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enthusiasticharry · 3 years

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Second Best

summary: you and Harry meet at a party, but he seems to take more interest in your sister than in you, and you won't be Second Best.

author’s note: bonjour mes chéris!! this is the first instalment of hannah being the history/french student she is and merging all three of her worlds and creating her own little fictional one. this is based off of lousia may alcott’s little women (one of may favourite books ever) but with my own little twist on it. this is set in the 1860′s during the civil war but i haven't made it too historical at all. i have done all of the translations myself and even though i'm semi-fluent i still make mistakes so if you spot any let me know. this is so long so i'll shut up now, thanks for all the support bye!! <3

word count: 16k of good old fashioned marriage talk (there’s a lot of it, its all they spoke about tbf??), fluff, angst and a lil’ smut. there is marriage and children at the end (woo, exciting!) not proofread because my eyes are already asleep.

masterlist | speak to me about second best here!

“Stand up straight, don’t slouch. You have a tendency to do so, and these people will not tolerate it.” You sister, Lizzie, says as she pushes her arm between yours, walking you towards the fancy house in front of the two of you, “Whatever you do, don’t speak about your art at all. Nobody can stop you once you’ve started. Do speak if you’re spoken too, and if you’re asked to dance, dance.”

You shake your head, “But I don’t want to dance.”

“You will dance.” Lizzie says again, squeezing your arm slightly, “You may find yourself a husband if you act proper enough.”

“I shouldn’t have to act proper just to find a husband, Lizzie.” You scoff, shaking your head, “If they don’t love me, oil paints and all, then I don’t want them. I don’t think I’ll ever find a husband.”

“Oh shush with you.” She says, tapping your arm slightly. It didn’t hurt, but it did cause your lips to part in shock, “How lovely would it be if father returned and you were married! It would make his life.”

“I think he’d have a heart attack.” You mutter, removing your arm from around hers as you stand outside of the door you were going to walk through in mere minutes, “I’m his little girl, you are also, Lizzie. If we were both to be married I’d think we’d kill him off.”

“You shouldn’t joke about that.”

“I’m not joking. I truly believe that would happen.” You deadpan.

She scoffs and slips her arm through yours this time, using her free hand to ring the bell. A man wearing one of the fanciest suits you’ve ever seen in your life opens the door, allowing the two of you to slip through. You help Lizzie remove her shawl, whilst she does the same to you. The man hangs them up amongst the array of other jackets. You lips part in shock at the sight of the house you were in, the first thing your eyes falling upon being the large staircase, with paintings littering the walls. For once, you were speechless, unable to control your excitement and want to gawk at the art upon the wall.

“Lizzie!” You gasp, gripping her arm tightly, “Look at the—”

“Don’t you dare say paintings!”

“Lizzie!” You groan again, pulling her arm so that she’s looking your direction, “Look at them.”

“I’m looking at them.” She lifts her eyes to look at the wall you were looking at, where the pieces hung with such grace and elegance, “They don’t seem too spectacular.”

A shocked gasp escapes your lips, “Take that back, Lizzie! They are beautiful!

“If you say so.”

She removes you from your awe of the paintings and pulls you towards the ballroom. There’s people everywhere, the most amount of people you think you’ve ever seen in your life. You watch as they mingle with glasses of Champagne in their hands, the expensive material of their dresses sparkling in the light from the chandelier. Men stood wooing the women before them, flicking their suit jackets and inviting them to dance. The dresses the women were wearing were something out of dreams. You weren’t the biggest fan of dresses, in fact, you lived in trousers around the house, but you couldn’t help feeling embarrassed about your tattered dress. You’ve had the dress for a year or so, and the holes and rips and anything else you’d manage to do to the material could be seen in the light even if you’d fixed it.

“Lizzie!” The call comes from somebody who you don’t recognise, but Elizabeth certainly did and before the syllables of her name could escape your lips, she’s gone. You watch as your sisters whisked away with the crowd, leaving you stood there with no clue as to what to do.

Gripping the material of your dress, you slip yourself to stand by one of the doorways, away from the hustle and bustle of everyone in the room, but close enough for you to be able to watch. Lizzie stands in the middle, just as she always is, with a group of people around her. She was always the centre of attention, the one that everyone loved — you included. You were only a few years younger than her, but you were the only siblings each of you had, so you were close. You had your disagreements, that was certain, but you always came back stronger. You weren’t shocked when you noticed her spinning around holding some man’s hand, dancing away with a smile on her face that always made your insides happy. If she was happy, you were happy.

“Not one for dancing?” You eyes almost bulge out of your head as you hear a voice next to you, a male one at that.

“Oh, um, not really.” You laugh, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear, “I’m not a very good dancer. I don’t really like dancing, to be completely honest.”

“Everyone loves dancing.” The man says, and you’re able to get a good look at him. A black suit, with a crisp-white shirt sits upon his torso. His hair was a fluffy brown, a chestnut that you found yourself in awe of. His green eyes ones of masterpieces, better than any art you could ever see upon any wall in any gallery, “I believe you are just lying.”

“I am not.” You shake you head, “My sister told me that if anyone asked me to dance I must say yes, but I have decided that I mustn’t. I have two left feet and anyone who is to ever dance with me will regret it, I know of it.”

“I highly doubt that.” He shakes his head, sipping from the glass he had in his hand, “Your sister shouldn’t force you do dance either.”

“Oh.” You shake your head, “Lizzie isn’t forcing me to dance, she just wants the best for me. Dancing is how people meet.”

“It’s how we met.” He says after a few seconds.

You let out a small chuckle, running your tongue over your lips slightly, “Sir, pardon me, but I don’t even know your name.”

“Harry.” He smiles, “M’names Harry.”

“Oh!” You exclaim again, “Harry Styles! You’ve just moved in next door with your father! Mother saw you the other day.”

“You must be—”

“—YN YLN.” You hold your hand out for him to shake, immediately shaking your head and pulling it back, “I’m so sorry, Mr. Styles, Lizzie forgot to remind me to not shake hands. It’s not very ladylike, I know.”

“It’s perfectly okay.” He holds his hand out, and you bite your lip and shake it, “And please don’t call me Mr. Styles. I’m not my father. Call me Harry.”

“Harry.” The name slips from your lips, “I think Lizzie would die if she saw me talking to you.”

“If I may, would you show me Lizzie?” He asks and you nod.

You nod and turn back to the crowd, fluttering your eyes across all of the people in hopes to spot your sister. She was wearing red, the colour which suited her the most in your opinion, so she wasn’t too hard to spot. She was dancing in the middle of the room with a man with blonde hair, a suit similar to the one that Harry was wearing upon his body. She looked happy, and the sight caused a smile to flutter across your lips.

“She’s in the middle there.” You say, nodding your head in the girls direction, “The one in the red dress.”

You turn to look at Harry and once his eyes fall upon your sister, you can tell that the whole world stops around him. His lips part, his eyes widen and if you look closely you can see the reflection of the red dress in his eyes. You’re unsure how long he’s staring at her, but you’re staring at him for the exact same amount of time.

“It’s a. . .” He fumbles with his words after a few seconds, lifting his hands to scratch the back of his neck, “It’s a beautiful dress.”

“It is.” You agree, “Mother let her save up her allowance to buy the material. I should’ve done the same but I spent mine on paints.”

“You paint?” His raises his eyebrow, finally looking back at you.

You nod, “I love to.”

“Then you have every right to spend your money on paints.” He says, and you try to hide the heat that falls upon your cheeks, “You dress is perfectly swell

“It’s not beautiful though.”

“It’s swell, YN.” He reminds you again, “I’m sure you’ll get a beautiful dress at some point.”

Then you’ve lost him. You’re not surprised, though. Everyone prefers Lizzie to you, it’s just how it’s always been. You watch the back of him as he walks towards your sister, taking the world in his stride behind him as he does so. You watch as she courtesy’s for the man she has just danced with, and before Lizzie can go anywhere, she’s scooped up to dance with Harry. Maybe if you had bought the Emerald material your mother had wanted you to, Harry would be dancing with you right now instead of Lizzie. Maybe if you hadn’t been so against dancing in the first place he might’ve asked you to dance.

No, you wouldn’t stoop to that level for a man of all people. If Harry didn’t want to dance with you, ‘swell dress’ and all then you weren’t going to change yourself, no matter how much you wanted to, for a mere man.

“YN!” Lizzie delightful glee of your name came after their dance had died down. Lizzie came bouncing towards you, a just as bashful Harry following behind her, “Harry has offered to take us home in his carriage!”

“Now?” You ask, your heart hopeful that they’d both say yes.

Lizzie turns to look at Harry who shrugs his shoulders slightly, “If the two of you want to, we can.”

“Oh no.” Lizzie places her hand upon his shoulder, “We couldn’t dare take you away from the festivities. We will wait until you’re finished.”

“I’m ready to leave myself, Miss YLN.” He says to Lizzie, the same heat falling upon her cheeks as you had felt earlier.

“Please. Call me Lizzie.”

“Okay, Lizzie.” He grins, “I’ll just go fetch the carriage, see you by the front door?”

Lizzie nods, and you give him a small smile and watch as he walks towards the door. You try not to stare as he shrugs on his coat but it’s hard to, and you know that Lizzie is feeling the exact same way that you are.

“Oh YN.” She gushes, turning to you and placing her hands upon your shoulder, “He’s a perfect gentlemen.”

“Is that so?” You ask, walking towards the door also to fetch your shawl, shrugging it on your shoulders.

“It is.” She copies your actions with her own, “He asked to dance, saying that you were the one to introduce me to him. I can’t thank you enough, dear sister.”

“It’s no issue.” You shake off, turning away from her so that she can’t see the fall in your face, “He seemed to take a fancy to you once I’d pointed you out from the crowd.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes.” You nod your head, turning to look at her. Her shawl was scraggly thrown upon her body, probably from how distracted she was, and you lean forward to sort it for her whilst she gleams over your shoulder at nothing. You wonder if this is what it was like to meet your husband, butterflies and distractions from that moment on. It hadn’t happened yet for you, and seeing the way Lizzie was acting, you decided that you didn’t really want it happen, “Couldn’t take his eyes off you, sweet one.”

She squeals and wraps her arms around you, squeezing you slightly. You were happy that she was happy, and you wouldn’t take that away from her.

The door opened, revealing a blushed faced Harry due to the cold outside, “Ready?”

“YN!” Your mother calls from the floor below you, “Can you please come and set the table?”

You groan and remove your paintbrush from your canvas. The day prior you had been given a small sum of money from your Aunt Jemima after visiting and immediately gone to the store in town to pick up some new canvases. It was heaven to receive little amounts of money like these and you almost always spent it on canvases so you wouldn’t have to use paper, which was the cheaper alternative that you had to buy.

“I’m a little busy!” You call back, moving so that you can shout out of your door, “Can you ask Lizzie?”

“She isn’t here!” Your mother calls back and you groan. You place your palette down on the table beside you, as well as your brushes in the pot of water you had brought up with you. You wipe your hands on your apron before pulling it over your head and off your body. You drape it over your bed carefully, being careful to not get anything on the linen.

You bounce down the steps, tucking your hair that falls down in ringlets by the side of your face behind your ear. Entering the kitchen, you place a kiss to your mother’s cheek. She stands over the side, chopping some vegetables that she’s going to bring to boil for your dinner. She greets you with a smile and continues chopping.

“Is Lizzie with Harry?” You ask, placing the cutlery beside each mat on the table, noticing that there were four like there had started to be now.

“Of course she is.” Your mother shakes her head, “They’re always somewhere causing trouble.”

You had to suppress your grin. Lizzie had been the good girl of the family for so long, always doing everything that was asked of her and your were the one who tended to ignore requests so that you could continue doing whatever you wanted to. Since Lizzie had met Harry, that had been completely flipped upside down. You were the good girl of the family who did everything that was asked of you, and Lizzie was the one always getting out of doing things by sneaking off with Harry.

Since the two had met just over two months ago, they had been inseparable. When the two of you weren’t being taught how to read and write by your mother, Lizzie was always somewhere doing something with Harry. The other week he had taken her to the theatre and words couldn’t explain how jealous you were. You and Lizzie did everything together, and you always had done, but now you felt second best to someone who she hardly knew. You knew a part of you was jealous, but you would never admit that. What you did admit to yourself was that you were lonely and missing your sister.

“Is Harry staying for supper?” You ask, filling up the water jug to be placed upon the table.

“I’m guessing so.” Your mother says, moving to bend down by the fire to check on the meat, “It’s ready. Will you go get them? I think they’re by the river.”

You nod your head, moving to the front door to retrieve your shawl and boots. They were always at the river, as though it was there place. You couldn’t understand for the life of you why they’d chosen that place out of all, especially during the winter months. Snow was just around the corner and the two of them decided to spend their days moments away from catching a cold by the river.

The walk itself was five or so minutes through the woods behind your house, watching your step for fallen branches and wild animals. Lizzie was usually the one who brought you to the lake, so it was a given that you hadn’t been in a while.

Once the trees start to disperse, you stand in the middle of the opening to try and spot them. You do, quite quickly in fact. They’re stood by the water, picking up stones every now and then to skim across it, rippling the stillness with their movements. Skimming stones felt like a normal thing to see people doing, but once you watch Lizzie throw her arms around his neck, you feel like a little portion of you crumbles inside. You hadn’t seen them like this before, and you never ever wanted to see them like that again.

“Lizzie!” You call, snapping them out of their trance so that they turn to look at you. Lizzie immediately removes her arms from around Harry’s neck.

“Is there something wrong?”

“No.” You shake your head, “Mother just asked me to collect the two of you for supper.”

The two nod and move around where they were stood to collect their things but you don’t wait for them. Instead, you turn around and walk back towards the house. You can hear them laughing but you refuse to look back, because you know that you won’t be able to handle it. The temperature drops dramatically as you walk back, and you pull your shawl closer to you to help preserve some heat. You had a suspicion that at some point this evening it would start snowing, which you weren’t too unhappy about. It would give you time to finish the painting you started today, and hopefully create some more.

They aren’t close behind you as you reach the door, so you enter and immediately walk towards the table which is looking a lot fuller than it had been.

“Are they coming?” Your mother asks and you nod, sitting down at the table. They enter a few minutes later, Harry greeting your mother with a kiss on the cheek.

The three join you at the table, Harry next to you, Lizzie next to him and your mother sat next to the spare seat — where your father usually sat. You all join hands in saying grace, your hand feeling completely natural sat in his. The way his encompassed yours was something that will be etched into your brain for the rest of the day, and for the days after that. It isn’t a light hold either, it’s a prominent one, and his fingers squeeze yours tightly. You drop your eyes to your plate, unable to look up at him because you’re unsure of what his features may hold.

You don’t say anything over the dinner, you just listen to their words. It’s all about Harry’s time in London, like it usually was, and the rest about what the two had been up too. Your mother asks the dreaded question, and yet again, you ignore any word that comes out of their mouths.

It was inevitable at this point that Harry and Lizzie, at some point, were going to marry each other. You were surprised that Harry hadn’t proposed yet, if you were honest. If soulmates were a thing, no matter how much it pained you to believe, you wouldn’t be surprised if they were the example. You wouldn’t ever say anything to anyone about this, but you do think a part of you wished that was you in her place. You wished that you were the one that he smiled at, held hands with, kissed upon the cheek as she left.

After the dinner had finished, you had returned up to your room and lit your candle, leaning against the window frame to peer outside. They stood by the gate, Harry’s hand holding hers and her hand holding is. They looked as though they truly loved each other and what you expected to be a measly kiss on the cheek like it usually was, wasn’t that at all. A little part of you died inside when you saw him lean forward and place a kiss upon her lips, his hand lifting up to rest against her cheek. You managed to draw yourself away from the window after you’d watched for a while or so, slipping under your sheets and into your linen, turning so that you’re facing the wall. A few minutes or so later, you hear the door open and the rustling of clothes and you suspect Lizzie gets ready for bed. You try not cry but you can already feel the tears starting to fall down your face.

“YN.” You hear the soft whisper of your voice over the crackle of the candle that was still on in the room, “Are you awake?”

“Yes.” You manage out through the hesitation within your voice.

After a few seconds, and a slight giggles escaping her lips, “He kissed me, YN.”

“Oh.” You try not to sound like you’re upset, “Are you going to marry him?”

“He hasn’t asked me.” She’s quick to say, “But I think he might.”

A month or so later, you’re stood in front of a carriage, one that sits Lizzie inside on her way to Etiquette Lessons. Every young lady in the village had to go to them when they reached a certain age to make sure that they are properly prepared for how to look after their husbands when the day comes. You weren’t quite at the age yet, but Lizzie was.

You had given her a hug, and watched your mother kiss her cheeks and hug her, but you now found yourself watching something that you had seen so many times now. Harry and Lizzie stood by the door of the open carriage, her hands in his as they whisper and chuckle at whatever they’re talking about. You can’t hear what they say, but you can tell it’s emotional from the tears that are running down his face.

You mother wraps her arm around your shoulder, squeezing your shoulder. You wondered if she knew. You hadn’t said anything to her, but she always seemed to know what was going on in your life even if you hadn’t told her anything.

Harry helped Lizzie into the carriage, and closed the door for her before coming to stand next to you. Your eyes fluttered up to look at him for a second, but he didn’t even look anywhere near you, he was watching the carriage as it left. The love of his life was leaving in it, so I’m not surprised he did so.

“Mother.” You say quickly once the carriage had turn off the path, “Can I return and paint?”

“Of course you can.” She places a hand on one of your cheeks and a kiss to the other, “Take Harry with you. He’ll need the company.”

You turn to look at him, and he just shrugs, so you nod. You return back to the house with Harry trailing behind you, looking like a lost puppy. The way his eyes seemed to droop, as well as his hair, all hinted to the fact that he was actually upset that she was leaving. He follows you into the room, and sits on the end of Lizzie’s bed whilst you pulled your paints out of your drawer.

“I’ve only been in here once before.” He says after a few seconds, running his hand over the linen of her sheets, “You were out. Something about Aunt Jemima.”

“Oh.” You start to face place some of your paints upon your palette, “I read to her, sometimes, and she pays me so I can buy paints. I’m hoping that one day she’ll take me to Europe with her.”

“Europe?” He asks, “You want to go?”

“More than anything.” You sigh, swirling your brush in the green paint you had just placed upon your palette, “More specifically I’m hoping she takes me France. I’ll be able properly practice my art then.”

“Can you not do that here?”

You hesitate for a second, hovering your brush over the canvas slightly, “I’ll be better suited if I go there. People will care more about my work.”

“It’s beautiful work.” He says after a few seconds, “I don’t know how France would change that.”

You think for a second about how to explain this to him, “Think of it like Etiquette school. The girls go and return as better wives than if they hadn’t gone. They would’ve been good wives, but not as good without the school.”

“I don’t think I understand.”

“My art is good without France, just like the wives are without Etiquette class, but they are better with it. My art will be better with France.”

You turn around to see him nod his head, “I think I understand.”

“A part of it is also me wanting to leave this town.” You say, turning back around so that you can place your paintbrush back upon your canvas.

“I cannot fault you for that.” He says, and you turn to him again, only to see that he’s laid back upon the bed, a hand over his eyes, “Sometimes I wish I could leave.”

“Why don’t you?” You ask, “If one of us had the beings necessary to leave it would be you?”

“Beings necessary?” He pushes himself up on his elbow so that he’s looking directly at you, “And what would be those necessary beings?”

“Money, for one.” You say, moving so that you’re sat on your bed, looking straight at him, “Carriages. Knowledge of the world. The furthest I’ve ever gone is the neighbouring town and that was to drop something off for my mother.”

“Why don’t you leave then?”

You chuckle, raising your eyebrows, “I plan on it.”

“Ice Skating.” Harry says as he walks through your bedroom door, holding two pairs of ice skates in your hands.

“Harry!” You exclaim, placing your hand upon your chest at the shocked sight of him, “I could’ve been indecent and you would have never known!”

“But you aren’t.” He tips his head to the side, “Ice Skating. We’re going ice skating. The lake has frozen over and it’s perfect.”

“Are we now?” You ask, placing your palette down upon the table next to your easel, “Is Mr. Styles bored of his mansion.”

“I’m going to loose my mind.” He drops down on your sisters bed, the skates clattering to the floor as he does so, “Please come ice skating with me.”

“Harry.” You sigh, pulling your painting apron off, “I don’t even know how to ice skate.”

“Then I will teach you.” He says.

After a few seconds of contemplation, you nod your head, “I’ll do it if you let me paint you.”

“Deal.”

Over the past two weeks you and Harry had grown close. Not as close as Harry and your sister, but close enough for you to class him as one of your good friends. The two of you had started to do everything together, similarly to him and Lizzie but with some barriers. You hugged each other but you certainly weren’t as touchy deeply as they were with each other. You couldn’t do it to your sister, so you avoided doing anything that would be seen as wrong.

You did feel sorry for Harry. He had told you that he had sent three letters to Lizzie during this time and she hadn’t even replied to one. You weren’t quite sure why, but that was quite despicable on her part. The poor man was making himself sick with how much he was worrying about her, and you were the one who had seen it, and been the one to try and get him out of it. One of the things that you had begged him to let you do was paint him, but he kept rejecting your proposal. Instead, he told you that he liked to enjoy watching you paint rather than having you paint him.

You were excited to say the least that he had agreed to let you paint him, and you certainly weren’t going to miss that opportunity.

“Slow down.” You call to Harry, who’s around ten strides a head of you as you waddle your way with your dress in your hands through the snow, “I can’t keep up with you.”

“Walk faster then.” He says, turning to look at you with a grin across his face.

You groan and try to pick up the pace, nearly slipping a few times on some particularly icy parts of the ground but you make it to the lake in once piece. Harry passes you the skates he had picked up for you and you thank him for passing them to you. You kick your shoes off and fasten the skates, just as he does the same.

“Stay away from the middle.” He says, “It’s thinner than the edge.”

“I think you’re forgetting something.” You say as you try to stable yourself on the blades, “I have not idea what I’m doing.”

“It’s like walking, but on ice.” He deadpans and you resist the urge to roll your eyes, “I’ll let you hold my hand if you want.”

He holds his hand out and without really thinking you place your hand in his, allowing him to guide you onto the ice. His hand was cold, but so was yours, but having his in yours sent little flames across the entirety of your body.

At first you were unsteady on your feet, and you’re sure that you could’ve nearly broke Harry’s hand with how tightly you were squeezing it. He chuckled and made sure that you were continuously upright. After five minutes or so, you found the swing of what you were doing, and managed to move forward without any wobbles.

“I’m letting go of you.”

“No!” You exclaim, gripping his hand tighter so that he wouldn’t be able to pull away from you, “I’ll fall.”

“You won’t fall.” He chuckles, trying to pull his hand away again. “I will.” You shake your head, “Please, don’t.”

“You’re not going to fall.”

“I am.”

“You’re not.”

He somehow manages to release his hand from yours and skate backwards away from you, leaving you on your own. You hold your hands out, straightening them as though that’s going to help balance you out. With the little momentum you had left, you moved forward slightly until you came to a halt, where you pick up one of your feet to push forward and move forward. You manage to do it, without falling which surprises you.

“Harry!” You exclaimed, beaming at him, “I’m doing it.”

“I told you that you would.” He smiles, tilting his head to the side, “Shall we?”

“We shall.” You smile, and the two of you continue off across the ice.

Everything seems to be going well and good until you manage to catch your blade in a slit in the ice and go tumbling forward, going over on your ankle as you do so. You drop to the ground with a thud, a throbbing immediately falling upon your ankle.

“Harry. . .” His name escapes your lips through the the hiss of pain you let out.

“Are you injured?” He’s quick to ask, skating over to you as quickly as he possible could.

“My ankle.” You say, “I think I’ve sprained it.”

“You probably have.” He’s quick to say, “Lift up slightly, I’ll carry you back home.”

You shake your head, “You don’t have to do that.”

“What are you going to?” He laughs, “Crawl?”

“I might.”

“You wouldn’t make it home for Christmas.” He bends down, “Come here.”

You lift your hand up and wrap your hands around his neck, allowing him to place his hands underneath your knees. He looks at you with a small smile on his face and skates back to the edge of the lake, placing you on the floor for a second so that you could both remove your skates.

“How did you get so good at skating?” You ask, returning to your prior position his arms.

“Home.” He says, “In England. It’s cold year round there, and the lakes are often frozen. My mother taught me.”

“You don’t talk about you mother.”

“She died when I was young.” He says, not looking at you the way that he had been, “I don’t remember a lot about her.”

“I’m sorry.” You say, “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“You didn’t.” He shakes his head, “You were merely curious.”

You drop your eyes to the white around the two of you, “My mother says that my curiosity may get me in trouble one of these days.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” He chuckles, “But that’s something that makes you, you.”

Without really thinking, you say the next few words, “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t me.”

He shakes his head, “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” You nod your head, “There’s nothing special about me. I’m no Lizzie YLN.”

“No.” He shakes his head, “You aren’t Lizzie, but you are YN. This world doesn’t need anymore Lizzie’s in it.”

“I thought maybe you’d have a thousands Lizzie’s if you could.”

“I wouldn’t need a thousand if I could have the one.”

“You do have you.”

He shakes his head, “I told her before she went that there was no need for Etiquette classes because to be my wife all I wanted was her. Lizzie wanted to go to get the best experience she possibly could.”

“You respected that?”

He looks directly over you again, “Why wouldn’t I?”

“We all know what actually happens at Etiquette classes, Harry.”

Harry only nods his head once, not saying anything else. He still carries you home, one of his arms rested comfortable under his knee whilst the other rests behind your back. You hoped you hadn’t offended him, but there was no way for you to know.

Etiquette classes, as a whole, were to teach young women the proper ways of being a wife during the day, and through the night thy would attend balls and such. The balls were so the women could hopefully meet eligible, rich men who they were hopefully going to marry. If you were already meant to marry someone else, it didn’t seem like a right thing to go to this place where the people were always after one thing.

As your feelings grew for Harry, you wondered whether Lizzie’s had diminished and that was why she decided to go to the classes. You certainly shouldn’t want that, but you couldn’t lie and say that a part of you did.

“Mrs. YLN?” You mother comes running towards the two of you at Harry’s call of her name, “We’ve had a little accident.”

“What have you done now?”

“I went over on my ankle.” You deadpan.

“Harry will you get me some ice?” He nodded and moved towards the kitchen whilst you mother freed your ankle and rested it upon her knee.

He came back with ice wrapped in a cloth and passed it to your mother who placed it upon your ankle.

“Thank you for bringing her home, Harry.”

“It’s no problem.”

“Would you like to stay for dinner?”

“I shouldn’t.” He shakes his head, “Thank you for the offer, though. But I should be returning home.”

“Pass my love onto your father.”

“I will.”

He throws you once last look, one that you can’t quite pinpoint the emotion of. After a few seconds he drops his eyes, and walks out of the door without looking back. You turn to look at your mother, who’s got a skeptical look upon her face as she looks at you.

“What is it?”

“Does he know?”

“Does he know what?”

A small smile crosses her lips, “That you love him.”

You lips part in shock before you clamp them shut, “I. . . I feel no such thing.”

“You had just lied to me, child.” She shakes her head, “I know love when I see it.”

“Mother.” You shake your head, “He loves Lizzie.”

“I know.” She places her hand upon your cheek, “You’ll be the one to pick up the pieces when she breaks his heart.”

Lizzie was due to return home today, on Christmas Eve of all days, and the house certainly looked as though it was ready for her.

You, your mother and Harry had spent quite a while this year decorating the house to be as Christmassy as possible. The thing that you still think about to this day was jumping on Harry’s back so he could lift you up to reach the star, your mother smiling as she watched the two of you.

The carriage returned at around midday. You were stood next to Harry at the end of the garden, with you mother next to him. The carriage came to a halt and the driver was the one to open the door, Lizzie immediately tumbling out and throwing her arms around your mother who had taken a few steps forward.

She didn’t look like Lizzie, in your opinion. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a tight bun, the dress upon her body looking more expensive than the ones that she had gone with. The material was a blushed pink colour, with fancy detailing upon the corset and a puffy skirt that was one of the biggest that you had ever seen in your life. Lizzie looks happy to see your mother to say the least, but you’re quite surprised when she moves to you next instead of Harry.

“Hello!” She throws her arms around your shoulder, placing her head on your shoulder whilst you placed yours on hers, the material of her fancy coat hitting your cheek. You hadn’t seen anything quite like it before, never mind felt anything quite like it before, “I’ve missed you so much. How are you?”

“Well, thank you.” You pull away. clearing your throat and wiping your hands upon your skirt slightly, “The same old. It’s you who I should be asking that question to.”

She smiles and pulls away, holding her small bag close to herself as she looks at the person stood next to you. Harry looks as though he’s about to cry, and so does Lizzie if you’re being brutally honest. The two of them needed to be alone, and you understood that. When your mother motioned you to follow her back into the house, you didn’t hesitate with your movements, following her back into the house.

“I feel as though dinner might be late tonight.” You mother says as she closes the door behind you, fumbling to take off her scarf, “I feel like they might be out there for a while. Why don’t you go up and finish your painting?”

You nod your head, not wanting to say anything. You remove your outdoor gear and race up the stairs. You know you shouldn’t, but you immediately run to the window to see whether you can see the two of them, but you’re unable to.

Lizzie looked like a different person, but she sounded like Lizzie when she opened her mouth. The clothes that she wore might have changed but she was still your sister, the same sister who had the man you loved following her around like a lost puppy. Lizzie was the same Lizzie as she always had been, and that meant that she probably did feel the same way about Harry as she did before she left. There was a selfish streak in you that wished that wasn’t the case, and she had completely forgot about her feelings for Harry and had met someone else, but until you properly had a conversation with the girl, you couldn’t be too sure that was the case. You couldn’t be sure either that if that had happened, Harry would want you in that way.

You found yourself unable to paint, so you dropped down upon your bed and sat with your back against the wall, watching the outside world as your thoughts danced around within your head. You found the thoughts spiralling through your head that you were still a young woman at the end of the day, one who could have a line of men wanting to marry you but you instead found yourself second best to your sister, and that shouldn’t be happening. No matter how much you loved the man, or had grown to be accustomed to his company, being second best wasn’t something that you had set your heart on being, and you wouldn’t be for him.

You were the first YLN he had met, yet he had chosen your sister first and he was going to lay in that bed now.

“YN!” You mother called from downstairs, “They’re here.”

Christmas Eve dinner, to say the least, was one that you’d never forget. Harry looked as though he was either going to burst out crying or kill someone at any moment, Lizzie looked exhausted and your mother and yourself were sat in the middle of the two of you trying to make ends meet of what had happened. Harry’s eyes caught yours once, but he was quick to flutter them away and take another forkful of vegetables and place it in his mouth.

“Lizzie, you haven’t told YN and I anything about your time away.” Your mother started, probably not the best topic of conversation but one that would split up the silence hopefully, “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“I did.” She wipes her mouth upon her napkin, “I had an amazing time. Met some amazing people. Actually, there is one person that I’ve invited for you to meet for the new year.”

“You have?” Your mother raises her eyebrow, “How wonderful.”

“His name is Theodore.”

That’s all it takes for Harry’s fork to clatter to the plate, his chair screech across the floor and his body to stand up.

“I’m, uh, truly sorry Mrs. YLN.” He says, “The meal was lovely but I’m not feeling very well so I think it’s best that I go home.”

“Are you alright?”

“I will be.” He nods his head, clearing his throat and scratching the back of his neck, “So sorry again, have an amazing Christmas.”

“You too, Harry.”

Once the doors closed, Lizzie’s the next person to drop her cutlery and sulk off upstairs. The slamming of the bedroom door shakes the whole house. You place another bit of potato into your mouth and slowly chew whilst looking at your mother.

She sighs, “Will you go check on your sister for me?”

“But—”

“You’ll get to see him later, don’t worry.” She says, “I’m going to plate him and his father some food. God knows they won’t eat without it, and you can take it over for me.”

You nod your head, taking a sip from your glass of water before standing up and making your way upstairs. You cam hear Lizzie’s cries before you open the door, and you know that its because of what had obviously happened before the two of them had come to lunch. You push the door open, to see her laid on her bed face down, her head deep within her pillow. You push the door closed behind you and back up until your back is directly placed upon the solid wood.

“Are you engaged to him?” You say, looking down at your shoes so that you don’t have to make eye contact with her.

You can hear the bed creek beneath her as she moves, but you still don’t look up, “To who?”

“To Theodore.”

“No.” You lift your eyes up just as she shakes her head, “I’m not.”

“But you want to be.”

“What makes you think that?”

You scoff and shake your head, crossing your arms over your chest, “You forget that I’m your sister, Lizzie. I know you better than you know yourself.”

After a few seconds, she speaks again, “He’s going to propose.”

“He is?” You take a few steps forward until you’re sat upon your bed, directly across from her, “Why, Lizzie?”

“We’re in love.” She quickly says, her eyes bulging out the way that they do when she starts to get upset, “When you’re in love, you get married YN.”

“I thought you were in love with Harry.”

“I love Harry.” She says, shaking her head, “But I’m not in love with him. I love him as a best friend.”

“He loves you.”

“I know.” She shakes her head, “I just didn’t love him the way I love Theodore. He’s just so kind, and so gentle and he makes me feel things that I just haven’t felt before.”

The way that she stands up immediately makes your mind immediately fall to a place that you know isn’t where it should be. Your eyes widen and she looks at you the exact way that you know that what you thought is right.

“Lizzie.” You voice comes out as a whisper, and you shake your head, “You didn’t.”

“I love him, YN.” She shakes her head, “And he loves me.”

“We always said we’d save that until marriage.” You shake your head, “You told me that’s what you have to do.”

She sits down on the bed next to you, reaching so that her hands are placed upon both of your shoulders, “And you do. Promise me you will, YN.”

“I will.” You quickly say, “I promise, I will.”

“Good.” She sighs, dropping her hands from your shoulders, “You will not end up like me, I won’t let you.”

“How have you ended up?”

She looks at you with tears in her eyes, “I think I’m pregnant, YN.”

You were holding a basket of food that your mother had collated for Harry and his father. You had knocked upon the door once and now you were stood, waiting for someone to open the door and let you in from the cold. The temperature had certainly dropped since you had been outside earlier, but you weren’t surprised at that fact.

“Miss. YLN.” Harry’s father opens the door. You’ve only ever met him once, and from what Harry has told you, he’s quite a cold man, “May I ask why you’re here?”

“Uh, my mother sent you and Harry some food over.” You say, holding up the basket within your hands, “I just came to deliver it.”

“Please.” He says, “Come in.”

You step through the threshold of the house, entering one that was three times the size of your own but just as empty as yours.

“I’ll take that to the kitchen for you.” He says, holding his hands out so you can place the basket within them, “H is upstairs, in the library. Third door on the left.”

“Thank you.”

The stairs themselves were probably bigger than your entire house, and as you ran your hand across the wood of the banister you couldn’t believe how expensive it felt beneath your fingers. You followed Mr. Styles’ instruction and walked along the grand hallway until you found the third door on the left. It was slightly ajar, so you placed your hand upon the wood and push it open, the door creaking as you did so.

Your mouth drops open at the sight of the room in front of you. When Mr. Styles said Library you thought it may have been a small room with bookshelves in it, but it wasn’t, it was a full library at the most. It was full of the most books you’ve ever seen anywhere, floor to ceiling bookshelves. You couldn’t help your want to run your fingers across every single cover.

You spot Harry sat at the window, his knees bent and a book placed open upon them. You cross your hands in front of you, taking a few steps towards Harry. The sound of your shoes against the wooden floor notifies Harry that you’re there, and he lifts his eyes to look at you.

“Are you okay?” He asks, closing the book that he had open.

You take a few more steps towards him, sitting at the opposite side of windowsill to him, “I should be asking you that question.”

He chuckles, lifting his leg up again so that it’s on the windowsill, “I’m okay.”

“I don’t believe that.” You shake your head, coping him so your feet are up also and you’re facing him, “Tell me truthfully. How are you?”

He shakes his head, dropping his eyes down to his knees, “She doesn’t want to marry me.”

“You asked?”

“Today.” He nods, looking back at you again, “I had a ring.”

After a few seconds you whisper, “Can I see it?”

“See what?”

“The ring.”

He opens his jacket and fumbles around in the inside pocket, bringing out a small blue velvet box which he throws towards you. You catch it, nearly dropping it but you manage to keep it in your hands. You raise your eyebrow at him and he offers a small smile, one that you knew wasn’t the most truthful of how he’s feeling.

You open the box and see a beautiful ring in the box. The ring itself was silver, but the thing that drew your and probably Harry to it was the gem. It looked to be diamond, not a large one at that but one that was a lovely sized. The light from the window caused the diamond to glimmer slightly, a gasp escaping from your lips.

“Harry.” You shake your head, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear, “It’s beautiful.”

“I thought so too.” He says, running his thumb across his bottom lip before shrugging his shoulders, “Lizzie didn’t think so.”

“It’s not because of you, Harry.” You quickly say, “Nothing to do with you.”

“It must’ve been, YN.” He says, “You’re sister doesn’t want to marry me. Me! Not anyone else.”

“She can’t marry you, Harry.” You say, the tears starting to collect in your eyes, “I don’t know whether if situations were different she would marry you, but in this situation it isn’t your fault. I can promise you that.”

You watch a tear fall down is cheek, “Has she met someone else?”

You look away, pursing your lips and closing your eyes to try and stop the tears from falling down your cheeks, “I’m so sorry, Harry.”

“Is it Theodore? Is she engaged to him?”

“She will be.” You say, standing up and moving so that you’re in front of him, placing your hand upon his knee, “I’m so sorry, Harry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“She’s my sister.”

“You’re not in charge of her.”

You reach forward and place your hand upon his cheek, using your thumb to delicately wipe the next year that falls out of his eye. His tilts his head slightly so that it’s nicely rested within your hand, and you smile at him, which his returns.

“Did she ever love me?”

“She did.” You say, nodding your head, “She loves you. She’s just not in love with you.”

“That doesn’t make it any easier.”

You shake your head, “I don’t think anything will at this point. You just need to wait, time will heal. I’ll be here for you.”

“I think.” He says, dropping his knees so that he can move closer to you, “I think you might be able to.”

“Whatever you need, H.” You say.

He moves closer, you can feel him closer to you, but you certainly hadn’t expected for him to place his lips upon yours. The kiss at first in gentle, his lips pressed against yours so gently that at the start you couldn’t quite feel him upon you. Then it’s more urgent, with his hand placed upon your cheek, his lips moving against yours at a quick pace.

“H.” You whisper, pulling away slightly as he removes his lips from yours, using them to dance down your cheek, to your jaw and then resting against the skin of your neck.

He removed his hand from your cheek and hooking it underneath your thigh so he can manoeuvre you to be on his lap.

This is the first time you’ve ever kissed a boy, and you can’t believe that the boy of all people is Harry Styles. You hadn’t been this close to anyone before, straddled across his lap with your knees each side of his waist, your skirt bunched up at your waist. The second you were comfortable, his lips attached to your again, his hands rested upon the small of your back. A feeling brewed within you, causing your hips to involuntary buck towards his. You felt him smile against your lips, and that was when you snapped out of the daze that you were in.

Without really thinking, you pulled away and clambered off of his lap. He looked flushed as you pulled away, his hair a little messy and his lips red from the kissing.

“No.” You hold your hand out at him, shaking your head, “You can’t do that.”

“Why not?” He said, standing up and taking a few steps towards you.

“Because. . . because you just can’t.” You shake your head, lifting your hands to run through your hair.

“I thought.” He looks at you quizzically, “I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“Maybe I did, a little bit.” You say, shaking your head, “But you didn’t want it to be me. You wanted it to be Lizzie.”

“No.” He shakes his head, holding his hand out as if to touch yours, “I didn’t want that.”

“You did, I know you Harry, and you did.” You sniffle slightly, shaking your head, “I’m not Lizzie and I’ll never be Lizzie, and I’ve accepted that. You’ll never love me like you love Lizzie, and I know that. But, Harry, I won’t be second best. I don’t deserve to be second best.”

“You aren’t second best, YN!”

You can’t help but let out a small sob at his words, “I am, Harry. From the first day that we met each other, Lizzie came first. She was the one who you couldn’t bore your eyes away from, not me. I don’t think I had a full conversation with you until Lizzie left for her classes.”

“That’s not true, YN.” He shakes his head, “I swear to you, it isn’t.”

“I’m sorry, Harry.” You take a few steps back, “I won’t be second best.”

With that you turn away, leaving the house and leaving Harry. You couldn’t help the tears that fell as you walked across to your house.

You had made the decision that day that you weren’t to stay in America, that you were going to leave and you knew that Aunt Jemima was the person you knew would be able to help you with that.

Your Aunt Jemima was getting older, but before she died she wanted to go to Europe on last time, more specifically France. She had asked you years ago to be her companion on the trip, and you had agreed, but that was the last time you’d ever spoken to her about it. On Christmas day, you had been the one to bring the idea back up in conversation, dropping in little hints until Aunt Jemima picked up what you were saying. She had been the one to say that in the new year you were going and that you had to be ready to leave on January second with no complaints, not that you had any anywhere.

When Aunt Jemima’s carriage came, you said your farewell’s to your mother and you sister, and Theodore who had proposed to your sister the day prior — and left. As you sat in the carriage, you couldn’t help but look at Harry’s house, and you weren’t shocked to see him at the window watching your every move. You didn’t look away from the window until you could no longer see the house, when you turned to look straight in front of your, your gloved hands resting upon your knee.

“Forget him.” Aunt Jemima says, sighing slightly and shaking her head, “He isn’t right for you.”

“I have no idea what you are on about.” You shake your head, looking out of the small carriage window so that you don’t have to look at your Aunt.

“That Styles boy.” She says, and you immediately snap your eyes towards her, “Don’t think I don’t know about the two of you.”

“There isn’t anything to know.” You shake your head at her.

“There obviously is.” She says, “Or you wouldn’t be sulking the way that you are.”

“I’m not sulking.”

“I haven’t brought a liar with me have I ?” She asks, raising her eyebrow at you.

“You haven’t.” She shakes her head, “I am sulking, I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” She says, pursing her lips, “Are you going to tell me about him, then?”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“You’re about to cry, my dear.” She flutters her eyes to you slightly, “I could sense your heartbreak from a mile away. He’s the reason you wanted to come, isn’t he?”

“I wanted to come.” You say, messing with your fingers that sat on your lap, “He just. . . gave me a reason to finally do it.”

“I think he’s the idiot in this situation.” She says after a few seconds and your lips part in shock, before you clamp them back together, “He’s the one who got involved with you and your sister. I wonder if he can even get out of bed.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well. First of all your sister broke his heart by not marrying him and marrying that other man, I’ve already forgotten his name.” She shakes her head, “Then you broke his heart by doing whatever you did when you went to go see him on Christmas Eve and you’ve been depressed ever since you left.”

“Who told you that?”

“Who do you think?” Aunt Jemima clicks her tongue and shakes her head, “My daughter told me. Wouldn’t stop crying saying that you’re leaving the love of your life and her other daughters pregnant by some pretentious nobody.”

You run your hand over your forehead, scrunching your face at the fact that everyone knew, “My mother knows too much.”

“Your mother just knows you.” Aunt Jemima shakes her head, “At least you haven’t ruined your life before it’s even begun, with a child of all things.”

“You’re just saying that because you never had children.”

“Why would I want an offspring of myself and some other man?”

“It’s about love, Aunt Jemima.” You can tell that you’re about to cry, so again you turn your head, “When you love someone, that’s something to bring that love into a being.”

“I just don’t see why.” She says, curling up her nose, “But then again, that’s why I’m seventy, unmarried and childless. Don’t think about the Styles boy too much. You’re going to a different country for heavens sake, think of all of the people that you’ll meet whilst you’re there. You’ll forget him soon, my dear, and he’ll forget you. That’s what we’ll hope for anyway.”

The tears do start to fall now, in quick streams down down your cheeks. You couldn’t stop them. Aunt Jemima, no matter how much you despised her sometimes, she certainly knew what she was talking about. You turned your head so that you were looking away from your aunt, looking out of the window and trying your hardest not to let any sobs fall out of your lips.

You did love Harry and if he had stopped your from getting into the carriage, your probably would. If he had asked to marry you, you probably would have said yes without any hesitation but at the same time you also felt as though you were second best, and that wasn’t a place that you ever thought you’d be.

No matter how much you loved him, and yearned to be with him, you knew for the sake of your sanity and for the sake of staying as a strong independent woman. You were taught from being young from your mother that no matter how many people try to say that all you were worth is more than just being the wife of some rich man. Your mother also said that you had a talent and that you had to use it.

France was going to be the place that you were going to use your talents, and be a better person for doing so.

Four Years Later

“Pierre.” You say, smiling at the man as he held his hand out to you, “Puis-je vous demander ce que vous faites?” May I ask what you’re doing?

“Je demande à la plus belle fille de la pièce de danser.” You can’t help the blush that falls across your cheeks. You nod your head and slip your hand into his, standing up and following him into the middle of the dance floor. I’m asking the most beautiful girl in the room to dance.

The music changes around them to one of the most popular songs in Paris to dance to. He lifts his arm up, just as you do to his, and start the movements in the same way that everyone else in the room had.

You had arrived in France with Aunt Jemima four years ago, fresh faced after the journey and ready to start your new life there. At first it took a while for you to get used to the new life that you now lived. Aunt Jemima’s French house, if it was even possible, was bigger that her house back home with more nooks and crannies to explore but more importantly, a bigger garden that you could paint every corner of. The main thing that you focused on during the first few months of your arrival was settling in and learning the language which you knew would be hard, but it was something that you needed to do.

Pierre was the person who had helped you do that.

Aunt Jemima had hired him to be your French tutor. She said that he was one of the best for you, and that he certainly was. You learnt the basics within the first few months until you were able to finally communicate with the people around you in their native language. At first, you despised Pierre and his pretentious way of making you feel small, but here you were, fours years later, dancing with him and waiting for his proposal at some point.

Aunt Jemima would be turning within her grave if she knew you were planning to marry Pierre. Even though she hired him when you first arrived to teach you, but she found him incompetent to do anything else. She could tell that you were falling for him, and told you multiple times to not settle for him but you were ignoring her.

If you listened to every one who your Aunt Jemima told you to not settle for, you’d never marry at all.

“Do you have plans tomorrow?” He asks, in English this time, his accent seeping through with every word that he spoke.

“Plans?” You raise your eyebrow, “To paint, yes, but I suppose I can clear my schedule.”

After learning the French language, that was when you had started your painting classes. You started taking everything in, listening to every single word the teacher said to you until you were good enough to start on your own. The first time one of your pieces was shown in an exhibit, people loved it, and you found yourself creating more and more works and creating more and more links with people around.

“Do.” He says, nodding his head, “Je veux t’emmener quelque part. Quelque part spécial.” I want to take you somewhere. Somewhere special.

You bite your lip, nodding your head whilst trying to suppress the large smile that’s ready to cross your entire face.

Pierre was a hopeless romantic, always showering you in large gestures that caused your heart to flutter within your chest. He hadn’t kissed you, and even though you knew that you knew deep down that you shouldn’t compare it, you found yourself not feeling the way that you did the last time you found yourself with a man.

At twenty-three you were late to get married, and if you ever wanted kids you would have to do so quicker than anything you had ever done in your life because you knew that your days were going to start become numbered.

“What time should I be ready?”

“I’ll pick you up at eleven.”

The song ends, your courtesy and he bows and that’s when you walk back towards the table you were sat at, picking up your glass of Champagne and taking a sip.

“YN.” You stop drinking immediately, nearly choking on the liquid that you had already started to sip. You know that voice anywhere, etched into your brain from when you were just a mere eighteen year old with a heart twice the size of the one you had now, “As I live and breathe.”

You turn around, immediately seeing a man that you had left years ago stood in front of you. He looked exactly the same as when you knew him all those years ago, except his features were a tad harder and his hair curler that it was before if it was even possible which you weren’t too sure about.

“Harry.” You swallow the lump in your throat, placing your glass down on the table and turning so that you were facing him, “It’s been a while.”

“It certainly has.” He says, lifting his own glass to his lips, “You look good. Happy.”

“I am.” You nod your head. You look at him, his eyes emptier that you had ever seen them before, not even when Lizzie refused to marry him, “I wish I could say the same for you, but. . .”

“I look exhausted.”

“You do.” You say, watching as his lips curled up into a smile as do yours, “How are you? Genuinely.”

“I’m. . .”

“Ma chérie.” You feel an arm slip around your waist, rest upon the small of it as he stands next to you, “Qui est-ce?” My darling. Who is this?

“Ah.” You brush a piece of your hair that had fallen out of place away from your face, “Pierre, this is Harry. Harry this is Pierre.”

Harry raises his eyebrows, lifting the glass to his lips to drink the rest of it. As you watch, it doesn’t seem to even hits the sides with how quickly he drinks it.

“Bonjour.” Pierre holds his hand out to Harry, “Comment allez vous?”

Harry looks at Pierre’s hand but he doesn’t shake it, and that’s when you lift your fingers to run against your forehead, “Are you two, marié?” Married.

“No.” You shake your head, stepping to the side slightly so that Pierre’s hand isn’t upon your waist anymore, “We are. . .”

“Courting.” Pierre’s quick to interject, “I think that’s what to call it.”

You watch as Harry’s eyebrows raise, and without saying anything to the two of you, he turns around and mutters, “I need another drink.”

As he walks away, you can see the slight stagger in his walk, one that many intoxicated people hold and you know that him being not himself treads deeper than just seeing you there today.

“YN.” Pierre places a hand upon your shoulder, “How do you know that man?”

“He’s someone from home.” You say, watching as Harry drinks another full glass of Champagne where he’s staggered off to, “He’s an old friend.”

He leans down until you can feel his breath at your ear, “Just a friend.”

You nod, leaning into him as he places a kiss to your neck, “Bien.” Good.

Since Pierre wasn’t picking you up until eleven, you decide that you have the time to at least start your next painting. In the garden of your Aunts house that you had inherited, you had built a gazebo with the money that you had made from selling your art pieces to exhibits that overlooked the garden and the pond from the four different directions that it had around it.

You had decided that the swans that swum in the pond were looking particularly delightful today and you decide that is the direction that you want to start your painting. You set up your easel and your canvas, as well as your paints that you brought on a palette and start figuring out the dimensions of the painting and what you wanted it to look like.

You hold up your paintbrush, closing one of your eyes as you move it from portrait to landscape and back again.

“You always were a perfectionist.” The paintbrush in your hand clatters you the ground as it slips through your fingers, due to you jumping. You weren’t expecting anyone to be here, and you certainly weren’t expecting to hear his voice.

“And you always had a tendency to shock people.” He laughs, his dress shoes hitting the decking with loud pats.

“My apologies.” He says, slipping one of his hands into the pocket of his trousers, taking another step closer to you, “I didn’t mean to shock you, love.”

You place your palette down, brushing your hands off slightly on your apron. You’d usually wear your comfortable clothes to paint in, the attire usually not even being a skirt but often trousers, but because you were meeting Pierre later, you knew that you had to dress up. It wasn’t the fanciest dress you owned, but the light blue material complimented your features in a way that you just couldn’t resist when you saw it in the shop.

“Yes you did.” You lips curl up into a smile, “You forget that I know you Harry, even after all these years.”

“Lots of things can change in four years, YN.”

“You haven’t.”

“You haven’t, either.” He smiles.

You tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear and take a step closer to him, clearing your throat slightly as you do so, “I want to apologise for last night. Pierre can be a little. . .”

“Intrusive.” Harry leans against the pillar nearest to him and you nod, knowing that is exactly what he is.

“I’m very sorry. I would have loved to have caught up with you.”

“I probably wouldn’t have been in the best frame of mind to do so.” He runs his fingers through his hair, “I was drunk, if you couldn’t tell.”

“I could.”

“Now.” He lifts his hand up and motions to the garden around you, “Are you going to tell me what I’ve missed in the last four years?”

“Uh.” You move so you’re stood next to him, leant against the barrier, “I moved with Aunt Jemima. This was her house but she died a year ago, if I remember correctly. She left me the house in her will, and I decided that I wanted to stay.”

“Have you been at home at all during the last four years?”

You nod your head, “I went home when Lizzie got married, that was when I met Anna for the first time. Then I went back for Aunt Jemima’s funeral because she decided she didn’t want to be buried here.”

“I must have missed you.” He says, “I spent a lot of the last four years in England with my grandparents.”

“Lizzie told me.” You say, “She said that she did invite you to the wedding but your father explained that you were in England.”

He nods his head, “I left a few months after you. I think my father was fed up of my moping.”

It shouldn’t have hurt you, but his words did. Your chest squeezed slightly at his words. Even though you knew you were doing what you were doing to benefit yourself, you couldn’t lie and say that you hadn’t missed him. You had lost a friend when you left, as well as your first love.

“Are you married?” You ask, not really knowing why the words escape from your lips in the way that they do.

He shakes his head, holding his hand up to reveal his completely ring free hand, “Nope. I can’t really say that I’ve been looking.”

“I’m sure you’ve had opportunities.” You say, “You’re the perfect gentlemen, Harry. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve had women queuing to marry you.”

He chuckles, scratching the back of his neck, “People have tried but I haven’t been interested.”

“Why not?”

“Some may say that I’m still hung up on somebody.” His eyes flutter away from yours, and you take it as the opportunity to look down at your hands, “But that doesn’t matter. What about you and Mr. Intrusive.”

You chuckle, lifting your eyes up to look at his, “He was my French language teacher. I didn’t like him, despised him to be fair but here were are a few years later and I think he’s going to propose to me later today.”

“Do you want to marry him?”

If you were asked this question but anybody else, you probably would have immediately said yes and that was enough for you to know that you should marry him. But seeing Harry stood there, the way that he is, waiting for you to answer what should be one of the easiest questions ever, reminds you that this may have gotten a lot more confusing now with Harry’s reappearance.

“I. . .” You hesitate and drop your eyes down to the ground again, “I think so.”

“You think?” He says, “I can’t say that I believe that you do if you only think that you want to marry him.”

“I do.” You say, quickly.

Harry stands up and takes a few steps towards the opposite end of the gazebo, “Do you love him?”

This answer, so it should be another one, was easy to answer, “No.”

“Then why are you marrying him.”

“I’m twenty-three, Harry.” You say, your heels tapping the wood as you move to stand next to him, looking at the pond in front of you, “I’m certainly not getting any younger. If I returned home to mother and father without a husband and children I believe they would disown me.”

“They wouldn’t.” He shakes his head, “They love you too much.”

“I’ve had three letters from them asking about grandchildren.” You deadpan, looking at him with a stoic look on their face.

“I’m sure they wouldn’t want to marry someone who you don’t love.” He says.

“If I don’t marry Pierre, who will I marry?”

After a few seconds, the smallest whispers escapes his lips, “You could marry me.”

The whole world seems to slow down around you, and you turn to look at him. He’s already looking at you, with those green eyes that you became so accustomed to all those years ago. You knew each other in all for three months, but you spent every second of every day with each other when Lizzie was away, and it certainly showed with how close you became. Marrying Harry could be the thing that you need, have always needed. You haven’t been as happy as you were when you were back him with him in a long time.

“Harry.” You say, the words coming out in a small whisper, “You can’t mean that.”

“I do.” He says, quickly to say the least, “I haven’t been more sure about anything in my life before.”

“Harry—”

“Madame.” One of the groundskeepers say, walking towards the two of you, “Monsieur Perney est là.” Mr. Perney is here.

“Merci, Alfred.” You clear your throat to try and mask the uncertainty in your voice, “Ça ne prendra qu’un seconde.” Thank you, Alfred. I will only be a second.

The man nods and walks away, and you turn back to look at Harry, who has the same look on his face as you do on yours. There’s a level of defeat between the two of you.

“I need to, um, go meet with Pierre.” You say, hands gripping the material of your dress.

“Is that a no?” He takes a step towards you.

You sigh, “It’s a, I have to think about it.”

He nods, “When will you know? This is probably a good time to tell you that I’m leaving tomorrow.”

That changed everything. It wasn’t as though now you had a few days to think through and make your decision, you had to make it quickly before he goes.

“Tomorrow?”

He nods, “Father’s ill. Paris was my last hooray before I go back home to be an adult.”

You take a few moments to think, “Will you be able to return back here this evening?”

“For you? Of course.” He says as though he doesn’t even have to think about it.

You nod your head and take a few steps towards him, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “Goodbye Harry.”

“I’ll see you later, love.”

“C’est une belle journée.” Pierre says as the two of you walk side by side around a park, the spring heat light upon your skin as you do so. It’s a beautiful day.

“It is.” You say, not being able to pull your eyes away from the ground below you.

You knew that you shouldn’t be thinking about this at all, that it wasn’t fair to Pierre, but all you could think about was Harry. You couldn’t get the look of his face out of your head as you kissed his cheek and walked away, as though he felt like that was it between the two of you. You were still unsure of the decision that you were going to make, but once you found yourself stood at the top of some steps, looking out at the park below, you knew that you were to make your decision sooner of later.

“Is something bothering you?”

“No.” You shake your head, finally lifting your eyes to look at his, “Everything is swell, thank you.”

“Good.” He takes a step closer so that his fingers are brushing yours, “YN?”

“Yes?”

“We’ve known each other for a long time.” He says, and the two of you turn so that you’re facing each other, his hands gripping yours, “A very long time, and I was wondering whether I could ask you something?”

“We have.” You know what the question is before the words have left his lips, and you’re already beginning to prepare yourself for what you’re going to hear the next time he open his lips, “And you can.”

He clears his throat and fumbles within his inside pocket, drawing out what you know is a ring box. He lets go of your hand which he was still holding with his free one and drops down to his knee, using his other hand to open the small box.

“YN YLN.” He sighs, “Ma chérie. Will you marry me?”

The same feeling that you felt before overcomes you, when the whole world around you seems to be moving in slow motion. He looks so happy, his cheeks lifting in a wide grin that you can’t seem to shake from your sight. You can’t even bring yourself to look at the ring he had chosen for you, because it was at that time, seeing him on his knee, that you know what your answer is.

“I’m so sorry, Pierre.” You slip your bottom lip between your teeth, “I don’t think I can.”

“What?” His whole face drops, and guilt starts to wash over you. He immediately stands up, looking at you with wide eyes, “No?”

You shake your head, “I’m so sorry, Pierre.”

“I thought that you wanted to marry me.” He shakes his head, “Comment ai je pu être si stupide?” How could I have been so stupid?

“You haven’t. I promise you, Pierre.” You reach your hand forward to touch his arm, but he moves away from you, not wanting you to touch him you suppose, “I did want to marry you.”

“What has changed?” You look at him with sad eyes, tears threatening to spill and you watch the realisation flutter across his features, “He has.”

You drop your head, lifting your hand to wipe away the tears that had started to spill, “I’m so sorry.”

“Who is he?” His features switch to angry ones next, and his voice deepens and it shocks you to say the least, “You have never mentioned him and now you will not marry me because of him?”

“He’s an old friend from hime, like I said.” You repeat your words from the party last night, “I haven’t seen him since I moved here.”

“Do you love him?” The words are quick to leave his lips and you once again drop your head, in shame if you are completely honest, “Do you? I want to hear you say it?”

“I do.” His hostile tone scared you into answering, “I always have.”

“Did you ever love me?”

You shake your head, the little movement causing him to throw you one of the worst looks you’ve ever seen in your life and stalk away from you. Tears stream down your face, and you know that you probably look the worst you’ve ever looked in your life at this given moment but you couldn’t care less. You thought that you’d feel worse than you do, but you you feel more relieved than anything. You feel bad that you’ve had to break his heart, but the idea of going back home with Harry, seeing your family and saying that he is the man that you’re going to marry was enough for your heart to burst with excitement.

In your opinion, you couldn’t return home quick enough. The second you return to the house you’re fluttering around as quickly as possible, packing all the belongings that you’d need immediately when you returned but you knew that you could get the rest of your belongings shipped in at a later date.

The evening rolled around quicker that you had imagined it would, but you supposed time went quickly when you’re packing to go across the world with the love of your life. When you hear the knock at your door, you race to open it, not caring what people think because all you want is to see him.

You throw the door open, and there he is, stood in the exact same suit that you’d seen him in earlier. He did look tireder then he did earlier, but if you had spent the day worrying you probably would’ve looked worse than he did.

“Come in.” You open the door wider, so that he can step in, “Please.”

He takes a few seconds to look around at the entrance way to the house, his lips parting at the sheer size of it as you did when you first arrived. Aunt Jemima was an odd woman, you couldn’t lie, but she certainly knew how to pick a lovely house. You’d probably sell it now that you were going back to America.

He looked around for a while before he noticed your pile of belongings in the corner, all packed away and ready to leave.

His eyes meet yours and he looks as though he’s going to cry at any given moment, “Really?”

You nod your head, “I want to marry you, Harry. Always have.”

He takes two steps forward and places his lips on yours, his hands falling to your cheeks. It sent you back to four years ago, stood in the library after you’d just kissed him. You couldn’t believe that he was back with you, kissing your lips in the way that you had yearned for him too for so many years.

He pulls away and rests his head upon yours with a sigh, “I haven’t stopped thinking about you. Ever since that day. I should’ve done more.”

“It was my fault.” You thread your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, “I shouldn’t have left. I should have sulked for a while but gone back to you. I missed you so terribly.”

“I know why you did it.” He says, pressing another quick kiss to your lips, “I shouldn’t have proposed to your sister when it was you who made me happy. I knew that I shouldn’t have the second I said it, and I’m sorry for that.”

“We’ll start a fresh.” You whisper, resting your forehead upon his, “Forget everything that happened four years ago and start fresh. I love you, Harry. I always have.”

“I love you too.”

You lean forward and place your lips on his again, his hands resting comfortably upon your waist. It felt so familiar for you to be in his arms, his lips upon yours. He was the only person you had ever kissed, and now he’d be the only person that you’d ever kiss, and you certainly weren’t complaining about that.

“You may now kiss the bride!”

Harry smiles at you, and you beam up at him before the two of you lean forward and kiss each other. Cheers and applause erupt around the two of you, as well as confetti and flowers being thrown across the two of you as you walk down the aisle.

You had arrived a few months ago from Paris, and immediately thrown into trying to nurse Harry’s father back to health, which didn’t go to plan. It was hard on Harry, but he had you and that was the most important thing to him. His Father gave you his blessing for the marriage, saying that it was the best thing he’d heard in a while. The funeral was a few weeks later, and the two of you decided to have the wedding two months afterwards.

The two of you were moving into Harry’s house, across the road from the house that your mother and father still lived in. You had so many plans for what you wanted to do to with the place, seeing as though it was way too big for the two of you to live in on your own.

It was your wedding night, and you were walking up towards the front door of the house when you felt Harry’s arm slipping under your thighs. You squeal as he picks you up, wrapping your arms around Harry’s neck. Giggling, you lean forward and place a kiss to his cheek, causing the dimples to show within his cheeks.

“I love you, husband.” You say, smiling as he places you down in the entry way.

“I love you too.” He leans forward and places a kiss to your lips, “Wife.”

It was as though the atmosphere within the room changed the second he said that word. His hands found your hips, resting on the material of your dress. You took a step backwards, causing you to press your back against the inside of the door, your lips immediately attacked by his. Your hips involuntarily buck up to Harry’s, causing a groan to escape from his lips. After a few seconds, he pulls away, kissing down your neck.

“Harry.” You whisper, feeling a moan ready to tumble from your lips at the feeling of his teeth grazing your neck, “Take me upstairs.”

“Are you sure?” You nod your head and he’s quick to pick you up again, this time carrying you over his shoulder. You squeal and grip his shoulders to steady yourself, “Better give my wife what she wants.”

Once you were up the stairs safely, he placed you down and connected your lips again. The first thing you did once your feet touched the ground again, you gripped the edge of his suit jacket and pushed it off his shoulders, listening to the material tumble to the ground and drop.

“Can I take your shirt off?” You mumble against his lips and he hums, allowing you to unbutton his shirt and shrugging that material off of his shoulders. This was the most you’d seen of Harry naked, and another human being at that.

“What about you?” He says, walking you both back until he’s sat on the bed, “Can I see you?”

“You’ll have to help.” You giggle, turning around. He starts to unbutton your dress, letting the material slip from your body into a pile upon the floor. He starts to unfasten your corset next, allowing that to slip from your body also. You were very exposed now, and you knew that, but the way that Harry looked at you sent all of your worries flying from your head.

He leaned back on his arms and clambered back into his lap, similarly to the way you had done all those years ago when you first kissed in the library of this very house. You wrapped your arms around his neck, just has his rested upon the exposed skin of your waist.

“YN?” You hum against his lips, “Can I make you feel good?”

You pull away and nod, tucking some of your hair behind your ear. It made you feel nervous that he was going to see you in the way that he was but this was Harry, your husband and the person you had wished to be touching you and near to the years that you had been apart. He helps remove the rest of your undergarments until you’re completely naked in front of him, laying and waiting for whatever he is going to do to you. He removes his trousers and underwear as you do so. There’s something about seeing him like that causes your hear to flutter and the rest of you to follow it.

He hovers over you, pressing another chaste kiss to your lips before moving down your neck and to your chest until he reaches your breasts, pressing kiss to the plushy skin around it until he wraps his lips around your nipple, lifting his hand up to pinch the other one between his fingers.

“Fuck, love.” He smiles up at you as you whither beneath him, feeling all of your senses heightened at the feeling of him on your skin.

He kisses down from your breasts to your stomach until his face is directly where you want it the most, where you’re literally throbbing for him. Without any warning, he leans forward and starts to attack your clit with his tongue, causing your hips to buck up from the bed and moans threatening to spill from your lips. Your hand drops to the top of his head, tugging at the curls that rest there. You’ve never felt like this, ever, in your life and you believe that if you feel it too much you will become accustomed to it. Your thighs try to clamp around his head but he stops you from doing so by gripping your thighs with his hands. After a particularly hard tug of his curls, a moan erupts from Harry and vibrates against your clit causing you to shudder.

He moved one of his hands up from your thigh to run over your wet slit, “Can I?”

“Please.” You’re quite embarrassed about how breathy it comes out but once he slips one of his fingers in, and a whine escapes his lips you can’t be bothered to care about the sounds that are leaving your lips.

“I need to stretch you out.” He says, curling his finger in you, “Can I?”

You nod your head, “Please.”

He pushes another finger into you, leaning his head back down to attack your clit again. He’s quite gentle with his tongue, using it to make a skilled attack on your clit, using it and his fingers to coax you closer and closer to the first ever orgasm you are to experience.

“Harry.” You whine his name and the feeling washes over you quicker than you had expected it too, but at the same time the man knew what he was doing and you to bring you to that peak. He continued to move his fingers and kitten lick at your clit until your thighs stop shaking. Once you have, he moves up your body again and kisses you.

“Good?”

“Really good.” You laugh, wrapping your arm around his neck, “I want to feel you, H.”

“Certain? Because we don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I do.” You place your hand on his cheek, pecking his lips, “I want to.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

You smile, “It’s going to hurt whether we do it now or later. I want to.”

It’s uncomfortable to say the least, the feeling contrasting the one that you had felt earlier. You weren’t in a lot of pain, but it made it a little harder to feel the pleasure that you know you can feel from this act, Lizzie had told you plenty about it when you were younger. Harry grunted as he pushed into you, scrunching up his features. From the way that little groans and deep breaths escaped his lips, you knew that he was feeling an immense amount of pleasure.

“Feel good?” He grunts against your neck, pressing a small kiss to the skin as you smile, running your nails down his back. You knew that he was close, from the way he twitched inside of you, and your tried everything to coax it out of him.

“Feel so good, love.” He comes soon after his words, spilling into you and filling you up.

He collapses on top of you and you hold him close to you, pushing his curls off of his forehead that have stuck. You giggle as his pouts his lips, leaning down to play a kiss to them.

“I love you so much.” You smile.

“And I, you.” He pulls you close, “You were never second best, I hope you know that.”

“I do now.”

Three Years Later

“Mary.” You smile, placing your hand on the back of the little girls shoulder, “That looks beautiful.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Styles.” She says, continuing to add the green paint to her painting.

You and Harry figured out not that long after what do with the large house you had been left by his father. With your art and French skills, and Harry’s love for reading and slight knowledge of simple maths, you decided to convert the house into a school for the kids in the village. It was a place for them to come without having to worry and learn and focus on new skills.

At this point you had just finished one of your art classes and left the kids to let their creativity flow with some paper and paints, as well as pencils and other materials for them to use. You were making your way outside, smiling at the sight of Harry sat in the garden with a group of children sat around him, listening to every word he spoke as he read from a book.

The next thing you saw was your sister, stood with her husband and her children. You were surprised to see your little boy, Oscar, sat comfortably in her arms. The second he sees you, he’s making grabby arms in your direction.

He had just turned one and was now in a phase of not wanting to walk but be carried everywhere. He was certainly his father’s son, in more ways than one. He looked identical to his father, with green eyes and unruly brown curls and dimples, but he was also the exact same person as your husband, and if you thought it was a struggle to live with one Harry Styles, having an Oscar Styles as well was just as hard.

“Hi baby.” You pick him up and place him on your hip, his hand resting on your neck lovingly. From the way he drops his head to your shoulder, you can tell he’s almost ready for his nap. You smile and press a kiss to his cheek.

Harry comes over a few seconds later and kisses you on the lips briefly and places a kiss to Oscar’s cheeks. The two of you look over at what you have created for the kids around you and smile at each other.

“I’m glad I didn’t give up on you.”

“Me neither.” You smile, “I love you, mon chéri.”

“I love you too.”

Oscar looks up at the two of you with a pout on his lips, causing Harry to chuckle, “And we love you too, little man.”

#harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x yn #harry styles x you #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles smut fic #harry styles writing #harry styles au

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sup-hoes-its-me · 3 years

Note

I have a Shikamaru request! It’s a bit long winded so dust with me 😊. Shikamaru is assigned to protect reader who is the last of her clan that a lot is not known about. (So he also has the secret mission of finding our more about the clan and their abilities). They end up falling for each-other (of course). And after reader finds out she is pregnant she learns that Shikamaru was meant to learn about her. I’m seeing some angsty fluffy goodness! And hopefully a happy ending. 🥰

Healing You (Shikamaru x Reader)

A/N: Thank you for your request! These long detailed ones are perfect and give me just enough information to give you the perfect story. I skipped the pregnancy part because im not totally comfortable with that...hopefully you still enjoy.

word count: 5500

Shikamaru had been anticipating this mission for a while. The Hokage told him it was of utmost importance to be ready at any time for this clan princess to show up. He was expected to drop all other missions or plans to escort this woman, whoever she was across the country to her homeland deep within Frost country. He wasn’t expecting much, actually he was expecting probably the worst client ever.

For someone to request escort at the drop of a hat like that, someone with enough money to do so as well... Shikamaru could only assume they were an asshole of the highest caliber. Probably some old woman or a spoiled little child, someone he definitely would not get along with for a month long mission just the two of them. He could remember the urgency in Kakashi’s tone when he assigned the mission, the amount of trust behind his words.

Shikamaru walked into the office casually, hands shoved deep in his pants pockets. Kakashi sat there alone at his desk, looking through paperwork and sifting through piles of white sheets, each with different names and faces. He must have thought long and hard about who he was to pick for this mission, the boy concluded.

This was going to be tiresome, he deduced quickly. Another tedious mission.

“Shikamaru, I have an important mission for you,” the man said clearly. “You can look through these files, if you want, but we don’t have any clear information on this one, I’m afraid.” He tossed over a folder full of records. Death receipts, birth certificates, first hand accounts of battles witnessed. He didn’t know what to make of what he was looking at other than a common last name running across the pages.

Hirawa.

“What is this about?” he questioned.

“In about a month's time, possibly longer, possibly shorter, I don’t have an exact date, you will escort Princess Y/N Hirawa, of the hidden Hirawa clan to the Land of Frost.”

“Who’s on my team?”

He shook his head at that question. “No one. This is a solo mission, and I’m entrusting you alone with this. It’s important you keep your mouth shut about all of this until we know it’s safe, for you and the princess.” Safe? Just what kind of mission was this anyway? Obviously it had something to do with this clan, not that he’d ever heard of them. “She has a bounty on her head, quite large at that. But we believe she can become the key to mastering some ninjutsu, particularly medical jutsu.”

“Well, what’s her clan’s kekkei genkai?”

“That’s what we don’t know, and for you to find out. All we know is that there's some dangerous people out there who want this power, and we need to protect her at all costs, you understand,” he stressed, and Shikamaru nodded. This wasn’t that big of a deal, he guessed. Protecting one girl from some rookie bounty hunters, not to mention he was being sent out alone. This was going to be a walk in the park.

The worst part of it all would be putting up with some troublesome girl for an entire month. Making conversation and having to pretend she wasn’t getting on his last nerve. That would tire him the most.

“Rumor has it, she was never able to awaken her ability, so I’m hoping you can help coax it out of her and see what we’re dealing with.”

“Of course. I’ll figure it out.”

“Good. I’m counting on you. You should take the files to look over in your free time, you’ll have lots of it before this mission. I have copies here for myself,” he motioned to another folder on her desk filled to the brim with papers just like the one he was holding. It was strange to have so much information at their fingertips, but not enough to put a description to their kekkei genkai. They must be secretive, similar to how the Uchiha hides their secrets on the stone tablet, or something.

He left the Sixth Hokage’s office and walked away to his home, where he could more closely go over the information in this folder, try to deduce something from all this random information. He would get to the bottom of this, he was a genius after all. Whether he had the help of this woman or not, he would figure it out for the Hokage.

And so, here he stood outside of Kakashi’s office with all his supplies packed in his bag, dressed for a long mission away from home. The princess had arrived. He was to meet her and then immediately they were supposed to leave off to her homeland.

The Anbu officer to his left opened the door, and motioned for him to walk in. So uptight for just a little meeting, was all this security really necessary, he wondered to himself. As he looked into the room, he spotted Kakashi standing along the window behind his desk with a smaller woman at his side, wrapped up in thick robes made of wool, embroidered with thick silver and white yarn.

Admittedly, her clothes looked incredibly expensive. He questioned how she wasn’t sweating bullets with the typical warm weather outside here in Konoha. He was expecting her to turn around, to be this hideous creature.

“Ah, Y/N, it seems your escort has arrived,” Kakashi hummed, placing a soft hand on the woman’s back as she turned around. When he finally got a good look at her face, he was taken aback, nearly enough to throw him off balance. She was decidedly the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his entire life. Wrapped up in those blankets was a young woman, who couldn't be much older than he was, with piercing eyes that immediately cut through his.

Her hair fell just perfectly around her face to frame her features, the soft color suiting her eyes and skin perfectly. Her eyelashes flickered over her eyes a few times as she gazed over at him, and he felt swoon. She had the softest skin he’d ever seen combined with those mesmerizing eyes and the shape of her face which looked like it belonged cradled in his hands.

He felt this inert urge to run in the opposite direction from her, out the room and down the hall, back to home where he could catch his breath. He already knew his cheeks were turning bright red under her stare, and he could tell Kakashi was judging him with those dark eyes of his.

“It’s nice to meet you, Shikamaru Nara,” she hummed, and he felt faint. Even her voice was precious, almost like she was singing. He choked down his breaths, trying to keep his cool the best he could. It was uncharacteristic of him to act this way with a client. He was just her escort, not some pervert. They were going to live together for basically a month, he needed to get a grip on his emotions. “Your Hokage was telling me great things about you.”

“Oh, uh,” he paused, frozen without words to leave his lips, just an empty mind full of her image. He shook his head a bit, eyes now glaring down at the floorboards beneath him. “You too, Princess.”

“Please, just call me Y/N. Princess is just too formal for me,” she told him, waving off the title almost as quickly as it left his mouth. “Kakashi, it was nice getting to know you this morning, I hope to see you and your wonderful village again soon.”

“You’re welcome back whenever you like.”

She rounded the table and approached Shikamaru carefully, eyeing him down as she did so. She took in his appearance and his stance, the emotions she could see radiating off his person from his body language. From the looks of it, he simply appeared flustered and confused. Not exactly the most ideal for the situation at hand, but they would manage. Men usually had a similar reaction when they saw her for the first time, either they were in awe or they were trying to kidnap her.

He nodded in her direction and then to the Hokage before turning around and starting out the door, the girl following closely behind him. He could hear the swishing of her thick robes around her ankles, just barely skimming the floor. He still didn’t know her personality at all, but he wouldn’t mind looking at her once in a while on this trip.

“So, why are you heading to the Land of Frost?” he asked, and she sighed.

“One of the village elders is dying. They believe my kekkei genkai is the only way to reverse the incoming death, and its consequence on my people,” she explained.

“Why doesn’t another one of your clan members do it? Surely the rest of your family lives-”

“There is no one else. I am the last living Hirawa,” she told him simply, and he could sense a bit of ice dripping off her tongue at those words. How could she not be upset recalling the annihilation of her entire clan. “The problem is that I haven’t been able to awaken my kekkei genkai. I’m not sure what they want with a useless Hirawa like me.”

“Listen, I’m sorry about your clan, but calling yourself useless really isn’t-”

“How would you feel, Shikamaru, if you were the only person in the world with the ability to save a human being from their certain death and you couldn’t even activate that gift? You have to understand how that feels for me,” she told him solemnly, her head hung low as she walked toward the gates of the village right beside the boy. People looked at her as she moved through the village, they stared in awe at her clothes and her face and the unique glimmer in her eyes. And she cowered inward, tucking herself into her robes and the fur of her hood even further, away from the prying eyes of this village.

He stayed silent, not really knowing how to respond to what she’d said to him. The sadness and the anger in her tone, deep within her words, was immeasurable. She was in pain, a conflict with herself. He wasn’t going to get into that just yet. They’d only met a few minutes ago.

They left the village together and started on their journey. It was going to be a long month, that’s for sure.

________

It had been a week of walking through the forest already, days of sleeping on the ground beneath the stars, eating rations out of his bag over the fireplace. Originally, he thought this mission would be easy, that she seemed like a normal-ish girl who wouldn’t give him any trouble, but he was wrong.

She was too quiet. It was strange, walking with someone for hours without a single word shared between them. He tried to start up a conversation, and she would reply with one word answers, sometimes if he was lucky, two or three words. She rarely looked at him, choosing to either stare at the ground where she took each step, or up at the stars and the vastness of it all. She was lost in her own mind.

Every night, as they were falling asleep, he could hear her looking over at him, scanning his form for a sign that he was still awake. He would remain still, facing the opposite way on his side, head propped up on his bag. Then, when she thought she was safe, he would hear the sobs run through her weak form. She would shake and quiver, curling in on herself and crying out into the forest for only Shikamaru and the moon to hear.

He felt terrible for her, needless to say. The guilt he felt just from hearing her cries, and knowing her internal struggle was enough to make this trip difficult. His heart hurt for her, as strange as that was to say. Normally, it was easy to remain objective, but with Y/N, it was different. He felt attached. He felt like her problems were also his. It was maddening.

She laid on the ground beside him, the majority of her soup still in her bowl and her water bottle resting at her side. She stared up into the clouds, occasionally, her eyes would slide over to see what he was up to and then she would look back at the sky. “You need to eat. We have a lot of walking until we reach the next town, probably a week’s worth. I can’t carry you if you get too tired,” he told her, pushing her bowl closer to her side.

“You know, Shikamaru, sometimes I wonder why people like you Leaf nin even protect someone like me. What’s the point? I’m useless to you and the enemy,” she muttered hopelessly. He still pushed the soup closer until she sat up and took the bowl into her hands, taking a small sip from the spoon. “I just don’t get it. How can you call me princess when I’m just as normal as the next woman on the street?”

“Listen, I don’t know what anyone else has told you, but that’s a load of bullshit.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, just because you can’t access your abilities right now doesn’t make you useless. You’re still a person just like everyone else,” he explained, stabbing his spoon into his soup as he found himself getting a little worked up. He couldn’t stand this self-pitying bullshit from her. Yeah, she was sad and all, but she didn’t have to rub it into the wound like this.

She looked surprised at his words.

What did she expect him to say? That she was right and then just abandon her out in the woods? He was beginning to think this girl was just plain stupid.

“It’s just been impossible since the incident to think of anything else. I’m sorry for upsetting you,” she sighed, taking another sip of her now cold soup.

He questioned carefully. “What incident?” He was on a mission after all. To discover her clan secrets and bring them back to the village to study. Even if she was being emotional, he could still gather some intel.

She bit her lip, and looked up to the sky again, blinking back tears from gathering in the corners of her eyes. She took a few deep breaths before explaining herself. “The day my clan was massacred. The day that those people slaughtered my sensei in front of the entire village and then killed my parents.”

He paused, lifting his eyes to look at her. She was crying, as he expected, silent tears dripping from her eyes into her lap. But she was holding strong otherwise, not a falter in her voice or a catch in her breath. She wasn’t even shaking. She was really serious about keeping these emotions private, in the middle of the night where he couldn’t hear or see.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he assured, but she shook her head.

“I’m fine. I should talk about it anyway. I haven’t had a person to talk to in years, you know.” Sitting on her face was the saddest of all smiles, a weak attempt at remaining strong. She wiped at her eyes with her wrist and continued. “I’m not even sure why they wanted us all dead, but it had something to do with the war and my clan’s actions. They were barbaric. They slit the throat of my sensei in town square and we watched her blood drip across town while they carried her head.”

“Oh, damn.”

“I know,” she agreed, “As sick as it is to say, I’m glad they only stabbed my parents with a sword. We used to be royalty, it took them killing an entire army of soldiers to get to the throne room to kill them. I was only a child hiding in the curtains, I had to watch without making a sound. I couldn’t cry, I couldn’t even breathe, or they would have killed me too.”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. That’s horrific.”

“When they left, it was only me. I had to walk my way to one of the outer villages for help. I was a mess, covered in my parents blood. They’d stolen everything. All the secrets of the clan. I never got the chance to read the sacred texts. I only know from my Sensei the very basics of what we can do.”

He absorbed what she had said, taking in each word. Admittedly, she lived a terrible, horrible life, one to rival Sasuke at that. He asked, “You haven’t been able to retrieve any of the texts, have you?”

“No, unfortunately. That’s why it’s taken me this long to figure out how to unlock my ability. I literally do not know how,” she confessed, rubbing the back of her neck nervously. “It feels strange, knowing I have this ultimate healing ability and I can’t even use it to save anyone.”

“Ultimate healing ability?”

“Well, yeah. That’s our kekkei genkai. We can heal basically anything besides death. Blindness, deafness, rotting limbs, in some cases, paralysis. I’m not sure how it works, but that’s what it does. That’s why they want me to come home so desperately. I’m the only one left who can heal her.”

“You’ll figure it out,” he stated bluntly, and she tilted her head to the side in confusion.

“What?”

He reiterated, “You’ll figure out how to use your kekkei genkai. I believe in you. You’re beautiful, smart, and modest, not a fool.”

She found her cheeks begin to heat up at his words, and she leaned back, her eyes catching onto his. “Thank you, Shikamaru. It’s not everyday I get earnest compliments like that.” It was true. Normally, she did get compliments, but not the nice kind. She would often get harrassed on the street by men without brains, or recieve backhanded comments from people of her own village who hated her for what she could not be.

He shook his head, “Well, you should. You’re a strong woman, you just need more faith in yourself. You have almost no self-confidence whatsoever.” He was right about that too. Sad, wasn’t it? “You’re obviously a good person, so be proud of yourself. Not a lot of people could have gone through what you did and still be on the good side to this day.”

“I-” Y/N froze, her eyes growing wide. “Did you hear that?” she asked, her eyes flickering from Shikamaru into the woods. There were voices, soft and quiet voices, but they were still there, hush in the background. He stood up on his feet, and motioned for her to stay down close to the ground.

“Come out, whoever you are.”

And, indeed, a group of men emerged from the forest, at least ten of them. They sauntered up to the pair and the leader smirked. “We’re not here to hurt you, Leaf shinobi. Just hand over the princess and no harm will come to you,” he said, his voice musty and disgusting, like he’d been smoking cigarettes everyday for the past ten years. They knew, clearly, that a leaf shinobi wasn’t just about to abandon their charge and go running for the hills. His request was a joke.

Y/N wasn’t a fighter. She couldn’t help even if she wanted to. She was solely a healer, and even then, her skills were shaky at best. She could only do the most menial and mediocre of work on her patients. Shikamaru was against these men completely alone.

She felt fear creeping up her spine and sending shivers through her body. She barely knew the boy, had only known him for a week or so, but damn, did she like him. He was kind to her, one of the kindest people she’d met in a long time. She wanted him to be safe, to save her and come out on top like the shinobi of the Leaf are supposed to.

He turned around and waved for her to run. “Princess, Imma need you to run. I’ll come find you when it’s safe. Just go.”

She was hesitant to take off, but one stern look from him shot down any thought of staying. The woman gathered up her robes and ran in the opposite direction of the crew and her protector. Immediately after she left, she heard screaming from behind, the shouts of men in pain and men filled with anger. So much yelling. She held her breath, and kept running, running until she could only hear the faint yells of the men. She couldn’t hear Shikamaru. He was far too quiet to have those loud theatrics on the battlefield.

Y/N took cover in the roots of a tree, and just listened, felt what was going on around her. She studied the chakra signatures floating through the air, counting how many men still lived and how many were alive and well. Likewise, she kept close track of Shikamaru’s energy, making sure he was still going.

If he died, she didn’t know what would come of her. Would she be sold off? Murdered? She knew of the unspoken bounty on her head amongst the criminals, and that struck fear in her heart. All she could do was pray for Shikamaru’s survival.

After what seemed like hours but in reality only about 10 minutes, the screams and shouts finally came to a halt. The chakra signatures of most of the men were completely gone, meaning they had died sometime during the battle. Only some remained, and they were weakened severely, probably passed out or bleeding out.

Shikamaru’s alarmed her. It was weak, almost as weak as the rest. She crawled out from under the tree and started back in the direction of the campsite, keeping her head low nearly in a crouch to stay unseen. There was no telling what was happening over there or who was still out here.

When she got to the campsite though, her eyes widened and she nearly screamed. While the rest of the men collapsed on the ground in bloody heaps, Shikamaru lay in the middle of them, bleeding out from a ginormous wound protruding from his side. She fell onto her knees beside his barely breathing form and held her hands over the wound, trying her best to run her chakra through her, but she was weak. Only a faint light emanating from her hands, not enough to come close to saving him.

“Shikamaru? Shikamaru, can you hear me? Please, try to stay awake, okay?” the girl pleaded, resting one of her soft hands on his cheek. He sighed into her touch. It was just as he imagined. Warm and gentle, like the caress of a feather. At least, if he were to die, it would be in the arms of an angel, he decided.

“You need to head back to the Leaf. Tell Kakashi what happened,” he sputtered out, blood leaving his lips and dripping down the sides of his face. “I lived a good life.”

“No, no, no. You are not dying on me. Not happening,” she whispered. She continued to pour her chakra into his wound, not that it was doing anything serious. Tears filled her eyes and she bit her lip, trying to keep them from falling, but she couldn’t help it. All these tears plagued her life. Memories that made her cry. All the pressure. All the death. Poor Shikamaru lying here dying after saving her life. “I’m going to save you,” she muttered firmly.

Pressure built up in her chest and she pushed further and further, digging deeper into her chakra reserve. It actually hurt the amount of effort she was putting in. It was exhausting, and after about a minute, she was gasping for breath. “Stop. It’s okay, princess.”

“Dammit, Shikamaru, I told you not to call me princess, “ Y/N shouted, and in that moment, she felt something shift inside her. A well of energy she never knew she had opened up and she felt it being filled not by her own chakra but by the men around her. Her body absorbed every last bit of chakra in their bodies, filling hers completely. When Shikamaru looked up at her, he noticed a slight glow coming from her skin that wasn’t there before.

It seemed she awoke her kekkei genkai.

With all the newfound energy she had, she channelled it into saving Shikamaru. Right in front of her eyes, his wound began to close and blood sunk back into his body. He groaned at the feeling, shifting uncomfortably on the ground. Finally, she had done something great.

And as she watched the last bit of his wound shut and the blood to seep back into his body, she found herself grow lightheaded.

As she was passing out, she heard him calling her name, and the only thing she could do was smile. She did it. She saved him. Her vision went black and sleep overtook her swiftly.

________

After Y/N saved Shikamaru and awoke her kekkei genkai, the boy gathered up both of their belongings, hoisted them over his shoulder, and then carried her in his arms to the next village. She wasn’t waking up anytime soon, he found that was probably a bad side effect of using the ability. It completely drained her. He just knew he had to move before any of those guys woke back up. He was not ready to fight again.

He enjoyed feeling her in his arms, pressed tightly to his chest with her head lolling side to side. Y/N was sweet and cute, with her little, “don’t call me princess” proclamation before saving him. It seemed she was just as much a princess as everyone thought she was, and a powerful one at that. She basically brought him back from the dead, and he would be grateful for his entire life for what she’d done for him.

The two of them rested for the night in a village inn just a couple miles away before waking up the next morning and setting off with a new bounce in her step toward your homeland where she was sure she could save the village elder now. He watched as the girl walked eagerly in front of him, swinging her robes by her sides and letting her hair loose instead of a tight braid.

This side of her, it was gorgeous. She was gorgeous. Maybe, he found himself harboring just a tiny crush on the girl who saved his life, the girl who took his breath away when they first met. Maybe he liked her a lot. It was pointless to have such feelings for a girl he would probably never meet again after dropping her off in her homeland.

But he could enjoy his time now, with the girl of his dreams at his side.

He found himself wanting more time with her. Much more time. He knew they only had about a week before they arrived in the Land of Frost, and it was depressing him. He wanted her to come back to the village with him and live there, just so he could see her face everyday and hear that sing-song voice run off her tongue.

Was that so much to ask for? Well, yes, but he still wanted it…

They found themselves stopped for the night or two in a village on the coast. She was tired from all the walking and sleeping in the grass. She was willing to spend a few dollars to have a nice bed to sleep in for the night. She booked a room at one of the inns in town and collapsed into the mattress in the room, throwing her robes to the side and cuddling into the comforter. It had been so long since she was living in such comfortable conditions.

He took a seat beside her and pulled out a book, flipping to the most recent page and diving in. He was more than happy to finally rest. He was lazier than she was, after all. They had been walking for almost a month now, he was tired of it. The only thing that kept him going was seeing her smile every now and then, especially the ones directed at him, or in response to something he said.

Something about those smiles just made him feel good inside. It was sickening. These mushy, gushy feelings he was having. He was beginning to think he might be falling for the girl, like, falling in love. He was disturbed. Was he really that weak to a pretty face, soft hands, and a warm heart?

“Shikamaru?”

“Hmm?”

“I’ll be home in a week, and you’ll have to go back to the Leaf Village,” she said. He nodded. At that point, they would go their separate ways and it would all be over, this friendship they had. He’d never felt so torn about a mission until now.

He replied casually, “Yeah. Time flies, huh?”

She held her breath for a moment, thinking over her next words very carefully. She’d actually been pondering when she was gonna tell him over the last few days, thinking over every way the scenario could play out. “I don’t want you to go. I don’t want to leave you, Shikamaru,” she confessed, finally letting go of the breath she was holding.

He raised a brow, setting down his book and turning to face her. “What do you mean?”

“Well...it’s just that your Hokage seems to really like me, and I don’t really have a home anymore with my clan gone,” she mumbled, twiddling her fingers in her lap. “I was thinking maybe after I heal the elders and the village that I could go home with you instead. Live in the leaf village.”

He just looked at her. Had all his longing been for nothing? Could she really mean it? Coming home with him? Could his future really involve seeing her every day, introducing her to his best friends, and healing his people when they were injured?

“I mean, if you don’t think it’s a good idea, though, I totally get it-”

“No! I-I love that idea, actually.”

“Really?”

“Would I say it if I didn’t mean it?”

He watched as her lips curled into a bright smile and she clasped her hands together. “Shikamaru, I’m so happy. You and the other Leaf nin are the only people to show me any kindness in a long time. I get to go home to people that will care about me.”

“Yeah, we’re pretty good at that back in the Leaf. Caring, that is.”

She fell back against the bed and sighed, curling up in the sheets once again. He watched as she smiled into the covers and closed her eyes, relishing in this feeling of newfound freedom and happiness, of the hope she found in him and the village. Despite finding women troublesome most of the time, he was willing to go through trouble for her. He felt like he’d do just about anything for this girl.

So unlike him. Tch. Get a grip, Shika.

Her next words had him melting like putty in her hands though. He just couldn’t help it.

"I'm glad you were assigned this mission with me. You helped me awaken my abilities, and I think it was fate that brought us together for that to happen," she sighed. "This meeting, you and I, it was always meant to be. I'm sure of it now."

"Maybe you're right. I wouldn't know," he replied.

It was quiet for a while, just her lost in her own dreams, her own thoughts. Her eyes trailed over to him, and she just knew she was swoon. With his lazy grin and his thoughtful gaze. It was so obvious to her now.

She confessed, “I think I like you. As more than just a friend, Shikamaru. I know I probably shouldn’t be telling you this considering I still need you to escort me to the village and all, and you might not want me to go back to the Leaf with you now, but I just-”

He couldn’t wait anymore. He was going crazy. Finally, he kissed her.

She felt his hands resting on either side of her head and his lips pressed carefully to hers, testing the waters. She brought her own hands up to cup his own, bringing him closer and deeper into the kiss. She smiled and sighed, enjoying the feeling of pure bliss. It had been so long since she felt something so good. Something so sweet.

“You like me too?”

“You’re dumb as hell.”

And he kissed her again. And again. And maybe a couple more times after that.

#shikamaru x reader #naruto x reader #shikamaru x you #naruto #shikamaru nara #shikamaru imagine #shikamaru one shot #naruto one shot #naruto imagine #imagine #x reader #oneshot #naruto x you #naruto x y/n #shikamaru x y/n

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transgenderteensurvivalguide · 3 years

Note

(Urgent) Hello! I really need help, I already searched on the internet but didnt find a satisfying answer so I really hope you'll be able to help. Soo I have to take swimming classes, I've been doing it and it's okay, the problem is that I'm on my period and absolutely can't wear tampons (or things similar) and I obviously don't have and won't get special swimwear. I don't want to tell my parents because I doubt they will understand.

Is there something I can do?

Lee says:

This is a good question! It’s probably relevant to a lot of transmasculine folks with the summer coming up and people being able to return to the pools and beaches since many of us are fully vaccinated now.

Unfortunately, I could come up with only six different (non-ideal) options to solve the problem:

1) Don't go swimming when you have your period

This might be a good option for a casual swimmer, but it isn't ideal if you're in swim classes and can't reschedule a class, or on a swim team and can't miss a practice or meet.

You could always quit and find a new form of exercise / a new job / a new sports team, but obviously that’s sort of a last resort if you can’t find any solution at all.

2) Wear a tampon

Tampons can be worn safely while swimming and prevent the blood from staining your suit when you get out of the pool.

To help prevent toxic shock syndrome, which is rare but dangerous, use the lowest absorbency tampon you can and change your tampon every 4-8 hours or as often as needed. Don’t leave your tampon in for more than 8 hours.

You said that you “absolutely can't wear tampons,” but didn’t clarify why you can’t do it. If the reason is unrelated to dysphoria then you may have a medical condition, or it may be that your hymen is covering the opening to your vagina. A doctor or nurse (either your primary care provider or someone at a nearby Planned Parenthood or similar) can help you figure out why it’s causing pain and figure out what to do about it if you do suspect it’s medical-related and not psychological.

Many trans people like wearing tampons for their convenience and because tampons don’t cause the bloody-diaper feeling that pads can cause; there are a number of anons who have told us that using tampons make them feel less dysphoric than wearing pads.

Putting in a tampon usually doesn’t hurt, but it may take some practice in the beginning.

3) Wear a menstrual cup

Menstrual cups are safe to wear when you’re swimming, and function similarly to tampons.

Menstrual cups are great for people who are stealth but still get a period.

They’re small and easy to hide in your bedroom/dorm room/summer camp cabin, they’re reusable so you don’t have to buy more than one, and you can often use one cup for up to 10 years so you don’t have to buy them often.

Menstrual cups are discreet because you can wear a menstrual cup for 8-12 hours at a time, or until it’s full; this is because they hold 1 ounce of liquid, roughly twice the amount of a super-absorbent tampon or pad.

Having to emptying it only 2-3 times a day means you don’t have to carry extras with you that someone might notice in your bag, you never have to change your cup in the bathroom at school or at work, and you don’t have to worry about changing it in the locker room before you go swimming.

Menstrual blood can start to smell when it’s exposed to air, but your cup forms an airtight seal so there’s less odor to bother you, and nothing for other people to notice either.

Cups may look kind of big, but most people can’t feel them once they’re in.

Putting in a cup shouldn’t hurt, but it may take some practice in the beginning.

4) Wear a menstrual disc

Menstrual discs are similar to menstrual cups and can be worn swimming as well.

They aren’t reusable and are placed in a different way, but many of the pros are the same as those for cups.

5) Buy swimwear that helps catch or hide the blood

There are swimsuits which are dark colored and have absorbent layers built in to catch blood when you’re out of the pool (Example) but that isn’t very useful if you’re actually in the pool, or if you’re required to wear a certain type of swimsuit as a lifeguard, swimming instructor, or member of a swimming team. So this isn’t an ideal option, and you said that you don't have and won't get special swimwear.

6) Stop your menstrual cycle so you don't get your period while swimming (or at all, in general!)

This post lists a few non-dysphoria-related excuses you can use when asking your parents to stop your period, but saying that it interferes with your swimming lessons should be reason enough.

Everything you need to know about stopping your period with birth control

Everything you need to know about birth control

What You Need to Know About Birth Control and Breast Cancer

What’s up with birth control pills and vaping?

Will the chemicals in birth control mess me up?

What are birth control side effects?

Can I get birth control at Planned Parenthood without my parents’ permission?

Birth Control Your Own Adventure

Does depo-provera cause depression?

Are Low-Dose Birth Control Pills Right for You?

Given the information in your ask, you can’t skip lessons so option #1 is out, you can’t use tampons so option #2 is out, you won’t get special swimwear so option #5 is out, and you can’t tell your parents that you want to stop your period so option #6 is out.

That leaves options #3 and #4, menstrual cups and discs. I would recommend doing some research on each option to see what fits your needs the best.

However, if you feel unable to discuss menstruation with your parents, I would recommend a cup because they’re reusable you only need to buy one and that’s a good thing because it saves you money in the long term and you don’t need to repeatedly have to buy something that you’re embarrassed to talk about and hiding from them.

Here’s an article reviewing different menstrual cups here and I’d suggest looking at that.

That article has links to buy the cups online, and this post explains how to buy something online without a credit card and without your parents finding out.

You can also buy menstrual cups in-person at a pharmacy, if there’s one close enough for you to walk or bike to, or if you can get a friend to bring you.

Hopefully that’s a good start for things to consider, but I know that it probably isn’t the satisfying answer that you were hoping for since you won’t like any of the options.

However, I will note that I had a hysterectomy in 2018 so it’s been a lil while since I’ve had to deal with swimming while menstruating myself, so if the followers have any ideas that I’ve forgotten please feel free to add on!

(And yeah, a hysterectomy will definitely solve this issue for you but I’m assuming that’s a no-go in your situation which is why I didn’t include it in the list)

Anyhow, followers, any advice for anon?

#Lee says #swimming #summer #periods #menstruation

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howisavedtheworld · 3 years

Text

enough | hanamaki takahiro

genre: heavy angst to fluff, a *lil* bittersweet lmao, timeskip!hanamaki takahiro x fem!reader/gn!reader, established relationship

warnings pls pls read: money problems, cursing littered in a lot of places, mentions of feelings like depression, exhaustion, loneliness, crying, etc., blood mentioned *once* (it’s from a callus, it is nothing extreme but i want to state it explicitly anyways) if there’s anything else brought to my attention ill fix accordingly

a/n: hi!!!! it’s been like two weeks since i’ve posted, i’ve been in a slump, but i’m going to genuinely try to be more consistent and kind to myself abt wat i create! also every thing i’ve ever written on here is ib my personal experiences

heads up tho, i havent read the manga and this is just my dramatized take on his life post-time skip and certain things may be inaccurate

enjoy!

also proofread at 4 am lol

wc: 1385

PLS GIVE THIS FIC A CHANCE ITS NOT ALL SAD I PROMISE

if hanamaki takahiro were to say he’s “tired,” one would deem it a grave understatement.

he’s not just tired.

he’s drained.

for starters, he’s worked three back to back shifts and it was barely reaching wednesday. monday at the deli was tough, considering he spent twelve straight hours packaging and stocking prosciutto and mozzarella sandwiches and arranging bags of kettle-cooked chips by flavor across the aisles of the store.

tuesday was even harder, the double shift at the restaurant hitting his already fatigued body like a brick. it was tiring enough to run around speedily clearing dishes and wiping down tables for six hours but it was absolute overkill to then spend the entire night cleaning the restaurant and prepping it for the morning crew.

6:39 am.

that was when takahiro finally left the restaurant, forcing his sluggish sore limbs to make the trek to the train station for the long ride back home.

in truth, the word “tired” barely even scratched the surface.

but he needed the money.

he needed it badly.

bills were always lingering on the brim of takahiro’s mind: the rent, the light bill, the water, the electricity. it left with him the constant urge to move, to work, to always be on the lookout for his next paycheck.

and of course, this wasn’t the best arrangement nor was it the life he’d hoped for.

of course, regret encompassed him, bound itself to his very being.

he wished he went pro after his glory days at aoba johsai, that he’d tried a little harder to be something. maybe then he’d have the opportunity to play in argentina, to travel the world, or to get signed by a sports brand just for the sake of it.

of course, he always felt a pang of jealousy for the ones that made it big.

even the ones who didn’t.

the ones with stable incomes, who could sustain themselves with only one job, who owned compact sized cars, who could actually save a single dime with hopes of eventually going on vacation.

deep down, he was jealous of them, too.

and he wondered, as he finally stepped foot on the train heading north, feeling the ache in his heels settle, if this would ever feel like enough.

if working two jobs back to back would ever amount to any feeling of satisfaction, if it was okay that he would only ever be remembered as the guy who didn’t go pro, who never got his degree, who was barely getting by.

he really didn’t think so.

because how could it be enough?

how could he have nothing to show for the life he lived?

sometimes, takahiro felt almost as if he was cursed. that life had dealt him the worst of cards just to see him crack underneath the pressure.

a lot of times, he did.

he had his fair share of low moments: the time he found himself shedding tears in the back of the deli, hiding behind loaves of rye bread and cold cuts hoping nobody would catch him.

or the time he bandaged his own bleeding foot by himself at the restaurant because his calluses broke open and everyone else was simply too busy to help.

in these moments, hanamaki felt so alone.

as if the world had forgotten him, had continued to spin on its axis, leaving him alone to figure out its rotation.

in these moments, he really just wanted to run away from it all.

to quit his jobs and just disappear for some time.

but he couldn’t.

because hanamaki takahiro had also learned that in every shitty day or moment, there was a flip side.

there had to be a sliver of hope in the midst of darkness.

7:32 am.

that was when hanamaki got home.

he stood for a moment, fumbling with various receipts and trinkets in his pocket before he finding his keys and opening the door.

it was quiet.

he could only hear the whirr of the shaky air conditioner and the hum of morning birds outside the bay windows of the living room. he took one step inside, wincing at the ache in his legs and sharp jab of pain up his spine.

locking the door behind him, he slipped off his shoes before the silence was broken.

“baby?” your soft sleepy voice rang through the apartment, making his body jump.

he was sure you’d be sleeping by now.

“hey, babe.” he let out a exhale of relief that you were the source of noise. “sorry if i woke you.”

you sat up from your position laying on the couch, shaking your head incessantly while wiping the grog from your eyes.

“no,” you quickly spoke. “i was waiting for you.”

his heart skipped a beat looking at you, your eyes half-lidded from exhaustion with dark circles underneath them, your hair completely disheveled from your awkward sleeping position on the couch, and you wore his old seijoh jersey that was too large and slipped down your shoulders, the hem falling just above your knees.

you looked at him, offering a soft smile before beckoning him over to you. “work must’ve fucking sucked, c’mere.”

and you were so right.

it was awful.

he took lengthy strides over to you before dropping onto the couch, his head finding its way to your lap.

your fingers instinctively reached to stroke his soft locks and he sighed, leaning into your touch.

“are you hungry?” you murmured. “i made udon earlier. it’s cold now so you’ll have to warm it up.”

he was hungry, desperately so after not having a moment to get even a small snack in at work, but he wanted to stay here for just a little longer, pressed into you, feeling the pads of your fingers against his scalp, smelling your conditioner and listening to the softness of your voice.

he shook his head, and you laughed, knowingly nodding. “okay, you can eat it later.”

“how was work for you?” he questioned, eyes fluttering closed at serenity of the moment.

you hummed, fingers still locked into his hair. “shitty. you know, usual bullshit with customers. but i think with my next paycheck, we’ll make the rent.”

his eyes snapped open to look up at you, and you were staring down at him, an excited smile on your face when you locked eyes.

and takahiro knew you had hopes and dreams, that you wanted to go back to school and get your degree and have a normal job, and eventually buy a house and car, and maybe have kids, but you always said that part wearily, claiming you both should start off the family off with a pet first.

he knew you wanted something different. you’d told him.

but even now, in this moment as he stared up at you, saddened by the fact that the future you hoped for was nowhere in sight, there was no inkling of disappointment in your eyes, no what-if, no questioning of if it was enough.

you looked at him like the life you had was all you’d ever asked for.

as if of course it was enough.

before he knew it, a single tear rolled down his cheek.

your eyes widened and you moved a hand to his cheek, wiping the tear away.

“i love you.” he stated, a few more lone tears sliding down his face.

your face softened before you squeezed his cheek with your hand.

“hey.” you beckoned him to sit up.

he followed, sitting up to face your frame on the couch. “don’t cry ‘cus we made the rent. there’s always other bills you can pay. if that’s what you’re worried about.”

and he laughed, nodding while tears spilled over his irises and he watched you through bleary eyes, wipe each one away and pull him into an embrace.

“i love you. you know that, right? i’ll always love you.”

hanamaki takahiro realized that in this lifetime, he doesn’t need a sports deal, or a compact car, or trips to argentina. even if life were to always be this hard, if he was always teetering on the in-between, if this was all the universe had to offer him, that was okay.

because it had granted him you.

and you, alone, were more than enough.

#hanamaki takahiro x reader #hanamaki takahiro fluff #hanamaki takahiro angst #haikyuu! x reader #hanamaki fluff #hanamaki angst #no bc its almost 5 am and im working tmrw

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calzona-ga · 3 years

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Since 2005, Shondaland has produced groundbreaking television. And over the course of 17 seasons, Grey’s Anatomy has made more than its fair share of bold choices. From the killing off of Patrick Dempsey’s beloved McDreamy to the still-controversial ghost-sex story line, the ABC series has seen, and done, it all. But perhaps no episode was riskier than turning the popular medical drama into a musical for “Song Beneath the Song,” the infamous season-7 hour in which a pregnant Callie (Sara Ramirez) gets badly injured in a car accident and, while her fellow doctors work to save her life, sees her hallucinatory self burst into song — with the rest of the characters quickly following suit.

Coming from the mind of series creator Shonda Rhimes, a vocal fan of both Broadway shows and TV musicals like Buffy’s “Once More, With Feeling,” the Grey’s musical episode was a monumental moment for the show and for television. Many viewers praised its audacity and swooned over the vocal chops of stars like Ramirez and Chandra Wilson.

“Song Beneath the Song” made for one of the most memorable hours of television, earning strong ratings and leading the soundtrack, particularly Ramirez’s show-stopping rendition of Brandi Carlile’s “The Story,” to Billboard success. A decade later, its impact is still growing, thanks in part to the countless teenage Grey’s fans who’ve only recently discovered the series via Netflix. Like the show itself, the musical has become an indelible part of TV history — and so, 10 years after its premiere in March 2011, we spoke to the episode’s cast and crew to get the story of how it came to be.

Featuring thoughts from Rhimes; writers, producers, and co-showrunners Tony Phelan and Joan Rater; and actors Wilson, Kevin McKidd, Jessica Capshaw, Kim Raver, and Eric Dane, this is the oral history of “Song Beneath the Song.”

Finding the Inspiration

Inspired by a 2008 benefit concert in which several stars of Grey’s and its spinoff show Private Practice performed songs to support out-of-work Hollywood workers during the 2007-2008 writers’ strike, Rhimes decided to turn her long-held desire to make a Grey’s musical episode into a reality.

Rhimes (series creator and writer): I remember thinking to myself at a certain point, I have this sort of murderers’ row of Broadway people. Like, Chandra had been on Broadway and singing; obviously, Sara Ramirez had won a Tony on Broadway [for Best Featured Actress in a Musical, in 2005], which is how I first met her; and then I knew that Kevin could sing. There were so many people in the show with beautiful voices. ... It felt like it was leaning in that direction in a good way.

Rater (writer, producer, and co-showrunner): The first iteration for, like, two days when we first started batting around the idea was that we would write original music. It was all gonna be original music. And then we quickly realized that a) who’s gonna write that music?, and b) no, it doesn’t feel like the right thing. And then Shonda, I think a day or two later, came in with the idea that we would use these iconic songs.

Wilson (Dr. Miranda Bailey): But the studio wasn’t quite on board with this whole idea.

Convincing a Skeptical Network

After coming up with the episode’s plot and deciding that the characters would sing classic songs from the Grey’s soundtrack, like Snow Patrol’s “Chasing Cars” and the Fray’s “How to Save a Life,” Rhimes pitched the idea to the network — but, in a surprising first, she was told that they were going to pass.

Rhimes: By that point, I wasn’t getting notes on anything; nobody was saying no to me about anything. So it was really bizarre to me that there was all this resistance to doing a musical episode. And I remember somebody at the network saying, “Can’t you just do one of your love-triangle thingies again?” And I thought, my head’s gonna explode, because the show is not a bunch of “love-triangle thingies.” You guys have missed the point entirely. I felt like, no, every year of the show is a completely different show, and this year the show has a musical episode. And that’s the story.

McKidd (Dr. Owen Hunt): Tony, Joan, and Shonda basically said to us, “We are trying to convince Disney to give us actual money to do this musical episode, and we feel like we want to do a show-and-tell to show them what this musical episode could be. Are you guys willing to give your time to help us create this show-and-tell?” And we were like, “Yeah, of course.”

Wilson: So we gave them a concert. Sara, Kevin McKidd, and I, along with musicians, got together, and we performed this script that Shonda and Tony Phelan put together. Shonda did the narrating. And we went through what the entire episode would be, based on those iconic songs.

McKidd: I remember Sandra Oh came to the concert for the execs just to be moral support for us. And she became like our groupie — she would stand and cheer and whoop and holler in between all the songs.

Phelan (writer, producer, director, and co-showrunner): Once [the executives] saw it, and saw it could work, then they gave us the okay to do it.

Rhimes: I still feel like they thought we were crazy. But you couldn’t deny the talent in the room.

Getting the Cast on Board

Once the episode was greenlit, the team began the task of persuading a cast full of non-singers to simultaneously sing, act, and — in some cases — dance on screen.

Wilson: The offer was put out on the table from the beginning from Shonda — anybody that’s not interested in singing, you’re not required; you don’t have to do it.

Rater: I think Sandra from the beginning was like, nope.

Rhimes: She looked at me — it was her very deadpan face — and she was like, “I’m not singing.” And I was like, okay! If that’s not your thing, that is not your thing — that’s completely okay. And it didn’t feel like she was afraid to sing or push past this barrier. It felt like Cristina Yang doesn’t sing. And that made sense to me.

Rater: Ellen [Pompeo] has a great voice. She could’ve done more. ... Ellen was very gracious about, like, “I’ll doo-wop in the back; don’t worry about me. Let’s hear Chandra, let’s hear Sara, this is theirs.”

Capshaw (Dr. Arizona Robbins): In addition to Sara having this powerhouse voice, she was always very generous about others and never made anyone feel smaller because of her giant power. But singing with her was like, “Aw, man [laughs], how about you get this one? You got this leg of the race.”

Wilson: Probably the most frightened person was Kim Raver, bless her heart.

Raver (Dr. Teddy Altman): It was super-exciting and terrifying at the same time. We all love singing, but unless you’re Sara Ramirez or Chandra Wilson.

Dane (Dr. Mark Sloan): I don’t fancy myself a singer, so I said, “Shonda, in this particular episode, I want the least amount of lines.”

Rhimes: Eric Dane surprised me, because his voice had this lovely quality to it that was really nice.

Dane: I set her up for a catastrophe, so she had very low expectations.

Starting Rehearsals

For months leading up to the episode, the cast embarked on a grueling series of rehearsals and voice lessons, adding hours onto their already long daily schedules.

Capshaw: I had just had a baby, and I was really taking my life one day at a time. I knew it was going to be a big episode, but, timeliness-wise, it was a tough time. I think I was still breast-feeding.

Phelan: Usually in the writers’ room, you’ve got maybe six-to-eight weeks from the time you come up with an idea to the time that it’s shot. This we needed almost the entire season to plan for.

Raver: It was like riding a bike but then adding, like, six more wheels to it, and you had to kind of figure it out.

Capshaw: We were all bringing our A games. In normal days, it feels like there’s a familiarity, you can feel a little more casual, a little more off-the-cuff, but there was nothing off-the-cuff about this. It was all very high stakes because it was life or death, literally.

There were some silver linings, though.

Dane: We had these little earbuds in our ears, I guess like how you film musicals, so you can sync what you’re mouthing with the music in your ear. And so I went to the sound operator and said, “I can buy one of these earbuds, right? And I can create a content-receiver pack and connect it to an iPod and pipe music into this too theoretically, yes?” And he said, “Yeah, you could do that if you want to.” So I said, “So when I’m performing surgery in later episodes on this show, and I don’t have very many lines, theoretically I could be listening to music, and nobody would know?” And he said, “Yeah, theoretically, that would work.” So I had one made, and I shot many episodes in the surgical theater, sometimes with lines, listening to music, many times.

Filming the Episode

“Song Beneath the Song” revolved largely around the seriousness of Callie’s condition, but there were also some light moments, including a sexy, dance-filled take on “Running on Sunshine” featuring several of the show’s couples.

Capshaw: When Sara and I are in the car in the clouds — oh my god, I’ve never felt so goofy in my life [laughs].

Raver: Scott Foley [who played Teddy’s love interest Henry] and I had so much fun working together. He’s so funny, and so choreographing that dance singing number was really fun.

Wilson: Debbie Allen sent in Eartha Robinson, one of her choreographers from the Debbie Allen Dance Academy, who I knew from Fame, the television series. So this is who was coming in, teaching us how to twirl. And I was like, oh my god, I’m on Fame!

Early in the episode, McKidd’s Owen sing-shouts at his crew of doctors to “calm down” — a moment that, years later, became a widely shared meme for its over-the-top nature.

McKidd: In the scene, I think it was Kate Walsh — she’s brilliant; she’s a prankster — and Patrick and Eric Dane. And they were all arguing. And I’m sitting there and [the cameras] push in on me and I go, “Calm down.” And they couldn’t keep a straight face. Every time we did a take, they just would fall over laughing. And they were on camera giving me the eye line, and I had to sing this song seriously with those two actors just doubled over, like sidesplitting. It just tickled their funny bones so much. That was one of the hardest acting days of my life [laughs].

Capshaw: For sure, many, many, many shots were taken at Kevin McKidd for his “calm down” [laughs]. ... He really took on the rock-&-roll part of it.

McKidd: My daughter, who’s big on Twitter, she said that “calm down” thing’s like a serious meme thing now, which I guess is an honor. I don’t know.

The biggest moment of the hour came at the end, when Ramirez, a Tony winner for Spamalot, sang “The Story” as Callie fought for her life.

Phelan: When Sara came to Grey’s, she had this idea that she absolutely wanted to be known as an actress not a singer. And so for her first couple seasons on the show, she kind of left that side of her behind. Then, here was Shonda and I coming to her and saying, “No, we want to re-engage that part of you and put it on the show.” And so I think that she got nervous about that ... but to hear that amazing, magical voice come out of her ... that was the moment that was going to be able to sustain the music [of the whole episode].

Rhimes: When she sings “The Story,” I mean — I wrote the episode; I know what’s gonna happen. I’ve seen it a thousand times. It has nothing to do with me. But I always tear up a little bit because of her extraordinary voice and extraordinary performance.

Wilson: What a showcase it was for Sara Ramirez. I’m so glad that she got to share that part of herself with our audiences.

Reading Those Reviews

On March 31, 2011, the episode aired. While it garnered strong ratings, viewers’ reactions to “Song Beneath the Song” were mixed.

McKidd: I think we all went into it with our eyes open, and we knew there was gonna be mixed reviews. Because some people are gonna love it, and some people aren’t. But that shouldn’t stop people from taking a few risks in what we do, you know?

Rater: I remember being shocked that there were people who didn’t like it. I was like, come on!

Capshaw: It didn’t feel like [the reviews] were gonna affect anything either way. It wasn’t gonna be like, “Oh my gosh, that was too silly, and I’m never watching Grey’s again.” It had already found its place in people’s hearts.

Rhimes: I learned very quickly [on Grey’s] that if you’re gonna believe the good things people say about you, you have to believe the bad things people say. So there’s no point in paying attention to any of it. ... Nobody’s gonna like everything that you do.

Phelan: I know there are a lot of people who don’t like it, who felt like it bent the show too much, but it’s season 7 of a show, and if you’re not taking big swings when you’re on season 7 on a show, something’s wrong.

Creating a Legacy

Despite the critical reactions, the episode has developed something of a cult following over the years, thanks to live benefits and TikTok memes. A decade later, its creators all look back fondly on the hour and its impact.

Wilson: [The cast] watched it together, and I remember feeling like, wow, look at what we did!

Capshaw: When we showed up to do that benefit concert, I remember coming out onstage ... and being completely, completely overwhelmed with the people that responded to Arizona in that episode, and to the love story between Callie and Arizona.

Phelan: As a director, it was the biggest challenge of my career to do that, and it’s one of the things that I’m most proud of.

Raver: I’ll be in my car singing along, or at work if we’re in the hair-and-makeup trailer and we’re listening to [the soundtrack], it’s just an immediate flashback. It kind of feels like yesterday.

Wilson: The soundtrack is on my playlist on my phone [laughs]. So I will pop that thing out in a minute, because it’s just absolute happy memories.

Rater: If I’m cooking, that is what I put on. That’s what I tell Alexa to play for me.

Rhimes: I feel like that episode just always reminds me of having so much fun. That was what was really great. We had so much fun. And how much do you get to say that about just being at work?

Dane: As a cast, contrary to what some of the entertainment media might have speculated, we were all very close. We all spent a lot of time together, and a lot of that stuff felt really real to us. It was easy to access because of how we felt about each other off screen.

Raver: I just remember it being such an incredible experience, being able to work with all these incredibly talented actors and creators.

Rhimes: It’s right in my top 10 of episodes we’ve ever done.

Dane: I don’t particularly want to do it again, but I’m glad I did it.

#grey's anatomy #7x18 #jessica capshaw #eric dane #chandra wilson #shonda rhimes #kevin mckidd #kim raver #tony phelan #Joan Rater

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wearecaptaingeorgiou · 3 years

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Captain Georgiou January - February Day 3′s scheduled creation is by Al @dykekeit. Thank you to Al for sharing this essay!

Here’s the thing: this story isn’t about me. I’m white and Jewish―not exactly lacking for representation in Star Trek, even if I am a lesbian―not with the ta’al itself coming from the Kol Nidre service, not with Benjamin Sisko’s character more closely resembling Moses than any other religious figure. How many times have I seen myself, loved myself, in Trek? I’ve taken heart in Leonard Nimoy’s Yiddish, in Jim Kirk’s Tarsus IV backstory, in Benjamin Sisko the reluctant prophet and in Kira Nerys, fighting for her traditions amidst pressure to assimilate or die.

And yet, the first time I saw the trailer for Discovery, I almost burst out crying hearing Michelle Yeoh’s voice—her accent, the way she pronounced Shenzhou, seeing her in the captain’s chair—because it felt so much like home.

Like I said, this story isn’t about me. This is a story about my sensei.

I still don’t know what name she was born with, growing up just outside of Hong Kong. When she arrived in the United States, there was no large Chinese community on the east coast in those days; she didn’t speak English, and no one around her spoke Cantonese. She was alone, totally alone. I still can’t fathom the sheer amount of chutzpah it took for her to stand her ground and carve out her place the way she did, but I know what it took: a skill for organization, a love of scheduling, a gift for disdainful silences, and an intense, rigid sense of etiquette. When you stand barely five feet tall, it’s all necessary.

Sensei loves gardening and darjeeling tea, and hates anything sweet to the point that I have gone out of my way to buy her chocolate above 70% grade dark. Oh, and did I mention? She loves Star Trek.

Sensei gravitates towards characters like Spock, like Data: immigrants, constant strangers among new and adopted cultures alike, repeatedly explaining their differences and saving face and proudly, wholly themselves, no matter if people understand them or not. They are characters who defy expectations and use every difference as a strength, no matter if it’s supposed to be a weakness. I wonder, sometimes, as she’s teaching me about the protective properties of jade bracelets and how the good Jewish delis she knew used to serve thinly sliced beef tongue for sandwiches, but not any more—were the stars visible in Hong Kong, growing up? Did she want to escape to the dark sky, to the other side of the world—anywhere?

How did I meet her? Well, when she was thirty-nine, my sensei took up kendo, the Japanese martial art of fencing, and almost twenty-five years later, she had reached fifth-dan (that’s fifth degree black belt!) Into her dojo I stumbled. Picture this: me, a clumsy, skinny Jewish lesbian, never worked out in my life, thought swords were kind of cool, walking into a dojo and finding a sixty-something Chinese woman who, though she barely came up to my chest, could kick the butts of every single much-younger six-foot-plus male student she had.

I guess it’s not surprising I stayed.

Over the next six years, my sensei taught me everything, and not just about kendo. In between correcting my wrist angles, my posture, my follow-through, my footwork, my uniform, my dojo etiquette, and anything else she could think of, there were moments of life coaching: how to focus, how to be disciplined in everything I do, how to help, how to put other people first. When I burst out crying during practice, she reminds me that the dojo is a safe place for emotions. She introduced me to Hong Kong-style diner food, showed me real dim sum and how to order and eat and share it properly, cultivated a lucky money plant for me to bring home and instructed me where to put it in my house for best feng shui, advised me to begin acupuncture for stress, told me to take more initiative when pouring tea for other visiting sensei. On the worst day of my life, I wanted her advice. Once, I managed to get a signed copy of Amy Tan’s The Joy Luck Club addressed to her personally. When I presented it to her and she learned I hadn’t read it, she turned around and gave it right back to me, insisting with a smile that I read it first so that we could talk about it together.

In the middle of all of it, a new Star Trek show, called Discovery, was announced, and soon, a new trailer dropped. The captain’s name was Philippa Georgiou, and she was played by Michelle Yeoh.

I did nearly burst out crying. It was Michelle Yeoh, but all I could see was Sensei, in command and speaking her accented English, proof of a past beyond a Starfleet that demanded “standard” English for assimilation.

Captain Georgiou was concerned with etiquette, both social and honor-bound: Starfleet doesn’t fire first. In the dojo, I am to bow respectfully, I am to shake hands and thank my opponent after every match, I do not hit just to hit or shy away in fear. The only way a kendo match works is with mutual communication; an opponent is not a faceless thing to be beaten so much as a partner to create opportunities. We may strike first, but we are not aggressors.

Captain Georgiou said: the best way to know yourself is to know others. Take care of those who are in your care. I still remember the time I watched a fellow dojo member rush across the tournament floor because someone had the wrong-colored tasuki to change it without a thought—because he had noticed a problem, therefore he must help. I sat there, frozen. I told Sensei this story later with absolute wonderment and shame and she just smiled, patted my hand, and shared some of her favorite raisin walnut bread with me. She knew the lesson had stuck. Other times, she has snapped at me for forgetting to hold a door open for other people, but—

Captain Georgiou: disciplined, teasing, dedicated, setting stars and valuing candor: your confidence is justified. My shock when Sensei first told a few of the other girls and I some dirty jokes late at night before that same tournament was only matched by how funny it was, and how it was immediately followed with a discussion of our weaknesses in shiai combat, and what our approach both physically and mentally would be for the tournament the following day.

I wonder, through fanfiction and fanart and discussion with others, what Philippa shared of the universe with those around her—with Michael, with Saru, with all those under her care.

I once told Sensei that reading The Joy Luck Club and trying to understand all the Chinese cultural nuances from an outside perspective was like looking through a waterfall, or trying to see through a beaded curtain—seeing outlines, but not being able to grasp details. She smiled, and nodded, and said, “yes.” What she meant was, of course I couldn’t, and no one would be able to explain every detail to me―not if I didn’t live it, but more importantly, not if I didn’t ask questions. When Captain Georgiou brought Michael Burnham to the bridge for the first time, she said, “This can be your new home, if you want it to be.” She asked for little but trust and mutual respect from a certain Vulcan-raised human who needed to re-integrate into an all-too-familiar but still foreign culture. The dojo is foreign, and it is my home, and I must always ask questions.

A human who had seen a life of loss, but still chose hope. A mentor who saw everything as a lesson, full of expectations both written and unwritten. And I, or Michael Burnham, watching her set a star.

Sensei: 谢谢, I love you, and I hope to see you in person soon.

#philippa georgiou #star trek discovery #event submission #type: scheduled creation #type: text #author: dykekeit #event tag #food #ds9 #tos #tarsus iv #death mention

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vagabondedlife · 3 years

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Kei Fujiwara’s name is hardly recognizable to most fans of Japanese cinema despite her crucial role in director Shinya Tsukamoto’s early cult classics. As Tsukamoto’s “right hand” woman in the 1980s, Fujiwara became closely involved in his underground theater troupe, Kaijyu Theater, and contributed to the productions of the experimental and DIY films The Phantom of Regular Size (1986), The Adventures of Denchu Kozo (1987), and Tetsuo: The Iron Man (1989). Her credits include actress, cinematographer, prop artist, makeup artist, and set-designer (her apartment was used as a primary set). She also engineered Tetsuo’s iconic phallic drill.

Born in Kumamoto in 1957, Fujiwara moved to Tokyo in her early twenties and discovered theater troupe director Jūrō Kara, who became her mentor. After a decade, she created her own troupe called Organ Vital, which underwent a series of evolutions but remains her life work. Her new project this year is Ibunkitan, a form of micro-nomadic theater, whose kanji characters mean “strange-listen-machine-story.” A private person now living in the reclusive mountains of Nagano, Fujiwara rarely gives interviews, but seemed excited to talk about her rarely discussed directorial debut, Organ (1996).

An avant-garde exploration of violence, pain and pleasure with an operatic amount of coagulated blood and extrasomatic body horror, Organ follows two detectives after they break into an organ harvester’s warehouse and collide with yakuza gangsters, a drugged doctor, and his eye-patch wearing sister Yoko, played by Fujiwara herself, who also produced and wrote the film. A cherished work among hardcore fans of Japanese cult cinema, Organ is still ripe for rediscovery. The film’s offerings of a full-bodied sensorial experience and an abusive questioning of cruelty prove tirelessly relevant.

Fujiwara’s work was recently revived at FFFest in New York City with a double feature of Tetsuo: The Iron Man and Organ. Fujiwara prepared a special statement that was shared as an introduction. Following the screening, we had the opportunity to speak to the artist about her life, practice, and ideals in more depth. The conversation was held over the phone in Japanese.

NOTEBOOK: Is Ibunkitan a new Organ Vital?

KEI FUJIWARA: Yes, it’s a new Organ Vital. When I was young, I lived in the rural area. I always just read theater but never had the opportunity to see state-of-the-art theater. When I was in high school, I was always reading, and I picked up an Antonin Artaud book that featured this French term. It meant the vessels of life. When translated to English, I’m told it just becomes, “vitals of organ,” or something, but in Japanese it is called gozōroppu and to me signifies the corporal. That’s the name of my theater company, and it has always been that for me. Born into this three-dimensional world with bodies, we sense and express. That’s what’s interesting in life. Ibunkitan can be done in a very small space. We’ve done it in temples, in the corner of a shop, in salons. Our first performance was in March, and we’re planning to do another in November. We've been invited to perform my new Jomon-inspired piece in a live-house in the mountains in Nagano, so we’re preparing some woodwork for that now.

NOTEBOOK: You were working in Shinya Tsukamoto’s Kaijyu Theater production between working with Jūrō Kara?

FUJIWARA: Jūrō Kara, my mentor—when I was in Jōkyō Gekijo [Situation Theatre], he took a liking to me and wrote roles for me. A lot happened, and Kara said he would make a new troupe with me, but I had other plans, so I left once, and he said, “As my mentee, you can leave but wait for me to come get you.” That’s when I went to work with Shinya Tsukamoto on his plays and films. It was after Tetsuo: The Iron Man [1989] that Kara started the new troupe “Kara-gumi” and I returned to work with him.

NOTEBOOK: How was it that you began working with Tsukamoto?

FUJIWARA: I had just left Kara and after a while a friend said that Tsukamoto was looking for someone to act in his plays. He was Tsukamoto’s classmate and an actor, and he made the introduction. I found Tsukamoto interesting and talented. So, I began working diligently as his right hand after that.

NOTEBOOK: I wanted to ask you about Tsukamoto’s 1987 film, The Adventures of Denchu Kozo.

FUJIWARA: Denchu Kozo and Tetsuo were actually both shot in my apartment where I was living at the time. You know all those cats? I couldn’t rent a normal apartment, so I had to live in a cheap nagaya tenement house on the verge of getting demolished. I just needed a place to live that permitted pets. Denchu Kozo and Tetsuo’s interior shots are all at my place.

NOTEBOOK: Are the scenes projected in the TV monitor in Tetsuo from Denchu Kozo?

FUJIWARA: Yes. They’re from Denchu Kozo.

Above: Organ

NOTEBOOK: What turned you onto making Organ, if you were always only interested in theater?

FUJIWARA: That was because of my experience filmmaking with Tsukamoto. It prepared me for how arduous it would be. Theater is an impermanent art, and that’s why it’s such a luxurious art form. But film is like capturing a world in a crystal ball. The joy of creating film is like making your own universe. My staff members at the time— six men other than myself—were all talented, and I thought, “Everyone’s here, why don’t I just make it?” So, all the staff also became the actors, and that’s how we started filming. But it was so difficult at first. We used the atelier space we had and reformed it over and over and shot it like that. It was time-consuming. It became the warehouse set, the school set. It kept on transforming. We did it all in the same space.

NOTEBOOK: That seems like a very theatrical way of using space.

FUJIWARA: Yes.

NOTEBOOK: But first, you started writing it?

FUJIWARA: Yes, I first started writing it. I’m actually not very good at planning. I just think that if I put my mind to it, I can make it happen. So I wrote the script, and had the staff pool in their savings. Between the seven of us we had 200,000 yen, so I thought, “Great, if we have 200,000 yen and one reel of film is 5,000 yen, and even if we bought lights, we can make 30 minutes of footage.” As for the equipment, there are countless aspiring-filmmaker boys who have camera equipment lying around collecting dust, so we borrowed from them. As for the set, we were all used to making it for our theater. We were good at foraging free stuff to make things. That warehouse set in the beginning of Organ was made with an extremely cheap budget. Then we started filming. All those organs in that scene were worked from what was supposed to be our dinner for the day [laughs]. We used real food. We took some gelatin- and konjac-noodles and thought, “This can look like veins!”

NOTEBOOK: And then you had it for dinner?

FUJIWARA: Well, we ended up not being able to, because it was covered in fake blood! It was all about how little money we could spend and still make something, which was a valuable lesson for me.

NOTEBOOK: You’ve mentioned the Kenji Miyazawa poem, Ame ni mo makezu1.

FUJIWARA: Yes, I just really like Kenji Miyazawa. I like the way he thinks, and his philosophy. He’s a Buddhist, and as I haven’t studied Buddhism properly, I cannot say for sure, but I think his seimeikan, or view of life, is on par with that of Osamu Tezuka. Osamu Tezuka and Kenji Miyazawa are two gods with the same perspective regarding seimeikan. No matter how great their art is, Yoshihide Otomo and Hayao Miyazaki can never reach Osamu’s level. Osamu’s core is love. There’s only love. The way they think about life is totally different. I was reading manga before I was literate [laughs]. I like Osamu Tezuka, but also Sanpei Shirato. And in my teens, I liked Daijiro Morohoshi. He’s an extremely interesting person.

NOTEBOOK: Do you think that your films need to be discovered?

FUJIWARA: They need to lock in perfectly with someone’s desire to watch it, or else watching it has no meaning. It just appears as a confusing, grotesque film.

NOTEBOOK: Please tell us about your make up and special effects.

FUJIWARA: Since Tetsuo, my method is always the same. I don’t have any background knowledge of special effect makeup. I just have a gut feeling of what can and can’t be used. Tsukamoto had these drawing storyboards for Tetsuo, like the steel body and the drill penis. For the latter, Tsukamoto just wanted to make something simple and said it would be enough if we could just pretend like it was moving, but I thought it would only be interesting if it actually moved. I didn’t have any hi-tech skills, so I thought, “That’s it!” I took the nearest working electric fan, dissembled it down to its core, used all the rubber and tape I had at home, sprayed it up and got it to go, vroom [laughs]! It was the same for Organ. I used household products, mostly kitchenware.

Above: Organ

NOTEBOOK: What about your cinematography?

FUJIWARA: I had no background knowledge. The first time I started shooting was on Tsukamoto’s set. A lot of people who graduated film school and wanted to help were there, but Tsukamoto didn’t trust any of them. Just because you have technique doesn’t mean you can shoot well. He thought that the person wielding the camera needs a certain amount of power, of energy. So I, who had never touched a camera in my life, was given the camera and told where to press to get it rolling, and shot all of the scenes Tsukamoto was in.

NOTEBOOK: Do you still shoot with a camera lately?

FUJIWARA: Rarely.

NOTEBOOK: As the occasion for this screening was FFFest, Female Filmmakers Festival, could you comment about your experience as a female filmmaker?

FUJIWARA: Something men don’t have—there are two types: female filmmakers who focus their perspective on their immediate surroundings and daily lives, and those who focus on creating a worldview from the even more intimate bodily perspective. That’s what’s a little different from male filmmakers. Even in theater, most female directors write familial narratives, although I don’t [laughs].

NOTEBOOK: The podcast Ladies Horror Night, on the occasion of this screening, recorded an episode that raised the question of why you, a female filmmaker, didn’t include more female characters. I’m not sure about this pressure for female filmmakers to represent female subjects, as I think there’s power in the female filmmaker re-writing the male-centric story. Can you speak on this and how you came to write the police story in Organ?

FUJIWARA: When I think about seimeikan—our view of life—it appears to me that the moral judgment of good versus bad is not something universal, but just a rule that protects our lifestyle in society. It’s a regulation. We make regulations to protect ourselves. That takes the form of “good” and “evil.” But that’s not the good and evil that holds ground in nature. Animals kill other animals for their own predation, right? Humans, too, in the context of war, can kill other humans and become heroes. The concept of zen-aku, or the notion of good and evil, is just a societal regulation. The police represent upholders of this regulation. And then there are those who defy this regulation, who lie in a realm completely different from this conventional morality. Organ is a clash between these two groups. That’s how I formed the police narrative. As for why there are few female characters, well… In the case of females, expressing them requires—for many, not all—a focus on the micro world, the micro perspective, that is, if you pay attention to their priorities. In other words, if you have a goal and you want to finish something, but she says she needs to take a bath at this certain time and cannot participate, there’s nothing you can do. In my theater, only men can keep up with me. Because of this standpoint, if a woman were to express a woman, she would need to create a micro world. But when describing a police story, a macro worldview, the direction would lose focus.

NOTEBOOK: It would become more internal?

FUJIWARA: Right. That’s why there aren’t as many female characters. But the wife of Numata represents the reality for women. And also the female teacher who approaches the criminal but gets killed. Woman participated in this way. But it’s hard for them to take leading parts for the narrative. It’s hard to let them be there and have their perspective be represented, because their perspective is in a different dimension.

NOTEBOOK: What about the character you play, Yoko?

FUJIWARA: Yoko is outside of that realm. She’s an outlier. She doesn’t represent family or the household or the joy of daily life, because she didn’t enjoy any of those things. That’s why she can exist there.

NOTEBOOK: How did you direct your actors in Organ, was it different from how you usually direct them in theater?

FUJIWARA: It’s the same. The only direction I gave them in Organ was that they only get one shot. I don’t give actors multiple takes. If there’s a camera or equipment problem that requires another take or two, I’ll do it. But I won’t do it for the actor. The actor has one chance, the take. But, on the offhand that the actor makes a mistake and requires a take two, I tell them they need to buy their own film roll. That was the rule. So, no one ever made a single mistake. They were all dead serious, completely focused. They’re all broke and have no money to buy film.

NOTEBOOK: In that sense it’s theatrical.

FUJIWARA: Right, and I had one actress tell me that that it was brilliant. She said, “I do lots of work for TV and film, but everyone is so lukewarm and they do take after take, and think about it so leniently. But there’s none of that here. The one take is the real thing.”

NOTEBOOK: So, that urgency was good for the actors?

FUJIWARA: Right. They said they couldn’t afford to buy their own film.

NOTEBOOK: If you give theater actors the same direction for film, how does that work? The performances in Organ don’t come off as exaggerated; I doubt a viewer without knowing would assume they are all theater actors.

FUJIWARA: There’s no difference. In theater, my scripts are like music scores. The lines come out and dance, modulate, sing, calling on the innate sensation playing the instrument that is yourself on stage. The actor, with this music-score-as-script, has a multitude of possibilities of how to play it. In film, the scripted character is a part of the environment. They are simply material for the scene. I didn’t need to explain this to them, they naturally just became materials for the scene.

Above: Organ

NOTEBOOK: That’s a good transition into my next question: can you talk about your music and sound design direction?

FUJIWARA: Music is difficult. What I say doesn’t get across, because I was working with new people. They hadn’t even seen any of my theater. I like German bands, something strong and hard. But even if they mimic the Germans, the Japanese can’t avoid making music that doesn’t sound soft and weak. One day I said, “Make it more powerful, something that alludes to the power of nature, more animalistic and sturdily-built,” and they said, “Okay.” The demo they brought to me literally had animal sounds, like elephants wailing and dogs barking, and I was like, “…That’s not what I meant” [laughs]. It didn’t get across. But there were some interesting sound bites that I could use. But Japanese band musicians can’t get over their own softness. I think what they have is different.

NOTEBOOK: So you’re not happy with the results?

FUJIWARA: Well, I’m the type of person that thinks, que sera, sera. So I wasn’t satisfied, but…

NOTEBOOK: You’ve mentioned that you a very easily scared person. But in Tetsuo and Organ, your characters say, “I won’t be afraid.” How do you interpret this difference?

FUJIWARA: When I came to Tokyo in my twenties, the first theater directors I met said they’d never met anyone as weak and sensitive as myself. They didn’t think I could live on a few years longer, much less do theater, and that I might find myself drugged up in a brothel in the near future. Kara was the only person that ever said to me that I was the strongest person he’d met. In other words, the fear and strength that I have appears to others as a weakness that can barely withstand life, but it’s just my highly sensitive nature they see. In actuality, I’m very strong. I feel very easily, so that seems weak, but my capacity for empathy is just very large. I feel others’ pain and sadness so strongly that I throw up thinking about them. That’s why I don’t watch TV or read the newspaper. Or else I would be crying all day [laughs].

NOTEBOOK: Watching Organ feels like you’re making the audience feel this extreme pain you describe.

FUJIWARA: Yes, that’s the result of the film. My second film, ID [2005], is even more so.

NOTEBOOK: In addition to fear and pain, pleasure is another large theme. After the screening, someone told me your film was grotesque but something about it was so pleasurable. How do you maintain that balance?

FUJIWARA: I think humans, in order to live, can’t cut those away from existence. If you deny desire, you’re not human. The existence of such things causes our misery, too. Thus, desire and slaughter are inescapable. My fear and sorrow regarding this, and my questioning what are they anyway. That’s what I wanted to portray.

NOTEBOOK: What’s interesting about your portrayal of violence is that Yoko uses the gun as a weapon but doesn’t shoot from it. The one time she tries to shoot at her father, it wasn’t loaded. She mostly hits with it.

FUJIWARA: When I act a role, it needs to be real for me to imagine it. I can’t shoot a gun just like that. I need to feel it. Whenever I do something I feel a corporal build-up that can’t just be released by shooting away.

NOTEBOOK: Shooting it would be too easy?

FUJIWARA: An action needs to be taken. The body and the heart are connected. It’s not that easy.

NOTEBOOK: What was the biggest challenge in shooting Organ?

FUJIWARA: The most difficult challenge was the first scene, in the warehouse. When the doctor and yakuza fend off the police while trying to dissect the man. That shoot was in the middle of summer, but we had to close off the warehouse because it was a night scene. It was hot, smelly, only men, and everyone’s body odor was suffocating the room. That was really difficult. At the time there were seven of us, and now there are three of us, just Takahashi, Mori and I. In Organ, all the actors take on multiple roles. Whenever they weren’t onscreen they were doing lights or shooting. We shot it scene by scene in order. I remember towards the end of the film, during the scene in the tunnel, when my role Yoko comes in on a bike and there’s a fighting scene, we couldn’t get a permit to shoot. We were able to shoot outside the tunnel on the road but not inside. But I badly wanted to shoot inside so we went at midnight, and the characters got all bloody and we were shooting, and the police came. They thought it was a real yakuza fight and took off the safety on their pistols and were about to shoot at us. We thought we were done for. The character Yasuda, who later falls into the ditch and gets stabbed with a Japanese sword, was responsible for getting the permits and he had all the documents on him. So, he came out from the ditch all bloody and with a sword in him, screaming, “We’re shooting a film!” terrifying the police even more. While he was negotiating with them we finished shooting the scene. The police just told us to be safe and left, but it was all thanks to him for putting his life on the line. We really thought we were going to get shot. Usually film shoots have large crews and it’s obvious, but in our case, all the crew were also the actors, so it was hard to tell, and the lights were hidden.

NOTEBOOK: What about the camera?

FUJIWARA: Yes, but it was a small 16mm Scoopic, and the police were so focused on the bloody actors they didn’t notice it. The police were terrified, but it was a great location and I just needed to shoot there no matter what.

#link #in case they delete it

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Journey to Hogwarts - Chapter Six// Malfoy Manor and St. Mungo’s.

A/N: CHAPTER SIX! I’ve had a fun experience writing this with @kalimagik @obsessedwithrandomthings @heloisedaphnebrightmore and @firewhisky-kisses. This has so much of my love for Draco in it, I hope you all like! Chapter 7 will be out in a couple of days and I hope you're ready for drama!

Warnings: swearing, mentions of injuries.

Word count: 4.9k

MASTERLIST

Mel groaned, covering her eyes as the bright light of the sun peeked its way through the window. She pulled the duvet cover over head; the inevitable headache as a result

Memories flooded through her mind, chasing her from her bed sooner that she would have liked. She dressed slowly, pulling her arms through a dark green cardigan, pausing every so often to fight the wave of nausea that washed over her.

The curved staircase that led to the lower floor had Mel’s stomach turning once more as she descended into the dining room where Ellie was already sat, sipping at a cup of tea.

Mel dropped into a seat; cursing firewhisky and her status as a lightweight.

Ellie chuckled at the sight of her friend looking as hungover as one could be after multiple shots of firewhisky followed by bottle after bottle of butterbeer.

“I suppose you don’t want any tea,” Ellie offered; laughing again at Mel’s scrunched up face.

“You’re awfully chipper this morning? And you drank more than me.” Mel accused; an eyebrow raised as her Canadian friend.

Ellie beamed, shrugging her shoulders, “Blaise gave me a potion to help with hangovers the night we went out to the pub. I had some left.”

Mel dropped her head to the table; letting the coolness of the table work its wonders on her head. “I should have hooked up with a Potioneer; my life would have been so much easier as of right now,” She groaned.

Ellie laughed, “Healer is pretty close to Potioneer the last I heard.”

Mel groaned again, “I don’t even want to know what happened last night. I just know I made a fool out of myself.”

Ellie doesn’t get the chance to reply. The girls are joined at the table by the Malfoy family; all three glided gracefully into the room. Lucius sits at his expected seat at the head of the table; joined by Narcissa on his right and Draco to his left.

“I’m waiting for an explanation for the state that you returned home last night.” Lucius declared, folding his hands in front of him.

“All things considered; I don’t think we were very loud.” Mel muttered, bringing a hand up to rub her forehead.

“Regardless of that, you should have more decorum when conducting yourselves in public.”

Mel glared at the elder gentleman, “You’re kidding aren’t you? This isn’t the nineteenth century! I’m not walking around here in petticoats pretending to be seen and not heard.”

Lucius returned Mel’s glare with just as much venom, “We have a reputation to uphold. The Malfoy name is revered through wizarding society.”

“It was,” Mel muttered, rolling her eyes.

“Pardon?”

“It was. You’re not doing too hot right now, are you Lucius?”

Ellie stared at her friend; hangovers were not Mel’s friend and the pain lancing through her head was making her mouthy.

Lucius gaped at the young brunette. Mel rolled her eyes, “Your fall from grace was well documented, Lucius. And another thing – no, don’t interrupt me, I’ve got my gander up now - this is very much the twentieth century; women have rights nowadays. And I can swear, drink, fight and argue just as much as I’d like.”

Lucius remained silent at Mel’s words. Narcissa watched her with something akin to pride glittering in her eyes. Draco’s repressed the urge to laugh at Mel’s words.

Ellie raised her cup; meeting her friends gaze, “Here here!”

Mel grinned at her friend, pushing herself back from the table. “If I may be excused,” she started, glaring at the patriarch, “I want to go sit in a quiet room and let this headache pass.”

“Of course, dear. I’ll send someone to check in on you soon,” Narcissa promised with a kind smile.

Mel left the dining room; adrenaline coursing through her veins. Draco and Narcissa had been the epitome of kindness through their time in the wizarding world; it was time for Lucius to remove the stick up his arse so he could finally see the damage he had caused and start hunting for a solution before he was left alone in this big, cold manor house.

Mel trapped herself in a small room just off the main living room. her headache was showing no signs of lessening, but she supposed it was karma for the way she acted last night. She groaned, rubbing her forehead – she knows she shouldn’t drink; her hangovers were always worse than the drinking was worth.

She sighed, standing from the table by the window. She had sat down upon entering, needing to stave off the dizziness and nausea. Now though, she hunted for a candle.

Her education in what she now supposed was muggle society to her had involved the research into history and lore of witchcraft. It had been a personal choice of hers to follow the stories of those executed in Pendle and West Yorkshire in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.

Through her research, Mel had read supposed grimoires, translating the old English to modern. Mel rooted through the draws in the room, yelping happily when she finds a candle for her to try with. The girls had mastered spell after spell; potion after potion. Passed their exams with exceptional grades, but Mel had researched this in her old life, and she wanted to know whether she could master the basic wordless spell of lighting a candle with a single breath of air.

An hour into her staring match, someone knocked on the door. Mel didn’t turn her gaze from the candle as she granted permission to whoever was outside.

“What has that candle done to offend you so badly?”

Mel jumped in her seat at the sound of Draco’s voice, “It’s nothing – don’t worry about it.”

Draco sat across from the brunette, “It isn’t though, is it?”

Mel flipped her hair over one shoulder, “Did Narcissa send you in here to check on me?”

“I volunteered for the job actually. Now, don’t change the subject – what’s wrong?”

Mel slumped in her chair, “I have been given the richest education I could ever receive. I have researched witchcraft since I was eighteen years old and I find out I have magic and I can wield it to make potions, cast charms and to grow magical plants – yet, I can’t light a single candle.”

Draco held his hand out for the candle; Mel passing it to him without question. They both pointedly ignored the spark of electricity that passed between them when their finger brushed against each other. Draco placed the candle back in the centre of the table. He blew on the candle; the wick caught and burned aflame.

“Show off,” Mel muttered, crossing her arms.

“Practice.”

“I have been!” She cried, “I work on everything from Hogwarts; going over the charms I have been taught. Magic and spell work are the same thing, Draco; they take power from the elements, yet I can’t harness fire. I bet the others aren’t having this much trouble with their magic.”

“Mel, breathe for a minute a listen. You’ve had magic for a few weeks; I’ve had magic all my life. It’s all down to practice.” Draco blew out the candle, “Now, take another deep breath and clear your mind, save for the action you want to complete.”

Mel leant forward, mind emptied, resting her head on her arms with her eyes closed as she loosened a breath from her lungs, sending it towards the candle.

“Mel, look.” Draco whispered.

Mel opened her eyes to see the wick of the candle aflame. Joy sparked through her at the sight of it, but something deeper caught aflame within her as she caught Draco’s eyes on her; something akin to pride and happened reflected in the bright blue of his eyes.

---------

Mel found that the longer she spent at the Manor, the more she enjoyed being in the company of Narcissa Malfoy. She had truly repented for her actions in the war; had donated a large amount of money to wizarding orphanages for children who had lost their parents in the war to make amends for the damage she followed blindly from youth had caused.

Every afternoon, Mel would join Narcissa in the gardens, walking among her prize-winning roses. Narcissa was very proud of them, and very knowledgeable on the meanings of flowers.

“Herbology was my favourite subject alongside Potions,” She had told Mel as they stood together by the yellow roses. “Yellow roses, for example, used to stand for jealousy – they’d be sent by jilted mistresses to the wives of their lovers. Now though, they represent friendship and joy,” Narcissa explained.

Mel reached out to touch the petals, her voice laced with sentimentality as she murmured, “We used to have yellow roses in the garden at home.”

Narcissa looked at her sympathetically, “Do you miss it?”

Mel nodded, “I do, but I’m enjoying my time here too.”

Narcissa smiled at the young woman, “I’m glad. Though I am sorry Lucius gave you a hard time the other morning, but I liked that you stood up to him. So few do.”

Mel frowned, “I understand what you’ve been through, or at least, I do to an extent. I won’t ever understand your motivations, but it isn’t for me to understand. I’d like to help though; you’re all healing from the events of the war but there are deeper scars, and I think Lucius is having trouble adjusting to the aftermath.”

Narcissa stared at Mel for a moment, “How would you help?”

Mel shrugged, “I’ve been told I’m a naturally warm person, I want to crack his cold exterior.”

Narcissa chuckled, “Well, I wish you the best of luck.”

Mel held her arm out for the matriarch of the family who had so graciously taken her and Ellie in, in their time of need. Narcissa took the offered arm, and the two picked up their walk around the garden where they left off.

--------

Mel rubbed at her eyes as she descended the now familiar curved staircase. She wasn’t sure what had awoken her; all she knew that was one minute she was dreaming of the eyes of a certain wizard and then she was wide awake.

Her stomach had grumbled until she pulled the covers from her body. A hot chocolate would work just fine at this time of night, so Mel made her way to the kitchen.

“Draco?” Mel asked; stepping closer to the slumped figure at the kitchen table.

Draco jumped up; eyes blinking rapidly. He yawned, “Mel? What are you doing up?”

Mel walked towards the fridge, pulling out the glass bottle of milk nestled between some juice. “I couldn’t sleep,” she shrugged, reaching for a pan and placing it on the stove, “Do you have any hot chocolate powder lying around here?”

Draco pulled himself up from his seat wearily. He opened a cupboard, grabbing the famous purple tub of Cadbury’s drinking chocolate. He handed it to the brunette before taking a seat back at the table.

Mel added the sweet powder to the now warming, stirring slightly before reaching for two mugs. She turned to tired man behind her, “Would you like one? I’ve made more than enough for two.”

Draco nodded; his words cut off by another yawn.

In a matter of minutes, Mel had poured the hot chocolate into the two mugs and had handed one to Draco. He sipped at it gently, watching the woman across from him.

“Why couldn’t you sleep?” He asked.

“I’m not sure. One minute I was fast asleep, and then I was awake. I thought hot chocolate would help.”

“You did?”

Mel nodded, “My grandmother made it when I couldn’t sleep. When I was small, I couldn’t pronounce ‘chocolate’ so I’d ask for ‘choc choc’.” She chuckled at the memory of her grandmother stirring the pan filled with the sweet concoction that had her eyes drooping within minutes.

“That’s adorable,” Draco uttered; eyes on the brunette.

Mel ducked her eyes, blushing. A change in topic was needed, she thought to herself, “How come you’re up?”

Draco ran a hand down his face, “I just finished work.”

“How long were you on?”

“Twelve hour days this week, it’s not so bad.”

“How was your shift?”

“You are inquisitive, aren’t you?”

“Oh hush, and answer the question, Draco.”

“It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t good.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Draco replied. Shaking his head, he sighed, “We lost two patients who had been there for a while. I’d formed a bond, you know?”

Mel nodded understandingly, “I’m still sorry, Draco.”

“So am I,” Draco stated; his blue eyes bright with unshed tears.

Mel stood from her seat. She wrapped her arms Draco tightly; letting him cry into her shoulder. He sobbed and sobbed for the patient he had lost but also for those he lost back in the war; the grief overtaking him.

They’re clutched at the other.

Time passed and Draco’s sobs quietened to sniffles. Mel attempted to step away, but Draco kept a tight hold on her arm, keeping her close to him. In the early hours of the morning, Mel stands over Draco as if she could protect him from feeling too much all at once.

In the early hours of the morning, the pair become aware that their relationship was set for a different course that once originally thought.

--------

Mel had raided the library on her third day living at the manor; collecting book after book on wizarding lore and history and smuggling them away in her room. She might not have been in the muggle world with her laptop and highlighters, but she was going to benefit as much as she could from this experience. And this was by learning their histories.

Draco noticed that as the weeks and months progress, more and more gaps appeared in the library shelves. He chuckled as he realised who the culprit could be, climbing the stairs to her room to prove his theory correct.

“You know, the purpose of having a library is to give the books back so others can read them.” Draco drawled, gesturing to the pile of books on her bedside table.

Mel grinned at the blonde-haired man, an eyebrow raised, “Thank you for your definition, I’ll be sure to return them once I’m done.”

Draco sauntered into her room, taking a seat on the edge of her bed, “What are you reading?”

Mel marked her page with a bookmark and held the book up for Draco to see the title. He laughed at the words on the cover, “The Tales of Beedle the Bard? I didn’t take you for a fairy tale fan.”

“I’m worried to know what you do take me for then,” She flirted, a smile aimed in the direction of the Malfoy heir.

“Romances, classics. All the muggle authors that fancied themselves experts on love and the gothic.”

Mel flushed; she held the book of fairy tales to her chest, “I do like those books, but I had a hard time finding them in your library.”

Draco’s eyes twinkled, “That’s because you weren’t looking in the right places,” He held out a hand to her, “I’ll show you where to look.”

-----

Draco led Mel through the maze of shelves; he stopped only to point out how the room was organised.

Mel continued to be amazed at the room. Books were very much a life source for her; they had been there for every part of her life. For when she felt upset or vulnerable, she had a book that she could read for comfort. For when she needed to pass time, a book was always her first choice.

Draco turned right at an aisle; pulling Mel with him. He hasn’t let go of her hand since they entered the library, she was trying her best to quash the emotions blooming at the feel of his touch. He’s showing you the way, what is wrong with you?, her mind admonished her.

Draco stopped at the end of an aisle and knelt down to the final shelf, “Here they are, we only have the classic I’m afraid – Dickens, Bronte, Wilde, Carroll.”

“Carroll?”

“Lewis Carroll,” Draco clarified, “As in Alice in Wonderland.”

“I know who he is,” Mel chuntered, “I just didn’t think you did.”

“I’m full of surprises, clearly,” Draco laughed, the copy already in his hands.

Mel took the book from him, flipping through to the first few pages, her mind eager to meet the familiar characters once again. She crossed her legs on the floor and leant back against the sturdy shelves, happy to remain there with the small collection of muggle works.

Draco tapped her knee, “Come on, you can’t sit on the floor and read, we have comfier couches at the front.”

-----------

The pair sat in the library for well over an hour; sitting together on the couch where every now and then they would show the other a quote they loved from their respective book.

They shared secret smiles over the bindings of their books. Mel’s heart raced from the attention the blonde-haired boy was giving her. Her mind raced into overdrive at what everything he did could mean – the lingering touches, the late night conversations, how he helped her with her magic. He went above and beyond for her, and Mel was terrified of her feelings for the Malfoy heir in case she was reading too much into them as she had often done in the past.

A crashed resounded through the Manor. It pulled Mel from her worrying and Draco from his reading. The pair rushed out of the library to find Ellie crumpled at the bottom of the stairs.

“Ellie!” Mel shouted, running over to her. Draco followed close behind.

Ellie groaned as she sat up, her hand stretched out towards her ankle that had already started to turn multiple shades of purple, “I think I hurt my ankle.”

Draco’s fingers nimble examined Ellie’s ankle. He apologised at her wince of pain but soon frowned, “It sounds like a sprain. I don’t have what I need here to heal it. We’re going to have to take to you to St. Mungo’s.”

Mel folded her hand into Draco’s and in a single, nauseating moment, they landed in the emergency room of St. Mungo’s.

----------

Blaise entered the emergency room with a harried look on his face; eyes searching for Ellie and Ellie alone. His face calmed as he reached her bedside, but his eyes can’t hide the panic he felt at seeing her hurt. Blaise’s hands hover over her as if terrified she’ll break if he touched her even once.

“B,” Ellie murmured, “I’m okay.”

Blaise wasn’t entirely convinced by Ellie’s promise. She caught Draco’s eye; a silent plea passed between them.

Draco wandered over to Blaise, a hand placed on his shoulder, “Ellie’s fine, Blaise. She fell down the stairs but managed to only sprain her ankle. We had it healed in no time.”

Ellie smiled, “Draco had me healed in expert time. I’m not in any pain now.”

“Do you need anything else?” Draco asked.

Ellie shook her head, “I’m all good. Thank you, Draco.”

Draco nodded at the both of them; happy to leave them to continue their conversation. Draco had always hoped that Blaise would find someone like Ellie to share his life with; Blaise was reserved, had walls built around him and he never socialised much through his time at Hogwarts. Draco treasured their friendship; Blaise having been the voice of reason more times that Draco could count on both hands. It made him happy to see that Blaise had fallen in love with a woman as determined and kind like Ellie.

Draco watched his friend take the arm of the woman he loves. Blaise holds Ellie’s hand tight as he manoeuvred her from the bed. Ellie tested her ankle for second before she deemed it healed enough to walk on with her full weight. Ellie beamed up at Blaise, her arm wrapped around his as he led her from the emergency room for a tour of the counterpart of the muggle medicine Ellie has studied for most of her life.

Draco shook his head fondly as he walked back over to where Mel waited by the admit desk. “Ellie is going to be okay, isn’t she?” She asked worried.

“Ellie will be just fine; she has Blaise after all,” Draco stated, leaning against the admit desk.

Mel nodded, “That’s good. That she has Blaise; they’re perfect for each other.”

“They are,” Draco agreed easily, “You’ve been here a while now, has no-one caught your eye?”

Mel smiled up at the blonde-haired man, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Draco chuckled; eyes shining with mirth. “Come on you, I’ll take you on a tour.”

Mel grinned widely; eyes crinkled at the corner with happiness, “I knew I kept you around for a reason.”

Draco held Mel’s hand in his as he pulled her to the next floor, pausing outside the door. “This is where we keep the more serious cases, similar to your ICU floors.”

Mel nodded in understanding; remaining silent as she watched families interact with their loved ones. Her mind flashed back to her last visit to a hospital; saying goodbye to her grandfather. She didn’t know how Draco did it; how he surrounded himself with death and sadness day in and day out. She had seen how the hard days affected him, but he made it look like he was doing fine. Mel saw through the façade. She had sat with him as he let a few tears fall in memory for the patient’s he couldn’t save.

They bonded over that time together; Draco seeking Mel out after a long shift. Mel searching for Draco before the exams at Hogwarts. They bounced off each other; becoming closer as Mel’s time in the wizarding world continued.

Draco continued his tour of St Mungo’s. Mel followed behind him; her hand still held tightly in his. Mel watched the blonde-haired man in front of her; attempting to pinpoint the exact moment she had fallen in love with him – was it the candle? Or was it earlier today in the library? Or had she always been in love with some aspect of him? Draco was he favourite character in the series; it made sense to her at least, that she would fall in love with the real thing.

Draco dragged Mel into an empty exam room, grinning wickedly as the sound of her yelp. “You’ve been distracted this entire tour; did you hear a word I said?”

“Of course I did. We started at the ICU where the permanent residents reside before moving down a level to the floor where you treat potions and plant poisoning. We were heading down another level, but you’ve dragged me into an empty room. Why?”

“I kept looking back at you, you didn’t seem like you were paying attention.”

“So you dragged me into an empty room?”

Drag shrugged, “I want to know what’s on your mind.”

Mel chuckled, “Nothing overly interesting, I promise you that.”

Draco stepped closer to the brunette; Mel took a step backward, her back now pressed against the cool white wall. “You see,” Draco began, “I think it is interesting. I normally get a good read on people, but I can’t get a read on you.”

Mel thanked her lucky stars. Draco leaned in closer to Mel; his hands made their way onto her waist. She bit her lip at the feeling of his hands on her.

Then Draco did the inevitable; he ducked his head to press his lips to hers.

Mel pulled away from Draco, breathless, “Draco… we’re in a hospital.”

He hummed, nosing her cheek, “So we are.”

“And it’s your place of work,” Mel reminded as Draco’s hands grip her waist tighter.

“So it is.”

“We can’t do this here,” Mel whispered, a hand on his chest.

“Who says we can’t?”

And with those words, Draco pressed his lips to Mel’s. He kissed her gently, but the kiss soon shifted into something more; something deeper. She gasped against his mouth; Draco took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. Her hands made their way into his hair. A low groan sounded in the back of Draco’s throat and he pulled Mel against him; arms circling around her.

Mel lost herself in him; he invaded her senses. All she felt was him; all she smelled was him, and all she tasted, was him.

One kiss and she was a goner; entirely addicted to him.

It could have been minutes, it could have been hours, but they both had to come up for air. Draco pulled away first, but he pecked Mel’s lips one more time before he did. Their chests heaved; Draco’s arms remained tightly wrapped around her waist.

“What does this mean, Draco?” Mel asked, savouring the feel of his arms.

Draco pressed kiss after kiss to her face, starting with her nose. “It means that I want to be with you, Mel.”

“Even though I prefer fairy tales and gothics?”

Draco laughed, throwing his head back. He grinned down at the woman who had stolen his heart in such a short amount of time, “Even though you prefer fairy tales and gothics, yes.”

Mel beamed at Draco; taking the opportunity to fist her hands in his shirt, dragging him in for one more kiss before they needed to return back to reality.

-------

They returned to the Manor even more wrapped up in each other than they were before they left. Draco pulled Mel back to the library, though he paused multiple times on the way to drag her into a kiss.

She laughed at the man she had fallen for in the short time she had been in the wizarding world. Mel hadn’t ever given much thought to her love life in the muggle world; she had had crushes and been on dates but none of them ever really meaning anything. She watched Draco from her place a step behind him; his long legs no match for her short ones. She watched him push open the doors to the library, thinking to herself that she hadn’t ever met a man like Draco, and she wasn’t bothered by the timeline; she’d fallen in love with Draco Malfoy.

Draco turned to face Mel; their books from earlier in his hands. He sauntered over to her, “Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.”

Mel placed a hand on her heart, laughing, “As mad as the March Hare, Draco?”

“Only for you, my dear,” Draco gasped dramatically; embracing Mel.

----------

The dinner party was Draco’s idea. He sent the invitation to Blaise before letting Mel know their plans for the evening.

Mel threw a cushion at Draco’s face which he caught with a laugh.

“Want to tell why I deserve a cushion to face?” He asked.

“I have to find an outfit for a dinner party!” She cried, throwing her arms up in the air at the impossibility of it all – she knew she was being overdramatic, but she felt underprepared for something such as a dinner party.

Draco hushed her worries; pulling her into his arms. He rocked them both side to side, “It’s Blaise and Ellie, love. They won’t care what you wear.”

“I suppose not,” Mel chuntered into Draco’s chest.

He chuckled at the brunette, kissing the top of her head, “Whatever you wear will be fine; don’t overthink this – let’s just enjoy the evening.”

----------

The atmosphere in the room was light and joyful as the couples ate and drank their way through the late afternoon into the early evening. Blaise’s hand remained a staple on Ellie’s thigh through the meal as Draco’s arm remained seated on the back of Mel’s chair.

The girls shared a knowing glance; both their men oddly territorial but utter sweethearts when in private.

The dinner was interrupted by a sudden knock at the door. Narcissa entered the room with an apologetic aimed at the two couples, “I’m sorry, love, but this just arrived for Draco. It must be urgent coming this late.”

“Thank you, mother,” Draco answered, taking the envelope from his mother’s hand. Narcissa departed with a smile; leaving the four of you alone once again.

Blaise and Ellie are wrapped in their own cocoon of happiness as Draco reads over the letter. Blaise tucked a piece of Ellie’s hair behind her ear, and she smiled up at him, face full with happiness and love.

Mel kept her eyes on Draco as he read the letter, watching as his body grew more tense with every word written on the piece of parchment.

“Draco, what is it? What does the note say?” Mel asked.

Draco cleared his throat before answering, “It’s a note from Ron.”

“What’s happened? Has something happened to Ana?” Ellie asked, already stood up, grabbing Blaise’s hand ready to apparate to the Burrow.

The note is handed to Blaise, “Ron’s asked us to come to the Burrow. Arthur overheard something at work, and he wants to tell us in person.”

The girls looked at each other in worry; anxiety already having settled deep within their guts. If Arthur had overheard something at the Ministry regarding them, then what they had to hear could not be positive.

Draco held his hand out for Mel. She doesn’t argue as she takes hold of his hand; she doesn’t say anything. She started into his eyes, committing the blue to her memory.

In a single second, both couples have apparated to The Burrow.

**********

Journey to Hogwarts taglist: @jenniweaslee @just-an-outstanding-auror @the-hufflefluffwriter @ravenclaw-member

#draco malfoy x oc #draco x oc #draco malfoy fanfiction #Draco Malfoy #journey to hogwarts #narcissa malfoy #lucius malfoy #blaise zabini x oc #blaise zabini #blaise x oc #post hogwarts #the lightning era #fluff #draco malfoy fanfic #draco malfoy fluff #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic

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charmingpplincardigans · 3 years

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January Kitchen Sink Check In

This is mostly for me, because I’m trying to become a better person this year, for varying definitions of the term ‘better’, and I like to see my progress laid out all organized like. It helps me move forward. So I’m gonna go through my Body/Mind/Money goals for January and note how I did and what I’m going to do moving forward!

BODY

Working Out:

My two work out goals for the end of the year are to 1) be doing yoga semi-regularly and 2) be working out four days a week reliably, including the yoga. I’m working on easing myself into these (and all) habits, because I don’t want to overwhelm myself and give up on everything, so my goal for January was to work out one day a week. And I worked out *drumroooooooll* NONE! NOT A ONCE. I don’t have an excuse for this. Part of it was stress, part of it was depression, part of it was sheer laziness. I promise myself I’m gonna work out at least once a week in February, but also shoot for the two times a week that is the February Goal.

Food:

I have several overall food goals for the year. One is to give up soda near completely, or at least to break my addiction to it. The others are to start planning meals and eat less meat. For January I wanted to drink only two sodas a day (20oz max). I managed that 23 days out of 31. In looking at the calendar you can reliably match the days I failed to the days that were extremely stressful or anxiety ridden. I have a very bad habit in those moments of throwing up my hands and deciding that I’m a failure anyway so nothing matters. That’s definitely a mental tick to keep an eye on over the next few months as my job no doubt just gets more and more stressful. The other goals I did okay with. I decided to plan one meatless meal a week. New recipes I made in January were:

Black bean soup

Moroccan sweet potatoes

Spinach lasagna

Black bean & sweet potato enchiladas

Do recommend most of them. The lasagna had way too much cinnamon in it, which was kind of weird. If I make that recipe again I’m gonna quarter the amount. But I might just find a different veggie lasagna to make.

For February I want to drop the soda to one a day (12oz max), and start to plan to make two meals a week. I’m doing okay with meat, but I could for sure do better. It helps that I have started making THE WORLD’S BEST SANDWICHES for lunch. Probably just gonna eat those forever instead of ordering out Huey Magoo’s or whatever. (The sandwich is hummus, cucumber, and feta on toasted Good Seed bread. Try it!)

Doctor Things:

Uff. I need to figure out the CPAP issues and the chest pain issues. I absolutely despised the first mask they sent me for the CPAP. It gave me panic episodes and I was ripping it off IN MY SLEEP. Insurance refused me a new mask until April, but my doctor came in like an angel with a sample version of a different type of mask to try. This one is...better. I’m still not comfortable in it and it’s not appreciably helping my sleep. People keep telling me it’s going to change my life, but that has not happened yet. On the other hand I have friends who’ve tried to make them work for YEARS and never did, so I’m wary of this whole process, but still trying.

I had a sort of fraught meeting with my cardiologist last week. My chest pain symptoms had been getting better as of October, but with the change in my job I’ve back slid almost entirely. I had a 36 hour period of chest pain two weeks ago. I go whole nights having every heart attack symptom in slow motion, but doing nothing about it because I can’t afford for the ER to tell me I’m fine five times a month. I cried when she asked me why I didn’t go to a hospital when that happened. I feel so helpless all of the time and I’m certain I’m going to die any day now, even though my heart is technically physically fine. Can you anxiety yourself into a heart attack? I THINK YOU CAN. She did tell me to try to speak to the psychiatrist again about anxiety medication. The last time I tried the woman I saw didn’t want to prescribe me anything. She told me to work on my sleep and come back. Welp! The cardiologist said that if that happens this time she’ll write a note telling her to prescribe me something. We’ll see. I need to try to make that appt this month.

MIND

Therapy:

My therapist thinks I’ve done really well over the last year with working on myself and said out loud that she thinks I’m better at dealing with some things and am in a good position to move forward. But I’m so stressed right now that I just feel like I’ve fallen apart again. We’re meant to start on EMDR this week, but I’m going to have to put a pause on it so I can talk about how I’m at like, the lowest point of my life, which she will be very supportive of and then probably remind me that if we could just get to the EMDR and work with the older traumas this might not feel so dire. I’m just, on the struggle bus and too tired to do anything but freak out about that.

Writing:

I have so may creative goals this year! Too many probably! I should put some back! My creative goals for the year are:

Complete a rough draft of AMLD (10,000 words a month)

Complete and mail out the Girls Who Date the Universe chapbook

Complete and mail out any remaining art for people who helped me with the car fund

Work on poetry and short fictions (Monster Story?)

Actually check in to @gywo every month (10 days a month goal)

My creative goals for January were to write 10,000 words on AMLD, work on the extra poems for GWDTU, and send the remaining postcards from the car fund. And uh...look. I did work on writing. I worked on the chapbook layout and editing pieces that needed to be edited/replaced, because there are several. I did also work on the outline for AMLD, but didn’t write new words on it. Not anywhere 10,000 of them at any rate.

The owing people art thing is just...it fucks me up, man. I have learned a huge lesson between the car fund and the patreon. I get so in my head about how these people deserve beautiful things and then I tell myself I’m not capable of making things worthy of them and then I put off doing the thing because I want to put off letting them down and then it just spirals from there. ALL THE WHILE I AM FOR SURE LETTING THEM DOWN. I realize this is both unhealthy and unprofessional. It’s why one of my goals this year is to clear all of this once and for all so that I can square myself away with everyone and try not to end up here in the future.

So, the January Goals now get rolled up into the February Goals, which leaves the new list for the month at:

10,000 words AMLD

Complete extra poems for GWDTU

Send postcards from car fund

Complete layout for Boston chapbook for car fund

I did check in for GYWO.

Future Plans:

Part of letting off the pressure for the now for me is always about planning for the future. Not like, the actual future, I’m not starting a 401k, let’s not go nuts. But for something that is one step forward. In my notes for my year goals this is all about moving back to Boston. I need to set a date for it. I need to save money for it. I need to keep my job until after I’ve done it. But now I think this part needs to include notes about my job itself and the ways I can either move forward with it or move away from it once and for all.

I talked to Lisa and Kait at the beginning of the year about the moving plan, and now I just need to talk to my apartment complex to see if it would be feasible to extend the lease to December or February without paying an exorbitant amount in rent each month. If rent ends up being more than $2k/mo for the extension then I’m just going to have to have to wait until June 2022. This frustrates me, because I hate not being able to just follow through with decisions once I’ve made them, but patience is another thing I’m working on eternally. My goal for February is figure out money stuff well enough and talk to complex and set a timeline.

Work is. Wow. It’s awful right now. I still have my job, which takes up much of my days, but because of re-org I’m also having to learn a whole new job which would also take up much of my day. I can’t not learn this job, because the person who used to do it is in another department now too, so there’s no one to get the work done if I don’t learn to do it. But I also can’t do both. I CAN’T DO BOTH. An issue popped up last week with my job that literally brought my ulcer back. I asked my boss for help with it and she sent me a message at one point saying she wanted to cry about it. So like. She knows now, right? She knows I can’t do both jobs?? BUT THERE’S NO ONE ELSE TO DO IT SO I GUESS I JUST GET TO SLOWLY KILL MYSELF. I’m just so frustrated, and angry that these decisions get made without taking the people in them into account, and of course anxious and miserable. I’m currently dreading work in a way I haven’t since I was in text perms. It’s real bad. So I have to find a way to make it work or find a way out.

My February approach to that is to finish this Love It or Leave It book and see if I can’t divine where my true motivation lies, and also to research library school. I kind of would rather not go back to school. Not because I wouldn’t spend my entirely life in school if I could. I WOULD. But because it’s expensive and time intensive and there’s no promise my life will be better after it’s over. But every job I think I want pretty much requires that masters, so. We’ll look into it at least.

MONEY

Eating Out:

During the pandemic, one of my money sinks became DoorDash. I never used it before, because it costs literally twice as much as just going to get the food. (Also because I kind of like eating in restaurants alone. Ah, one day again I hope!) But the more afraid I became of the outside world, the less inclined I was to go into a restaurant to pick up take out, so I’ve had it brought to me. And I need to cut that shit out! I have food at home! My goal for January was to order out only 4 times a week. I managed this for three of the weeks, but when I blew it it was definitely those weeks at the very beginning and very end of the month where I was super stressed. The goal in February is to only order out 3 times a month.

Savings:

I need to open a high yield savings account. I’ve had the starting money for the move just sitting in my bank account making me no extra money for like, four months. The latest reason I haven’t moved it over is that I’m worried I’m going to owe a lot in taxes this year because of the partial unemployment I got. Hopes are that since it was a work share the taxes were taken out ahead of time, but I do not trust the government with my money as far as I can throw them, so. I’ll do my taxes this month and finally know for sure. And then I WILL move the rest of the money into a high yield savings account. I WILL.

Also, every time my credit union savings hits a grand, I’ll move $500 of that over into the high yield account to put toward moving expenses.

Budget:

I keep meaning to sit down and work out my new budget for 2021. I’m bringing home a little bit less in my paycheck because I changed my health insurance, and I’m also, of course, trying to save as much as I can ahead of moving so I don’t put anything on credit cards. (I’m doing so well paying those down!) This means I need to save everything I can and not spend money on stupid frivolous stuff. I’m not buying clothing like I did in the before times, but I AM spending too much money at Target still, because the app lets me just peruse any dumb idea I have and then pick it up that day! What a disaster! So, I really need to work something out. Or at least, I need to check my bank accounts more often and keep tabs on how much is actually going out. I have a bad out-of-sight-out-of-mind habit when it comes to bank accounts. Just another piece of me to try to cure this year.

And that’s it for January. I’m now late to bed because I’ve been working on this post for an hour and a half. Working on my sleep is also a goal, but we’ll see how exercise and the cpap handle that. Til next month!

#kitchen sink check in #to do #progress

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anotherpersbective · 3 years

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A LESSNESS LIFE .

I know from the moment you read the heading of this article, you thought that its interesting but never came across your mind that is going to be about minimalism. In this upcoming words I am going to express my thoughts on such a subject and the reasons behind adopting it, and this is going to be in answering questions method.

WHAT ACTUALLY IS MINIMALISM?

Let us imagine the following situation, a person comes to me and asked me to describe minimalism in one word? The answer is going to be FREEDOM. However, if he asked me to define it, my answer would be I can't do such a thing. There is no united definition of minimalism that everybody would agree on because we are different and everyone understands it in various descriptions.

No one will tell you that if you own more than 50 items, for example, you can't be a minimalist. And he will be absolutely wrong.

My definition of minimalism is all about the intentional use of things and stuff. It's all about doing more with less, achieving more with less, and living happier with less. Until eventually, LESS can show you the FREEDOM.

IT'S ABOUT HAVING, BUT CHOOSING NOT TO OWN.

HOW DID I GET THERE?

I was born in a society that is all about showing off what you have, and what you have accomplished. I used to be that person who wants to achieve finical freedom and I still won't, but the method differentiates from that time. So, I watched those who own more all the time whether it was cars, homes, or boats. As a result, I told myself that this is the answer to the problem which I do not even know what it is? However, year after year the principal starts failing down by seeing those who have more hurting themselves, being hit by the depression, and attempting suicide. DON'T GET ME WRONG, I DON'T MEAN THAT THOSE WHO OWN LESS DO NOT COMMIT SUICIDE TOO. But, this showed me a hole in the equation and another element that can explain this phenomenon shall be found.

BACKGROUND:

I used to be that person who loved accumulating stuff, things, and materialistic goods. I tended to tell my self " If I get this thing, I will be fulfilled and satisfied. However, this leads to own another thing, another good. Moving forward, you will end up finding yourself in a vicious cycle of wanting more all the time without realizing that you have already got the very first thing that was supposed to fulfill you as a human being, but it didn't. And now you are pursuing another one.

Over time, due to personal circumstances, I, finally, realized the cycle, so I decided to hold on and slow down a little. Then, it bound on me, I should take a step back and look at the bigger picture. In the end, because of such a step, I was able to adopt minimalism as a way of life with another step; however, this step was ahead.

THERE IS A DIFFERENCE BETWEEN WANT AND NEED?

I see people most of the time get confused between these two words ( want & need) without even knowing. people have already mixed them on everyday usage, they treat them as being synonymous to each other; conversely, they aren't.

Looking at the definition of WANT, it's going to behave a desire to possess or do (something); wish for. This means that want is used to express our desires which are not a necessity and we can live without. Adding up, our desires can manipulate us to convince ourselves that that thing which should be a want has already become a need. However, when it comes to the definition of NEED, it's all about required (something) because it is essential or very important rather than just desirable. So, when using the word (need), we should keep in mind that we are talking about a crucial thing to continue living and keep our body running appropriately.

Humans in their basic instance are easily emotionally manipulated, and that's the main reason for the confusion of these two words in our modern society. Let me repeat this message again. There is a line that you should not cross and this line lies between want and need. Now, you might think that to be a minimalist, you should buy what is a need and cut down what is a want, absolutely not. For me, minimalism is all about the intentional use of stuff, and if what you are going to own will add an intentional value to your life or someone else's life whether it is a need or a want; it has already met my stander definition of minimalism. For instance, you want to buy something, and it's a want, so I used want; at the same time, owning this thing will make you happy or make someone else happy ( with knowing the difference between instantaneous and long-term happiness Crucial ). Then, you should buy it, because of the value that shall be accomplished by owing this thing.

Moving forward, both want and need should be bought as long as they add value and purpose for you or others.

WHAT ARE THE BENEFITS OF MINIMALISM?

I know for sure that no one has ever told you that you can do more with less, but let me be the first.

Minimalism will help you in the next three areas of your life:

financial side

Time

productivity side

relationships side

stress-free life

FINANCIAL SIDE:

Financial freedom is a goal for most people, nowadays. However, far fewer people achieve it, and far fewer die with it. The answer to financial freedom in most societies is all about working more and hard. Conversely, it's not about how many times you put into work, it's about the perceived value of your work. So, as I said you can achieve financial freedom with less, and here is how. When you adopt minimalism or essentialism, you will cut out so many expenses that were used to buy invaluable stuff. As a result, you will have so much money left to invest or even starting a business in the long run. In addition, you will have saved so much time rather than working because you do not want the extra money from working overtime, so you have saved time and money by living with enough. Going forward, I am going to show you what can be done with more time.

TIME:

You have been told over the years that time is the most important asset of your life, but you have not compromised this statement well enough. However, you will be fully aware of it at the bed of death. Although this might seems harsh, there is a way out, and this way can be thrown Intentional living. When you become a minimalist by removing all the distractions, you will realize how much time you have and how to get the best use of it. Time will give you the chance to answer life's most difficult questions and offer you a journey to your inner self. Another benefit is having more space to establish a fulfilled relationships with those who matter the most to you. Minimalism is a way to boost your productivity because you will have the space and time to work on what's really matters and the freedom to do more of what you pleased.

STRESS-FREE LIFE:

Among all the problems that minimalism offers a solution for, we can look at two of them and explain how minimalism or essentialism can help people overcome them. First, information overload. As we live in a grown society, technology makes it so easy to get lost in the world of information. Everything has become two clicks away, and you will have all the knowledge about a certain topic. You might see this as an advantage, and it is, but up to a certain point. According to neurological science, when our brains being exposed to a new and unexperienced phenomenon, the brain will work to figure it out and all the details which are related to this certain topic. Now, imagine that with every single new thing that your eyes can observe, your brain will work to figure it out. As a result, when seeing an empty picture, you find it relieving. For example, an ocean or an empty desert. And that's where simple living entering the equation as a solution to such an issue.

The other problem that minimalism can help you with is Decision fatigue. Decision fatigue is simply being overloaded and stressed by the number of decisions that you have to take every single day. As long as the number of decisions increased, your brain will eventually lose its ability to make the perfect one due to decision fatigue. For example, you find that people spend a ridiculous amount of time choosing what to wear or which photo should they upload on social media, and neither of these decisions is life-changing ones. And here again, minimalism offers a hand.

CONCLUSION:

In a life of accumulating stuff, nothing seems to be enough. The food doesn't test as good as enough, the view isn't high enough, the car isn't fast enough, the money doesn't seem as much as enough, and then you become a slave to things and stuff. As harsh as may it sound, Stuff was designed to be controlled by us, not the other way around. As Bhagavad Gita once said, " detachment is not that you own nothing, detachment is that nothing owns you". I wish that I can tell you that minimalism will solve all your problems, but it will not. Minimalism offers you a life of meaning and freedom with less.

BY: AHMED ELGDDAWY

INSPIRED BY:

Matt D'avella

The Minimalists (Joshua Fields & Ryan Nicodemus)

Leo Babauta by Zen habits

https://mnmlist.com/about/

NOTE:

This is my first article to be published on Tumblr, if you liked it. You can support my work , if you liked on https://www.patreon.com/AhmedElgddawy .

#minimalsim #simple living #problem solving #a better world #lifestlye #meaningful decision #life stories #self improvement #self descovery #articles

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stumbleintothesun · 3 years

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Life Rant

For the few people in here...sorry lmao this is long as hell.

Lately I've been feeling like...garbage. I know there's no one on this place that really follows me, so this is me posting to the void.

I have been dealing with a lot of health issues related to my mental health and weight. I've gained nearly twenty pounds in a year, and no matter what I do my weight doesn't budge. I work out regularly, Ive been trying to eat better but...my only thought is its because I'm working a desk job now - which I fucking hate with a fury. And I know my weight isnt the end of the world - it just really, really fucks with my mental health. I've always felt ugly. The only time I didn't was when I was super thin which I know is problematic - and I know that's part of my mental health...like my aunt died from an ED. And my mom definitely had/has an ED even if she's gotten much better about it in the past few years...

And I'm finally getting my face to clear up after wearing these masks for a year - a year! But I'm still dealing with the healing process and I'm anxious it will scar. I've worked this entire pandemic at a job I *hate* just to you know, finally pay off my student loans just go back to school so maybe I can do something I love. But even at 25 and providing for myself, I hardly got any financial help. The only thing saving me is my grades that got me a decent transfer scholarship.

But the first school I applied to wanted my high school transcript, even though I have an associate's degree, and because I'm, frankly, stupid I somehow missed that they needed it. So they threw out my application that I spent an otherwise four hours writing for.

So I'm going to Eastern, which frankly will be better for my mental health, but they don't have a tuition free program. So I'm going to have to borrow money after just finally paying off my single year at a liberal arts college debt that I took on when I was 17 (it ended up being like 30k to pay off). And it's all because I didn't fucking read right. So much for being a good student, I guess.

But it wouldn't have mattered because they would've hardly taken any of my classes despite most of them being from down the road and for an associate's degree! And even Eastern is giving me a hard time, despite my degree they say I don't have the basic level biology course - my degree is biology focused! I'm going into ecology! I have taken genetics, conservation biology, anatomy and physiology, cellular biology but I don't have intro bio? So now I have to test out, on top of working full time. Which is fine, its a good refresher...I'm just so overwhelmed with life right now. I have a stack of over 100 flash cards and I'm just anxious.

This is a year after my partner went through an ugly break up with their old fiance (we were poly), and their ex was an abusive POS who once told them if they came out as anything other than their assigned gender, he wouldn't date them anymore. He gaslit them constantly, made them feel like hell. So we finally got out, but he wanted the house they got together or 10k. He made over double what they make - and he always forced them to pay half the bills, including half of his fucking protein bullshit because it was "groceries." He knew they didn't have the funds. Because our friends are amazing, we were able to buy him off but he left the house trashed.

It fucking sucked, and they were also responsible for getting his name off the house which meant a refinance that we could hardly afford. We got lucky we were able to do it, but they hardly got anything back for it. And it was a *nightmare*. We finally got it done, after pulling teeth and it took six months. Four months longer than they said. And that entire time they were forced to occasionally reach out to him, their old abuser.

Finally we were free, but then I started having further issues at work. Between the pandemic, and working in a heavily red area during the election, I cried a lot. I work in customer service and while I make okay money for the industry, I'm constantly burned out. My colleagues are okay, but it feels stupid to leave just to find a job for three months to go back to school. Then I started being short in my drawer (I'm a teller at a bank). The final straw was being short $500. Now I'm on a work plan, and if Im short again, I'm out. And it's my fault. I don't know how it has been happening. So now I'm always on edge at work, triple checking everything. And I could leave, I could get another job but there's no promise I'll make what I do now, and in order for me to pay for the chunk of school I need to, I have to put away a certain amount every month.

I do have a grant of sorts for 5k per semester to help with bills, which will alleviate a lot once August arrives. And I know I'm crazy lucky to have that. So sometimes I feel like such an asshole about it. But we have a house to pay for and bills to pay. Just like everyone else. Ugh, I don't know.

I talked to my doctor about my weight, came in with calorie intake numbers and how much I work out with zero change. I cut out pop entirely from drinking it every day. Nothing has helped. So we switched my meds from Lexapro to Wellbutrin to see if I lose weight because of that. Nope, just having more mental break downs, steady weight, and my resting heart rate is abnormally high, stopping me from making a little extra cash donating plasma. So now I'm switching back to Lexapro with nothing gained other than. You know. Feeling like shit. Next up? Birth control coming out of my arm. Don't really need it anyway. And maybe that will help? But I don't think so. I'm not sure what to do.

I am genuinely trying to be healthy, eating more whole foods. More veggies. More home cooked meals. I love to cook, I'm just tired. And sometimes the air fryer and oven baked frozen foods are too easy to pass up. I'm trying to always eat breakfast. I'm working out again, we have a gym membership but there are so many men there and I dont always feel comfortable, because my partner has been anemic and they can't go yet. So I use our bike in the living room and do home workouts.

But when I did this last time there was zero change in weight or anything. Even when I ate really, really clean for three weeks and worked out for most days, tracking calories and everything. Nothing changed. My thyroid is fine, we've already checked it. I'm just tired.

This past year, other than being with my partner has fucking sucked. And this doesn't even cover all the shit they've dealt with with switching to they/them and a name change. I love them so much, and love that they are finally comfy but their parents were assholes about it. And that matters. It does, and I get it. I just wish I could help them more. I wish we had a break, a breather for longer than a day. Even then I can't relax, I'm too on edge. There's too much to be done. I need to earn money, I need to clean, I need to focus. I need to be productive in some way to justify if I'm not working on those things. It's...all dumb.

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americanopouroverplease · 3 years

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Sweat It Out: Chapter One

Seokjin X Reader

Word Count; 5,604

Potential Warnings: Blatantly poor use of French terminology, genuinely bad choice in nicknames, Seokjin making terrible dad jokes at the gym, scene stealing jungkook wearing muscle shirts & generally being an adorable muscle bun.

Thank you to @ksmuttherapy & @shadowsremedy for beta reading for me!

Please Note! -- Reader in this story is plus sized! As such, certain descriptors will be used and if this detracts from the story for you then I hope you are able to find something else that rocks your frock!

If pain had a soundtrack you were certain it would be the incessantly upbeat elevator music blaring through the speakers as you grunted and suffered your way through yet another sweat soaked set of heaving sumo squats. Your thighs were spread wide for all the wrong reasons as the lycra blend of your leggings were being stretched to their absolute limit. The grimace pulling at your lips was inherently reminiscent of the principal from Matilda and you were absolutely sure that in this very moment she was prettier than you.

“Dig deep! 10 more!” The trainer was already getting on your nerves with his ridiculous abs and insanely thick biceps. He was getting paid to stand off in the corner of the room while you wheezed and wailed like a dying animal. There wasn’t a single drop of sweat on his perfect skin while you groaned, dropping your weight low only to huff with the effort of lifting your substantial bulk upward once more. “Don’t let yourself down! You’re almost done!”

“How is this legal?” The screech escaped you before you could even think to stop yourself. Of course the only response your trainer gave was a low chuckle as he crossed his arms over that absurdly large chest of his.

“It’s legal because you pay him.” One of your fellow suffering souls offered as he too continued your joint endeavor in self inflicted torture. “Look at him, he feeds off this.”

“If you have time to complain you have time to do single leg lunges!” If you weren’t so preoccupied with the burning pain consuming your hamstrings and the complete lack of stamina you’ve built up over your years of working a desk job and eating cinnamon rolls you would fire off your best shots at the trainer. Instead, you settled for fantasizing about using your thighs to crush his big gym rat skull.

“Don’t listen to him.” Your agonized counterpart called out. “It’ll only make this worse in the long run.” In between each lunge you chanced a glance away from the trainer and over to your new partner in complaint. His cheeks were full, but his lips were even more generous as he pursed and let out huge puffs of agonized breath. He didn’t seem to be out of shape at all, which made you hesitate in appreciating his finer attributes. The muscles filling out his sweat-soaked t-shirt were clearly defined, but what really took your breath away (besides all these squats and lunges) was the fact that his shoulders would obviously enter any room before the rest of him did. Was he even real? Or were you just swept up in an endorphin and exercise fueled haze of fantasy?

“3...2...1!” The trainer’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts only to force you to realize that this entire time you’d been staring at the broad shouldered giant flexing his thighs almost directly in front of you. If your face wasn’t already beet red from exercise the mortification and sheer embarrassment would do it for you. “That’s time!”

You ran your own business, you were strong and independent. You sank down to the floor, sprawled out, and shut your eyes as you pretended to catch your breath in an attempt to avoid making any potential eye contact with the currently sweaty, also currently gorgeous and far too athletic man for your own good. You were a smart woman who knew how to pick and choose her own battles.

“I regret everything.” The wheezing prattle sounded just beside you, surprising enough to be the perfect catalyst in opening your eyes. “I blame myself. I can’t stop eating, food is an addiction and there is no cure.” Shoulders was flopped on the floor right next to you in all your sticky, sweaty, stinky glory. He didn’t seem phased by your appearance in the least.

“You should regret everything, hyung. How did you eat seven lobsters anyway?” The trainer, at some point, moved to join the two of you on the floor. “I thought you were going to make yourself sick.”

“You know each other?” You were sitting up now, curiosity flaring as you shifted around and began to stretch. Truth be told, you hated every aspect of stretching, but if you didn’t the muscle ache would be that much worse tomorrow.

“We’re related.” Your trainer smiled, big bunny teeth on display as he watched you push yourself forward and reach toward your toes. “That’s a great stretch, you can also lay flat, then draw one leg up toward your chest and rock. It’s really good for your back and spine.”

“Cousins, and how do you even have the energy to move right now?” The breathtaking man was still pressed to the floor, cheeks puffed out as his chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. “Jungkook if I weren’t already dead I would kill you for this.”

“You’ll thank me when you’re old and don’t have type 2 diabetes.” Jungkook grinned, “Y/N, the lump on the floor is my cousin, Jin. I’m currently trying to save him from himself.”

“This face will still be handsome even if it has diabetes.” Jin retorted, then dragged himself up from the floor just enough to face you with a smile. “I’m worldwide handsome, but I do answer to Seokjin.” He lifted his hand, only to blow you a kiss and wink. What were you supposed to say to that?

“I see.” Was he used to people staring at him? He didn’t seem surprised or offended when you openly admired his body. He couldn’t be a model if he routinely ate as much as Jungkook implied. The only thought that sprang up from this conclusion was a lurid amount of jealousy over his apparent metabolism. “I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Hyung! She didn’t even blush!” Jungkook wasn’t rolling on the floor with laughter but he was obviously amused by your lack of reaction to Jin’s flirting. He had one hand clasped on his cousin’s shoulder as he leaned exceptionally close to the man’s sweaty face.

“I only have two options now.” Jin responded with an air of solemnity. His eyes were hooded, expression far too serious for a gym floor as he shifted his weight closer to your form. “I’m going to give you my greatest joke, and if that doesn’t work I’m going to beg you to let me take you out on a date.”

“Excuse me?” You felt stunned, not only because the subject matter seemed so scattered but had this man actually just casually asked you out after seeing you at your worst? It was 7 pm on a Wednesday night just after you spent the past forty-five minutes heaving your weight back and forth in an attempt to convince your metabolism to decide it was finally okay for you to go from a generous 2X to a reasonable medium or large size pant.

“What do runners eat before a sprint?” You blinked once, twice, and then realized he actually expected you to give him an answer. When your glance shifted toward Jungkook the overgrown muscle simply shrugged his shoulders and grinned.

“If I say that I don’t know, can we move on?” You pressed gently, not wanting to be rude, but also feeling a little out of your depth. You were well aware that your body type was not considered conventionally attractive. It felt suspicious to have the seemingly undivided attention of someone who could snag any woman or man he wanted with his looks alone. No one flirted with you unless they had a fat fetish, and you always steered clear of those types.

“Nothing, they fast!” The joke was terrible, but the laughter that followed was even worse. You could only describe the sound escaping Jin’s throat as something eerily similar to windshield wipers scraping along the glass. It took a full minute of you staring at him with wide eyes for the laughter to subside.

“She didn’t laugh hyung.” Jungkook was still grinning wide, leaving the rest of Jin’s previous declaration unspoken.

“Do I need to beg, Y/N?” Instantly all signs of humor were gone; replaced by soulful eyes fixed directly upon your face. Jin shifted and knelt in front of you, his palms pressed together as he appeared to be carefully hopeful. “I will.”

“For what?” You hedged, feeling confused at best, and uncomfortable at worst. You had signed up for this exercise class in order to try and lose weight, to build up your confidence. Nowhere in the gym agreement was there a clause including fit men who seemed out of your league flirting with you and asking you out on dates you weren’t ready for. Was he serious?

“Please, Y/N, will you let me take you out for a nice dinner and delightful conversation?”

“Where and when?” As entertaining as it felt to watch a man kneel and beg for your time and attention there was no helping the wariness you felt. Prior experience was a masterful teacher and you weren’t interested in being the butt of anyone’s joke.

“I wouldn’t dream of making your decisions for you.” Jin readily replied, his cheeks full and round as he smiled widely. “I’ll let you choose, anything you want.”

“Anything?” You sounded skeptical, and didn’t bother trying to hide it as you crossed your arms beneath your breasts and stared at the man before you. He nodded, almost eagerly.

“Any restaurant you want, I promise I’ll find something I like to eat. Food is a passion of mine.” You heard Jungkook snort beside you, but chose to ignore him in favor of coming up with the most expensive restaurant you could think of.

“Fine. Take me to Le lapin blanc.” You didn’t feel nearly as calm and collected as you sounded, but he didn’t need to know that. All he needed to know was that he had to shell out serious money to prove his interest.

“Perfect, does tomorrow work for you?” Shock registered, and then disbelief. Le lapin blanc was the most expensive and exclusive restaurant in town. There was no getting into the building without a reservation, and you couldn’t just get one overnight.

“If you can get us in, sure.” You agreed, immediately convinced this was all a joke and you would be canceling your gym membership by the end of the week.

“Perfect, would you like me to pick you up at seven?” He had to play the part until the end, you supposed. With a quick nod, you assumed the conversation would be over and moved to push yourself up from the floor. “Y/N, do you happen to have your phone with you?” That question caught you off guard.

“Yes, why?”

“I’d like to give you my phone number so that I can contact you.” Jin responded affably. “How else will I find out where to pick you up?” Ah. Right. With a little bit of reluctance you fished your cell phone from your pocket and handed the device to him. He smiled once more, patiently waiting for you to unlock it before pulling up your contact list and adding himself to it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.” You took your phone back once he was done, then gave him a grin of your own. “I don’t split the bill, you’re paying.” Jungkook’s snort was no more elegant than the first upon hearing this and the chortle that followed actually came from Jin.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, beautiful.”

⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂

You finished work at four the next day, which left you with entirely too much time on your hands when it came to getting ready for this date. What should you wear to an expensive restaurant that had napkins that could cost more than your net worth? You decided to go with one of your favorite thrift store finds that fit tightly beneath your breasts and flared out further down your stomach. A girl’s best friend was always a nice empire waistline...Unless it made her look pregnant.

The cap sleeves looked almost demure, which you appreciated since it was the middle of summer and you were not about to suffocate stuffed into a dress with full length sleeves or a high neckline. Makeup wasn’t minimal, but you also didn’t waste any time lining your eyes when all that would do for you was make you look like an actual trash panda once ten pm rolled around. Instead, you focused on your hair and took the time to style it and smooth out any stray ends or hairs.

The chime of your text tone echoed from your living room, drawing you away from fiddling any further with the upswept style of your hair.

Did he really send you a picture of himself with a cut out heart? What sort of man was this? When Jin asked you out the night before all you felt was suspicion. Now you were convinced he was simply missing at least sixteen of the screws required for his mental clarity to function. You neglected to respond to his text, and elected to grab your purse before locking the door to your apartment behind you.

Were you waiting for him outside? Yes. If you were fair to yourself, which you always strove to be; being early was on time and being on time was considering yourself late. You weren’t looking forward to this dinner, sitting across a table of refined food from a man who was so good looking you felt just a little bit stupid. No, you were just being punctual. Right?

Then again, Jin might not show up at all, even if he did send you that ridiculous text message assuring you that he was already on his way. Assuming that he wouldn’t, you could give it another ten minutes before you went back inside, changed into your favorite pajamas, and settled in for a nice long night of playing Stardew Valley.

Unfortunately all your bucolic hopes and 8-bit dreams were dashed as soon as you saw the cherry red convertible pulling up to your lot. Of course, by this point in your evening you shouldn’t have been surprised that the exceedingly symmetrical Disney prince look-alike also had an expensive car. If he wasn’t even phased by the idea of shelling out for ‘the aesthetic’ it made sense that he would also like to drive fast and live rich.

“Y/N!” The vehicle rolled to a stop, idling as its driver made a quick leap from the front seat just to sweep you up in long arms. You felt the ground disappear from beneath your feet and questioned reality as you gripped broad shoulders so tightly your knuckles turned white. The world spun around you slowly, not fast enough to make you dizzy but noticeable to the point that you didn’t know how you felt about being picked up in the first place.

“Jin, it’s nice to see you again.” You smiled, surprised to realize just how happy you were he did take the time to show up. If nothing else he hadn’t stood you up, and he was so very fun to look at that all you wanted to do was indulge yourself for one night. Especially if that singular night meant ritzy food that you couldn’t actually pronounce on your own.

“You mean it’s wonderful, stunning, amazing, and spectacular to see me again? That’s how I feel about seeing you.” His hands were still settled against your waist, but they were oh so gentle as he set your feet back on the ground. “I was thinking about you all day.”

“That sounds exhausting.” You teased, drawn in by the easy humor he still displayed even after your repeated attempts at dissuading him from showing any interest.

“Not at all, I find every thought of you to be invigorating.” Jin replied sweetly, his soft lips pressed flush to your rounded cheek before he led you straight toward the convertible. “It isn’t every day that I get a chance to see a woman’s thighs in action without being called a pervert.” The joke should have fallen flat, but it didn’t. You were caught off guard as you settled back into the seat and reached for the seatbelt.

“You must have a great poker face if you’re a pervert.” That earned you nothing more than a good natured snort as he pulled away from your apartment complex. The drive itself was short, barely taking more than ten minutes. Altogether, he tried to hold your hand no less than six times. Once the convertible finally pulled into the parking garage you managed to successfully evade his grasping fingers for no reason other than the exasperated and melodramatic wails that filtered past his full lips.

“You’re a heartless woman, Y/N! How can you say no to this face?” The door was already shut behind Jin, and before you could even begin to unbuckle your seatbelt the door to the passenger side was open while your suitor took the time to free you from his vehicle. You found yourself a mere breath away from his face and suddenly realized why every single romance novel was exactly as cheesy as it was.

“Impress me enough and I won’t say no.” You whispered, eyes wide and fixed upon the chocolate and nutmeg brown irises that threatened to overwhelm you. Temptation washed over you, begging you to let your eyes drift downward toward the plump lips curving upward into a knowing smile. Instead, you pulled away and began that short walk toward the seating area.

“Is that a challenge, butterbean?”

“What sort of nickname is that?” You asked, absolutely appalled by the concept of being a butter bean, much less any one specific person’s butter bean.

“My pet name. For you, so long as you’ll let me have it.” Jin purred, his large palm pressing gently and warmly against your lower back as he maneuvered you through the slowly gathering crowd of the early evening diners. If he noticed the shiver his touch sent down your spine he chose not to mention it.

You chose to say nothing as the waitress led you toward a table at the far end of the highest floor. The further you followed the more you questioned just how Jin was able to get this type of reservation on such short notice. The entire restaurant was usually booked out months in advance, and the most exclusive of tables were on the top two floors. By the time you realized you were going -above- the top floor and out onto the roof you felt speechless.

“Right this way, if you please.” The waitress spoke with a heavy accent, one arm out swept toward an enclosed pavilion that reminded you more of a greenhouse than anything else. Fairy lights were strung across the ceiling in a rambling sort of pattern that draped gracefully around the countless flowers filling the room. There was a walkway, but it was surrounded by flowing water with only one bridge that could lead you over the threshold.

“Jin. How?” You were too busy admiring the lush atmosphere, the live quartet playing soft music in the far corner, the sound of the fountain as it burbled and pushed the water through the avenues threaded through the walkway and flowers. The lights, the scents, everything was just this side of too much decadence and opulence. It was perfect.

“Would you believe me if I said I have a few connections?” Jin asked with raised eyebrows. Eventually a table was revealed toward the center of what appeared to be a man made island in a glittering lagoon.

“Well, tell me how to make these connections because this is the manner in which I wish to become accustomed.” You joked, eyes focused on the riot of Peruvian Lilies heaped upon one plate. It came as no surprise when Jin led you directly to the side of the table with the flowers, then proceeded to assist you in sitting down.

“It was all sheer dumb luck, my sweet and precious butter bean.” Your eyelid twitched at the terrible name, but you refused to let it ruin what was otherwise a magnificent night. This restaurant was gorgeous, and you felt like a princess transported into a new and far away realm. The only thing that could make this better would be unlimited dessert. Did Jin have enough money to get you unlimited dessert?

“Would you like to start with a Château Margaux this evening?” The waitress was, apparently, not a waitress for she had all but disappeared and in her place was a seemingly young, also seemingly condescending man who held a bottle of wine over his arm as if it were the most dazzling thing to ever display.

“I suppose that would be fine, Marcus. What else would you suggest?” Jin didn’t sound haughty, necessarily, but he did appear to be a little less concerned with the menu and more interested in staring into your eyes. A point that you promptly avoided by burying your own face in the menu full of letters and words you didn’t quite understand.

“I wouldn’t dare dream of making recommendations to you, Sir.” The bottle of Margaux bobbled, ever so slightly. Jin let out a small, almost imperceptible sigh.

“We’ll have the Pauillac, Château Mouton Rothschild.” Jin replied, his gaze still fixed upon your face as the original bottle vanished, only to be replaced nearly as quickly by the desired red.

“Is the 2005 alright, Sir?” This was met with a nod while Jin’s long fingers slowly but surely wrapped around your own. His smile was for you, though he didn’t completely ignore the man.

“Yes, that will be fine. Pre-fix menu, tonight?” A subtle negative shake of the head, and then a notepad was produced. “Butterbean, my darling, what would you like to have for dinner?”

“If you insist on calling me butterbean it might just be your balls.” You simpered sweetly, smile entirely saccharine as you squeezed his hand as hard as you could. The resulting wince was delicate, though the wink he sent your way was playful.

“It’s an absolute relief to know you aren’t a vegetarian.” His fingers flexed slightly once you released them before he picked up the menu once more.

“Well, I could always eschew meat to spite you.” This suggestion was met with the exact amount of warmth and eagerness you expected. None. The menus were flung to one side of the table as you found your hands clasped in Jin’s fingers once again.

“Butterbean, darling! My wonderful, beautiful, incandescent paragon of virtue!” Your eyes widened slowly but surely with every additional adjective piled onto his sentence. “Don’t break my heart! You’re too great a woman to do such a thing!” By the end of his plea your fingers were intertwined with his and his grasp was so firm that there was no escape.

“We’ll have my usual.” Jin didn’t bother tearing his eyes away from your face, which was almost intimidating even as the waiter cleared the menus from the table. Your erstwhile suitor took this chance to drag his chair closer to yours. Now, instead of sitting across from this broad shouldered adonis, there was barely any space between the two of you. “This is much better, don’t you agree my bean?”

“I will pay you real, actually money to stop calling me that.” You let out between grit teeth. Contrary to your own expectations this man was getting under your skin in the best possible way. He was charming, goofy in a gregarious sort of way that put you at an amused disadvantage.

“You couldn’t pay me enough. Ever.” He hadn’t let go of your hands yet, and merely leaned closer so he could press his face close to yours before performing an exaggerated imitation of a wink. You could feel the echo in your chest as your heart fluttered. Soft was beginning to become an understatement when it came to how you felt about this man. Was that even possible?

“You would force me to resort to blackmail?” Your lips turned downward, plumped into a pout as you failed to extract yourself from his warm grasp.

“I wouldn’t dare to force you into anything.” Seokjin began proudly, his voice carrying as he straightened in his seat. “I am not above letting you ask me to force you though.” Your fingers flexed then, breath catching in your throat at the implication.

“You couldn’t ask me what my favorite color is first?” You did your best to cover your response, though it was hard to tell if Jin was observant enough to catch your behavior.

“I could ask you while you’re breathless and panting beneath me.” The offer came at the exact same time as your appetizers, which caused a distinct flush to warm your cheeks as the waiter set down two plates and multiple dishes. Wine was poured while your eyes drifted firmly to the table in front of you. None of this stopped you from feeling how direct and heated your date’s gaze was as he kept one hand cradled around yours.

“That was blunt.” In all your years of living there wasn’t a single memory of any man wining, dining, and propositioning you so openly and with so much confidence. Then again, there wasn’t any point in which someone as handsome as Seokjin showed any interest in you either. History and experience was enough to tell you this wasn’t adding up.

“You’ve seen me at my worst, bean. I can hardly look any worse so I feel my odds are pretty high for success.” Your hand suddenly felt cold as he plucked his knife up from the table and began buttering some bread. “I know exactly what I want from you. The question is, do you want anything from me?”

You took your time considering this query. The table was filled with various food, most of which looked as if it wouldn’t fit into your calorie count for the day so you reached for the wine glass in front of your plate instead.

“I hardly know you, I doubt I really know what you have to offer in the first-” You paused, eyes widened as you watched your date place little bits of each appetizer on your plate before he ever put a single piece of food on his.

“Yes, my darling butter bean?” Jin’s eyes were wide, nearly sparkling as he smiled at you with all the charm and charisma of a seasoned politician. If he noticed your confusion he didn’t mention it.

“Why did you put food on my plate?” Mortification set in quickly, your hands clasped in your lap beneath the table as you internally questioned every life choice you ever made. Was it just Jin that caused you to ask stupid questions? Or was it the atmosphere?

“It gives me pleasure to do so.” His response was entirely effortless, his attention focused on piling his plate just as high as yours before commencing with a truly astounding performance. His mouth didn’t seem all that big, but somehow he managed to take bites of food that were so large you worried he was intentionally choking himself. The noises that escaped him were an uneven mixture of pornographic and cute. Perhaps you didn’t need to feel embarrassed after all.

“Okay then.” You began to let yourself relax, hoping that tonight’s meal wouldn’t set your goals back too far. Besides, cheat meals were acceptable every now and then, weren’t they?

⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂

“I know it’s cliche but I had a wonderful evening.” Jin’s car was parked in the lot next to your apartment building, his shoulder pressed into the driver’s seat as he leaned further toward your space. “I’m hoping desperately that you’ll allow me to bask in your presence again.” His voice was quiet, gentle and burnished velvet as he nearly whispered.

“This might be a personal question.” You began your response, gaze directed toward your hands as your fingers grasped the seatbelt holding you in place.

“Anything, butter bean, I’ll tell you anything and everything.” His answer was immediate, decisive, and firm.

“Do you have to unhinge your jaw when you fit half a steak in your mouth all at once?” You asked your question, whispering this time so as not to break the hushed atmosphere yourself. He was being entirely too romantic for anyone’s good.

“How is that even personal?” Jin exclaimed, shattering what was once a peaceful and nearly intimate moment. The expression on his face was comical, mouth dropped open and eyes widened in shock as he sputtered. “This is worse than telling me you’re a vegetarian!”

“Oh hardly!” You soothed, grinning as you released the latch on your seatbelt before gathering your purse. “It’s a genuine question as to the mechanics of your jaw. This question is purely for scientific purposes.” You barely touched the door handle before Jin was out of the vehicle and making his way to your side of the car.

“Science, you say?” That soft tone was back, though it clearly carried an undertone of heat to it. “You know the best way to find out is through experience.” He held the door open, his free hand waiting for you to take with his palm held up.

“I’m not even wearing pants, how are you trying to get into them?” With your hand clasped in his, the two of you ambled slowly toward the entrance to your apartment building. You were surprised at how comfortable you felt in Jin’s presence, even if he did insist on calling you butter bean.

“Never underestimate the power of your beauty, Y/N.” Oh. This was unexpected. What were you supposed to say to that? Was this man even real? Obviously he was, but could you really believe what you were hearing and seeing?

Thankfully you were saved from responding by the front door of your apartment. The two of you lingered in front of the steps, the beginnings of an awkward silence beginning to build. One breath, two, and then you opened your mouth to speak.

“I had a great time too.” You mumbled, uncertain now that you were in entirely uncharted territory. You had been on dates before, but never really interested in going on another with the same person.

“Does that mean I can cook for you next time? Or should I resign myself to only being allowed to see you as we suffer the agonies of my cousin’s training programs?” Something akin to mortification settled in your chest at the idea of Seokjin seeing you sprawled out huffing and puffing with a shining, sweating face once more. You would have to switch your sessions if you wanted to maintain any sense of romance.

“Ah, I think I might actually switch my gym schedule.” You hesitated, frowning at the thought before you continued. “When’s a good time for you? For dinner, I mean.” Somehow you felt an absolute sense of shyness take over you. Coupled with the butterflies filling your chest the only explanation was an oncoming heart attack, right?

“And deny me the satisfaction of suffering with you?” Jin’s hand immediately clapped to his chest, fingers spread as he took on a truly legendary pout. This man should have been an actor. He was making it nearly impossible to deny him at this rate.

“Give me one good reason not to.” Your last ditch attempt at maintaining your distance was a good one, or so you thought while the two of you stood in the cool evening breeze. Your door was just a few steps away, your humble yet cozy apartment just beyond a few locks and stairs.

“Will this be good enough?” Jin’s face hovered barely more than a breath away from yours, chocolate eyes centered on your face as his hands traced up over your arms toward your shoulders. You’d barely opened your mouth to ask him what he meant by the time his plush lips made contact with yours.

At first, you didn’t know how to respond. The kiss itself was unexpected, then the soft sound building and releasing in his throat was even more surprising until you felt his fingers threading through the strands of your hair. After that you discovered this was not a one-sided activity. Your arms wound around his shoulders while your head slanted to one side so you could deepen the connection. It wasn’t until he pulled away that you realized both of you were out of breath.

“So, my precious butter bean, did I give you what you wanted?”

#Fanfic #Kim Seokjin #BTS #Reader X Seokjin #Jin

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yurtletheturtlehenderson · 4 years

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S.T. REWRITE - S2:E7; Chapter Seven, The Lost Sister - [Pt. 4]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

In their search for answers, psychic visions draw Eleven and Y/n to a band of violent outcasts and an angry girl with a shadowy past.

A/n: lots of flashbacks my dudes, sorry. Kinda messy since it happens at the same time as the back to back moment with reader so apologies if it's funky.

||3rd Person POV||

"It's me."

The world is black, but the familiar voice rings out like a beacon in the void. She can't remember entering, so she wonders why she is here. In the distance, Jane can see the all too familiar wooden table and the ham radio that sits atop the adjoining stack of trunks. The tiny lamp that rests on the wooden table provides a soft homey light that blankets the otherwise dark and cold void.

"I know that I've been gone too long, and uh..." It's Hopper, her policeman. "I just want you to know that it's not because of you. And it's not because of our fight."

Jane finds herself being pulled towards the machine, the soft pitter-patter of her feet against the pool of water provides white noise other than Hopper's shaky voice echoing through the radio. It's garbled, and it has the usual static form the machine, but she can sense his emotion. The lump in his throat.

"Something came up, and, uh, I'll explain everything soon. I just, um... I want you to know that I'm not-- I'm not mad at you. I..."

She can feel a lump of her own forming in her throat as she waits for the words, they are almost here and she stands patiently. She is breathing heavily, trying not to cry and that is when the words come.

"I'm just sorry."

She feels a hand grab her shoulder and her eyes rip open.

"It's okay." Kali soothes. "It's only me."

Jane sighs, and sits up slightly.

"Bad dream?"

Jane only closes her eyes, trying to will away the sleep plaguing them. Her gaze wanders to the empty spot next to her, and she looks to Kali who caught her gaze.

"It seems your friend has left."

Jane only stews at the spot Y/n once was and huffs, before banishing her from her mind.

"What time is it?"

Kali smiles at her response.

"It's late. You slept well. Come. It's time you meet my friends. Properly this time."

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Jane follows Kali eagerly throughout the warehouse, she had slept in her overalls and having gotten used to the temperature she had slipped on her jacket. She was being led to a new area she hadn't seen yet when the man with the crazy hair stepped into view with a small folded white box and two wooden sticks.

"We need more money, Kal," he says. "I can't keep eating this garbage."

"This is Axel," Kali states, leading into the room full of her friends.

"The spider hater?" Jane asks, eliciting several chuckles around the room.

"Yes," Kali says with a smile. "The spider hater."

She gestures to the crazy looking girl that with the large bow in her hair, she smiled as she twisted a lock of her oddly colored hair.

"This is Dottie, our newest. Like you, she just left home."

"You mean the loony bin." Axel shot, taking a swig from a white can.

"Mick," Kali gestures, to the woman in green with dark cloud-like hair. "our eyes, our protector."

She then looks to the large, seeming bald man with one long braid trailing from the back of his head. He smiles, stepping forward.

"This is Funshine, our warrior," Kali informs as Jane steps forward to greet him. "Don't let his size frighten you. Like I said, Fun's a teddy bear."

"Nice to meet you, Miss Jane." He says, holding out his hand.

Jane takes his hand, turning it over to find a blank wrist.

"If you're looking for a number, you won't find one," Kali informs, crossing over and taking a seat at the table.

"They're not like us," Jane says, in realization.

She releases the man's hand and goes to stand at the head of the table.

"No, not in that way." Kali answers. "But like us, they're outcasts."

"Outcasts?"

"Freaks," Axel says shortly.

Dottie scoffs. "Speak for yourself."

"Society left them behind, hurt them, discarded them," Kali explains.

Funshine speaks out, his voice is somber as he fiddles with his hands.

"We were dead, all of us. Kali saved us. Here," He pointed to his mind, and then to his heart. "And here."

"Don't get all mushy on us now, Fun."

"No, not mushy. True."

"Now we help her," Mick says.

Axel leans forward, his beer can in hand.

"In this life, kid, you roll over or you fight back."

"We're all fighters here." Mick finished.

"Fight who?" Jane asks, intrigued.

||Reader's POV||

I wince as the bus hits yet another bump, my head resting against the glass bumps against the windowpane once more. I tear my eyes away from the blurry green scenery of the trees we pass to check my watch for the umpteenth time, twelve twenty-five. We just left Illinois, but I still have a way to go. I'm thankful El still had money left over from Becky's, of course, I curse myself at the memory.

Mom is probably freaking out right now, I'm sure by now she's gotten word from chief Hopper. I don't what I'm going to do. I don't know how I'll possibly explain this.

Maybe I can say I was looking for Mews? No, that wouldn't work. For several reasons. I already told Dustin that I was at Will's and besides, I was reported as a possible runaway while on a secret trip with El. And no one was supposed to know about her.

Yeah, Mom's gonna flip.

And my fight with El keeps playing over and over in my mind, twisting my chest and stomach into uncomfortable knots. Everything about it left a sour taste on my tongue.

How could she say those things? How could she not see that I was looking out for her? Part of me wishes I could have just left in the middle of the night and never told her. Left without a word. Like she probably would have done to me.

The trees begin to slow, and an odd popping elicits from the back of the bus. It turns many heads including my own, and I spot the driver near the front. I see his face from the wide mirror overhead and it's clouded with worry and frustration.

Just as I feared, the bus grew slower and eventually pulled off to the side. Murmurs broke out all along the bus after the driver announces the issues with the bus. I wish I had taken a seat closer to the front as all the people around me have burst into angry complaints and I can't hear a word the driver is saying.

"Four hours? I need to get home to feed my dog!"

"My babysitter is off the clock soon, I can't wait that long!"

Four hours until we're back on the road? I can't wait that long either. I'm far too restless and I don't care if I have to walk. I am surprisingly restless given the amount I have exerted myself in the past twenty-four hours, and there is no way to tell if it is from some cleansing after effect or my fight with El but I need to move. I take a moment to kneel on my seat, and I glance out along the street studying my surroundings. Lucky for me, I recognize this spot, I'm not far from Becky's house. Which means I'm just on the edge of Hawkins.

I can walk that far.

And I'm fairly certain I wouldn't be able to afford a ride that went any further. Instead, I rose from my seat and slipped out the front. For all I know, it just might take me four hours to get home, but at least I'll be home by then.

||3rd Person POV||

Kali empties the box's contents onto the counter, dozens of badges, ID's and various records of previous or current employees at Hawkins Lab.

"Everyone you see here was in some way responsible for what happened to us," Kali informs, her team standing behind her.

Jane stands across the table from her, she picks a laminated card from the bunch to examine. She looks to her counterpart and raises a brow, her interest peaked.

"You hurt the bad men?"

Dottie makes a face, shaking her head.

"No," she says, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "We just give 'em a pat on the back."

[FLASHBACK]

A van screeches to a stop outside an undisclosed apartment building. Five masked figures exit the vehicle and storm the building. There is a knock on one apartment door, a confused man opens it only to be met with a bullet to the head.

[END OF FLASHBACK]

"You kill them?" Jane asks.

"They're criminals." Kali days simply, shrugging. "We simply make them pay for their crimes."

《•••》

Kali is seated in the passenger seat, her eyes closed and her hand raises to eye level. The van is racing at tops speeds as the police ride their tail as they enter a tunnel. With her full attention, and a sly smirk she whispers.

"Boom."

The cement ceiling of the tunnel explodes, debris falling and blocking the tunnel. The police cars swerve to miss the avalanche of rock.

《•••》

Jane examines the badge further, and it isn't until this has been explained does she realize the badge is sprinkled in splattered of blood.

"Damn, Shirley," says Axel teasingly. "What's the matter? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Jane tears her eyes away to glare at the spider hater with the crazy hair. She notices that each of Kali's companions are smirking at her in a similar matter. Dottie merely shifts her weight to one foot and tilts her head, speaking sluggishly.

"We can't all be fighters, I guess." She sighs.

"I'm a fighter." Jane corrects. "I've killed."

《•••》

The second man spared a second to look before turning to her to try and restrain her.

Before he could even step foot in the room, he was dead on the floor, his neck snapped. All with the flick of her head.

•••

El stands at attention, she gravitates towards the front protectively in front of her four friends. The bad men surrounding them freeze and she tilts her head, her attention laser-focused on each and every one of the soldiers. They begin to twitch and squirm, and as her nose begins to bleed so do their eyes. A horrible squelching sound echoes throughout the hallway as the lights flicker violently and they each drop like flies, blood pouring out of their eyes, nose, ears, and mouths. Eleven had squeezed their brains like grapes.

《•••》

"Did these men you killed," Kali asks. "did they deserve it?"

Jane nods confidently.

"They hurt me."

《•••》

Eleven struggles to break free from the men's hold as they carry her by her arms down, back into the room.

Sobs track her body as she uses all her strength to turn and look back at Papa.

"Papa!" He steps out into the hallway and remains standing, doing nothing to help her, yet she still calls for him.

《•••》

"And they still want to hurt you," Kali presses. "To hurt us. We're just making the first move."

Kali nods her head, gesturing to the doors.

"Come."

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Kali and Jane break off from the others as Kali shows her outside. They walk for a short while, Jane once again finds herself taking in her surroundings as her friend explains. By now they had found themselves a great fair distance from the warehouse and they wander through a scrapyard of boxes, abandoned shelves, and steel shipment containers.

"I was just like you once," Kali says. "I kept my anger inside. I tried to hide from it, but then that pain festered."

"Festered?"

Kali comes to a stop and looks sadly to Jane unable to meet her eye immediately as she is forced to relive the memories.

"It spread. Until finally I confronted my pain, and I began to heal." She said, her voice growing excited before she continued on through the scrapyard.

Jane did not follow immediately, she almost felt stuck as those words echoed in her mind. She knew what Kali spoke of all too well.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Y/n ducks under yet another low hanging branch, her hand gently pushing it away. The pads of her heels had begun to sting but she presses on. Despite the long trek behind, and before her, she has yet to regret her decision to go on foot. Much to her great delight and surprise, she finds that she is not as tired as she typically might have been. Only minutes after her departure, when she was safely out of sight of the bus and its impatient passengers did she drift off into the woods where she would not be as easily seen.

And though she is hidden well within the trees, the wind manages to snake within the trunks and whips against her clothes and the exposed skin on her neck and hands. She feels the damp earth sink beneath her shoes and she is thankful her shoes were able to dry faster than her clothes - the one thing she successfully managed to dry with the aid of her abilities.

She realizes with a dry laugh that she has once again left without her clothes but she does not care anymore. Once again her mind drifts to her last conversation with El.

Jane, she reminds herself bitterly.

Y/n has given it much thought and she had admitted to herself she had assumed that El had used that name do draw less suspicion. It hadn't quite dawned on Y/n that she truly did want to assume that part of her identity and she feels a twinge of guilt. But she can't ignore the itch of it all, something nagging at her that something about that was off. It just didn't seem like the same person, but Y/n dismissed the thought and was able to admit to herself that she was in the wrong on that front.

But that didn't mean her feelings weren't still hurt. El- Jane, had completely tossed her aside the minute she laid eyes on Kali. Y/n could still hear - and see - that exchange all took well.

Sister.

It brought another pang of jealousy to her heart as she so desperately longed for such a connection. Y/n, of course, loved her bother and friends with all her heart, but her whole life she had longed for such an iron-clad bond with another girl. And she supposed she had that with Jane. But it seems it was one-sided.

Quickly, Y/n shakes the thought from her head. She was not partial to thinking about that night, that night had hurt her deeply and it would only exhaust her.

She focuses her eyes on the ground before her, watching her step as she navigates the uneven terrain hidden under layers fallen leaves when she noticed something. A very simple thing that would most likely go unnoticed by any other being, or even her if it were any other given moment. Y/n saw a flurry of leaves swept up in the wind, moving across the landscape like a wave crashing in the ocean. And much like many other times in her life, something so simple triggers a memory in her brain like a feeling triggers the memory of a forgotten dream.

The details, not only what it looked like but what it felt like, of the phenomenon of what she had experienced the night before. Not her fight with her friend, or the scary adventure that led her to the other side of Hawkins and all the way to Chicago, but the explosion in the old train yard. And while it had not quite been forgotten, merely set aside in the unfurling events of her split with Jane, remembering the event felt silly. What a catastrophic thing to have forgotten.

Perhaps it wouldn't be the worst idea to practice, she thought.

She was all alone after all, she was out of sight and far away enough from the road where she couldn't be caught. She knew not to strain herself of course, given the long walk ahead of her. But she was rather bored and she figured she'd never really get another opportunity like this. After all, she couldn't quite practice this in her room.

In the end, temptation - and boredom - won, and she gave a quick sweep of the area before she settled in one spot. Worried of the potential exhaustion she was in fact risking, she figured she could rest for ten or twenty minutes or so. This also allowed her feet a small break. She found a small gap in the trees, a long stretch of open space where she wouldn't risk a fire hazard on any of the tree trunks.

Y/n finds her focus driven on the path of damp leaves before her. Her hands outstretched and with all her might she pictures the path before her blown away into a small ditch in between the long stretching gap between the trees. The forest still smelled of rain and even the trunks around her were still a bit damp, though she did want to risk it. The wet sludge of fallen leaves before her was her goal and she planted her feet preparing herself.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Kali's heels hit the pavement as she jumps off the platform, Jane's sneaker-clad feet soon follow. Kali strides across the damp pavement and she turns to face the clearing as Jane joins her side.

"You see that train?" She asks, gesturing towards the large abandoned car.

"Yes."

"I want you to draw it towards us,"

Jane looks at Kali with unease, and Kalie gives her a sly smirk. Jane takes a breath but looks back at the train. She raises her hand, her mind focusing on the train and the surface around it. She can feel her mind strain and her hand trembles violently and all that comes to show for her efforts is the faint sound of metal creaking, and slight separation of the cart from its wheels.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

The wind had died down but still few leaves moved under her control. The signature blur emits from Y/n's hand, it reminded her of heat reflecting off concrete on a hot summer day. She felt herself smiling over the feat, but it quickly died out as her ability did. It quickly fizzled out and she felt a great strain on her body, and she sighed collecting her breath.

Something wasn't right. This wasn't how it went.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"I can't," Jane pants, hands on her knees collecting her breath.

"Last night you told me you lifted a van once."

《•••》

Her vision locks onto the van barreling towards her and her friends, and she scowls. With one flick of her head, the van flies through the air and over their heads.

《•••》

"Yes."

"The bad men were trying to take you away again, and that made you angry."

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Y/n's mind flips through her memories, every experience she has had with her powers and her mind lands on the scene from the night she always chose to forget. The night they almost took her.

《•••》

A violent scream erupted from the young girl's throat, a scream that pierced even her own ears and ripped her throat raw.

A powerful force of energy exploded off of Y/n swept across the hallway mowed down everyone, including the man holding who had been holding her hostage. Most of the men were knocked into the concrete walls and slid down to the floor unconscious, blood dripping from their heads.

Y/n landed on her knees, Eleven only about a foot away who had miraculously avoided the line of energy while on the ground.

Panting, she looks up to the man several feet away, laying on his back slowly coming to, and with all the remaining courage and energy she can muster, she slowly rises to her feet, breathing harder, her fists clenched and eyes filled with rage.

《•••》

Anger. Anger was the common factor of every incident she realizes suddenly. This had been the first time she had allowed herself to dwell on the memories of that night. Ever since it had been much too painful to revisit and she never bothered. And yet all this time she had wasted, trying to figure out her powers, figure out herself, and she had been ignoring the answer.

And for the first time, she thinks not of the people she's hurt. But the comes who have hurt her.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"Good. So, find that anger, focus on that, not the train, not its weight."

She raises her hand once more, and with a deep breath preparing herself for the task at hand. Not the boundaries she is preparing to test, but unlocking her heart and mind to the floodgates of bitter memories and untapped anger waiting to be unleashed.

"I want you to find something from your life. Something that angers you."

《•••》

The friend Y/n trusted most in the entire world, turned on her. Undeniable hatred and disgust in eyes instead of a loving gaze.

"Get out," Will seethes.

"What-?"

"I said, get out!" He hissed.

Y/n flinches at his tone, and backs away fighting tears and struggling to hide the hurt in her eyes.

"GET THE HELL OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

《•••》

"Now channel it."

The girl's hand trembles and the ground begins to shake as she unlocks this side of herself. the gates are opening, the gates to her full potential. She is strained but unwavering as she watches in glee as she moves the world around her.

"Dig deeper. Your whole life you've been lied to..."

《•••》

'THE MISSING EXPERIMENT'

Y/n gazed at the folder in shock, looking to her sleeping friend with fire in her eyes.

She had this with her the entire trip. And not once did she share it with her. Every file, every news clipping, every theory on her life that almost was. On her. And she was the last to see it.

《•••》

Anger rises to the surface, it is now all the girl can feel. At this moment in time, all she knows is white-hot rage and it is powerful enough to break the world. She is powerful enough.

"...imprisoned."

《•••》

Y/n loses the ability to speak when the man's eyes meet the agent holding her back. With one simple gesture, she is torn away from her brother and friends and straight into the man's clutches.

"What- what are you doing?" She cries, continuing to fight and kick against the steel hold.

An overwhelming storm of panic and frustration takes over and she begins to hyperventilate.

Instinctively, she struggles to turn in the agent's grasp to meet her brother's anxious and fearful eye and cries out to him.

"Dustin? Dustin!" She shrieks.

Her brother's desperate calls for her break her heart, but it turns to fire when she hears the man's voice.

"Y/n, don't fight it. You belong with us. We are your true home. Come home to us, Nine"

《•••》

She can feel her jaw clench, her muscles tense as she focuses all her energy - all her anger on the target before her.

"The bad men took away your home, you're mother,"

《•••》

"She was pretty." She began, smiling sadly. "She had [h/l] [h/t] [h/c] hair. And [s/c] skin. She was [y/h]."

•••

"She disappeared... Bang" El said slowly, a saddened frown forming on her face. "Gone."

•••

"So, my mom? She's...?" Y/n took a deep breath and swallowed the lump in her throat and El nodded.

《•••》

Her whole body began to shake, a raw and forceful screaming tearing from her throat and piercing the cold autumn air. It was only a small fraction of her emotions, only a mere glimpse of a wild hurricane bursting forth from within her as her powers unleashed.

"They took everything from you."

《•••》

But then she saw it. The small, lifeless body. He was wearing the same red vest he wore on that night. She was speechless. Hot tears streaked down her cheeks and she forgot how to breathe. She collapsed into Lucas's arms, his own grip weak and shaky, and she buried her wet face in his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her tightly, a lifeline of his own as he witnessed the horrible sight.

"It's Will. It's really Will." Lucas croaked, unable to speak above a harsh whisper.

Y/n felt tears fall on her head, telling her that Lucas had started crying as well.

The noise she made was incoherent. She let out a painful wail and tore herself away from Lucas's embrace when she gathered enough strength.

"Will? Will!" She cried.

Lucas and Dustin pulled her back. She fought and screamed, her throat aching from the strain. All previous worries of being spotted were forgotten, wanting nothing more than to be by his side. She wanted to be with him. To see if it was really true. But she was too weak. Defeat set in and she went limp, collapsing onto the ground and hugged her knees. She buried her tear-stained cheeks in her knees and hid from the cruel world that took such a loving soul from her. She rocked back and forth trying desperately to convince herself that this was a nightmare.

•••

And it had been. Not even a week later had she learned his body was a fake. The bad men lied. To her. To his family. To everyone. They stole him away and they didn't care who they hurt.

《•••》

Blood dripped from her nose, spidery veins spread across her face and hands. The violent force of power overtook the world and her body but it felt fantastic. She felt truly free for the first time in her life.

"They stole your life, Jane"

The final and most forceful burst of anger comes forth, the final push she had been waiting for. The scream echoes and rings throughout the air long after she silences, and she collapses to the ground as exhaustion overtakes her.

She had done it.

Before her, a long deep trench stretches on for several feet. Y/n had uncovered not only the thick layer of damped leaves but several layers of earth creating a lengthy ditch where the earth had been carved. Raining down from the air were the discarded leaves raining down from the heavens like bright golden confetti celebrating her accomplishment. Y/n smiled despite her exhaustion, her hands on knees the palm of her hands still hot to the touch.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Jane collapses to her knees, gasping for breath and gazes at the train before her in disbelief. Distant cheers erupted in the distance and she looked to find Mick, Fusnshine, Dottie and Axel jumping, hooting and hollering.

"WAY TO GO JANE!"

She doesn't fight the smile that sneaks up on her and Kali kneels beside her, smirking.

"How do you feel?"

Jane nods, her smirk turning sly and confident.

"Good."

+++

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