what he wants. I don’t even hear that. That runs off me like water off a duck’s back.’

on Ben not going through with killing Penny

‘As a ruthless killer he has an Achilles heel and it is parenthood, or children. (h: where does that come from?) I think, you know, his own upbringing, I suppose, or just … wishing, maybe he’s always wished that, his life … he wasn’t meant to be this, he was meant to be something, you know, some tenderer, and more natural and normal thing. (h: a guy who plays piano and reads books?) That’s right, that’s right. So … yeah, the kids. Here’s his soft spot. It’s endearing.’

#ben linus #lost show #michael emerson #is articulating my Ben feels for me!#omg #he's so right

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bakubabes-tatakae · 4 years

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The Uchiha In The Leaves (Part Twelve)

Author’s Note: If anyone wants to be in a taglist for this feel free to let me know! Happy to do it for anyone!

(Kakashi x Reader)

Summary: What happens when Y/N finally returns to the Village Hidden in the Leaves? Her life is flipped upside down when not only does she find the man that’s awaited her return, but she finds someone she thought she’d never see again.

Part One, Part Two: *NSFW Ahead!*, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight: *NSFWish Ahead!*, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven

AO3 Link

Word Count: 3.1k

*Y/n P.O.V*

As Naruto screamed at Haku and their conversation continued I zoned out. I couldn’t break my eyes off of my helpless little brother. I couldn’t believe that there was nothing I could do for him. Any attempt I made would either end in my death or Kakashi not letting me past him, something that would be a piece of cake for him. As I watched Sasuke I saw the kunai that Sakura and I had gotten to him come flying through the slits in the ice wall and straight at Haku’s face. Haku dodged it with ease and Naruto looked over, finally noticing that Sasuke was in there.

Haku began to speak to Sasuke. “I haven’t forgotten about you, not for an instant.” Haku looked over at him. “Some warriors accept defeat gracefully, they know when they are beaten. Others do not so be it. Let us finish our battle then… to death.”

I could feel everything in my body begin to feel heavy. I felt like I wasn’t even in control of my body anymore as Haku started walking back toward the ice wall. As Haki disappeared inside the ice wall I screamed. “SASUKE!” I began to run before I even realized that I was running and before I got far I felt hands around my throat. My feet were lifted off the ground and I saw the gray sleeves that were on Zabuza’s arm as my air was slowly escaping me.

I heard Kakashi’s anger rise and a little panic set in on his voice. His voice started to sound almost demonic and a growl was present. His change in demeanor sent shivers down my spine. It had been a long time since I’d seen Kakashi truly angry like this. “Let her go Zabuza.” He took a kunai out of his gear bag on his hip and looked Zabuza in the eyes. “If you don’t let her go I’ll finish you myself, right now.”

Zabuza laughed. “One more slip up like this and I’ll kill all the kids and the bridge builder before you even realize what’s going on. Mark my words.” Zabuza’s grip loosened and I fell to the ground on all fours, gasping for air.

Kakashi bent down and helped me stand back up. I could feel myself wheezing. “Have some faith in your brother Y/n. You never know what he can do.”

I tried to talk, but the words weren’t coming out. I was trying hard to say his name, but nothing but air escaped my lips. I heard more needles flying around and more grunts of pain from Sasuke before hearing him hit the ground. Both Naruto and Sakura screamed his name. When I had my voice back I saw Naruto sneaking his way into the ice wall. Their best bet would have been for one of them to attack from the inside and one to attack from the outside. “Naruto, you idiot!”

Kakashi lowered his head. “Naruto, you sneak up on your enemy, not your ally.”

Kakashi kept one arm around my waist, ensuring that I didn’t move. Suddenly I saw the Uchiha come out of Sasuke. There was fire flying around in the ice wall. I perked up a little and stopped fighting so much against Kakashi. Fire melts ice, maybe it was a good move, but the ice didn’t waver. More needles flew around and both boys were screaming.

I couldn’t see what was going on, just a lot of yelling, and I was cursing at myself. If I could have seen what was going on then maybe Kakashi and I could yell to them and help them. Suddenly Kakashi spoke. “I knew it, I figured it out, it’s a bloodline trait. Kekkei Genkai.”

Zabuza laughed and Sakura looked over. “What’s that?”

“It’s like Y/n and I’s Sharingan, you can’t learn it, it has to be in your blood. In your genetic code, passed down from generation to generation within a single clan.”

“But that means…” Sakura trailed off.

“That’s right, even we can’t copy that jutsu and there’s no way to destroy it and no way to stop it.”

I started gasping for breath again. I was hyperventilating now. I hoped Sasuke and Naruto could hold their own in there. I couldn’t lose my only other family member left. Itachi was dead to me. The boys needed to work together if they wanted to get out of this alive.

Sakura tried to get the boys going. “Sasuke, Naruto, get this guy. You can do it.”

Kakashi looked over at her. “Don’t Sakura. Don’t push them. Even if they somehow found a way to overcome the mirror jutsu, they still couldn’t defeat this ninja.”

I looked back and Kakashi. “Don’t you dare say that.” I slapped his chest, tears welling in my eyes. “You of all people, don’t you dare.”

“Y/n, they have the desire to win, but they don’t have the instinct to kill. That boy is a whole other breed. He lives for pain. He thrives on it.”

Zabuza laughed. “Exactly. Your village has become complacent. The Mist Village was never like that, was it Y/n?” He looked at me and smiled. “Y/n was trained to kill, that’s why we have a page in our bingo book about her in the assassination unit as well.” He looked between us both, “Your trainees never learned the most important lesson of all… to kill the feelings in their own hearts. To crush an opponent mercilessly. To destroy with no emotion or regret.” Zabuza started to build up his chakra, you could see it radiating off him.

Sakura was afraid. “What are we going to do?”

Kakashi and I had two options. We could both make a break for it and save Sasuke and Naruto, but he’d slay the bridge builder. If we used shadow clones Zabuza would just match them with water clones, we’d be wasting chakra. We had no choice, it was us or Zabuza right now, we’d have to do it the hard way. Kakashi looked at me and nodded. He began to pull his headband up from his Sharingan and I focused my chakra, shutting my eyes to concentrate. When I felt the power flowing through every inch of me I opened my eyes, instantly activating the Sharingan in them.

Zabuza laughed at us. “The Sharingan? You guys are no fun. Using the same old trick?” Zabuza ran toward Kakashi before Kakashi could get his headband off his eye. He had no idea what was coming.

I was the only one that had my Sharingan ready so I jumped for Zabuza as he pulled a kunai out. With his free arm, Zabuza took hold of the leg that I had out toward him and threw me toward the ground, stopping me in my tracks. Kakashi put his hands up and the kunai went into the one that wasn’t holding his headband.

Kakashi was even more pissed off now. “If it’s such an old trick, why did you stop me?”

Zabuza laughed, still holding the knife into Kakashi’s hand. I slowly stood back up and took my own kunai out. “Let your opponent see your jutsu too many times and he’ll find a way to use it against you.”

I held my kunai out toward Zabuza. “Move your kunai Zab, before I move it myself.”

Kakashi looked over at me. “This is my fight right now Y/n. Let me handle it.” He looked back at Zabuza. “Count yourself lucky because you’re the only man alive that’s ever seen my Sharingan twice. The show’s over. There won’t be a third time.”

I was taken aback when Kakashi told me to back off, but I knew that he could handle Zabuza on his own. Zabuza laughed. “Even if you did defeat me you’d have no chance against Haku. When I found him he was just a street kid, but I trained him in the most advanced ninja techniques. I taught him everything I know, plus, he had special abilities that he refined on his own. The boy developed quickly. Soon he was able to verse the most powerful enemies, outnumbered, in total darkness, it didn’t matter. He could strike with perfect accuracy. He cared nothing for his own life or the lives of others. He’d become a unique fighting machine; a shinobi.”

“In the end, his power surpassed even mine. His bloodline trait, the Kekkei Genkai, can not be defeated by anyone. I’ve created a tool that can destroy anything that stands in my way, unlike the useless punks that follow you around!” He laughed maniacally. Zabuza pulled his kunai out of Kakashi’s hand and his blood flew around them. I watched in peril as they both stared at the ice walls. “You think those Genin together can defeat Haku? He’s the ultimate. A battle tool of destruction.”

Kakashi still had his hand on the headband over his eye. “Are you done bragging? You’re starting to put me to sleep. Let’s finish this.” He pulled the headband up and showed his Sharingan. “Now!”

“Fine, but there’s one more thing you should know, more bragging as you say.” Kakashi was glaring at him as he listened. “Did you really think our last battle was a win or lose? That I took your attacks like some rank Genin? Haku was there, hiding, watching every move you made, studying your Sharingans. Haku can see a jutsu once and immediately form a lethal counter-attack. It’s one of his gifts. I’ve been waiting to see the look on your faces when you two realize that your Sharingan's are worthless.” He stopped for a minute. “You once said the same jutsu won't work on me twice, well, now I’m telling you that.” Zabuza put his hand up. “Ninja art, hidden mist jutsu.”

The mist started to surround us. I couldn’t see Kakashi or the ice walls anymore. Zabuza disappeared. I didn’t like the fact that I couldn’t see Kakashi so I backed up until I found Sakura and Tazuna. “Kashi!”

“I’m fine. Just stay with the two of them. Keep them safe.”

“I can’t see the boys anymore!”

“Focus Y/n. I need you focused if we’re gonna make it out of here.”

“Sakura, stay with me.” I looked over at her. “Get your kunai ready.” I heard Sakura take out her kunai. “Follow my lead you two and whatever happens, stay behind me.”

Tazuna spoke up. “I’m right behind you.”

I heard Zabuza speak in the distance. “Very skillful, as I’d expect from Kakashi the Sharingan warrior.” There was a pause before I heard him again. “But the next time you see me will be the last time you see anything.”

I froze. I had to get to Kakashi. “No!” I realized I was speaking out loud. I looked behind me at Sakura. “You stay here with Tazuna. I’m going to help Kakashi.”

Sakura nodded to me and I started running in the direction I was hearing the voices. Zabuza spoke again. “Without your Sharingan you are nothing.” I hoped I would get there in time. “You wanted me to believe you can see through anything, even through time, But your prediction was wrong, I’m still alive. So you’re a fraud Kakashi, you guys can’t read the future and you can’t read me. Sharingan is just a cheap trick that makes you seem more powerful than you really are.”

“I know now that your Sharingan has two separate elements. The piercing eye that sees every detail and the hypnotic eye that mesmerizes your opponents. Employing these abilities you can execute multiple jutsu in quick succession, to make it seem like you can see the future. First, with the piercing eye you copied my movements instantly. This replication of movement makes me doubt my own thoughts. Once I was shaken you infiltrated my mind, waiting for the slightest flutter to anticipate my actions, seeking out any hints to my next move.”

I made it over to the two of them. Zabuza had no idea that I was hiding. I could see Kakashi looking around, Zabuza had vanished from his line of sight, but I could see him.

He spoke more. “You time it precisely, waiting for the right moment. The instant my mind becomes unfocused you create a new illusion, with your hypnotic eye. You induce me to make hand signs, while you’re making the same signs, so you seem to be copying me when actually you’re controlling my movements. Now that I know this, a very simple plan can defeat you. First, neutralize your piercing eye with zero visibility mist.”

I saw Kakashi go ridged. I had never seen him so out of sorts. Zabuza struck at him and he jumped backward before he hit him. The mist was slowing down his reaction time and I had to wait for the right moment to strike or I’d blow my cover. “Next, neutralize your hypnotic eye by keeping my own eyes closed. You can’t bore into my mind if you can’t look into my eyes.”

Kakashi looked around. “Brilliant, except with your eyes closed you can’t see me either.”

I knew as soon as he said it that he was wrong. Zabuza didn’t have a problem with things like this. He was part of the assassination unit, they were trained for this. “Have you forgotten who I am Kakashi. I’m the Demon of the Hidden Mist, master of the silent kill, I can take you out by sound alone.”

My time was coming. Zabuza would strike soon. I moved away from Kakashi. The next place that Zabuza would strike was going to be Sakura and Tazuna. Kakashi was blind to him, he would use the opportunity. I moved slowly and quietly, using what Zabuza had taught me against him until I could see the two of them, as well as Zabuza. Kakashi must have realized it too, as I jumped toward them and Zabuza reappeared Kakashi appeared in front of them. Zabuza swung his sword and Kakashi let it hit him. Blood started dripping from Kakashi and Sakura screamed.

Zabuza looked at him and I stood, ready with a kunai. “Kashi!”

“You were late Kakashi.” He looked between the two of us. “You let your concern for those two little punks cloud your mind, adding further to the fog that already hinders your Sharingan.” Kakashi was holding his chest. “Your eyes are sharp Kakashi, but not sharp enough to read my moves.” Kakashi was in pain, I could tell by just looking at him, blood was seeping into his clothes. “Come on Kakashi, I want this to be fun. I want to enjoy this as I exact my revenge. As for those brats, don’t worry, they’re at Haku’s mercy.” He looked at me. “Sorry about your brother Y/n. He’s probably breathing his last breath, right now.”

I couldn’t take it anymore. The taunting was beginning to be too much. I could feel the anger radiating off me and Zabuza just continued. “Relax, you’ll have plenty of time to weep and apologize when you guys see that brat in the next life.”

Before I could strike at him he disappeared into the mist again. I walked close to Kakashi. “Are you okay?” I put my hand on his hand as he clutched where the sword had just hit him. “Let me see.”

He was breathing heavily. “We don’t have time for you to look Y/n.” He turned to Sakura and Tazuna. “I believe in the boys' abilities. I have faith in them. Naruto, the number one, hyperactive, knucklehead ninja, and Sasuke, one of the last remaining of the most powerful clan in the Leaf Village.”

Zabuza was just now realizing something about my brother and I. He hadn’t realized exactly who I had meant when I told him I was an Uchiha. Kakashi taunted him. His eyes grew wide. “You mean? All this time, you were part of that group of Uchiha’s Y./n?”

Kakashi spoke for me. “That’s right.” I was proud as Kakashi spoke. “The unique bloodlines from the Uchiha clan run through their veins. The Kekkei Genkai is their birthright.”

“I knew that two young ninjas had survived the attack on the Uchiha clan, no wonder you advanced so quickly in your training with me, and him in his training. But so does Haku. No one can match him. No one has ever stopped his secret jutsu, even the most skilled Jonin fall before him. Just as you will fall before me.”

Zabuza appeared and I made my move, completely ignoring Kakashi’s yells for me to stop. “You’re mine Zabuza!”

Before I could attack him Kakashi grabbed me and pulled me back, waving his scroll around. I knew what he was about to do so I back off. “Zabuza, I know how you like to draw these things out, but how about we put an end to this now.” Kakashi let me go and held the scroll in his hand, ready to form his jutsu. “Come on, what do you say? We’re both busy people.”

Zabuza had disappeared again and spoke. “Tempting, I’m curious to see how you’re going to back up such big words. Show me Kakashi!”

Kakashi started his hand signals. “Ninja art summoning, earth style.” He slammed the scroll on the ground. “Fanged pursuit jutsu.”

“I don’t know why you bother. Of what use is your jutsu if you can’t even find me? But I can find you. You’re blindly falling into my trap. You disappoint me Kakashi. I think you’re right, it is time to put an end to this.”

I smirked from where I stood, knowing that what Zabuza was saying was about to end. The ground started to break from under Zabuza and Kakashi and I could hear the dogs barking and growling. Kakashi's ninja hounds were like music to my ears. We looked at each other and smiled. Kakashi stood back up from the ground and walked forward. “I realized that if I couldn’t see you, I’d have to smell you out. That was a summoning jutsu. I was calling forth my ninja hounds. They can track a scent anywhere.”

“When you attacked me I let you get past my guard, I wanted you to cut me, you see, it’s the smell of my blood on your blade that led them to you.” Kakashi chuckled. “Surprised? Looks like I wasn’t the only one that was blind.”

I took the opportunity to taunt him. “Fallen into Kakashi’s trap, you disappoint me Zabuza. So much for the big bad Demon of the Mist.”

Kakashi put his arm around my shoulder, trying to anger Zabuza. “This mist is finally clearing, and you know what I see… your death.”

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#kakashi hatake x reader #kakashi hatake #hatake kakashi x reader #hatake kakashi #the uchiha in the leaves #kakashi hatake imagines #kakashi hatake fanfic #kakashi hatake fanfiction #kakashi hatake series #hatake kakashi imagines #hatake kakashi fanfic #hatake kakahsi fanfiction #hatake kakashi series #naruto x reader #naruto #naruto imagines #naruto series #naruto fanfic #naruto fanfiction

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naturaldisasterfanfiction · 4 years

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36. Part 4

To think I was going to attempt to put make up on, oh no. I got my hair up in a bun, shades on. Sneakers, sweatpants, and hoodie, I am not about to dress up for nothing. I’ve been living like this for so long that I am not used to it but I enjoy the fact I can dress like this, so even attempting to get dressed was a no for me. I mean I did even prep my face for foundation, I was ready but no. I’m going as I am, a mess of course. I cannot wait till Yusuf touches my hair; he will not be impressed with the mess atop of my head at the moment. Seeing the suitcases gathered up in the lobby, counting them as I got to the bottom of the steps “you are telling me we have nine suitcases” seeing Jen rolling another one over “ten now, kids you know. Remember the time we had one suitcase” I do, this is a lot “also Dennis has a few” nodding my head “ok, we may need a bigger jet for this” furrowing my eyebrows “on it already, we have a bigger jet. Tina booked it already, she knew” nodding my head “ok good, is everything packed now? I mean everything besides the dog, is the house sitter here?” Jen laughed, she can see me worrying “she is, follow me. Don’t worry we have prepped her. She knows, she’s signed papers and everything” walking behind Jen following her to the living room, let’s see this house sitter, I hope she doesn’t do anything stupid “look at us all, going on a adventure” I laughed, my team is all ready to go” I laughed saying “I can’t believe how much shit we got this time around, things have changed so much!” Jah spat, he isn’t wrong “this is Faith, the house sitter. She is currently in Oxford university and does this” she gasped seeing me “I mentally prepared myself but still, I’m not ready. I love you so much” she got up from the couch “nice to meet you” I was going to shake her hand, but she hugged me “oh god, pleasure is all mine. And I wouldn’t ever air this out to a soul, no way. You deserve queen” I laughed out, she is sweet “Tina and Jen have told you everything, just keep Zeus company, he likes hugs. There will be cleaners attending, we will let you know. But pretty much, have fun” I chuckled “thank you” she is thanking me, I should be thanking her to be sitting in this home alone.

I really don’t want to leave London, like I don’t but here we are “I know mom” she is staring at me “just call him, then give me the phone ok” walking back into the living room “Chris can you put Aeko’ coat on and Fenty’ then we can go, the car is outside” I feel like everything is so hectic, like everything is everywhere. I have to make sure I have everything for Fenty, it is different now. I have had moments where I just walked out with my phone and card, now it’s like the baby bag, the milk, the diapers, the change of clothes “stroller, has someone taken that? I want that just in case please!” I shouted; someone will do it “got it!” Tina shouted “Faith, hi. If anything, you need anything then please call Tina, we can resolve it. If there is any packages to come, she will let you know. Just have a nice time but do call, if you forget a passcode, I do still so I know you might” she stared at me in awe “oh course Mrs Brown” I was taken aback by that, I have not had someone call me Mrs Brown before, like this is new to me “oh, yeah” I breathed out smiling “Robbie” my mom held her phone out, taking the phone from my mom “what is it, you are banished from my life and you know that” walking off with the phone “I have missed hearing your voice, look. Seeing this go on, seeing what dad did to you. I am hurting for you, yes. I have done dumb shit but that is in house, I wouldn’t do what dad did. That is personal, I want to apologise” shaking my head “it’s not me you need to do that too Rorrey and you know that it’s my husband. If you can manage to get through him then whatever, you need to realise Rorrey. If you are for me then you are in my circle if not then fuck off, you’re my blood so I am calmer, but I swear, if you weren’t. This wouldn’t be even happening” he needs to realise that “and before you even try and speak to Chris, I don’t want you to start saying sorry and then you find this out” Rorrey cut me off “you have Aeko at the home, I know. I read it, it’s not worth losing my sister, I was being egotistical. To see your hurt words, like it hurt me. I just fucked up yeah” maybe he is telling the truth “well right now we are trying to leave for London so give it three hours or so then call back ok” I am leaving this to Chris, if Chris wants to forgive then that is fine, but I am not getting involved.

Fenty is wrapped up asleep in the car seat, we made it outside the home. Jah forgot something so he went running back inside so yeah, we are delayed. Looking across me at Aeko in his car seat looking out of the window, his blankie in hand and a toy car in the other. He is so sweet, I swear this is a whole mission to move now “got it!” Jah shouted, Aeko smiled at Jah “see you on the jet babies” rolling my eyes “let’s go bro!” Chris shouted at the driver “I am drained” I breathed out, my mom chuckled “it’s been busy Robbie, not used to such drama” my mom is not wrong, neither am I “I think it’s because I had to care what was packed, I had to make sure things were done. I needed to make sure this was packed, it’s not like I want to be the type of person where I will just buy clothes in every country I go too, I mean Barbados is different, I will leave clothes there. I can’t wait to take Fenty there, she will adore that place. We could go after California actually” that sounds like a plan to me “oh yes, the family are wanting you to come. Yes, we should go Barbados!” my mom sounds so excited “we can do that then, once Chris decides on what he wants to do with himself” looking over at him, he rubbed his face “I am thinking” he looks stressed “Chris, we are going California right. What you need to do there, you need to do it. I am not telling you what to do but if your life is here then just think” I want him to get rid of the home “but don’t you think California is best for work? You know it is” here he goes “they come to me Chris, as you can see. My team is here, with me. They come to me, we aren’t going back and forth on this and I swear, you switch up on me. I am going to be so mad” he will be testing me “you never trust me” he mumbled “you yes, but you’re seeing the idiot friends of yours, have you told them you’re coming?” Chris laughed, he laughed because he has “I suppose, they been asking so I just said it to them” rolling my eyes, I hate his friend so much. They anger me to the point where I take it out on Chris, I am just angered by their ways because they are horrid.

When Tina said she got a bigger jet I think she meant a plane, this is huge. I mean we only needed half of that but then again we have a lot of luggage with us, I don’t know but I don’t mind it. It’s been a while since I have seen a jet, I am excited for it but I wish it was Barbados instead of California anyways. Both of the kiddies are asleep, car journeys really be making them sleep, good for us I guess “I expect the kids to fall asleep, look at you big baby” Chris rubbed his eyes laughing “London is horrible for traffic, I mean why the fuck do they just be honking for no reason” the door got slid open for us, I got Fenty ear protectors because I didn’t want the loud sound to wake her “you get out first” I said to Chris, moving the blanket back from the car seat to see if Fenty is actually asleep and she is. Chris got out of the car first, getting up from my seat and reaching over. Pulling Aeko’ hood up on his head, it’s a little cold out there “you take him Chris, I will be behind you. Don’t come back down, Mel will help me get Fenty out” Chris frowned, like I just told him to leave and never come back “I will be on there, stop the face” least Aeko is asleep still, nothing will wake him up looks like. Seeing the rows of cases being loaded onto the jet, I swear I think I have done the most with this, but we are there for a while.

Rubbing my daughter’ back, she is fed and is now ready to be spoken too “there we go” wiping the excess sick that left her “I hold her” Aeko asked, he loves holding Fenty “again?” I said “she likes me, she looks at me” I can’t say no to him “she does like you, ok if you sit on the on the bed again. Daddy will sit with you and you can hold her ok” Aeko ran off to sit on the bed on the jet “the only reason I don’t mind this is because I find it do adorable that he is matching with Fenty, they are both wearing Fendi. Chris must have matched them “dad, you sit here” Aeko patted the bed, Chris jumped on the bed with him “she is coming” getting up with Fenty in my arms “Penny, awww yes!” he is so excited “you’re a good big brother, you make a good baby sitter too” placing Fenty slowly on Aeko’ lap while still holding her head “there you go” Chris placed his hand just under her head “I kiss” he leaned down ever so slowly and kissed her forehead “hello” he is so adorable “we learned how to say Fenty yet?” Chris asked “Penny” Aeko repeated “good” Chris laughed saying, he can call her Penny, I do not mind it “how are you feeling, going back to Cali?” Dennis asked, he is getting his shots in “not amused, it’s a good and bad place but it is what it is. I am going to protect my daughter from the evil that is Cali, we are there to close deals and do some work, you know” Dennis panned the camera to Chris with the baby “my sister” he lightly patted Fenty body “do you love her?” Dennis asked him “lots!” Fenty is staring so hard at Aeko.

Fenty and Aeko are with my team, while Chris and I are alone in the back to talk “so” I dragged out, Chris sat across from me “I spoke to him” oh god, here we go “and?” I hope it was productive “he said sorry like five times, he said I am not doing it for money or anything like that. I know my sister cut that off from me but because I realised how stupid I have been, my sister being dragged in the blogs, people talking down and saying things about my niece. I could sense how she didn’t want to release anything; it was because she had no choice. His ego got above him, he said that he is sorry. All I can do is ask for forgiveness and he mentioned that he posted a picture of me actually on Instagram, I did check it and he did. He said something about me being his brother in law, I am all for forgiveness. He is right, he never went above and posted shit to expose things like Ronald, he is hurt by him also, but yeah. I said to him that Robyn has left it to me, I can decide what I want. I said I will forgive, because holding grudges will make me just as bitter as the ones hating us. I am doing it because I haven’t heard you like this before, your guard is down and I ain’t ever heard you be so sorry about things, so there. I did” I am shocked “wow” is what I said “we aren’t going to be the best of friends but it’s mutual and he said fuck Drake too, he said how much he misses his sister, he don’t care for the money, it’s family. He didn’t like how they spoke, but yeah” he is a good man my husband, I am proud of him for doing that “see how it goes and how he is but yeah” I am proud of him for being the better person “thank you” I thanked him “I did it for peace, I did it because at the end of the day he’s always gonna be there, if he is willing to be better then we will see” reaching over and placing my hand over Chris’ “you’re a good man” Chris side eyed me “but you was there saying I am useless” oh here he goes.

I chuckled at him “I never said that I just want you to decide what you want without me having to tell you what to do. Unless you want me too?” Chris licked his lips; he is really feeling butt hurt “what would you say? What would Robyn Fenty say?” I smiled at him “if I was Chris Brown, I would lawyer up and I would create a safe space for my son” I said the truth “then that means him being with us forever you know that right? I still don’t know what to do” Chris is undecided, like he doesn’t want his son “so truth be told you want him to go to a bitch that threw her son to us?” Chris shrugged “I am thinking about you Robyn” moving my hands away from his “don’t put this on me Chris, don’t put it on me that I am the issue. The real issue is you don’t want to take the responsibility, but I am not going to push you to anything. This is your decision, and you need to decide while you’re in California, I just don’t know what to say to you” shaking my head in disbelief, I am in shock at this “yeah” Chris mumbled, I will adopt Aeko my damn self. Nobody seems to want him; Chris is making it seem like he is in the way. I am not even going to bring it up again until he does, I just think he needs to get a lawyer and do something. I can’t do everything for him.

#Chrianna #chrianna ff #chriannaff #fanficton #fanfic

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jaypelt · 4 years

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Cheers for Five Years of Undertale, and its Everlasting Effect on Me

Been a while since I’ve done one of these... I might even be rusty at it! Honestly, what I’ve got right now are more vague thoughts than coherent words in my head. I wasn’t sure if I’d even do this, since I felt it wasn’t entirely necessary. Everybody had so much to say! But spurned on by the display of someone very close to me, the cogs in my head couldn’t help but start turning for me too. So here I am. This isn’t going to be easy, though. Because if you read this, I need you to understand the depth of my feelings. Even if just a little. So I’ll do my best to bare my heart yet again, for the sake of it and everything its done for me. Everything it’ll keep doing for me.

The beginning is usually always one of the hardest parts. A blank space devoid of anything, that you’ve got to somehow miraculously fill with thoughts somebody else could understand. But Undertale is rarely a subject I ever have to struggle so much with. It’s been a long, long five years.

This is re-treading old ground that a number of those who know me are already familiar with, however, I don’t think this would be complete without it. But it will get very, VERY personal. If you’re not comfortable with that, then uh... giving you another warning now. But pushing forward...

Right before UT came out, I hadn’t begun to really unravel quite yet. But I was very close. It was somewhat of a rough transitional period as I moved on from my middle school to high, losing very dear IRL friends and generally continuing to struggle with school, as I had been for years. Untreated ADHD is real nasty. But I’d always had at least some friends, either online, or ones I made throughout the year, to rely on. And I didn’t really think about things. The start of this school year was no different. Even having a... perhaps questionable choice of boyfriend, but, well, he was my first.

I struggled with just about every aspect of school from basically the start, but having a small group, and especially an online partner to come home to everyday, helped me at least get through. In the coming months, however, I’d start to encounter more turbulence. Through aforementioned partner, I met someone who’d come to rely on me far more than he should have. Made even worse by the fact that he was a full grown adult while I was only 14, which will be a recurring trend. And has been for most of my life.

We hit it off pretty quickly, becoming good friends and talking to each other outside of mutual friend spaces. And through that, he started to open up about his problems. Living with a family that treated him poorly, suicidal urges, and particularly, an abusive boyfriend. If you know me well, I’ve probably definitely talked about this at least a little.

My daily routine starting becoming supporting this person through all of his troubles. Sitting in skype calls or exchanging messages for hours at a time on the daily. Rarely did a day go by where I didn’t, slowly sinking into an apathetic pit from overextending myself for the sake of his mental health. I couldn’t even help him improve, all I could do was just try to keep him alive. Which, well, I did. For months.

Everything else fell to the wayside as I was constantly stressed about the life of someone I cared about. Obviously my school life suffered even further. I grew withdrawn from everyone, and kept only to the few online friends I had. However, in the midst of this downward spiral, just before the ball really got rolling, a certain game came out. Exactly a month after it had come out, October 15th, 2015, I’d become interested after all the talk on tumblr about Undertale.

After watching a playthrough on youtube(I didn’t play for myself at first, a pity), It’d personally resonated so strongly and gotten me so hooked that it was something I invested a fair amount of my time into consuming content about. I grew super attached to all these characters that’d made me laugh, smile, cry... just this whole spectrum of emotions. And someone in particular, Alphys, really caught my attention after things had begun to get worse.

She felt so... relatable, though I couldn’t possibly tell you all the reasons. When I think about it, we’re not really the most similar, but something about her just hooked me. Maybe because she had all these things going on that nobody knew about. And that she lied. And felt so anxious interacting with anyone after she’d previously been much warmer and closer. That she was closer to “disappearing” than she seemed.

Whatever the reasons, the months moving further along, consuming content about UT practically became my lifeline. I reblogged heaps and heaps of posts about it, watched videos, listened to the soundtrack, even started drawing because I’d been so inspired. When I was just stuck in this horrible pit of second-hand depression, it was the one thing that still made me happy. I started to really think about why it mattered to me and how. It’s funny, I’d read books obsessively for years before then, but UT was the thing that really got me thinking. It was all downhill from there, I tell you. Now I’m an artist and a writer. Horrific.

But, unfortunately, for all its good... it couldn’t stop what was to come. I was still getting worse and worse, with no end in sight. I’d already been supporting... let’s call him Phil, for a few months. And in December of that year, my boyfriend completely dropped off the grid for a while. I’d see him appear online sometimes and I’d message him, but no response, then right back to offline. Finally, he came back, approaching me with something he obviously was uncomfortable about.

To make a long story short, he’d come to the conclusion that he was straight, and decided to end the relationship. What’s bad is that... honestly? I was already doing so poorly that I had a hard time caring. But we did pretty much stop talking, and I leaned into Undertale all the more. Anyway, time continued to pass. Not without its few ups, and mostly downs. I got used to being called “mature”, usually followed by “especially for your age.” “Phil” told me that if I were legal, he’d date me. I’ve got a crippling fear of screwing up with people that’s stuck with me to this day, after a few occasions involving him. I considered doing some... not so great things to myself. Thankfully, I was always so averse to physical pain that it didn’t become anything extreme.

As for the few ups, there was “Phil” finally managing to leave his abusive relationship, when he’d tried previously and fallen into such a bad depressive episode I had to talk him down. So that was something. He’d even started going to therapy after the second break up.

Not that it did a whole lot. The school year began approaching its end and nothing had really changed. I’d been going through all the same motions for around half a year or more. My sleep was terrible, I was passing almost none of my classes, had practically no friends to speak of, and just felt... tired. All the time. But during this... the minute beginning of a monumental shift started. Another character in UT had begun to clutch me in his grasp. Even more strongly than Alphys. Flowey. Through the posts a singular person on tumblr had made about him and my experience with the geno run, I came to understand the dumb little flower more. Which is also funny, because he was previously my least favorite. Even, yes, after the Asriel reveal.

I’m having a difficult time weaving together this convoluted timeline of events, but it was around... perhaps March or early April that the person whom I’d been supporting for almost a full fucking year completely disappeared. Without a word. The one thing I’d tried to stick to for so long was just. Gone. So I drifted about with, well, no purpose.

By the end of the school year, it probably goes without saying that I was... not doing great. But one those aforementioned acquaintances I’d only just started to become actual friends with came forth to me with a question. That being if there was some way for us to keep contact during the summer. So I gave her my email, which would turn out to be a decision that saved my life. Because things would only get worse before they got better.

This is getting to be way, way, way too long. So to summarize, summertime came around and I’d been in pretty close contact with... I’ll just call her V. She was... well, unlike anyone I’d ever known. Someone who stood out with the intelligence you could just see in their eyes. Outgoing, charismatic, compassionate... all those sorts of things. We were opposites in a lot of ways. Or, at least, it felt like it.

Some things happened, like “Phil” coming back after months of nothing. Me immediately slotting back into my role of being a pillar of support, but then screwing up and hating myself for it. But honestly, that ain’t shit to the rest of the whole shitshow.

For a bit of context, my parents are divorced. So for most of the previous years, I’d been going to my mom’s place during the summer and staying with her the whole time, to make up for how rarely we’d see each other otherwise. That year... she was beginning to run low on money. She lived next to my granny, but still basically alone, compared to how she’d been staying with someone else in hotels for the few prior years.

After learning she didn’t have enough to pay rent and might be kicked out, she tried to appeal to her mom, who said she wouldn’t let her stay. Why? I don’t know. After that, she spiraled into a panic. And, well, the ever faithful little worker bee, I stepped forward to try and console her in any way I could. She seemed to recompose, at least a little. It wasn’t great, and she thought she’d have to do some unsavory things in order to survive, but... I thought that, just maybe, I’d done something.

But... later that night, she started drinking. Which... well, put her in a mood. Exacerbated by the day’s earlier events and the fact that she was taking medication that responded poorly to alcohol. She came over to where I was sitting, my little makeshift desk I’d put together to set up my desktop, with my little sister just in the other room. Just... a warning for this next part, it’s... grim. More grim than anything else in this thread.

She proceeded to tell me she was going to go upstairs and grab the gun my granny kept in her room. And berated me for thinking I’d done anything to help, saying she “wasn’t like my little friends” that I could simply talk to. With that, she walked away, heading upstairs. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so crushed in my entire life, to this day. I broke down crying, sitting in that chair.

Yet, somehow, I managed to stop when I saw her coming back down. She walked back over, pointed the gun at her head, and told me to give her a reason she shouldn’t do it. And also to this day, I.... still don’t know if I said what was right. It was all I could think of. I quietly told her that if she did it, I’d pick that gun up and do it to myself. Same as her. And I asked if she wanted to be responsible for that.

It was true, too. By that point, I didn’t care anymore.

And if there’s one thing I can say about her, it’s that she’s always cared about me. In a horrible, twisted way especially, that night. It was enough to make her silently pull the gun down, go back upstairs, and put it away. One last time... she came down, walked past me to the front door and simply said “I love you.” before going out to sit on the porch.

I’m not sure I’ll ever truly get over the events of that night. I spoke to V afterwards, as I’d been keeping in regular contact, as I said. And even been speaking to her throughout the day about what was happening. I think she was panicking just as much as I had been, and told me to go find the gun and unload it. So I did. Bawling my eyes out the whole damn time. Afterwards, I took the bullets and threw them in the large neighborhood garbage can.

The rest of the night’s a blur. I don’t recall if anything else happened, I just remember waking up tired the next day. My uncle was in the house, as he’d been staying with my granny for a while, but hadn’t been around the night before. I tried to talk to him, but.. couldn’t bring myself to open up. Even though we were pretty close. I went back to my dad’s.

That wasn’t the end of it, either. For the next coming months, I’d get drunken calls and live in fear of being put right back in the same situation. It got so bad that I stopped answering my phone altogether. I broke contact with my mom entirely. I still hate answering or making calls.

Anyway, a few other things happened in the summer, like my applying for online courses. And the subsequent ridicule from my dad’s side of the family for the decision. Tell you what, the stress of taking a test to try and join that online program, then going to golden corral and having to struggle to not cry in front of everyone there was... not the ideal way to spend a birthday. Happy 15 years to me.

So.... that was that. I still went through with online courses and everything kind of... slowed to a crawl. I tried to do school work, but depression and still yet untreated ADHD prevented me from making any substantial progress beyond a few finished classes. For a while I simply... existed in a limbo. All I did was get up, get on my computer, maybe talk to a few people, and play Overwatch. Maybe look at tumblr, as I remained into Undertale. V and I lost contact after school started back up. I never blamed her for it. In fact, I preferred it that way. She didn’t deserve to have such a burden placed on her, and I still... feel guilty for leaning on her so much.

But I’m very thankful. I hope she’s out there living a good life, wherever she is.

And this! Is where we finally get to the not depressing parts! And only... what, 29 paragraphs in? Sheesh... I know I wanted to really illustrate just how shit things were to demonstrate just how much UT did for me, but this is taking it a bit far, isn’t it? Ah well... already made it this far. In for a penny, in for a pound. If you’ve made it this far, congratulations! I’m sorry. Truly. And I love you so very dearly.

Time went by and I kept doing my thing. Playing Overwatch(a practically self-destructive behavior deserving a therapy, frankly), talking to the few friends I had that I kept at an arm’s length, that sort of stuff. “Phil” and I no longer talked, thank goodness. Obviously I was depressed as all hell, not bothering to shower, eat, clean up, or do laundry for days on end. I spent more time asleep than I did awake, on most days. Did I say this was where the not depressing part was? I may have lied a little.

Blah blah “more months go by”, you know the drill. Until... I believe, November of 2016. After cementing my love of Flowey ever deeper, I’d started to follow more blogs putting out content for him on tumblr. In particular, the most important ones being I’lltrytobegood, Flowey-Answers, and later happyflowey and Corruptedflora.

It all started with a stream. I joined an art stream of LLA(Lovelyladyartist) on picarto as he worked on ITTBG. I kept quiet for the first few streams I joined, being too anxious to really out myself in any capacity. But little by little, I was coerced out of my shell. Particularly by one SilverKhaos, who I think at the time went by SilverSlayer or something. Anyway, he got me talking. And through that, I started making friends, bit by bit.

Also through the stream, I was introduced to CC(CuteCatDoodles) of Flowey-Answers. I obsessively read through the entire blog in a single sitting, just... having such a good time with it. And... strangely enough, it... got me feeling oddly better. Like I’d finally started to breath after not being able to for what felt like such a long time. If just a little. The next day, I got out of bed early, cleaned up, took out some garbage, and made breakfast. Just a simple plate of scrambled eggs. A simple, easy morning for most any average person. But for me? It was one of the most special mornings I’ve ever had.

Likewise, I did the same with Ding’s happyflowey, of reading through all of it in a single night. My head hurt like a motherfucker, but I tell you, it was worth it. The effect perhaps not as profound, but still very meaningful to me, as well as sowing the seeds of yet more relationships to form. If far off in the future, as far as this timeline is concerned. I still adore all of those dumb, charming little flowers so much. Mania would come to inspire my first ever OC, in fact. Thinking about that blog makes me miss when the UT fandom was more active here, even though I never participated in the fandom at large. But I’m grateful for the memories and incredible amounts of enjoyment getting to read it all brought me. I have way too many cropped images of Hysteria.

I wasn’t immediately better, but it was all the start of something new. I kept up with the streams, also joining in for CC’s. For hours upon hours a day, I’d just hop into them and spend the day talking away. I had something to really look forward upon waking up, starting to adjust my schedule so that I at least didn’t miss TOO much. I was able to really make friends, it felt like. Even though I wasn’t and still am not the most socially adept.

And as luck would have it, because picarto chat was and probably still is pretty unstable to this day, it just happened to go down and that led to... the creation of the discord server! It started off small, but steadily got more and more joiners from the growing population of the streams. LovelyLadyArtist, CuteCatDoodles, BrySkye, Flowers-Without-Pots, SilverSlayer, KRS, Donut, Mr.Quarter, Dragoler, Stilla, Chara, RotmModdy, Rowdy, Dunal, and probably at least a few others I’m forgetting... all names I encountered there and most of which I still see daily.

Through that server, we started keeping up even when there wasn’t any stream going on. Just goofing off and having a good ‘ol time. Already I was... well, doing a helluva lot better than I had before. All because of the gathering of a small community surrounding this indie gem. And even further centered in a niche specifically about Flowey! Who, and I’d forgotten to mention this before, I’d found a surprising amount to relate in. He’d become a big, BIG hyperfocus. Which is why I’d met everyone at all. Truly, it’s crazy to think how possible it is for me to have never come down this path.

From there on, I continued to meet new people, established new relationships. I even got invited to an RP server, creatively named “Flower RP” :p. At first I was hesitant, perhaps not even initially 100% interested. But as people really got into it, I felt an incredibly strong Fear of Missing Out. Leading to the creation of a character still near and dear to my heart.... Zorch. The result of contributions from many friends, from design ideas, to character concepts, and even his name(thanks for that, Rowdy). And... I began to write. It wasn’t great at first. very short form, and I didn’t know how to approach the roleplaying mindset, or even how to properly characterize him.

But over time... I got better. I became more confident. I really got into the nitty-gritty of character writing and discussion. I joined in on hours long discussions about the characters, lore, and narrative of Undertale. I’d wake up just to be there as soon as chat began to move, all the way to the point where everyone was finally asleep. I started to be able to help people again. For months, participating in this RP, in this chat, in this community was what I lived for. The joy that I felt in being among friends all working towards and talking about a common goal and interest is, well, honestly still somewhat unrivaled.

Paci, Pots, Neue, Castor, Silver, Nightmare, Rowdy. Me. All of us joined together in mutual love for a game, spurred on to feverishly create our own content about it. I kept up for months on end, living by the mostly same routine for probably the longest I’ve ever stuck to anything. Eventually... things happened and the server’s gone quiet. We had problems with management, people feeling excluded, targeted, etc etc. It was a very... consequence heavy RP, most of us were almost complete newbies to the roleplaying game, and many came to care rather deeply about the ongoings of it. Perhaps too much. But, well... I’m not sure it could have been prevented.

Sometimes, I still wish I could go back to that point of my life. I know someone else who does too. Even more than me. But I know not to try and emulate the past, as alluring as it may seem. So I push forward. Leading to yet another server with its own events. Clement, myself, Rowdy, Zielo, Neue, Moddy, Vee, Mini, Nappy, Tia, Silver. Some familiar names, some new. All still with the foundation of Undertale, but it quickly became a thing for us to just... chill and talk about anything. There was real love in that place. It was at this time that I even started going to therapy! After some struggling with the family. It helped a lot.

In time, that server, too, went under. For reasons that have long since been buried and forgiven. It no longer exists, after being deleted entirely, but I’ll always remember it. And we did eventually all(mostly) gather back together someplace new, which is still being talked in. Even gaining some new additions recently! If any of you guys are catching this one, I love you!

And we come to the final and most recent group. One I wasn’t actually a founding member of, instead being a late joiner. Comparatively smaller than all the ones before, but filled with just as much love. Pip, Ding, Kink, and Cola. Remember when I mentioned happyflowey sowing seeds, and then didn’t even expound in further detail about corruptedflora? Well congratulations, you’ve reached the payoff.

It all started after I began interacting with the mun of CF, Kinko, and became mutuals with them. We usually just spam reblogged from each other on occasion for a while. That is, until I got messaged, then sent a friend request through Discord. Which, even still, didn’t immediately go anywhere. But eventually... some things led to another, and we joined up in a particular server. Not one I’ll be naming, but times were... turbulent in there. It went under and we lost contact a bit after that.

That is, until completely out of the blue, I just get invited to a server with them and some pals to just join in on Roblox shenanigans. Imagine me, sweating and anxious as hell after getting asked to join a server with two people behind blogs I adore, considering Ding was there too. Cardiac arrest, I tell you. And obviously more than just them too! But the night turned out to be so fun that I forgot I’d ever been so anxious in the first place.

From there on... the rest was history. There’s been many, MANY ups and downs, but I’ve found yet more people I love very, very dearly. And they’ve gotten me to open up about the way I feel the most. In the past years, I could never tell someone I loved them, no matter how much I really wanted to. The words just couldn’t come out, but they... they brought that out in me. And now I can say it whenever I want! Like now! I love you guys!!! So much!!!! And not just you all, but everyone else too!!! And much love to Kink especially for being a driving force behind me making this, as well as just being a goddamn star.

So... as a final ovation... LLA, CC, Bry, Drago/Paci, Pots, Silver, Donut, Quarter, Stilla, Chara, Moddy, Rowdy, Neue, Castor/Skater, Tia/Nightmare, Clement, Zielo, Vee, Nappy, Ding, Pip, Cola, and Kink. As well as some stragglers like Log, Ingrid, and Jai. I’m probably still forgetting some... but thank you all for being my friends. It’s been a long, long five years. And yet, many of you are still in my life. In at least some form. There aren’t words enough to express my gratitude towards every single one of you for the most incredible years of my life and pulling me from what can be called nothing less than the fucking abyss. You all made and continue to make life worth living.

And thank you, Undertale. The game behind all of these relationships. The game that inspired such strong feelings in me when nothing else could. That made me into an artist and writer. The reason I’m still alive. The game that changed my fucking life and will continue to affect me, I believe, for the duration of it. I really cannot overstate just how important you were and still are. There’ll never be anything else like you.

#this is probably littered with mistakes and things that didn't need to be there #Like the sheer amount of context provided for how poorly I was doing #But too late to change things now!#My brain hurts too much to bother proofreading #So take this raw and unfiltered thing and do what you will with it #Or don't #It's a rough read #Don't push yourself through it if you can't #Or simply don't want to #long post

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violet-knox · 5 years

Text

Trust

Year 6 - Chapter 35

Summary: You and Severus bicker over the robes he left in the common room last night.

Word count: 1488

Previous Chapter - Chapter 1

Packing up your books, you shifted your gaze over towards Severus, wondering why he hadn’t brought up the school robes he had forgotten last night. In fact, you had spent most of the morning in silence. After some quick greetings, he simply stayed quiet as you read in his arms atop the astronomy tower. You thought that he would perhaps ambush you or expect you to return it the second you met, but when you made no such notion, he held his tongue which surprised you as you knew how possessive he was of his belongings. You slung your bag over your shoulder and waited for him to do the same as you opened the door to head to class.

“So, will you be giving me back the robes I left in your common room last night?” ahh, there it is. You looked away from him, stepping through the door as you hid the sly grin on your face. Severus followed you, eyeing your movements as he had waited long enough and wanted his Slytherin robes back.

“Oh, you want them back?” you began, throwing a bit of sass into your tone as you stepped down the stairwell. You couldn’t help but wonder just how far he would let you go with this. “I assumed that since you left them in the Gryffindor common room, you no longer wanted them.” Severus raised an almost threatening eyebrow at you, knowing fully you were merely teasing him for forgetting such a thing in enemy territory. He was only glad you had found them before someone else saw the Slytherin colors on their bright red couch.

“Cheeky,” he commented. “But seriously (Y/N), I need them back.”

“Well, you clearly have a spare,” you lightly tugged on his sleeve and looked up to see his patience slowly fading away as his expression turned rough. But you had no intention of giving them back as you adored having something of his with you, knowing they were yours to keep so long as you didn’t hand them back. You couldn’t tear the smile off your face last night as you snuggled with it at night in bed after he left. Is it creepy to say you like the way a person smells? Because that’s exactly how you felt when you woke up, realizing his scent had provided you with such a comfortable and loving shield.

“Actually, these are my new set,” he said. You detected a bit of a cold tone in his voice this time and began to worry you had pushed too far. “The ones you have are my spare robes.” Severus looked at you with a hopeful glimmer in his eyes as you debated whether or not you should continue this little game of yours. Deciding to test his tolerance for your insolence, you smirked at him, letting him know you weren’t about to give up so easily.

“Well,” you spoke with conviction which only caused Severus to let out a frustrated huff. “You better not lose these then, otherwise you’ll be walking around robeless.” You waited for him to react, but it never came. He simply peered at you, searching your eyes for what, you would never know.

“If you keep them, then it’s only fair you give me something in return,” he argued as he held the door open for you as you exited the tower.

“I disagree Sev,” you giggled as he tried to approach the situation from a different angle. “I would never leave my belongings in the Slytherin common room. Therefore, you have no claim to any of my things.”

“You are vexatious!” he exclaimed, grabbing your wrist and twisting his body to face you. You found yourself pushed against the cold concrete of the astronomy tower staring into the eyes of a very stern Severus Snape. He squinted as he approached you further, caging you in your place. Your heart was pumping so fast, you felt it vibrating against your rib cage. This was the first time you felt intimidated by him, worried he was angry with you. You couldn’t lie though, seeing him so riled up did turn you on just a little.

You gave him a shy smile which seemed to have snapped him back as he realized he was towering over you. He took a step back and hung his head, letting his hair to shower his face. He blushed and tried to find the words to apologize for his aggressive behavior. Feeling guilty for keeping his possessions hostage, you removed your bag off your shoulders and placed it on the floor as you rummaged through it.

Severus peered down at you curiously, wondering what you were up to, all thoughts of atoning for his actions leaving his mind. When you stood up with your fist clenched as you swung your bag back over your shoulder, he attempted to peek at what you had retrieved, but his curiosity merely increased as you paused and looked down at the item enclosed around your fingers, obscuring his line of vision from the mysterious object.

“Can I keep your robes if I give you this?” you asked as you slowly loosened your grip, revealing a small red and gold pin. Severus felt his heart jump as he realized you were handing him your Quidditch Captain pin, something he knew you were very fond of. At times, he would catch you lightly tracing it with your fingers, knowing you were longing to get back onto a broom again.

“(Y/N),” he whispered as you placed it in his hand, gently closing his long slender fingers over it.

“I trust you won’t lose this,” you looked into his eyes as you enclosed his hand with yours, hoping he understood just how important this little pin is to you. It represents your accomplishments in quidditch and holds all your dreams for a successful future in the sport. You had poured your heart into receiving this pin and always kept it on hand to remind you that you could achieve anything if you set your mind to it. Perhaps that’s why it felt like you were handing him your soul right now.

“I won’t,” he smirked at you and you saw his shoulders drop as his body relaxed. You leaned up and gave him a quick kiss before taking his hand and making your way towards the castle. Severus entangled his fingers with your and squeezed your palm as he examined the small trinket in his hand. It felt surreal to be holding such an item and he wondered just how much you trusted him if you were willing to hand over such an important possession to him.

Severus tightened his grip on the pin as he entered the Great Hall, parting ways from you, wanting to show you that you’re not wrong in bestowing so much trust in him. It was hard to eat lunch knowing Severus had the little pin that brought you so much comfort each time you ran your fingers over it. You had to fight the urge to search your bag for it as you knew it wouldn’t be there. It was safe though, that you knew for sure which did help ease your mind a little. Your thoughts ventured to the green robes you had stowed away in your trunk and you had to shake your head to let your hair cover your face and hide the grin you couldn’t stop from growing.

As lunch passed, and you had nearly finished the plate of food in front of you, you found yourself so lost in thought, you almost missed the broad Bulgarian boy walking towards the Gryffindor table with a smirk on his face. You rushed out of your seat as your smile immediately wiped off your face. You had no interest in speaking with Andrei, and you were not about to let him corner you. You left the table and didn’t look back as you quickly ushered out of the Great Hall.

Close call, you thought as you walked down the halls and made your way to class. Perhaps you could hide out there until the bell rang. You settled down on a bench near the classroom and immersed yourself into a book in an attempt to get your mind off that damn Quidditch Captain pin. As the days went by, you found yourself thinking less of the little token you had given Severus, and you even stopped asking to see it which pleased him as he was getting rather tired of having to pull it out of his pocket every five seconds. Or at least that’s how it felt to him at first. Eventually, he found you lasting a while before asking to see it again. In fact, it had been a whole five days since you had asked him last and it warmed his heart to know you had so much faith in him.

Next Chapter

@hoppingsnape @dusk-realm @a-slytherin-sin @trashandshook @gbatesx @sneezy-s @emsdroid @leah-halliwell92 @dellightfullydeceitful @xxaamzxx @sparklingkeylimepie @nameless-sovereign @wanderingtrails

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blueboxesandtrafficcones · 4 years

Text

The Nuptial Necessity - Chapter 4

A 12xRose Human AU

Despite an unglamorous job description, Rose loves the work she does with The Thistle Foundation, a charity founded by her best friend’s great-uncle. It doesn’t hurt that her boss, her friend’s father, is easy on the eyes. With a great job, wonderful friends and a loving family, life couldn’t be better – except for having someone to share it with.

All of that is threatened, though, when the great-uncle dies – and sets a strange condition for his nephew to inherit, jeopardizing the Foundation and Rose’s future, sparking a chain of events that might just get her everything she dreamed of and more.

Chapters will be posted on Saturdays and Tuesdays. Many thanks to my beta, @stupidsatsuma

Rated: Explicit, for eventual smut

@doctorroseprompts

AO3 | Masterlist

—

Malcolm sighed, levering himself up and around to face her, setting his scotch on the table next to her and smiling wryly. “Thanks.”

He glanced up at her, and found her staring at him with an intense expression. She didn’t look away, and his smile faded as he took her in. God she’s beautiful. It had taken him years to really see her, beyond the filter of his daughter’s friend. Once he’d seen it, though, he’d been sunk, unable to return to how things had been.

Body and soul, she radiated, shining with a goodness and kindness unparalleled – and he’d met many people with those qualities through the Foundation.

It had been the most ordinary moment in the world, they’d been joking about pizza toppings of all things, and his heart had just… expanded.

Like the bloody Grinch at the end of the movie.

Five years later the feeling had yet to go away; if anything it had continued to strengthen, mostly in the quiet moments. The ring of her laughter, the glint in her eye, the shine of her lip gloss. The casual touch as they would tease each other.

Is she getting closer?

Rose’s eyes flicked down to his lips, tongue darting out to wet her own, and his stomach bottomed out as heat raced through him. He leaned in slowly, watching with bated breath as her eyes closed, thinking yes, yes, almost- his own eyes slipped shut as he paused a hair’s breadth away, so, so close to what he’d been aching for, what he’d been waiting for, hoping, daring, dreaming-

“Dad?”

His daughter’s voice from the hallway was the equivalent of a bucket of ice water in his lap, shocking his senses and snapping his eyes open. By the time she entered his office he was around the back of the couch, leaning on it and doing his damnedest to act casual - an act severely hampered by Rose’s slow blink as her brow furrowed and her eyes opened, staring at him with a maelstrom of emotion in her eye.

“Whaaat’s going on?”

Rose stood, watching him watch her, and after a moment, her face shuttered. “I have a call to make, excuse me,” she mumbled, pushing past Clara without acknowledging her.

Entering further Clara made a face at Rose’s back, before looking at him. “What did I miss?”

“No, no, it’s- what’re you doing here?” Malcolm shifted the focus to her, coming around the sofa to hug her and kiss her forehead, simultaneously annoyed with her presence and horrified at that fact. In all her life he’d never allowed a romantic partner – especially not a potential one – to come between them, and yet right now all he wanted was for Clara to go away, to not have shown up.

So you could… what? What do you honestly think was about to happen? The thought of actually kissing Rose made his blood pressure soar, high enough he didn’t hear a word of Clara’s chatter. “Right, that’s great,” he cut her off mid-word, with no idea of what she was talking about or if it was, in fact, great. “You just missed your Mum if that’s why you’re here, and if not, I’m sorry, but I’m… on my way to a meeting,” he invented wildly, “across town, and I’m about to be late.”

“But, Dad-” Clara trailed after him as he grabbed his jacket and booked it to the door.

“Sorry, my love, we’ll have to talk later.” With another fleeting forehead kiss he all but ran, skipping the lift in favor of the stairs for no other reason than to keep moving, entirely uncertain of where he was going until he exited the door and found Graham waiting in the loading dock by the town car.

“Where to, boss?” his chauffeur asked, nonplussed as he folded his newspaper and opened the door, and Malcolm slid in thinking If I lose the Estate I’ve got to drive myself. Or take the Tube.

He shook his head, meeting Graham’s eye in the rearview mirror.

“Any-fucking-where but here.”

“Yes, sir.”

Rose fled Malcolm’s office without even bothering to greet her friend, horrified and humiliated at what had just almost transpired.

I’m such a moron. He doesn’t want me. How could I be so stupid?

She found herself in the bathroom with no clear memory of getting there, washing her hands as she tried to think. What do I do? What do I do what do I do what do I do?

The woman staring back at her from the mirror had no answer, nothing to offer. Tears leaked out of her eyes, not quite crying but not nearly as calm as she’d like to be.

The door creaking open made her turn to the hand dryer, offering her back to whoever was coming in and using the sound of the blower to cover her sniffles.

“Rose?”

Tears welled again at her best friend’s soft, soothing voice, but it was also the realization that for the first time in their friendship, she couldn't discuss her boy troubles with Clara. Malcolm was her father, and it just wouldn’t be right. I’m on my own.

“Sweetheart.”

Clara’s hand on her shoulder released the floodgates, and Rose spun, throwing herself into her friend’s arms sobbing, relaxing into the welcome embrace.

Whatever happens, I can’t lose Clara.

Once she pulled herself together they adjourned to Malcolm’s office, Rose hesitating in the doorway. “Clara-”

“He ran out, a meeting across town he claimed, like I can’t tell when he’s full of shit. C’mon.”

They settled together on the couch, kicking off their shoes and curling up as they had done so often, though never on this particular couch. This isn’t the Tucker I’d like to be with like this, Rose thought morosely, feeling guilty at the idea. Clara was her very best friend in all the world, the one who knew all her secrets. It felt paramount to betrayal to think that.

“Wait!” Barefoot, Clara leapt off the couch, returning a moment later with the whisky decanter and two matching glasses. “Here.”

“It’s the middle of the day,” Rose gave a token protest, nonetheless taking a mouthful of the liquid, enjoying the burn as it went down. Working for Malcolm had introduced her to the world of scotch, and he’d been a willing and enthusiastic teacher, telling her with an arrogant but teasing smile, Rose Tyler, who better to teach you about scotch than a Scot?

That had been the first, but hardly the last time she’d wanted to fist his stupid tee shirt, pull him closer, and snog the living daylights out of him. She’d once even had a dream that was essentially them doing body shots of whisky off each other across his desk. It had taken the better part of a week to look him in the eye without blushing afterwards.

Glancing up from the glass she found Clara watching her, head propped on her hand, elbow on the back of the couch for support. “What?”

“So, what exactly did I almost walk in on?”

“What d’you mean? Nothing. What?”

“Rose.” Clara shook her head, sighing. “C’mon. What was that? You’re both being far too weird for it to be nothing.”

She bit her lip, swirling the scotch just to watch the motion, uncertain of what to do. Normally she would confide, they had no secrets, but… this was just too strange.

Okay, one secret.

“Nothing.”

“Rose.”

“What do you think of this whole… Wallace’s will thing?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at her friend in the universal change the subject time-honored glare. “Did you know anything about it?”

“Of course not!” Clara gasped, outraged. “You think I’d know about something like that and not tell you? More importantly, you think I could keep a secret that big? Come on!”

Rose had to smile at that, burrowing down slightly into the sofa. It was incredibly comfortable, and she knew Malcolm had spent more than a few nights on it during busy weeks. If she strained, she could almost catch a hint of his cologne. You are so far gone. And an idiot. “True,” she conceded, “but I had to ask.”

“Well, I didn’t. And I can guarantee that Dad didn’t either; no way he’d let Wally pull a stunt like that. You know he respects you too much.”

“Thanks.” It hadn’t even occurred to her that Malcolm might have known, but in thinking about it, she knew he couldn’t have; he wouldn’t let that happen. He had, somehow, become one of her biggest supporters. Her faith in him was absolute. “So, what do you think I should do?”

Clara smirked, not hiding her face behind her glass quickly enough. “I dunno. Be my new mummy?” She shrieked with laughter when Rose swatted her, before yelping, “No, my whisky!” as it almost spilled.

They giggled together, and Rose shook her head, smiling softly. “Wouldn’t that be something. I suppose one could argue I’ve already had plenty of practice,” she teased, thinking about uni. They’d been alike in many ways, but while Clara liked to go out and party, Rose was more of a homebody, one who reluctantly accepted the designation of mom-friend – which said more about her friends than it did about her, given that she wasn’t the particularly well-organized or neat-freak type. Everyone else had just been worse.

“You’ll be a good mum,” her friend said confidently, nudging Rose’s knee with her own. “No question.”

“That seems optimistic,” Rose snorted, trying to hide the twinge in her heart as she realized, “If I went through with this- for the Foundation, obviously- then I’ll be thirty-five and divorced. Bit late to start a family of my own.”

“What? That’s not true!” Clara protested, sitting upright. “We’re still plenty young! Lots of women have babies in their late thirties. Don’t give up!”

Smiling sardonically, Rose shook her head. “Oh, come on. I’m not saying it’s impossible, but definitely impractical. If a bloke is in his mid-thirties and never been married, or worse divorced, there’s a reason. No.”

Clara pursed her lips in thought for a moment before brightening. “I know! Go it alone. Adopt, or use a sperm bank. Do it on your own terms. Hell, it’s the twenty-first century – there’s plenty of ways to get material from someone without going near their trousers. You could get some from my dad, for crying out loud – I always wanted a sibling.”

That had Rose laughing, trying to picture not only the conversation, but also the outcome. “You’d be, at a minimum, thirty-one years older than your sibling. That’s just absurd – you’d always be mistaken for their mum!”

“You’re twenty-five years older than Tony,” Clara argued. “It’s not that different.”

Rose’s laughter trailed off as she pictured it; not Clara with a decades-younger sibling, but rather, Malcolm with a baby. He’d worship another kid. Once, after a scotch-too-many, he’d confessed one of his greatest life disappointments had been not having more children. She could see it, clear as day, the gruff and severe Scot losing his shit over a tiny person, being absolutely fascinated by watching his child grow and learn, discovering the world. No child could have a prouder father, that’s for sure. She’d heard enough stories about Clara’s childhood to know that, not so much from the story itself but the pride and joy evident in the retelling.

Her heart ached at the thought, of sharing a home, a child, a life with Malcolm. For the first time, she admitted to herself that she was in love with him, truly, madly, deeply in love, the kind where other men held almost no interest for her. She wasn’t dead, could certainly appreciate a fine specimen of man when she saw it, but… she didn’t find herself wanting more. She winced, realizing it had been more than a year since her last shag, longer since her last actual relationship.

He’s my standard.

It hurt to think, but it was true; she was constantly comparing other men to him, if subconsciously, and he came out on top every time. His jokes were funnier, his hair was better, his smile more charming, his eyes deeper. Whenever they would touch, mostly in passing with how often she handed things to him or vice versa, a spark would shock her wherever his skin touched hers.

“Clara-”

“Shit!” her friend cut her off, eyes widening as she reached for her buzzing mobile. “Shit, shit, shit. I’ve got a meeting with some parents, I cannot be late.” Shaking her head, she bounced up off the couch. “Sorry, sorry, I’ll still see you tomorrow night, yeah? Hold that thought. I gotta run, but I love you. Later, babe!”

And with a peck to the cheek she was gone, leaving Rose alone with her whisky and worries.

“Now what?”

#bbatcfic #ficandchips #Doctor Who #doctorroseprompts #Human!12xRose #Human!Twelfth Doctor #Rose Tyler #Human AU #AU #The Nuptial Necessity

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demaury · 5 years

Photo

Some kind of mistake (chapter 1)

Ever since Eliott first came across the new resident of the apartment 320, he made peace with the fact that Lucas 'Big Blue Eyes' Lallemant would, one way or another, turn his life upside down. Thing is, he hadn't expected that Lucas' wife and Lucas' daughter would play a part in it. Because, you know, he didn't know they existed until it was too late. (ao3 link)

SAMEDI, 08:49

It was a Saturday. For some reason, that particular fact in itself stuck in Eliott’s mind.

What was odd was that it didn’t particularly strike him as any different from the other Saturdays. It started off with Sofiane kicking him awake on his couch with a cup of coffee that wasn’t nearly enough to calm the pounding of a hundred hammers against his skull — courtesy of one (or ten) too many drinks from the night before. While he was twisting around in a sitting position and discarding the blanket usually covering the couch, Sofiane sat on the armrest, looking down at him.

“Eliott, c’mon. You know I like having you here but man- you stink.” He pulled a disgusted face as he said so. If Eliott’s eyes weren’t already giving him hell for the sunlight flooding the tiny living-room, he would have rolled them. It couldn’t be that late, considering Sofiane was still here. “Why can’t you just come over when you’re sober for once? That’d make for a nice change.”

A snort escaped past his lips as he was trying to swallow down his first sip of the morning. Sofiane was an actual mother hen, always down to give advises, especially when no one had asked for it — but Eliott wouldn’t have it any other way, and that’s why he always ended up crashing on his couch whenever he was too tired and/or drunk to go home by himself. It was just convenient that Sofiane’s place happened to be located in a particularly lively neighborhood, which meant that more often than not, his place was the closest from where Eliott was finding himself. A waste, considering that Sofiane was rarely (if ever) pulling an all-nighter these days.

“Not my fault you’re always ditching me,” Eliott protested, nose in his coffee. “Idriss too. You guys are the worst friends.”

What kind of friend let you ring at the intercom and didn’t even open the door? Idriss fucking Bakhellal. He was exactly that kind of friend. ‘Dude, I can’t keep up with your shit. I gotta wake up in the morning, just go make some other friends to party with,’ he had told him bluntly.

Was it his fault if all of a sudden his friends had boring jobs and boring lives?

Sofiane gave him a pointed look, before shaking his head as if he had been able to follow his train of thoughts. “I’ve got a job, Eli. Not everyone can afford to get shitfaced every Friday nights and a couple other nights in-between and still keep up with their lives.”

“I’ve got a job too, I’ll let you know,” Eliott retorted, mildly wounded in his pride.

Being overly judgmental was going against everything Sofiane was, although technically Eliott knew there was some truth in it, but after nearly five years of justifying the fact that yes, staying home on his computer was part of his job (and a huge part of it at that, not to say all of it), it was getting a little bit more on his nerves each time someone mentioned it. If anything, he was making more money that Sofiane, and probably more than Idriss as well — EP teacher wasn’t really the starter plan for a millionaire career.

He shifted on the couch, becoming increasingly aware of his wrinkled and slightly damp tee-shirt with every move he made. Maybe Sofiane was right about the smell, after all.

“Yes, but you don’t have work hours like Idriss and I do.”

Eliott shot him an unimpressed look. “You’re a driving instructor, Sof, you don’t treat cancer.” Joke was on him, because after ten years of friendship, he surely knew Sofiane well-enough to be aware that he was as proud to help kids get their driving license as any doctor was to save a life. Twenty years down the road and he’d start lining up on a wall the driving licenses he had contributed to.

Sofiane rolled his eyes. “And you’re still an asshole whenever you’re wasted, nice to see some things never change.” He leaned forward to grab his phone from the coffee table and immediately bolted up. “Shit I’m late. Look, do whatever you want but lock the door behind you and leave the spare key in the mailbox.”

“What’s the point of a spare key if you have both of them in here?” Eliott observed as Sofiane shrugged on a hoodie and fumbled around to grab the things he needed to go — shoes, keys, phone, and wallet— before literally jumping to the front door.

“That’s just a proof you’re spending too much time in here!”, he yelled as he slammed the door behind him, making Eliott wince at the sound.

SAMEDI, 09:51

He stayed put for a couple of minutes, before setting the cup of coffee on the table before him and gathering his things to head out. Usually he didn’t feel so much like things weren’t okay whenever he found himself here, with Sofiane fretting around him — if anything, it made him laugh. But for some reason this morning just wasn’t it.

An awful part of his teenage years had been spent hating himself for not being more like the other kids of his age, with an easy life, healthy hobbies, healthy relationships, healthy self-perception. Yeah, an awful lot of the time, between fifteen and nineteen, he had wished he was more like Sofiane, more like Idriss. More like anybody else. It had started working out for him only after he hit twenty. His meds were on point. He was slowly making peace with the fact that things would never be a 100% easy, and stopped purposefully ignoring the signs when shit was about to hit the fan.

As a free-lance graphic designer, he mostly worked from home, which spared him the prospect of dealing with an asshole boss on a daily basis — and getting fired because of one of his low lows. His sex-life was always a bit of a mess, but not dating anybody was making it a lot easier to juggle between the moment he craved loneliness and those he craved physical contact beyond logic. He was seeing his parents, who lived across town, twice a month, talking with his sister at least once a week, going to his therapist whenever it was needed, and every once in a while, Idriss got invested into a new sport and bugged him enough to join him, or simply to go for a morning run.

It wasn’t a perfect life, but it was healthier than it had been since what felt like forever. For the last five years or so, he had felt reasonably like the rest of his friends and acquaintances. So why was everyone starting to act like 26 was the age limit for all of this? It was as though they had no idea about all the efforts he had put into this in the first place, and sometimes he just wanted to scream his frustrations out.

The bus-ride back to his place wasn’t long, but it felt a lot like it. His phone had died the night before, so he was only hoping that whatever his drunken self had posted on his stories wasn’t shameful enough to make prospective clients run off to the next graphic designer on their list. He had started making a name for himself when he had scored a campaign promoting a new club in the Marais, two years ago, and although his building couldn’t be considered ‘fancy’ by any means, he was making enough money to afford living on his own in a bigger space than Sofiane’s literal shoebox.

Talking about boxes, Eliott thought.

A bunch of cardboard boxes were piled up in the entrance of his building. The main door was hanging wide open, a couple of leaves swirling around under the cool breeze and loud voices echoing inside — far too loud for Eliott’s still inebriated, sleep-deprived brain. He had known that the family of four living in the apartment on the fourth floor, the level below his own flat, would lose no time in being replaced — the moment the two parents had stopped fighting for good was when the dad had left and the countdown had started for a single mom in an overpriced city.

As Eliott walked in, careful not to trip, his eyes fell on three guys apparently waiting for the elevator to reach the ground floor, while holding upward the slatted base of a bed. Young, probably in their twenties. And fucking loud.

“I didn’t sign up for this!” one of them was protesting vehemently, his voice bouncing up against every wall and right through Eliott’s brain as he padded further in. When the guy straightened, the two others almost toppled over under the weight of the bed base. “I signed up for a bunch of books and clothes, I’m not a moving company!”

“Bro, can you just stop whining already?” another one said, adjusting his position with an elbow resting on the wooden frame.

“My point is, why are we doing all of this, and Lucas gets to just… I don’t know, slide them out of the elevator and inside his flat?” the first one complained.

Eliott almost snorted, and if he had been in the mood for conversation, he would have probably told them that they were fucking spoiled. Back when he moved in, the elevator was out of order, which had been a real pain in the ass to move everything up to the fifth floor — Sofiane and Idriss kept insisting that as long as the amount of years he had spent in his flat didn’t equal the number of floors they had to go through, they would never be even.

Oh fuck no, he thought.

That meant he had five goddamn flights of stairs to go through before crashing onto his bed.

Just what he needed.

“So following your logic,” the third one, a blond guy with glasses, chimed in, “Lucas should be here, dealing with the heavy shit, while you’re randomly shoving everything in his living-room until we can’t even open the door.”

“Exactly!” the first one exclaimed, then he met the look of his two friends. “Wait no- Not exactly but-”

“I can’t believe he’s allowed to vote,” the guy with the glasses muttered with a loud sigh, “congrats Baz, you made me lose faith in the democratic system.”

The fact that he threw his hands up in the air as he talked, and that the bed base once again threatened to fall to the ground under his other friend’s protests, offered enough of a distraction for Eliott to reach the stairs without having to go through a conversation he had no emotional interest in.

The pressure of being one among a million other people was nothing compared to the pressure of being known from everyone in a small town. Eliott was fine with being lost in the crowd, especially in a town where people considered it a flaw to be over-sympathetic; that was definitely something he could get behind. It was easy to just coexist with other people without seeking any further contact with them than a polite nod whenever they let you use the elevator with them, or when they held you the door out of habit rather than politeness — that made for less people asking annoying stuff from you when you couldn’t deal with it. He scrambled his way up through the floors, occasionally reminding himself that he could go through the last two flights of stairs without puking. It wasn’t exactly easy, considering that going through the mess that was the fourth floor gave him the impression of being the character of an online platform game. When he made it there, the technological wonder that was an elevator had managed to get the bed base up the fourth floor before him.

Eliott heard a grunt before he actually saw anything, then he saw the bed base move before he saw the person behind it. A boy was pestering to himself, sliding between the bed base and the wall of the elevator to try pulling it out from the outside, rather than pushing it out from the inside. The frame made an agonizing screeching sound that reverberated through the whole building and had Eliott wincing, but the guy had apparently made peace with every single living soul hating him because he didn’t stop — only slowing down as the meters added to the actual weight of the object. Eliott liked to think of himself as someone at least more observant than most, but it didn’t take a genius to know that the number of smaller boxes waiting by the front door was multiplying the number of chances for something bad to happen.

And as Murphy’s law stated so well, everything that could go wrong, did go wrong.

The guy walking backward didn’t get to see the box near his foot until he tripped over it, letting out a ‘fuck’ as he lost his balance and the bed base toppled over him with a loud, metallic sound. It took Eliott an extra-second to get in motion — really, it wasn’t like shit like this happened every day. The guy was struggling to get out of what looked ridiculously like a wooden cage all of a sudden.

“You okay?”, Eliott enquired, startling him.

“Never been better,” he gritted out.

Eliott smirked to himself and leaned forward to grab the slats and lift the bed base off, before sliding it up against the wall while the guy was laboriously rising up on his feet.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, rubbing his forearm. “I guess some people don’t get the point of teaming up to get shit done faster.”

Eliott cocked an eyebrow. “Let me guess, the other three downstairs are yours?”

“There might be no more than me at the end of the day if they keep up like that.”

Sassy, Eliott noted. He liked it. For the first time he was actually indulging in a little bit of staring. Not much. The barest minimum, really. First of all, despite having been told him countless times that he looked younger than his 26 years old, he had troubles believing that this guy was an actual grown-up, but maybe it had to do with the fact that he was rather short, or the way his hair seemed disheveled beyond repair — and, again, Eliott knew a stuff or two about messy hair. What caught his attention was the two, big blue eyes suddenly staring back at him.

Wide.

And blue.

Very, very blue.

A very dark shade, one of those that even Photoshop had no trouble making pop — which didn’t happen often. Call it a professional quirk, but it was a nice thing to see. There was a bit of an awkward silence, only broken when the elevator dinged behind them, offering Eliott enough of a distraction for his brain to fall back into place, and preferably out of the gutter before he started overanalyzing the wonders that his skinny jeans made to his lower body.

“See? I told you he would be just fine,” the voice of one of the three guys from the hall echoed behind them. “Our Lulu is the best.”

Suddenly the big blue eyes were not focused on him anymore, and Eliott didn’t know how to feel about it. He was just awkwardly standing now, caught between people he didn’t even know fifteen minutes before. That wasn’t the definition of how he wanted to spend his Saturday morning riding out his hangover.

“Are you fucking kidding me? I almost died!”, Blue Eyes protested.

“I told you this would happen,” another one muttered.

Eliott shook his head to himself, and started to retreat towards the staircase while they were busy throwing insults at each other.

Maybe Sofiane was right.

Maybe he was too old for this shit — whatever that was.

#skam france #eliott demaury #lucas lallemant #elu #elu fic #mine #*#*skm #my fics

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icarus-imagines · 5 years

Text

Hermione Granger X Female!Hufflepuff!Reader

Could you do a hermione granger x female hufflepuff reader?

Word Count: 3,053

~Her Freckles Taste Like Cinnamon~

“Hermione, stop it…”

Hermione, despite being told what to do, even though the voice was soft spoken, in fact, did not ‘stop it’. She continued on, her quill that held a pretty raven colored feather, swishing quickly back and forth with the quick movements of her well-trained hand. Words of deep and dark black ink stained the beigish/brown parchment, leaving her handwriting of concentrated hard work in its wake. This only seems to aggravate the one who had spoken up however, you, to the point they had to devise another way to get Gryffindor Granger to stop her actions.

With a swift jerk of your hand, you snatched up the quill that had once been placed in her pretty little hands. While it could have been classified as a very rude thing to do, it was the only way to get her attention. Because when she was focused on something all the other things behind her would wash away and become a blur in her peripheral vision of sight.

Holding the quill in your hands you pulled it farther away from her when she tried to reach forward to take hold of it once again. Her usual warm gingerbread eyes glare intensely into your own (E/c) with such a ferocity that you could only conclude that whatever she was going through truly was of more importance than mere homework. How troubled inside she could be, yet on the outside look like the same girl people believed her to be.

“Please, give it back,” Hermione whisper-yelled with desperation. If it was not for the fact you were both in the library you wondered what she would have done instead. “I need it.”

“You say you need this,” you start, silently pulling a chair and sitting beside her, “but you don’t seek what you truly need.”

She stares at you perplexed for a few moments before retracting her hand to ball into her lap as a small sign of defeat. While you were an ordinary Hufflepuff girl you talked like a Ravenclaw. Your words were somehow like writing poetry when they spilled from your lips. All people who knew you would all agree that even if you had called someone an atrocious and nasty name it would still sound like bell chimes on the porch of a cozy house. Everything you said was a lullaby, on that Hermione needed more than she knew. With her rough exterior, she needed someone to calm her thoughts and insecurities.

Oh, how she needed you more than life itself yet even she herself didn’t know it.

With a small sigh, she momentarily forgot about the mass of books, both open and stacked, on the table along with the long winding parchment paper for an essay due next week, to instead look at you. Her dark and nicely bushy hair brushed over her shoulder when she swirled her head to look at you. Those eyes of earthquakes stopped their assault and focused on you. Just you. And nothing else that was raging on inside.

“What is it that I need?” she sighed a bit. She may have not looked like she was enjoying this conversation, but deep down inside she was. She was glad you noticed her very very subtle change in her demeanor today. You, besides maybe Harry and Ron, knew what truly went on in that impressive brain of hers.

“A shoulder to cry on,” you replied simply, standing up for a second to scoot your chair closer to you. Both your bare legs touched each other, due to the short skirt, and you could feel her skin heating against your already.

Her eyes widened a bit in what you perceived as not only shock and confusion but startlement and fright. “W-What?” her words wavered into a stutter that you knew she would be internally cursing herself with.

“Hermione,” you said sweetly like that of cajolement as not to anger her or even worse, scare her off. “As your girlfriend, there are rules I must abide by, you know.”

Her eyebrows furrowed together in confusion, but her cheekbones dusting with a delectable pink from your word of ‘girlfriend’. While gay-marriage and all that followed under the umbrella term was allowed, but it was still a touchy subject to those who did not like the act. Hermione’s parents were one of the few getting used to the idea, so having their own daughter have these tendencies and likes was still confusing. Since she was taught at such a young age to believe certain ideals, it still made her flustered when the topic came up.

She loved you with every fiber in her being. The taboo rule of being a same-sex couple just made her feel like she wasn’t abiding by the laws for which they had been placed for more than a few decades. It was like a dessert she could never eat even though her mouth was telling her to devour it. You were that dessert, that caramel filled chocolate that made her not care about rules or peoples judgment.

But sometimes...it did get to her.

“Rules,” she asked slowly, trying to figure out what you meant. “What rules?”

You reached over and gingerly took her hand in yours. Overall, her hand was smooth and like a girl’s was supposed to be, but on her fingertips, there were tenuous bumps from calluses. All the years she had spent writing, flipping pages from books, conjuring up potions to help her friend group called the ‘Golden Trio’. One might find it unladylike, to have rough hands, even though hers were still quite nice. But you found it utterly fascinating.

How she had been through so much in such a short amount of time. To think she was a normal schoolgirl in England, but now a student under the tutelage of wizards in a school of magic in Scotland. She had progressed so far, done so many things. You idolize her even before she knew of your name. Before she even knew you, a poetic Hufflepuff, even existed. To be her significant other was like a dream come true and you never wanted it to end.

“Well,” you began, your right hand, which was not occupied with her own, tapping on your chin in thought, “wouldn’t you think it was my duty to always make you happy?”

A sideways smile appeared on her face and while she tried to make it look real, it was obviously fake. She knew you probably knew this too, you knew everything about her. “But I am happy,” she tried to persuade you to think so. “Why would you think I am anything else but happy?”

Your face turns from playful to serious in the span of five seconds after she utters those words. “I know you're not happy. It’s quite easy to tell even though your best friends Harry and Ron might not figure it out.”

Her small smile disappears and she wears a frown that makes your insides twist. “Yes, you’re...you're right,” she confirms your deductions, breaking under the pressure of keeping her mask on in front of you. “I haven’t been myself lately and I am more than sure you already know why.”

You get closer to her, your shoulder brushing against her, and even though the clothes covering your bodies separate you two, you swear you can feel the heated skin beneath meeting your own. “Yes, but I can’t really understand why, “ you begin, but quickly try to explain yourself. “I mean I do. I understand just how much he can get on your nerves and drag you down, but…,” you look into her eyes, you orbs small spheres of fire, “I cannot begin to imagine someone like you losing to someone like Malfoy.”

You see the disgust evident on her face when you say his last name, but your words seem to calm her down. They offer her solace and shelter. To know you believe in her and everything she does is more than incredible. Others believe in her too, but your faith in her is selfless. Unconditional love and affection beyond measure.

“He is just that type of person,” she says through her gritted teeth. While the majority of the feelings he inflicted on her to have was that of anger, some of it was sadness. You knew it wasn’t just an inkling in the back of your mind for she continued one. “I used to think boys were amazing, but the older I get the more I feel repulsed.”

“Some boys are good and some are bad. You just need to find the ones who make you feel happy, make you feel like you could conquer the world,” you laugh a little thinking about the Chosen One Harry and the goofy Weasley Is Our King. Your laugh seems to brighten her mood, a genuine smile flitting across her features.

The small, almost undetectable freckles upon her cheeks glow in the low light. They look like sprinkles of bright golden dust, powered on her face to make her look otherworldly. You can’t but lean in. Lean in closer to that very face and softly peck a chaste kiss upon it. An odd thought pops in your head for a second, wondering if you would be able to take those sprinkled freckles and convert them onto your lips.

She smells of spicy cinnamon, such a feisty seasoning, you thought. If they did stick to my lips, which is impossible, would they taste of cinnamon?

As you lean back and open your eyes, you are welcomed with the amusing expression she now sports. With a face the color of summer cherries and gingerbread eyes sparkling with something unknown, you can only think of the million things running through her mind. But before you could question it, she surprises in one of the ways you never thought she would do.

She kisses you.

Her lips are soft and you taste a small, yet still significant, amount of peach from the plump extremities of flesh. Hidden in a more isolated part of the library, she had gained the courage to act upon your flirtation attitude and actions. Replying to her move, you lean into her, a tilt of your head giving you more access to be one with you to a more fulfilling extent.

Her hands come up to clutch at you yellow and black Hufflepuff attire. The cotton of the sweater underneath the traditional robes shift against her hands, almost enticing her to go under, but she stays put. There needs to be no more progress beside this, for this is all she needs. This is close enough for her even though there could be more progression.

Your own hands slid up from her elbows to her shoulders and finally to her head. With one hand, you stick it behind the adjoined meeting place of her neck and the bottom of her skull, while the other comes to cup of her cheek. Both your hands are full with her hot skin, her big hair, and you know then this is all you want from life.

Sooner than either of you wish, you both part in favor of more than needed oxygen. As you inhale air to keep yourselves alive, you still stay close, her darker toned bangs brushing your forehead. You can feel her warm breath wafting over your face, the heat doing nothing to quell the flush you now have obtained yourself. Inhaling a bit you smell the strong scent of cinnamon wafting off of her body. You love the smell. Her own natural scent she carries with her wherever she roams.

Her cute lips are parted in an almost provocative way. Looking at them makes you want to snatch them up again however you do not. Instead, your (E/c) orbs shift from her lips to her eyes. Despite thinking of them to have their pupils full-blown and wide, they are the opposite. They are shiny, gleaming with pure love. No lust, is in them. This fact drives your insides wild knowing this attraction you feel for each other is not some fling. It is here. And it is here to stay.

“You astound me,” you whisper soothingly, feeling the edge of sleep catching you. Or was it lovesickness in disguise, perhaps?

“That is supposed to be my line,” she smiles, a more than adorable giggle flitting past her lips at your compliment to her.

You both giggle together as you untangle yourselves, life becoming the reality once again after indulging into a moment of tranquility. As she fixes her hair, though you doubt anybody would notice, you help stack the open books into neat piles on the wooden desk. Curling up her parchment into her school bag, making sure it is secure and won’t fall out, you push in your chair with a smile.

She looks at her leather school bag hanging from your shoulder, but you quickly wave it off. “I’ve got it,” you tell her.

She grins, her mood somehow brightening the whole room. To know she is thankful for your help makes you all the much more content. Black school shoes click-clacking just quiet enough to not make a big ruckus. You casually grab her arm, linking it with yours, and make it back to your respective common rooms together.

Though she insisted on leading you back, her chivalry shining through, you lead her first to her own Gryffindor common room. You wanted to not only see her off but to make sure she doesn’t have to walk alone after having to go to your much farther away Hufflepuff House common room. What kind of girlfriend would you be if you did that?

Standing idly outside of the common room, far enough from the Fat Lady so she will not overhear your conversations, you give Hermione back her bag. “Thank you,” she speaks, clutching her leather school bag tightly.

“What for?” you chide playfully.

“Helping me,” she replies quickly. “Reminding me that other people's views and opinions cannot dictate what I do with my life. How I lead my life, though it may ‘hurt’ others, should be one that makes me happy. Makes me joyful in everything I do.”

Her words melt your heart, and as she moves forward to put a stray strand of (H/c) hair behind your ear you find yourself replying back. “I want you to live a life a life you do not regret,” you say, though it could have a twinge of sadness peaking through.

She reacted quickly with, “Of course I won’t! With you by my side I know life will be more than worth living.”

“That makes me more than glad you hear you say that,” you murmur.

She smiles at you as a small goodbye and turns to head towards the Fat Lady. She only reaches about three steps before you tug her sleeve back. With a quick movement as she turns to look at you in bewilderment and confusion, you kiss her on the lips. You savor the taste of the peach and the heat of it all. Being swift, before she can do anything about it, you leave her lips and take a kitten lick of her heated cheek.

For a moment she forgets it will soon be past curfew and lets out a tiny shriek. “H-hey! What-What was that for!?”

“An experiment,” you say. “I wanted to figure something out.”

“I swear, all Hufflepuffs are completely lucid,” she sighs as you wipe her cheek clean of anything wet. “Well, did you figure it out?”

You give her a cheeky grin, laughing. “Yes, I now know for sure.”

She looks as if she wants to question you about it, but she lets it go, opting to leave you be. When you were like this she knew it was best to let you complete it without a word of disruption. “Whatever you say, (Y/n),” she bids you goodnight, walking back to the Fat Lady who seems to be giggling from the school love affair situation. “See you at breakfast.”

You wave to her as she disappears behind the painting and is engulfed into the Gryffindor common room. Smiling to yourself you turn on your heels and retreat to your own common room. With (E/c) orbs and flushes (S/c) flushed from the events that have occurred today you know sleep may be harder to come by tonight.

You don’t mind it in the least though. You had helped you fierce girlfriends realize that there are up and downs to living you must conquer. Whether you had a helping hand or none at all, you can get through things. It may be a hard winding road or it might be a straight road off into the horizon. Either way, you would be able to get over it.

Malfoy may not understand this right now, but hopefully, he would soon. Hopefully, he would learn picking on someone because of their blood is something that won't fix your own problems. Healing internally helps with healing externally. You kept in your prays the wish for him to understand this. Whether it starts tomorrow or in the years to come. To see Malfoy grow up and right his wrongs were one thing you desperately wanted to live to see.

Hermione was your inner and external struggle too. That girl with sharp words like a lion’s claws and the combined mind of a revolutionist was your weakness and your strength. A Gryffindor with a Hufflepuff. Such an unusual pair. A strong one though, when fitting bravery and patience together.

You did learn something overall, albeit it was small and probably useless. Yet it made your heart soar to the skies for some unfathomable reason only you yourself would truly know. And may it be an imaginary conclusion or true fact you concluded it was all you needed to know about her.

Her freckles taste like cinnamon...

~The End~

#x reader #oneshot #imagine #drabble #hermione granger #hermione granger x reader #hermione granger x female reader #hermione granger x hufflepuff reader #hermione granger x female hufflepuff reader #female reader #hufflepuff reader #female hufflepuff reader #hp #harry potter universe #harry potter

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fromthedeskofelizabeththird · 5 years

Text

Selfish

The last March entry in my Year of Smut.

MC isn’t sure what to give Julian for his birthday and has to get creative.

This is actually the second fic I drafted for him. The first I abandoned over 1000 words into it because I decided it would be better as a fluffy/angsty piece than smut. I’m going to post it at some point later this year.

The Arcana | Julian x MC | NSFW | Explicit

Ordinarily, MC has no problem buying gifts.

She knows precisely which blends of tea and books that Asra prefers; the scents and wines from Prakra that will leave Nadia nostalgic.

Julian is a wild card, versed in far more exotic things than MC will ever be and least inclined to offer clues. He jokes whenever she asks him the sort of gift he would like, giving no straight answers and certainly no hints. MC hangs her nose over market stall after market stall, finding plenty of trinkets that remind her of him, though none as inherently special as she so badly wants her present to be.

And so it is that MC schemes with Portia a month before Julian’s birthday. They agree on throwing him a surprise party at the Rowdy Raven; sending an invite to all of their close acquaintances and setting up a game of poker.

“One last thing,” says MC, a blush breaking out across her face. “Make sure he’s home by eleven...and doesn’t get drunk.”

Portia raises an eyebrow at that, opening her mouth to ask why MC herself cannot do so, only to break out in a knowing grin.

“I can’t make any promises about keeping him sober,” she says, “but I can definitely get him back by ten.”

MC feels more than a little bit guilty on the night of the party. She thought staying away from Julian would make things easier, but in the end she spends every hour from sunrise until sunset wondering how his day is going. They’ve been apart for only a matter of hours but she feels as if she hasn’t seen him for years. Even so, if she attends the party with him then she will almost certainly lose the element of surprise.

It’s easy enough to convince Mazelinka to allow her into the house while the party continues at the Rowdy Raven, earning the same knowing look that Portia gave her a month earlier. MC chooses not to question whether or not they have guessed her plan, instead occupying herself with filling the guest room with candles and flowers. If she is truly that predictable, after all, then it follows that Julian might also have guessed.

The petals are bright red and soft as a kiss; she finds herself twirling them round and round in her fingers as she waits. Nine o’clock comes and goes, leaving plenty of time for doubt to settle in.

What if this isn’t the sort of thing he would want at all? What if after all this time she’s read him wrong?

She’s suddenly incredibly conscious of everything-the amber glow of the candles and coarse sheets; the stretch marks on her thighs and goosebumps from her state of undress.

She checks the clock and neatens the bed covers, only to change her mind and arrange it as before. If she’s honest, she’s proud of her efforts; there are flower petals in every corner, sweet smelling candles, bottles and bottles of wine And then there’s her outfit; a plague doctor’s mask she borrowed from the community theater and nothing else. She slips on the mask every time she hears footsteps outside, stomach churning both from nervousness and anticipation.

MC knows Julian has a decent tolerance for alcohol, but has faith in Portia’s ability to keep an eye on him, a fact only reinforced when someone unlocks the door at exactly five minutes to ten.

“Come on! Just this way.”

“Portia...stay for a nightcap!”

“Oh, I’m good, believe me.”

She can’t see Portia’s face, only the sound of her footsteps across the threshold. Even so, MC is in no doubts that she is smiling.

Julian sighs as the door closes and MC perches on the end of the bed, straightening her back and turning her head to the side in a near perfect imitation of one of Julian’s own coquettish poses.

She hears Portia leave; hears Julian sigh as he takes off his boots. Her heart is racing now and her palms are growing sweaty; Julian’s every footstep echoing across her senses.

He’s shrugging off his coat as he walks through the door, though he takes several steps back the moment he sees her. Her breath catches in her throat, so nervous that she’s practically dizzy, only for it to fade into nothingness as he breaks out into a grin.

“Well hello there,” he says, freezing on the spot as she nonchalantly swings one leg over the other.

“Happy birthday,” she says, hoping and praying that her nervousness doesn't show. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

She can feel his gaze across her exposed skin, from the curve of her neck to the swell of her breast. He takes one step closer and then another, draping his coat over the nearest chair.

“You wouldn’t happen to have seen MC anywhere around here would you? Magician...about this height..devilishly good looking.”

“Perhaps,” says MC, motioning for him to get closer, only to lift up her leg and touch her foot to his chest the moment he draws too close.

“Not yet,” she says motioning with her fingers.

Tonight has been on her mind for weeks; every touch and sigh. She’s spent longer than she thought possible imagining everything they might do together and can think of nothing worse than for it to be over without Julian really getting the most out of his gift.

He reaches for her ankle, smoothing his fingers across the skin with a smile.

“You feel like MC,” he whispers, trailing soft kisses from her ankle to her knee. “Taste like her too. Are you sure you‘re not her?”

MC giggles; she can’t help it. His kisses tickle and his words are light. He leans over the bed and this time she lets him; laying back herself and resting her weight on her elbows. She expects him to kiss her and isn’t entirely wrong- instead of her lips, he plants a kiss in the center of her chest. He travels further down, trailing kisses from her chest to her stomach and-

She gasps when he spreads her legs, a wicked grin breaking out across his face.

“You sound just like her too.”

He sinks his head down between her thighs, face completely out of her line of vision. All she can see are the hands he uses to pry open her thighs and a shock of auburn hair where they meet. The same auburn hair she buries her fingers in at the feel of his hot breath against her cunt. He runs his tongue over her wetness, so slowly that it might as well be torture. She's been waiting for this all day...no...for weeks. To say she’s ready for this is an understatement. She wants nothing more than for him to fuck her into the mattress and knows that he will if she says so. Today is his birthday, though, and this is his treat.

She wants to grind her hips into his touches, wants to tangle their bodies like her fingers in his hair. He has a hold on her legs, though and every time she moves he buries himself deeper. She whines when he stops and he lifts his head up to look at her, giving her a sultry wink as he takes off his gloves with his teeth. He slips in a finger and returns his lips to her folds, licking and sucking in the practised way that more than once has turned her into a shivering wreck.

He stops before she can cum and she wonders if she did something wrong, only for him to drag off his shirt and reach for his belt. She sits up onto her knees and cups his face in her hands.

“Anything you want,” she says, wanting nothing more than for this to be the best gift he receives today. It can easily be replicated, that much is true, but she trusts her body to say the things that she feels embarrassed to out loud; that she’s grateful to him for being born; that the world is a better, more interesting place with him in it.

“Well,” he says, a blush breaking out across his face. “There is. One. Thing.”

He takes a couple of steps away from her and kicks off the remainder of his clothes, all while she watches in curiosity. It’s rare that he indulges her like this and she wonders what he means to ask of her.

She remains curious even as he lays back against the pillows, naked as the day he was born and motioning for her to come closer. At first she crawls up the bed to sit beside him, but he shakes his head.

“No. Not there. I have a comfier seat for you right here.”

Only then does she grasp his meaning and blushes, sitting to rearrange her weight and straddle him, inhaling sharply at the feel of his breath on her pussy. She leans forward, reaching for his hard cock and squeezing her fingers around it as Julian sucks at her clit.

“No fair,” he gasps, running his tongue over her slit and earning a hiss of pleasure from her. She was close before and the added gravity is tipping her over the edge.

It’s not that she’s inexperienced; they’ve done far more adventurous things in the bedroom than this. This is the first time in a while, though, that she’s wanted so badly to uphold her end of this particular bargain.

She tries to focus on pumping her hand up and down his shaft, brushing her thumb over the tip on the way up, though it’s hard to draw her attention away from the way he reaches to squeeze her ass.

She loves his hands; she could spend hours thinking of how many lives they have saved. Right now, though, she curses them-curses the indelicate way he grips her skin and sucks her cunt.

She drags off the mask and presses her lips to his cock, wanting to return the favour and failing. Somehow, even Julian’s sordid fantasies involve pleasing her and she’s not sure how to feel about it.

“Oh fuck,” she hisses, certain that she’ll burn to ashes from pleasure before the evening is done.

Deliberately or not, he eases off his touches before she can come. She plants a hand on the bed, unable to distract herself with his cock anymore.

“MC?”

“I’m sorry,” she says, climbing up off his face and moving to straddle his waist. He’s not nearly as composed now that she can see him-cheeks red and eyes glazed with pleasure.

“What for?” He purrs.

“It’s your birthday,” she says, reaching down to give his cock a few gentle strokes, “and I’m being selfish.”

He laughs at that, reaching for her hand and kissing the knuckles.

“I’d have it no other way,” he says, linking his fingers in hers as she readjusts her weight and sinks all the way down onto his cock.

She rolls her hips, grinding her clit against him as she rides him. He closes his eyes and squeezes her hand, his grip growing tighter and tighter every time she takes him in completely. He reaches his free hand to squeeze her breast, bucking his own hips into hers every time they collide.

She bounces harder and faster, unable to move her body any faster and breaking out in a sweat from the exertion. Her calves will ache in the morning and perhaps they do even now; the boundary between pleasure and pain means nothing to her in this moment. All she can think about is taking him deeper-chasing the dragon and her own kind of high.

She leans forward as she comes, pressing one hand against the bed frame and pressing her hips into his, gasping as her body pulses and quivers, tightening against his cock so forcefully that it’s only a matter of moments before he’s twitching inside her.

Energy spent, she collapses on his chest, relishing the fact that his body is as hot and sweaty as her own. The room is silent now but for the sound of their breathing and Julian’s heartbeat against her ear. For a while they say nothing at all, happy instead to catch their breaths and ride out the pleasure. It’s with a great degree of reluctance that she finally climbs off him and rests her head against the pillows.

“Happy birthday,” she murmurs at last, closing her eyes as he rolls over onto her, resting his head in her breasts.

Perhaps it’s the orgasm, but happiness wells within her. She's glad she didn’t buy him booze; happy she conspired with Portia. She’s almost glad that her mind fell blank at the prospect of buying something meaningful.

“You know, time zones and everything, it’s still my birthday tomorrow as well.”

“I take it you liked your present.”

He cackles at that.

“Like it? I loved it.”

It doesn’t escape her notice that he says it while holding her close. It’s not about the sex; it never was. His true present is her heartbeat against his ears; the breath in her lungs and heat of her body.

There’s just one problem; a niggling thought at the back of her mind that grows increasingly clear with every second that ticks by. A fact she cannot ignore as she strokes her fingers through his hair, relishing the weight of his body on hers and heat of his breath against her skin.

She’s going to have to top this next year.

#the arcana #julian devorak #julian x apprentice

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buildingcastlesintheair-blog1 · 4 years

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Sincerely Me

So, I needed an outlet. And, whatever kind of stick Tumblr gets, it’s free. And I’m a broke student, that’s my aesthetic this decade. I’m not writing this for anyone but my own buzzing, confused, boiling over thoughts. Cause if I don’t lay it all out here, then it’ll come out in some other form and that generally leads to me ugly cry at 3 am after isolating myself even more than I already have.

I’m not expecting anyone to read this. I don’t know if I do. There’s probably a way I could private this. But maybe I do want someone to read this. Maybe I’m desperate for some form of attention. Wow, I am really painting myself as a solid person right now. Right now, the general feeling inhabiting me is I want people there and yet, I want isolation. It’s like, I want to know they’re there if I need them but I want my solitude as well. I think I’ve been that way since I was a kid. I couldn’t sleep if I knew everyone else in the house was asleep before me. I’m not sure where that irrational fear came from but it was just one on a list.

That’s not to say I didn’t have a happy childhood. I’m getting nostalgic these for it. Or for the lack of thinking and lack of responsibility as well. It’s all on me now. Or it feels that way. I don’t have someone reliable I can fall back on if it all blows up in my face. I’ve imagined myself in an Alice in Wonderland scenario, when she initially falls down the rabbit hole and is just falling and falling. Except she slows down. I feel like I’m speeding up. I see all these ledges and every person who had some key aspect in my life, some adult I was suppose to rely on, family members, friends, they all stand there. And each time my trust with them is shattered, they vanish. I can’t hold onto any ledge for long, the pull to fall is too great. Sometimes they unpick my fingers to send me falling again. Sometimes there just isn’t room on the ledge for me.

I feel like everyone has that person in their life. That solid, dependable person you know has your back and genuinely cares about you and cares about your well being. Unconditional love. I don’t have that anymore I fear. Got no parents, so not getting it that way. Only knew my moms family and they all have their own issues and they’re all basically strangers. My mom made sure to distance herself and me and my sister from them. A lot of people in that family are toxic and I honestly am not sure I want them in my life. Which in turn causes me to feel like crap because they’re family. I’m suppose to love them. But I’m as much a stranger to them as they are to me. I have grandparents. They love me. They love the version I present to them. Well, my grandad knows me a bit better then my grandma. At least he calls me Lance. And we have a similar sense of humor. But I worry he’s losing his memory. And to be honest, he’s a bit intimidating. It was me, him and Mom for a while. I appreciate that time we had together. I do love him. And am terrified of losing him too.

Grandma, I was kind of always her main grandchild. Purely because my sister grew up, she wasn’t allowed see some of her grandkids or they lived too far away. And you know, I loved it as a kid. I loved being her main grandkid. I’m not saying she loved me more, no way, we just saw each other more. She has a big heart and I know she loves all her grandkids and children with all of it. I was just the one she had the most exposure to. And as a kid, it worked. Sure, she was always trying to convert me to her religion but Mom blocked that off. It’s more awkward now when I’m twenty and she’s still going on about it and, now that I’ve been educated and have more experience, don’t always agree with her. I admire her faith. I’m curious about it. Because I have no experience with it myself. But I don’t want to either. Growing up without any kind of faith or religion or beliefs, in some ways, I missed out. But I also think it left me open to the ideas of others and wanting to understand everyone.

My grandma loves me, I know. But she knows less and less about me. Who I am. Even my name. I’m terrified of losing her if she saw me for me, because it could conflict with her faith. And if she had to turn her back, I don’t know what I’d do.

I have a sister. But like just about every other family member, we’re distant. I mean, she’s six years older, so growing up there was that. And when she moved out, it was harder to maintain the relationship. And I know now, just how much she was dealing with herself. I knew nothing of it because I was the youngest and no thought me able to handle that sort of thing. I mean, I think at one point in my life I wouldn’t have been able to. But seeing your mother slowly die before you really matures you.

Was that too dark? I’ve been told I can be rather dark. I think I’ve just grown more blunt. I know how awful this world is. How painful and bloody and disgusting and twisted it can be. No point in throwing handful glitter at it and smiling to make other’s feel comfortable. But I don’t want to ruin a positive outlook either. I admire those who can have one on life. I think I use to have one. Hope. Eagerness to live life. I had faith in my abilities and that I could live the life I wanted. Now, I don’t even know what I want anymore. I remember being a little kid and loving to tell stories. First in pictures, then in words when I could write. And my mom encouraged that. She was the only one who had faith I could make it as an author. Encouraged me. My aunts told me to get realistic and be an nurse or teacher. The one time I saw them in about five years, that’s what they had to say to me. Charming. It’s funny as a kid, anyone can be anything. And then you go to college and it’s all about making money. And I’m not discounting money, money is amazing, get to buy all my hoodies and books and Reeses Candy Cane Swirl kisses with money. It pays for my Netflix. Pay for the roof over my head and food in my-okay it pays for my take out. When I can afford it. If not, it’s Dealz microwave popcorn for dinner. But when did wanting the best future for someone add up to crushing their dreams and being a soul crushing asshole?

To be honest, I haven’t written anything proper since my mom died. I think that dream died with her. I kinda feel like I’m floating through college. I totally have a plan, that’s what I tell people. But nothing is said with certainty. Nothing with passion or excitement. Nothing I want to dedicate myself to. I go to college because it will stop the people who like to nose into my life from fretting and yeah, it has some positive aspects to it. I do enjoy learning. I’ve just lost my drive.

And I’m so angry at people all the time. Old foster parents, ex friends, college mates, current friends, adults. Even though I am an adult, I don’t think I’ll ever stop seeing those people as the Adults. And I don’t know when they’ll stop seeing me as a teenager. Certainly still feel like one.

Anyway, the whole reason I’m writing this post is because I got angry at an interaction between my best friend and her mom. Not angry at them. Angry at the fact I don’t have that. I don’t have a mom to offer to make me hot chocolate or hear about my day or just want to hug me for the sake of hugging me. It honestly feels like I have no one to make proud anymore. I don’t care what the others think because I don’t respect them as much as I did her. And I knew she wanted me to do well because she loved me. They pay attention because it’s the morally right thing to do. “The poor orphan, oh we’ll look so bad if we ignore them.”And then they smile to themselves and think, “Aren’t we such good people?”

And yeah, they are. Because they’ve fed me, given me somewhere to sleep (A blow up mattress is going to be interesting to sleep on for three months but we’ll make it work), somewhere safe and warm, a ride when I need it, helped me figure out college stuff and official things. And I appreciate that and them from the bottom of my heart. So that’s why I don’t understand why I get so angry. At everyone. Sure, some people deserve it, they’re assholes. Some don’t. And most have left because I don’t know how to handle my grief and other issues. After mom passed, it felt like just about everyone abandoned me. I wasn’t a great friend, I was angry at the world and depressed to a dangerous point. I was in crisis. And didn’t know how to reach out. My foster home got pulled out from under my feet just when I thought things were getting better. My school friends, well, they dropped communication. And some of them, I don’t blame for it. Some I do blame. But playing the Blame Game is stupid. So I wish them the best in their future endeavors and am trying to move on. I just feel like...when my life imploded, everyone was there for the first month. And then i was expected to smile, play happy families and school student and move on from losing the most important person in my life. My mom was my world. And I had to watch for five years as she wasted away.

You know, some days I just wanna scream “FUCK THOSE PEOPLE. THEY SUCK AND I’M BETTER OFF WITHOUT THEM” Cause some people are just douchebags, who hurt me for what feels like no reason. Some people, I understand couldn’t handle the place I was in. And to this day, I struggle with my self worth because of those sorts of interactions. And yet, I still put up with those kinds of people because I am terrified of being alone. Yet, I like being alone. I just like knowing people are there. And you know, there are some people in my life who frustrate me to no end but I still love them. And I am happy they’re in my life.

My best friend. I would take a bullet for her. Several bullets in fact. She keeps me grounded, she puts up with all my bullshit and she makes me smile and you know what? I think she genuinely cares. We can fight and I’m not afraid that’s it, I’ll never see her again. I don’t see our friendship as a ticking time bomb. I know she’s there for the long haul. And I hope she knows that about me too.

My surrogate older sibling friend. They’re actually older than my sister. But I think they knows me better at this point. To be fair, I need to play my part in reconnecting with my sister. This is the friend who I look up to. I admire their strength and compassion. And they’re so smart and capable! I love them.

Those are perhaps the two most solid people in my life. The two I don’t gotta pretend around and I can be as broken as I am. So that’s good at least.

I titled this piece superpower, originally. I had an idea in mind but I went off on an tangent as always. Perhaps I’ll go into that another time.

Hope this helped,

Sincerely,

Me.

#life

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