#a friend was telling me about a website he used to find a therapist a few weeks ago and i've forgotten what it was called | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whumpingcrow · 2 years

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Pt.30 “On the Flip-Side”

Authors note: Wow. It is over. The final chapter. I have no words. (Spoiler alert: I'm lying. I have plenty of words. I could talk for an eternity if i was allowed.) I've been building this story and its characters in my head for literally years, and it all comes to an end with this. I want to give a very very huge thanks to the whump community: for so long I felt like I was going crazy because I was obsessing over this really beautiful and tragic and honestly personally healing idea and I felt like it was some dirty secret that would never see the light of day. Thank you for giving me a place to share this, thank you for welcoming these characters I hold so so dearly and appreciating them as much as I do. (any and all love I recieved on any of my work makes me seriously elated and I go back and read through every comment, reblog, and tag every day because it makes me so happy to see my little imaginary people and stories making others feel something, it's truly so incredible and I am so grateful.) ANYWAY, onto the pain lolol! This chapter is as graphic as it is long (15k words, like 27 pages on docs, buckle up!) and in the interest of not giving away the ending, I want to be a little vague in the content warning. However, it's important to me that people are consuming this media with as much safety as possible, so I do want to reiterate that this is an 18+ story, and that there are very heavy and disturbing topics and situations described in detail throughout it. This chapter specifically dives into Elias's trauma around dying and includes a major character death (among other things), so please please read with caution. Much love. -Crow <3

Cw: Therapy, tics/tourrettes, ptsd/trauma recovery, photo/video whump, discussion of leaked whumpy content, past torture, past noncon, vague discussion of self harm, panic attack(s), insomnia whump, nightmares, drugs/alcohol use, blood/gore/violence (graphic), intimate/possesive whumper, derealization, knives, discussion of guns, discussion of murder, character death (GRAPHIC), head trauma, blood loss, police mention, ambulance/hospital setting, medical whump, discussion of foster care/parental issues, discussion of scars, fluff (but only a little, as a treat) (Let me know if I missed anything!)

Speaking to his therapist doesn’t make Elias feel much better. He tells Angela about the party and Sophie Anders, he tells her that he would be perfectly content never having to step foot outside the cabin again, knowing that so many people, including those he sees as friends, have now seen him in that horrendously vulnerable way: tied up and mutilated and begging for reprieve. He tells her that he’s embarrassed, he tells her he’s scared of everyone now, especially after seeing some of the off-putting, lewd comments about him on some of Sophie’s videos where she includes the evidence she had bragged to him about. Elias admits that he feels like a hideous, less-than-human, piece of shit again, and he has ever since he heard Sophie dramatically warn her viewers about the “graphic and disturbing content” he was the star of. He does not tell her that, after he watched a few of Sophie’s videos, he had found people giving out the website that all of these pictures and videos were originally posted to, and he spent hours looking through everything he could find about himself. He also avoids telling her that he feels betrayed, he was stupid enough to believe that August viewed all of his polaroids, film camera footage, and even what he had on his phone, in the same intimate way Elias did. It was sick, sure, but it was just between the two of them, and that had made it a little easier to swallow at some point. He says nothing about how disgusted he is in himself for even thinking that way before finding it all online.

Angela, as she always has been, is full of helpful advice and encouraging words, but Elias finds himself unconvinced when she promises that this does not erase the progress he’s made. It’s hard to believe her when, in the three days between the party and finally getting to talk to her, he’s only gotten about 8 hours of sleep around his worsening nightmares, apart from coming to her office he hasn’t been able to leave the house, and he’s been getting high so often he has a steady migraine and spends most of his time distant and zoned out. And that’s just what he’s willing to be honest about, he neglects to tell her that he is constantly thinking about blood, how the images of him hurting just won’t get out of his head, how he’s so anxious he’ll hurt himself that he can’t even eat.

He also lies to her, right to her face, about how he knows that August won’t still come after him, when he mentions that. He didn’t expect it to lead to a discussion, it was just a passing comment he’d made, something like, “I don’t know why I’m so afraid again when I don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

Angela pauses when she hears that, she reaches up and adjusts the loose cardigan around her shoulders, fixes the silver chain she wears. Elias’s own throat itches at the sight of the jewelry. He thought he was over that feeling, the feeling of wanting to peel himself out of his skin at the mere thought of something looping around his throat, hanging there, maybe squeezing, maybe strangling, and yet, even watching his therapist adjust her own harmless necklace makes him wrap his arms protectively around his torso and start tapping his foot.

“You don’t have to worry about him anymore?” She repeats, tilting her head forward so she can look at him over the rim of her glasses. “Tell me what that’s all about.”

Elias has been to therapy before. He has talked to therapists and psychiatrists and social workers more than all of the friends he’s ever had. He knows, and Angela reminded him of this during their first session, that as long as no one has been or is in danger, everything they talk about stays in this room, hovering over the fuzzy orange carpet in between them and remaining secretively tucked away in her notes. And because of that, he can’t tell Angela that, as far as Elias knows, August is probably dead in a shitty motel in LA. He doesn’t know what Angela would consider ‘danger’, but he’s pretty sure admitting to having committed a murder (two now, but he hadn’t told her about Sawyer, either) would be enough to send her sprinting to report all of their sessions to the police. So instead, Elias lies to her.

“Last time I saw him, I think I heard sirens-fucking shit - as we were leaving.” He rubs his eyes tiredly, takes a deep breath. “I like to imagine that the cops really got him, you know? I..I guess it just helps to believe that…that he’s not gonna find me this time.” He looks away from her, glances out the window to his left. He finds comfort in the sturdy evergreens just outside. For the first time all session, he is wholly honest with her. “I just want to believe I finally got away. For good. I want to believe that it’s over.”

“That’s understandable, I can see why that would make you less worried.” She writes something down, Elias has always hated these people finding anything noteworthy about him, jotting down whatever they’re finding wrong with him, he hates it even more when Angela looks over the notes and sighs to herself. “You know you can’t base your life around him forever though, right?”

“What…?” Elias mumbles. “I don’t do that. I hardly…I usually don’t even really th-think of him anymore.” He lies again, because he does think about August. Elias never truthfully stopped being afraid of him or remembering what he did to him, he just learned how to live his life anyway, despite all the memories and the fear.

“You can think about him, Elias. Thinking of him is inevitable. I just want you to know that you should heal and live your life according to you. Wherever he is, whatever he’s doing, you have to heal regardless.” She takes in his posture, how he’s practically guarding himself, how tense his shoulders are, and she sighs again. Elias wishes she would stop sighing at him like this is all stressing her out, doesn’t she know how hard it was to let Tyson drive him here? Doesn’t she know that she’s supposed to be making him feel better, and her being stressed out is making the entire ordeal so much worse for him? “Look, there’s a possibility that you'll never see him again. You could be right about him being in prison, and you could potentially live your life completely free of him.”

Elias glances at the door to her office, he knows Tyson is in the waiting room just down the hall, in fact he had promised Elias when he was called back that he would be in the same place when Elias was finished. He suddenly feels incredibly uneasy about being away from him, he wants this appointment to be over already. He wishes he didn’t come in the first place.

“There’s also the possibility that-”

“Don’t.” Elias stops her, shaking his head. “Don’t say th-that he’ll come back.”

“That isn’t what I’m saying, Elias. There’s a chance that he will be a part of your life in one way or another for a long time. This whole situation proves that. It’s important that you don’t use his presence, or lack of presence, as a baseline for your healing.”

Elias is silent at that, he won’t even look at Angela anymore, and he cringes when she sighs again. If he wasn’t so tired, and if he was being completely honest today, he might tell her that she wouldn’t say that if she really knew August. He might tell her that August is an insidious parasite that buried himself into every crevice of Elias’s brain, that he will never be able to fully move past the training and the torture and the manipulation. Maybe then she would understand what Elias is coming to find out: healing is just not something he can achieve, it’s all about survival now.

“Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”

“Yeah.” He mutters. “Can…can we be done now? Please? I-I’m tired, I wanna go back home.”

Angela huffs, she checks her watch, and then she nods at Elias. “Sure. I’ll see you next week, right?”

Elias nods as he stands up, he leaves her office like it’s on fire.

Tyson isn’t in the waiting room when Elias turns the corner, and the already disheartening anxiety he has from talking about August swells quickly to an unbearable panic. There were tears in his eyes from the time his hand was on the doorknob of Angela’s office, and they threaten to fall when Elias finds a waiting room full of unfamiliar faces. A few of them look up at him, glance away or allow their stares to linger a little longer. He wonders if any of the people here have seen his videos, if any of them have heard him beg before. Elias starts ticcing, and knowing that Tyson would make that a little easier by just being around makes the fact that he’s not that much worse. Before he can embarrass himself further, he heads for the door, stumbling out of the building in a flurry of tears and curses.

Tyson’s car hasn’t moved, and Elias practically sprints across the asphalt parking lot to get to it. It’s empty, Tyson isn’t waiting for him in the driver's seat, and a desperate jiggle of the handle proves that the doors are still locked. Without warning, everything seems to suddenly crash down on top of him; he’s so god damn sleep deprived he can’t even tell if this is happening, he doesn’t know when he last had a proper meal, he’s disgusting, he’s all over the internet, he has so many scars he wants to crawl out of his skin and start over fresh, he killed August, he’s a monster, Tyson is gone, Tyson is gone, Tyson is gone… He tries desperately to convince himself that there’s no way August came back and got his hands on Tyson, but after hearing his name and thinking about the last time he saw him, how much pain he was in, how much pain Elias put him in, paranoia jolts through every centimeter of his skin. Elias starts to cry, covering his face and sobbing into the sleeves of Tyson’s borrowed hoodie. Trying to inhale through the cloth doesn’t help the breathlessness from the anxiety, and the realization sparks an overwhelming urge to suffocate himself with the sleeves, right there in the parking lot of his therapist's office. He almost finds humor in the idea, but not enough to stop him from crying.

“Eli, hey,” he looks up to see Tyson crossing the parking lot towards him, phone in hand, “I didn’t realize you finished, why did you not stay the whole hour-?”

“Where the fuck were y-you!?” Elias shouts at him, stepping away from the car to meet him in the middle of the lot.

Tyson flinches at his outburst, shakes his head to himself. He points down at the phone in his hand as if that holds the entire explanation. “I…had to answer a phone call, are you ok-?”

“You said you wo-would be there! I was worried, you fucking said you would be - fuck! - you said-”

Tyson steps toward him, he tucks his phone into his pocket as he does. “I know, you finished earlier than I thought, it wasn’t-“

“No! You promised! You fucking promised, you s-said that you would b-be waiting for me in there!” Tyson is silent now, staring down at Elias’s tear stained, angry face. “You can’t do that to m-me, Tyson. I-I looked so dumb in there. You don’t understand how bad I…you can’t just fucking-”

“You’re right, Eli. You’re right, I’m sorry.” Tyson reaches out a hand, hovering over his shoulder like he’s waiting for permission to touch him. “I’m so sorry, baby, I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

With a weak sniffle, Elias leans into Tyson’s hand, immediately grounded by the familiar tender way Tyson’s fingers massage into his shoulder, over his collarbone. The anger melts away with the simple touch, with the realization that Tyson is ok, that he’s here, that the nightmare isn’t starting all over again. Elias falls forward, right against his chest, burying his face in his clothes and looping his arms around his waist.

“I was so scared.” He mumbles, voice muffled through Tyson’s thick jacket. Tyson envelops him entirely, presses his lips into Elias’s admittedly knotted and messy hair. “I thought…Angela said that Aug…I was just scared that maybe he-”

“No, baby, I’m right here. That’s all over now, alright?” He pulls off of Elias, takes his face in his hands and swipes at a tear sliding down his cheek. “I am right here with you, and I am safe and so are you, and all of that shit is over.”

“I’m sorry,” Elias whines, and Tyson chuckles wryly at the apology.

“What for this time?” He jokes. Elias scoffs, shakes his head a little.

“Ye-yelling at you. And…and like, cussing you out in public…” he shuffles away from Tyson, and there’s no sense of being trapped or pressure to stay suffocatingly close, his arms fall easily to his sides and he stays where he is. “That was mean.”

Tyson shrugs, fishes his keys out of his pocket. “It wasn’t ‘mean’, I told you I would wait for you and I didn’t,” he unlocks the doors, “you’re allowed to be mad at me.” He steps around Elias, opens the passenger door for him, and offers up a reassuring grin as he timidly gets into the car.

Tyson doesn’t ask Elias to explain anything once they’re on the road, he flicks on the stereo to the CD that’s already loaded up, turning it to a track he knows Elias likes. He offers an open palm that Elias can choose to lace his fingers into, and he chooses to without hesitation. He doesn’t scold Elias for chewing at his nails anxiously as he watches the trees pass out the window. The entire song plays out, and in the few seconds of silence it takes for the next one to start, Elias looks over and mumbles out a soft, “Hey, Ty?”

“Yes, love?” He answers just a little over-eagerly. Sometimes, when Tyson does something like that, it only reminds Elias of his optimism, his good natured view on almost everything, and it makes him feel like he’s ruining Tyson’s life just by being around him.

“U-um…I just want to make sure that…well, I found a lot of pictures and v-videos of myself. Like, a lot. And I just want to…I just don’t want you to think differently of me i-if you see any of them.” He looks up to see Tyson’s jaw clenched hard, his stare focused on the road ahead of him.

“Why do you think I would think differently of you?” He says timidly, he’s avoiding looking at him now, Elias can tell, but he can’t quite decipher why.

“Cause they…cause in some of them it seems like I’m…”

“You like that, don’t you Bunny? You can scream and cry all you want, I know just how you like it.”

“It’s j-just that, u-um..” He tries shaking his head to get August’s voice to go away, it doesn’t do much to help. He can still practically feel his lips against his ear, telling him that he was doing well taking a punishment, or that he was behaving beautifully by not fighting August tooth and nail. He hadn’t thought of it at the time, but now his submission feels like betrayal to Tyson, and he hates himself for it. He almost can’t choke out his next few sentences around his building tears. “I d-didn’t like it, Tyson. I- fuck! - I was just trying to s-survive. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“I know that, baby,” Tyson’s voice is soft to try to counter the hysteria creeping back into Elias’s demeanor, “I could never hold anything that he did against you. I know August, I’ve..I’ve seen him…you were protecting yourself, Eli. N-nobody else did so you were doing it the only way you knew how, I could never blame you for that.”

“Pl-please just, don’t watch any of them, ok?” Elias gives Tyson’s hand a quick squeeze, followed by a more desperate one after Tyson doesn't respond to him. He’s still staring straight ahead with his shoulders tense and his hand gripping the wheel tightly. “Ty…? Promise me you won’t watch them, please. I do-don’t want you to see me like that-”

“Elias I have to tell you something but I think it might make everything…I don’t want to hurt you anymore. I should have been honest about this a long time ago but you were already dealing with so much and.. And I didn’t want to make it worse, so I just never said anything-”

“What are you talking about?” Elias breathes, his stomach is in knots again from the nervous tone Tyson has picked up.

“The first time you…a little bit after he first took you, I started getting texts from this unmarked number…”

Elias pulls his hand away from Tyson’s, his chest tight. “No, Ty.”

“I couldn’t even watch them at first, I was so…I was just so fucking angry that I couldn’t do anything to save you, and he was dangling you hurting right in front of my face like he knew that I couldn’t. But then, it was…it was the only way I could know you weren’t dead, Eli. Those videos were the only reason I knew that you were alive, and then I hated myself for being…relieved that he sent them. I’m so sorry, I should have been honest about that.”

The music seems taunting, now, no longer comforting, and Elias feels dread washing over him with every passing second. This entire time, Tyson had the mental image of whatever horrible home-made torture porn August had sent him tucked away in the back of his mind. This whole time, he knew what Elias sounded like when he was hurting, when he was begging, when he was performing. More than a few times, when he was in the most grueling part of recovery, Elias had found comfort in the knowledge that the stuff he felt guilty over was null when it came to Tyson, because he only had to know what Elias chose to share with him, and now none of that mattered because, from the very beginning, Elias’s pain, and the shameful things he did to try easing it, had been broadcasted for everyone to see.

Elias pulls his knees up to his chest, feels the seat belt digging into the side of his neck as he leans forward to hide his face as best as he can. He remembers Angela telling him that the progress he’s made is still there, that it didn’t just go away because of this one event, but he can’t feel it at all anymore. Everything is bad again, just like before, when life was so unbearably painful and he felt so much suffocating guilt he practically made August strangle him to death. Tyson reaches out to grab at Elias’s shoulder, he’s immediately brushed off.

“Don’t f-fucking touch me.” He whimpers from the crook of his elbow.

“I’m sorry, Eli. I’m really…” He sighs heavily, clears his throat. “I’m really sorry.”

When they get home, Elias goes straight for the pot sitting out on the coffee table. Tyson almost wants to stop him, tell him that they both know smoking isn’t going to help and they should actually talk through this situation at some point, but he feels guilty when he gets a look at Elias’s tear stained, sheet pale face, his shaking hands as he loads up a bowl. So instead, he follows him out to the porch and stands a good distance away from him, watching the smoke curl around his head. He tries not to be jealous of the drugs, of the comfort Elias is finding them.

“Do you know what I think of you?” He asks. Elias winces at the question, glances over at Tyson for only a split second before turning his gaze back to the trees.

“What do you mean?”

“You said you didn’t want me to think differently of you. I just wondered if you knew what I think of you in the first place. I don’t know that I’ve ever told you, fully.” Elias is silent now, it doesn’t stop Tyson from stepping closer to him and continuing on. “I think that you are the strongest person I have ever met-”

“Tyson-”

“No, please listen to me. I really need you to hear this.” He waits, as if he’s giving Elias another chance to protest, is pleased when he keeps his mouth shut and looks up at him. “I think that it’s incredible how much compassion you still have, even though you’ve spent your entire life being hurt by others. I really admire that about you, I think if I had to go through even half of what you did it would make me angry and mean and bitter and I think it’s amazing that you’ve come out of all of this a kind person. I think you are naturally talented in everything you do, you are more authentically yourself than anyone I’ve ever known. I truly think that you are capable of overcoming anything, I think that you simply existing makes me want to be a better person, and I don’t think I’m the only one who feels that way.” He sees tears in Elias’s eyes again, his face is flushed and it looks like he might collapse soon, with the evidence of sleeplessness etched into every detail of his face. “Elias I am in love with you and I am in love with the way your brain works and I am in love with the way you see the world and I am in love with the…the way you always steal my clothes and never give them back. That’s what I think of you. That doesn’t change just because of some stupid fucking videos.”

Elias seems stunned for a good few seconds, forgetting briefly about the glass pipe in his hand, and he searches Tyson’s face with his hazed over, exhausted eyes. Then, he grins. It’s small and has a slight sadness to it, but it isn’t tears, and it isn’t a panic attack, so Tyson takes it as a good sign. He takes a deep, shuttering inhale and sets the pipe down on the banister carefully. Every movement is shaky and with an inkling of stiffness. His shoes scuff against the wooden deck as he steps toward Tyson slowly.

“That’s…that’s because of you, Ty.” His voice is just a hoarse mumble, and Tyson steps forward to hear better. Elias tenses up further at the movement, so Tyson keeps his hands pointedly at his sides. “I was angry. I-god, I hated everyone. I was pissed off at everyone and everything, a-and myself, and then you…you made me wanna be good. You made me good a-and forgiving and nice. And not, not just mean and angry all the time. I’m not angry anymore.”

“I’m so happy to hear that, Eli-”

“I’m so fucking scared, though.” His voice hitches and wavers, and now the tears building up in his eyes are threatening to fall, blurring his vision. “I think I-I’m really broken, Tyson. I thought I could be better and pretend…I’m so scared all the time and I - fuck! - I’m so tired. I’m so tired of being scared. And now, and now it’s…I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Now, Tyson can’t hold himself off any longer. Elias is right on the edge of crying again, Tyson isn’t sure how the tears aren’t already streaming down his face, so he steps forward and draws his boyfriends shivering, incredibly unstable, body up into his arms, squeezing him like he can put him all back together, if he tries hard enough. The pressure makes Elias positively melt, his legs all but collapse and he has to hold onto Tyson’s shirt just to keep himself upright. It’s something he didn’t realize he’d needed the last few days; the videos had shoved him face first back into the belief that all touch equated to pain, and that was only exacerbated by not sleeping and keeping himself inebriated all the time. But now that he’s close enough to hear Tyson’s heartbeat and all he can feel is the security of the tight embrace, he remembers that this kind of touch is relief, it’s safety.

“I’m sorry I can’t take all this away, Elias.” Tyson mutters into his hair, starting to drag his hand up and down over Elias’s arm. “It kills me that you’re in so much pain and I can’t stop it. I would do anything if I could just…ugh, I’m so sorry, my love.”

“Ta-take me to bed, Ty.” Elias says, now he sounds so far away, the comfort of being in Tyson’s arms reminds him how tired he is and it’s suddenly so much harder to keep his eyes open than it was when he was running only on his anxiety. “I wanna…I’m tired, Ty, I’m so tired, please-” Before he can continue on, he’s being scooped up against Tyson’s chest, carried back inside, and finally set down on the forgivingly soft mattress he and Tyson share. Tyson lays with him, right on top of the blankets, both of their shoes are still on, and massages at his arms and back until he’s subdued and relaxed enough to sleep.

Tyson has to slip out of bed before the sun is up, his phone goes off incessantly until he pulls himself out from underneath Elias and leaves the room briefly to answer it. When he comes back, Elias is miraculously still out cold, and Tyson is incredibly careful when he crawls on top of him and kisses him awake. He apologizes for waking him, he brushes his unruly hair out of his face, he kisses his cheek. When he tells Elias that he has to go into work for a few hours and asks if he’ll be ok alone, he’s surprised when his half-asleep boyfriend nods and mutters something like “S’ok, go, you can go.”

“I’ll be back before you even know it.” He kisses at Elias’s knuckles, at his temple. “Hey, try to get some sun today, yeah? You’re looking kind of pale, my little ghost.”

That remark rings through Elias’s head the rest of the morning. His little ghost. It shouldn’t be enough to bother him, but he finds himself fixated on it with everything he does. As he makes his coffee and tries to shake off the leftover grime of panic riddled sleep, he can see the blue of his veins sitting just under his skin, he can remember how it felt when they were almost empty. He remembers France, which seems like an entirely different life now, looking at himself in the mirror, feeling like he was dead, like he was just a ghost trapped with August. He tries to make himself breakfast, but he feels sick imagining eating anything, because hadn’t he died so long ago? Hadn’t he dropped through the floor of the mostly empty house August took him to, hadn’t he fallen through every circle of hell all at once? He’s so far past the point of food, now. The day that August strangled him, he survived, more or less. The details of his rescue were unknown to him until he had to hear the audio Sophie had gotten a hold of, with August’s desperate banter with the dispatcher, and learned he’d given him CPR until police got there. (When Sophie and her Fiance were discussing this, she mentioned how out of character this was of August, based on his history with every other victim. According to her, after the few crimes August had suffered briefly in prison for, he had never expressed regret for any of his actions, never alluded to remorse over the pain he’d caused. She described it as “either a miracle stroke of empathy for this kid he’d been torturing, or his most convincing performance to date.”) Still, though he didn’t stay dead, he believed some fraction of him was gone and wouldn’t come back; he felt it the second he opened his eyes in the hospital room, and it had cemented itself into his brain while he was in France and August made it his mission to slowly destroy Elias. He was just dead, he would tell himself, he was just dead and nothing was real so it didn’t actually matter, and August couldn’t hurt him that way.

Is Tyson starting to see him that way, too?

That’s ultimately what prompts Elias to leave the house, even though it fills him with so much dread his skin itches the entire time he’s getting ready. It’s sunnier than it has been the last few weeks, the sky has a surprising lack of dense, dark clouds, so Elias throws on Tyson’s much too big green jacket hung up by the door and leaves to soak up some of the rare sunshine. He doesn’t bring the dogs, it’s only reasonable to take them all at once when Tyson is here and can help, otherwise he just feels unfair only bringing one. He takes a trail that goes behind the cabin and keeps a good distance from the road, the same trail that Tyson dragged him to with the promise of a joint to smoke and safety among the trees. It’s also where they had often let the dogs off leash and watched them chase each other and play with the nature around them. Elias, for just a split second, feels better. The woods are empty and he is alone with all of these pleasant memories; there is no one around that might’ve seen him naked and bloody and begging, there is no pain in these woods, and as he looks at the relentlessly thriving plants around him, he feels like he might just be alright.

But, that split second of relief and tranquility and even hope comes crashing down around him, following the intolerable pattern his life is apparently subject to. He does not get to feel good, or safe, or calm, at least not for more than a few seconds at a time. Because just when he tears his eyes away from the overgrown trail and realizes he doesn’t recognize the woods around him anymore, he also sees August.

At first, he thinks he might just be really losing his mind. He thinks that maybe seeing the videos and effectively reliving everything that happened has made him go a little crazy and start seeing faces where there are none. He’s frozen, staring wide eyed as he tries to force himself back to reality and make August disappear. But then August is lifting his hand, waving and smiling because he sees Elias too. Elias decides that it doesn’t matter if August is really there or not, because he’s already resolved himself to never see him or speak to him again. He doesn’t stick around to try and find out how August found him, or how he knew to wait in the woods for him, or how he’s even alive at all.

Elias starts running.

He can hardly feel anything at all, the forest floor a blur under foot as he sprints away from August, as fast as his legs can take him and then faster. He doesn’t remember which way home is, he doesn’t know exactly where he’s running to, he just knows he refuses to let August get close enough to even speak to him, let alone touch him. He regrets not bringing at least one of the dogs with him, and then he regrets going on a walk at all. He thought it would be safe, since it was one of the first places outside of the cabin that he’d actually felt somewhat free of fear, when he first got here. Then he realizes that maybe nowhere is safe, and maybe it never will be and never was. Maybe, before he was even born, some higher power that he never really believed in decided that he was destined for a life of fear, pain, and constantly running. He finds himself wishing that it would all just end already, he’s so tired of fighting against tidal waves of agony and never getting enough time to fix himself in between them. As he thinks it, whatever higher power is controlling his life finds its sense of humor and sticks a fallen tree in his path, covered in enough undergrowth and moss to be practically invisible. He goes flying, hits the ground so hard he can’t see or breathe for a few seconds. His head smacks against something solid with a resounding crack. Even through the stars in his vision and the blinding pain at the edge of his skull, his adrenaline pushes on and he clumsily staggers to his feet again, tries to keep running.

“Jesus Christ, you’re fast!” August is exclaiming, how did he get so close so quickly without Elias noticing? He grabs onto his arm tightly and starts pulling him along behind him, and while Elias tries to shake off the dizziness and the lightheadedness from the fall, he can only stumble and try hopelessly to pull his arm away. “Why didn’t you try getting away from me more, before? You probably would’ve been able to once or twice, you little track star.”

Once the fogginess of hitting his head clears enough for Elias to get a glimpse of August’s hand fitting comfortably around his arm, wrinkling the fabric of the borrowed jacket, he feels like this is one of his nightmares. There’s no way August is here, he looks so displaced among the trees and flowers and moss. Seeing his own personal boogeyman in one of the places that helped him heal, in a place that has become borderline sacred to him, feels like his universe being ripped to shreds. “Y…you can’t, mmm…” another bout of dizziness slams into him, he can feel blood sliding down his temple but he doesn’t want to acknowledge it yet, “You can’t be here…” he finally slurs out.

August responds with a laugh, it seems distorted and daunting to Elias, especially with the symphony of birds around them. He’s definitely in a nightmare, he shakes his head hard to try and wake himself up. “Yeah, I bet you thought you were outta the woods, huh?” He laughs again, then looks irritated that Elias is too disoriented and scared to appreciate his joke. It only lasts a second, though, and then he reconciles whatever he has in place of feelings and looks instead just vaguely concerned. “Fucking clumsy idiot,” he scolds playfully, stops dragging Elias for a second to inspect the gash on his face, “you should be more careful, you know? Now I have to figure out how to fix you up before…” he trails off, reaching up and tracing his thumb down Elias’s face, following the stream of blood sliding over his cheekbone, now. He draws his hand toward himself to inspect the red on his fingertip and when Elias has to see his blood back on August’s hand, he starts sobbing instantaneously.

“Stop, stop,” he heaves, “enough, I want to wake up no-now…” he isn’t even trying to pry himself out of August’s hold anymore, his entire person radiates exhaustion as he sways, almost drunkenly, looking down at his shoes. His shoes, next to August’s shoes, which are stained with old, rusty blood. “This isn’t happening, this can’t be -fucking cock!-..I killed y-you. This isn’t real, this is not real-!“

“Wait,” August interjects, voice dripping in amusement, “aw, you think this is just another nightmare? God, you’ve kind of lost your shit without me, Bunny.”

Elias looks up at him through his tears, through his sobbing, and his lip curls like he might yell at him. Really yell at him, because he wants to, not because he can’t stop himself. He doesn’t though, he only breaks down all over again in a fit of rasping cries. August huffs like he’s satisfied, because why wouldn’t he be? All of his sadistic work stuck, Elias can’t turn off the part of his brain that August infected, the part that makes him obedient. He starts to pull Elias again, leading him through the foliage. Only this time, Elias is more present.

“Le-let go!” Elias cries, digging his feet into the ground as much as he can. But the world is still spinning around him slightly, and even the smallest tug from August knocks him off balance again and he can’t help but be pulled along. “Let go, fucker!”

August scoffs at that, turning only briefly to look at Elias with an amused smile. “I’m gonna ignore that for right now. You’re mouthy today, huh? Did I catch you in one of your moods?”

Elias feels temporarily clear headed when August smiles at him like that, like he knows exactly what he’s going to do later to make Elias pay for being “mouthy”, like he’s going to enjoy it. Like he can hardly even wait. Elias remembers August’s basement, and the way his hands feel around his throat, and how he would do unspeakable things to him just because he “sounded pretty” when he was hurting. Elias is not going to go back to any of that without a fight, he decides.

“Get your fucking hands off of me!” He shouts, he throws himself against August, enough to make him stumble back a few steps and lose his grip on his arm. It doesn’t give Elias enough time to run, but when August is closing in on him and grabbing at him again, he’s met with thrashing limbs and violent cries of “don’t touch me! Get away from me, piece of shit! Get the fuck off of me, you mother fucker!”

August is tolerant of it all with his unwavering grip, for the most part, until Elias drives his elbow hard into his ribs in one of his escape attempts, and then he’s pissed. He doesn’t give Elias time to prepare before punching him in the jaw, and before he can even right himself, August has him pinned against a tree, forearm planted steadily against his chest to trap him. Elias gives a few fruitless attempts at fighting his way out of it, pushing hard at August’s chest and squirming away from him. That is, until he catches sight of the gleaming knife August is pulling out of his pocket, and then his panic sets in tenfold. He freezes up, can’t even look at August anymore.

“Shut the fuck up now, you hear me?” His face is so close to Elias’s, and he doesn’t have to speak loudly to get his point across, Elias flinches in his grip. He can hardly feel the scar on the back of his tongue anymore, but the memory is still painfully present. He’d somewhat accepted long ago that, when it came to August, if he didn’t mind his tongue he might as well lose it. “You and I are going back to my car, and you’re going to be quiet or I will fuck your pretty face up. Right here and now.”

“No,” Elias whispers, voice small and broken and horrified, “no, I’m n-not going with you, August.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I didn’t fuckin’ ask your opinion-”

“I don’t want to do this anymore.” Now, there’s some sort of edge creeping back into his words, a tiny sliver of the bravery he had a moment ago, before August punched it out of him. “I…I can’t do this anymore. I can’t -fuck!- I can’t take another second of being around you.”

“You’re not making any sense,” August shakes his head in disdain, “you hit your head pretty hard back there-”

“No, August, you’re not listening, I cannot fucking do this again.” His eyes are closed, a preemptive measure in case August decides to slap him around for this. Surprisingly, though, August stays right where he is, pinning Elias to the tree and staring at him with a mixed look of white hot anger and confusion. “You have to let me go. You…please let me go, August.”

August lets out a short, almost cynical laugh at that. “Let you go?” His voice is shaking now, Elias tries to swallow back the fear that he’s gone too far, that he’s made August too angry and now he’s really going to pay. When he gets up the courage to look up at him, August is shaking his head to himself. “You just don’t get it, do you? That’s not going to happen, Bunny, you’re fucking stupid if…You really think after everything I did for you that this would end by me letting you go?! After all the money I spent, the fucking people I killed for you…no, baby, that’s not how this goes.”

“Stop it, please-”

“You’re mine, what don’t you understand about that?!” He shouts. His breathing is ragged, face totally deranged. Something has snapped, he’s horrifying, he’s fucking insane, is what he is. And yet, he’s also tangibly desperate. Embarrassingly so, and in a way that makes Elias disgusted in him. For just a brief moment, Elias sees him as pathetic instead of frighteting, especially when he says; “We… we have to be together. Why don’t you see that?”

“August.” Elias hisses out, looking him right in his eyes, glaring, no, snarling, and practically spitting the next sentence: “I hate your fucking guts. I mean that. I hate everything about you. Being around you makes me fucking sick and I want you to rot in hell.”

August is stunned into silence, he doesn’t think he’s ever heard Elias speak so steadily, so pointedly, before. Especially at the end, in France, he was all stutters and barely stifled obscenities. His brain was so broken and twisted by August’s cruel hands and vile manipulation, he was constantly second guessing and focusing hard on not getting himself in trouble. Hearing him speak so fluently just to say that he hates August is painful, but it’s also incredibly astonishing, and August only gapes at him in bewilderment.

“Did you fucking hear me?!” Elias snaps, starting to struggle against his grip again. “I hate you! Let me go! I ne-never wanna see you again!”

“Fine.” August breathes, follows it with a light scoff. Elias doesn’t stop trying to get away from him still, the bark of the tree he’s pressed against is scratching hard into his back, but it’s nothing compared to how much it hurts to be so close to August. “Just know that this is all your fault then.” There’s something like defeat in his voice now, and Elias would take it as his own victory, if August wasn’t still so close to him.

Elias doesn’t even make a sound when August plunges the knife into him, his eyes only go wide and he finally grows still, disbelief scribbled across his face. At first, he’s not even sure he feels it, until August is driving it deeper, twisting it, and Elias takes in a sharp, shuddering gasp, then he’s letting out a disgruntled whine, hardly audible. He goes weak in the knees before his mind fully registers the pain, August has to shift his hold on him and push him harder against the tree to keep him up, effectively forcing the blade further into him. Then, it slams into him all at once, a fire tearing through his insides and a mind shattering aching, right under his lungs. This is no nightmare, this is painfully real. He grits his teeth around an agonized sob and is ashamed in himself when he takes in fistfuls of August’s shirt and pulls, as if he can yank himself away from the pain with a little leverage, as if that’s not only making August step closer with barely concealed satisfaction on his face.

In less than the blink of an eye, August slips into another mask, he’s now wearing a depressed frown as he looks down to see blood slowly seeping out of the wound and onto his hand, just a little at a time, since he hasn’t removed the knife yet. “Oh no, my sweet Elias,” he mutters, he can tell by Elias’s reaction of eyes blown huge, overflowing with tears, and a twitching of his eyebrows into a pathetic, sad frown, that hearing his actual name on August’s tongue is sending his head spiraling in a different way, “look at what you made me do.”

“I…ha, oh god…” he swallows weakly, tips his head back until it rests against the tree. His eyes are misty with tears, he’s shaking all over in a way that feels different from fear, in a way that’s so primally ingrained he can’t help but wonder if his body already knows that it’s going to die. “God, shit-“

“Shh, darling. It’s ok, it’s all over now.”

“No no no no no,” he whimpers. He doesn’t really process that it’s too late to beg, the knife is handle-deep inside of him, there’s no undoing it now. Still though, he stifles a weak sob and looks back at August, shaking his head desperately. “Please, I d-don’t want to die, August. Don’t do this, please stop…”

“I’m sorry, baby,” August says, and he sort of sounds like he really means it this time around. To add to his pretend remorse, he stoops forward and kisses Elias innocently on the cheek. His voice is wavering slightly when he whispers into Elias’s ear, “I really didn’t want it to end this way. But you didn’t give me much of a choice, did you?”

The knife being pulled out of his body is far more painful than it was going in, and Elias can’t help the anguished scream he lets out. He doubles over in pain, and when August finally steps away from him he barely avoids falling right to the ground. He presses his hands against the sticky warmth of the stab wound, soaked through his shirt already, and he sobs out at the insane throbbing even just touching it brings. His lungs feel heavy, like they’re filled with slowly drying cement, and his breathing comes in labored wheezes and broken moans of pain.

“You… you really fucking stabbed m…me?”

He looks up at August, vision blurring and pulsing around the edges, he can feel that something is wrong, and his first thought is that he has to find Tyson, because Tyson always knows how to help. Only, before he can think about moving from his spot halfway propped up against the tree, he notices that August has now turned the knife on himself, pressing it right to his throat. He doesn’t look scared, or sad, or even happy. For once, August doesn’t look like he’s pretending, he looks just as empty and unforgiving as he really is. Elias can barely hear himself shrieking “stop it August don’t!!” past the onsetting shock over the gruesome scene playing out in front of him and the confusing haze of his own blood loss.

August drops to the ground with a heavy thud. Elias becomes very aware of the birds chirping in the branches above him, maybe if only to distract himself from the bloody leaves and sticks and flowers under August. One of them he recognizes as a blue jay, he only knows because of the one that built a nest in the trees outside the cabin. He tries to focus on the familiar shrill call of the bird as he stumbles forward, twigs crack underneath his unsteady feet as he ambles away from the bloody scene. All he has to do is find the road, and then he can get someone to help him and he can find Tyson and it can all really be over. But more than that, Elias just doesn’t want to die in the same place as August. Elias tries not to think about how it’s starting to really look that way, that he’ll only get a few yards from August and he’ll die right on the forest floor and he’ll never see Tyson, his dogs, his friends, or the art covered walls of his house again. He sobs out something like a cry for help, and is answered by only birds.

He’s got practically no energy when he finds the hill of the ditch that separates the woods from the road, and he can hear his own pained grunts and sobs echo back to him as he digs his hands into moss and leaf scattered earth to climb it. The blood on his hands makes everything he touches stick to them, so he doesn’t try to press them back against the wound once he finds himself upright on the side of the road. He wants so badly to lay down, the dark asphalt under him looks inviting, almost pillow-soft, but it seems like even sprawling out on the street would take too much energy out of him, so he merely stays swaying and staring at the spot where the white paint meets the black street. He realizes he really misses Tyson, and he can’t remember if he kissed him goodbye that morning, or if he told him he loved him. The mere thought of Tyson drives him forward, the direction he’s going isn’t important, he just needs to find Tyson. Or help, he reminds himself, he needs to find help. A tic throws him off balance, he has to catch himself on the post of a nearby road sign. When he notices the dirty, bloody handprint he leaves behind, he almost vomits right there on the asphalt. His labored breathing sounds far louder in his ears than it really is, he almost doesn’t hear the car approaching quickly behind him. He shuffles away from the sound of tires screeching to a halt against the asphalt, wobbles in place as he tries to get his thoughts together. This car stopping means help, it means potential safety, it means he has a better chance of surviving this than he thought. In that moment, though, he finds the line connecting his thoughts and his voice is entirely severed, he can’t even get out a measly “help” anymore between his weak weeping. The car door opens, and Elias attempts to blink away the black splotches dancing across his vision. He starts to cry harder upon seeing them, realizes that the last time he saw them he died moments later, and he whines helplessly at the all too familiar dread building in his stomach. There is blood on the white line of the road now, and blood on his shoes.

“Elias?” He can’t tell if the voice is in his head or if the person really knows who he is, and he can’t seem to force himself to look up from his shoes, there is so much blood on them he knows that if he survives this, he’ll have to throw them out entirely. There’s no amount of bleach that could undo this mess. He looks up when he hears the slamming of a second door, and it sort of starts to feel like some bizzare nightmare again when he sees Chris and Rayne standing there, taking in Elias’s disheveled, breathless state with their own degrees of concern. “What are you doing all the way out here-?”

“Oh my god, is that blood?!” Rayne cries out, starting off in a sprint around the back of the car towards Elias’s trembling frame. He flinches away from them, still on edge from having to endure August. “Shit, Elias, you…that’s a lot of blood, what happened?”

“U-um…I…ugh, I think I’m dyin’, Rayne…” he hears a shuffling of bushes behind him, swiveling around a little too quickly to make sure August didn’t follow him. Rayne gets close enough to grab at his upper arms, and that small bit of stability and comfort is all it takes for him to finally collapse, right into Rayne’s chest. They barely stop him from hitting the ground fully, cradling him against their body, despite the blood soaking them both.

Rayne only holds him for a second before pulling away from him, carefully splaying him out and peeling his shirt up to get a better look at the source of all this warm, sticky red all over the now pale and shivering boy. Upon seeing the gaping hole under the center of his ribcage, they suck in a horrified gasp and start taking off their jacket to press against the wound. “Holy shit, Chris you gotta call the cops right now-”

“No, no,” Elias is slurring, forgetting momentarily that calling the cops and getting help was his plan in the first place, he tries to wave his hand to get Chris’s attention, it falls hopelessly to the asphalt, “I want…I want to talk to Tyson, p-please, I just want to hear his voice…”

Chris doesn’t listen, or can’t hear him, he’s already climbing back into the cab of his truck to retrieve his phone. Rayne presses the layered cloth of their jacket against his abdomen, really adding pressure, and Elias wails with more conviction than he thought he had energy for.

“I’m sorry, Eli,” Rayne tells him, “it’s gonna be ok, help is coming. I just need you to take some deep breaths for me, yeah? Can you do that?”

Elias tries to listen and get in a deep breath, but is cut off by a few pained coughs and groans. He reflexively grabs onto Rayne’s sleeve, biting down so hard to muffle his sobbing that he feels his teeth might crack. “Oh god Elias, who the fuck did this to you?” Rayne mutters, almost to themselves, then looks over their shoulder to find Chris. He’s climbing down from the truck with the phone pressed to his ear, then he’s jogging back to meet them on the side of the road. “Is someone coming? Tell ‘em to hurry.” Their voice is more urgent, despite how low they’re speaking to try not to frighten Elias more.

“He…he’s dead.” Elias whispers abruptly, both of them frown at him, Chris turns away to say something discreetly into the phone, and Rayne starts to brush Elias’s hair tenderly away from his face with the hand they aren’t using to stop him from bleeding out. They avoid the gash on his forehead from the faceplant that got him caught in the first place. “He did it right in f-front of me… he…how co-could he do that….?”

“Hush, Elias,” Rayne says softly, “it’s alright. You’re safe with us, ok? We’re gonna make sure you get help, I promise. Don’t think about all that other shit right now.”

“I don’t want to die-”

“Don’t say that!” They snap at him. “What did I just tell you, Eli? Chris and I are gonna help you. You are not dying.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry.”

Rayne looks off into the trees, hazel eyes calculating and overflowing with worry. Finally, they fall back down onto Elias and they force a small smile. “Hey, someone brought a pigeon to work today.” Elias is just dizzy enough from the blood loss and possible concussion that he grins, his eyes flutter a little.

“A pigeon? Wa…was it a pet?”

“No,” Rayne starts to laugh softly, and they think maybe they can hear sirens distantly and they allow themselves to exhale just a smidge,“no, her dog caught it. Her little cocker spaniel. Tried to play with it, she said.”

Elias hums something like a chuckle, he seems to be relaxing a great deal. Either that or he’s just succumbing to the injury, joining August in the darkness. Rayne becomes desperate to keep him aware, focused on something until the ambulance arrives.

“Do you remember that cartoon movie that has the cocker spaniel in it?” They rush out. “I’ve been trying to remember the name of it all day but it’s just…I can’t think of it.”

“Um.” Elias closes his eyes, and Rayne feels their heart stop for a second, but then he’s opening them again, looking up at the clouds. “Nah, I don’t think I know th-that one.”

“Oh, well, one of us will think of it later.” They definitely hear the sirens now, and they look up to see Chris watching on with a slightly green paleness under his beard. “Anyway…the uh…the pigeon is fine,” they look back down to see Elias has closed his eyes again, and they feel his breathing slowing under their hands. “The pigeon is fine, Elias. We named him Phillip, Chris thought you would think that was funny. Isn’t…Isn’t that funny, Eli?”

“Eli?”

“Holy fuck Rayne tell me he’s still-” There’s a sharp edge to Chris’s voice now, and Elias wants to sarcastically tell him to chill out, but he feels so far away from his body, from this entire situation, he can’t get any words out. The sirens are getting closer, Elias wishes he was present enough to find relief in the dissonant wailing of the approaching ambulance.

“I-I think he just passed out. He’s still breathing.” Elias remembers to breathe, his inhale is slightly jittery and broken under the jacket and the crushing pressure Rayne is using to try and stop the blood fleeing his body.

“Oh my god. Oh my god this isn’t fucking happening.”

Even though he didn’t choose any of this, even though it all still feels slightly unreal, and even though he is dying, Elias feels guilty. Humiliated, even. How disgusting of him, to burden his friends with this, to make them audience to the final act of August’s shit show. He would apologize, if he could remember how to speak, and if he wasn’t suddenly so cold it makes him breathless.

“Relax, Chris. That isn’t helping…..Eli, stay with me, bud. Just hang in there for a little bit longer.”

There’s a moment after Rayne says that, unless it’s longer than a moment and Elias is just losing his sense of time in his state, where everything morphs into nothing. The road under him disappears, he’s floating aimlessly, he can’t hear Chris panicking or Rayne reassuring him, he can’t even see the backs of his eyelids anymore. Didn’t he hear sirens a moment ago? He worries that help isn’t coming anymore, after all, and the slight hope he had of surviving this fades to nothing.

Elias is nothing. Again.

Elias is dead. Again.

Then, the moment passes. The first thing that comes back to him is his hearing, even though everything is muffled and muted by a distant ringing. There are voices nearby, and a dissonant beeping that’s vaguely familiar but Elias can’t process why. Then, as if he’s being forced back into his body, the pain sinks in. First in his stomach, so deep inside of him that he’s instantly nauseous and can’t focus on anything else. After that his skull feels like it’s splitting right in half inch by inch, and that’s when he hears himself let out a feeble groan. He’s confused, because if he died again, why is he in so much pain? He doesn’t think it was like this the last time, last time he was so relieved to be free of pain and seeing Tyson again, for whatever reason, so why did it stick around this time?

“It’s ok, baby,” he hears, close to his face like Tyson is there with him, right on cue, “I know it hurts, but you’re ok now. You’re ok.”

“Ty?” He chokes out, his voice hoarse and rasping. He tries to open his eyes, but something is keeping him weighed down and barely conscious enough to even move.

“Yeah, yeah it’s me. I’m right here my love-”

“I d-don’t understand…it hurts still, wh-why…ugh…” he starts to cry softly, before he even really feels like he wants to cry. Fingertips brush against his cheekbone and he’s even more perplexed at that, because last time Tyson didn’t touch him, didn’t even try to. “Am I not de…dead, yet?”

Though it’s making him far more confused, he finds relief in the gentle hand petting through his hair. “No, Elias.” Tyson breathes after a long time, his own voice is watery and shaking, and if Elias wasn’t under a million pounds of water and only partly present, he would throw himself into Tyson’s arms so they could comfort each other. “You’re not dead. Y-you’re alright, they saved you. You’re not gonna die, ok?”

“...what? Really?”

Now, Tyson laughs softly, with his own degree of disbelief. Elias starts to gain a little more awareness, he feels the stiff mattress under him, the sort of scratchy blankets he’s under. He also feels something resting in each nostril, he realizes distantly that he’s probably hooked up on oxygen. Finally, he’s able to peel his eyes open, but he has to immediately squeeze them shut again after the horrendously bright fluorescent lights assault him.

“God, Eli, I’m so glad you’re here.” Tyson breaks down, even though seconds ago he was chuckling at Elias, and it almost hurts more than the stitched up stab wound when Elias looks up at him just to see his face tear stained and distressed. He’s still in his scrubs, but the chair he’s pulled away from the wall to be right next to the bed has a blanket draped messily across the back, and there are a few of the hospital's bland coffee cups discarded on the bedside table like he’s been there for awhile. “Th-they called me from the ambulance and I…fuck, Elias, can’t take almost losing you anymore. I’m gonna go actually insane if I have to see you halfway to death in a hospital bed one more fucking time-” He’s cut off by a soft tapping at the cracked door, he yanks his hands away from Elias as he jumps at the small sound. Then he’s writhing a little, wrinkling his face up as his breathing stifles.

The nurse that pops into the room looks immediately surprised to see Elias conscious, and she proves that further by glancing at Tyson and exclaiming, “he’s awake! When did he wake up?”

“Uh…” Tyson huffs, wipes the tears from his face. “Just now. I was gonna come get you, he’s in a lot of pain, so…”

“Oh no!” Even as she says it her voice is chipper, and she crosses the room carefully to the sink, begins to scrub soap into her hands with practiced ease. “I’ll get some more of those delicious painkillers as soon as I’m done checking your vitals, sound good, Elias?”

Elias looks up at her, this all feels a little too similar to the first time he woke up after dying, and he feels too frightened to answer. She finishes rinsing her hands off, but she doesn’t try to approach him after they’re dried. He imagines her touching the places where his body is ablaze with agony, and it makes him sick all over again.

How badly does it hurt, scale of one to ten?

How dead do you feel right now, scale of one to ten?

“I…” he trails off, glancing at the little screen that’s displaying his heart rate, flinches again when he hears Tyson shifting to be close to him. “Are you su-sure I’m alive?” He whispers to Tyson, and he is taken aback when the question makes Tyson go stiff suddenly. “S-sorry, I just kinda feel-fuck!-” the jolt of ticcing makes him hiss and curl into himself, and Tyson immediately has a gentle hand back against Elias’s temple, his thumb tracing tenderly at his hairline.

“Shhh, baby, it’s ok. I promise, you’re alive, you’re right here with me. And hey, look, I gotta show you something-” he uses his free hand to reach for his phone, leans even closer to show Elias his screen, the picture of all three of the dogs sleeping on his side of the bed. “Chris sent me that this morning. They miss you, isn’t that so fuckin’ cute?” He’s doing his best now to keep his tone light, like the nurse that just walked in, but Elias can’t seem to find comfort in it. He ignores the attempted distraction without missing a beat.

“So…so is August really g–gone, then?” He knows the answer already, he was there when it happened after all, but that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow the dread that comes when Tyson throws the nurse a desperate frown.

“Yes, Eli, he is. He…he can’t hurt you anymore. ” He’s watching Elias’s face carefully, waiting for his reaction with bated breath and stiff shoulders. When all that he gets is a measly nod and a suddenly far-off, blank stare, he grows even more uneasy.

The nurse must be able to sense the doom blossoming in Elias’s head, because she pointedly pulls on a pair of gloves and steps half a foot closer. “I feel bad, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Joanne.”

Elias still doesn’t look completely present, but he whispers out a soft “Hi, Joanne,” with as much politeness as he can muster.

“Is it ok if I check some things? I want to get rid of your pain as soon as possible but my boss doesn’t let me hand out drugs without the proper paperwork.” She smiles brightly when he nods at her, and she’s nice enough to try to explain every procedure and the reasoning behind it, even though he seems to be majorly checked out still. He doesn’t complain about the pain anymore, even though Tyson can see the very evident anguish on his face when Joanne changes the bandages on his stomach and cleans dried blood from around the stitches. The jagged, stitched up line is much bigger than the stab wound initially was, Elias wonders how much internal damage August dealt him. She puts new gauze and tape over the soon to be new scar among countless others, promises that she will change the dressings on his head that he hadn’t noticed in a bit, and then she leaves to get the promised painkillers.

More times than Elias is willing to admit, he had imagined something like this. In his head, in the sick, shameful fantasies he sometimes got, August would die by Elias’s hand. Elias had thought about giving him a taste of his own poision-laced medicine by chaining him up and torturing him until his body gave up on him, and he had pictured stealing August’s gun and shooting him in his sleep so he could escape, and when he shot him in the motel in California, that had briefly turned into a reality. All of those times, he thought that killing August meant justice or revenge for himself, he thought that it would bring him peace to know that he couldn’t be hurt again by the person who had torn his life apart in every way he could think of. But now, with August actually gone, and Elias somehow miraculously still alive, all he can think about is a bleak conversation he’d had with August pretty early on in France.

“Do you ever imagine your own funeral?” August asked. Elias felt like it was a trap, he knew that August liked to talk about upsetting shit like that just to send Elias spiraling. That time, though, he sounded somewhat genuine, and he’d been drinking a lot that day, so maybe he was just feeling somber. Or whatever was the closest thing to somber he could feel.

“What a-are you talking about?” He was not ridiculed or immediately punished for asking, and he remembered it registering that August might not be planning on using this as an excuse to shove Elias further off the deep end.

“Do you ever picture what your own funeral would be like? Like, what kind of flowers would be set up? Would they play that shitty organ music or the music that you actually enjoyed?” He paused, took a short swig, and looked away from Elias and out the living room window toward the beach. “Does anyone actually show up, and do the people who do show up cry their eyes out? You know, that kind of thing.”

“Uh…y-yeah, I guess I have a few t…a few times.” He was on the floor during this conversation, because when August got drunk and pretended to be vulnerable he also liked to make Elias kneel in front of him and stroke at his hair and stick his fingers in his mouth and otherwise torment him in any little way he could think of. “Do…Do you?”

August hummed, switched the elegant glass of whiskey from one hand to the other so he could rake his fingertips through Elias’s hair. He was gentle, and Elias pushed further into his touch to try and keep him that way. “When my dad died, I was in charge of his funeral. I spent…I spent so much god damn money and time on that stupid fucking thing.” Elias flinched minutely with every curse, but surprisingly August’s touch didn’t grow harsh to match his tone. “I even got these huge bouquets of a bunch of different flowers for the piece of shit, you should’ve seen them, they were probably taller than you.” He smiled warmly down at Elias and used the backs of his knuckles to stroke lovingly down his face before returning to his hair.

“Th-that’s not really saying much…” Elias breathed, instinctively trying to comfort August with humor because of the incredibly touchy subject he was diving into. August had mentioned his fathers death only once before, glazed right over it like he was just telling Elias that the sky was blue and the grass was green. And in that moment he was drunkenly spilling his guts out about it and he almost sounded vaguely bummed out, so Elias pushed all the past torture and lies and other life ruining atrocities to the back of his mind and started trying to make the sadistic monster feel better.

It worked, August looked incredibly amused at Elias’s joke, he even laughed after a second. “That’s funny, sweetheart.” He took in the flustered, confused stare on Elias’s face at that, very clearly loving that he was discomposed by something that sounded just vaguely like praise. Then he sighed, looked into the brassy liquid he insisted on consuming every waking second, lately. “Anyway, no one showed up. I spent almost a month planning and organizing and setting shit up, and I was the only one there. How fucking shitty is that? And after sitting in a funeral parlor with my dead dad for, like, an hour, I just left. I went and chainsmoked some cigarettes in my car and I watched them clear out the parlor for the next poor fuck and…and I watched them drag those gigantic fucking bouquets all the way out to the dumpster. They didn’t even keep them to use for someone else or donate them, they just threw them away.”

Elias didn’t know what to say for a long time, but August didn’t seem to be expecting him to speak, still lost in thought staring at his booze. It was the closest to human August had seemed in a long time, and that’s probably what prompted Elias to press his forehead against August’s thigh and nuzzle against him and say: “that’s horrible, August. I’m so s-sorry.”

“Aw, thank you, Bunny, but it isn’t horrible. It’s…it’s cause and effect, that’s all. He’s the reason no one but me showed up.” By then, August wasn’t restraining himself with his affection, he massaged his free hand into Elias’s shoulders and the back of his neck without inhibition. Elias couldn’t tell if it was a product of the alcohol, Elias’s behavior, the nature of the conversation, or a mixture of all three that was making him so nice, but in that moment he was praying that it lasted forever. “But, anyways, yeah, I do imagine my own funeral. It’s going to be even lonelier than my fathers. I don’t think it’ll even count as a funeral, it would be more like the bouquets getting tossed into the dumpster.”

“Don’t say that,” Elias muttered disdainfully, “th-that’s not true.”

“Yeah it is. I’m an asshole but I’m not an idiot, I’ve done all that I can to guarantee that no one will show.”

Elias looked up at him, he was shocked at the pained expression August was wearing. “I… I would show up. If you ever…I don’t wanna think about- shit- about that, but I would show up.”

August smiled brightly at that, he hooked his finger in Elias’s collar and pulled him up off the floor, yanked him into his lap. When Elias winced and softly whined, August smiled and lit up just a little. His eyes scanned up and down the younger man's battered body with devouring intensity, and Elias felt like he should stop egging him on before it led to what it always did and he was hurting even worse.

“You wouldn’t.” He tested.

“I would, A-August.” He paused, trying to read August’s face to figure out how he was going to react. He seemed to like the vague degree of humor Elias had used a moment ago, so he tried that again. “Even if it w-was just a dumpster funeral.”

August chuckled, looped his arms all the way around Elias and drew him close, pressing his mouth against his neck just under his jaw. When he spoke against his skin, Elias shivered. “Would you cry?”

“Of course I would, you kno-know me. I’d cry like a little bitch.”

That must’ve been the perfect mixture of self-deprecation, humor, and stroking August’s ego, because he consumed Elias immediately after. Right on the couch, he took off the few clothes Elias was wearing and used him and the idea of him crying over his death to get off. By the end of it, Elias had no idea if he was telling the truth or just trying to make August feel better. He also had no idea why he would do either of those things for this hurricane of a person, the thing that ruined his life in ways that Elias could never imagine or even fully understand yet. He hated himself, just like he always did after doing anything that August enjoyed, and he hated August for being so confusing and hurtful, and he hated Tyson for not saving him yet.

August does not have a funeral. At least, if he does, Elias is left blissfully unaware of it. He stays in the hospital for another three weeks; he can hardly move around, even with help, as he recovers from surgery and the short coma he supposedly fell into from blood loss and his concussion. But beyond that he finds himself in so much mental anguish he doesn’t feel safe leaving. Paranoia drives him insane the first week, and after that he still won’t allow anyone but Tyson and the near constant flow of nurses and doctors in the room, even Chris and Rayne have to wait until he’s released to even see him.

Tyson is, unsurprisingly, the only comfort in the dark and gloomy hospital. He only leaves him for minutes at a time, but is otherwise adamant about staying right at his bedside, calming him down when he wakes up screaming, or holding his hand while he gets his incredibly sensitive wounds cleaned and bandaged. He also manages to find a pad of paper and some colored pencils and spends a majority of the time drawing with him, keeping him distracted from the terror he had to suffer through. It doesn’t work every time, but Elias will admit that it’s nice to at least keep his hands busy. Tyson notices that Elias doesn’t ever use the red shades, and Elias notices that the next time they draw together, all of the reddish hues have been removed from the box. Elias doesn’t know why that makes him lose his cool, why he ends up sobbing in Tyson’s arms about how grateful he is, but some part of him realizes that the simple gesture is proof that Tyson really does love him, it’s enough to finally, finally extinguish any doubts that still played in Elias’s broken mind even after all this time. Tyson loves him, he loves him enough to notice the familiar color bothering him, he loves him enough to carefully remove the ones that might be close to upsetting, he loves him enough to not even mention that he did it. It’s strange, because compared to everything that Tyson has done for Elias, taking three or four pencils out of a box is nothing, and yet Elias feels like he might implode from the small act.

Eventually, Elias is well enough to go back to the cabin, and Tyson surprises him with something resembling a welcome home party, only much smaller and not as intense as Elias imagined something like that would be.

Chris and Rayne are there, and they both spend the first few minutes pouring their hearts out about how happy they are that he’s ok, how much they were worried about him. Rayne tells him that the only reason they even came across him in the first place was because Chris had grown worried after the mess that transpired from the party, and begged Rayne to drive out to the cabin with him to check on Elias. Later, Chris really drives that home by profusely apologizing over the last time they saw each other, promising that he deleted Elias’s picture from his phone immediately after he left and never even thought about searching for more. He sounds the most caring and genuine he ever has when he pulls Elias into an almost too-tight bear hug and tells him, “you’re like a little brother to me, I would never hurt you like that on purpose.”

Tyson’s mom, Kathy, and his father, William, also come, along with their four other children. Tyson has talked endlessly about his siblings, and getting to finally meet them (despite the sort of bizarre undertones) is nice. He meets Tyson’s older sister Sierra, who is a bubbly engineer, and she blows Elias away with just how smart she is. She also gets giddy and teary eyed when she talks about her girlfriend, and she shows Elias the ring she’s planning on proposing with, makes him feel special when she tells him no one else knows yet and to keep it a secret. Reagan is Tyson’s older brother, and though he’s not incredibly talkative, he does seem to share the same artistic passion his brother has, and he compliments Elias on his paintings and his photography. At one point he tries to convince Elias to take an expensive digital camera that he recently got but will never use, tells him it’s a gift, but eventually backs down when Elias shows him his cracked phone screen and jokes that the camera will likely suffer the same fate. Tyson’s two youngest siblings are far younger than the other three; when Kathy was introducing them, she made a joke about Tyson moving out causing her and William to get bored, so they popped out two more kids to keep them busy. Carter is a seven year old boy who wrestles with the dogs until they get tired and still has the energy to do laps around the living room and kitchen for about an hour after. He is also obsessed with Elias’s hair, he tries to separate the blond and the blue down to each individual strand, he laughs lightheartedly every time Elias tics and ruins his progress. Meredith is the youngest at only five, and she proudly shows Elias all of the beads woven delicately into her hair, she stomps her feet with excitement when Elias tells her how much he likes the ones shaped like butterflies because those are her favorites too! At the end of the night, before her parents take her home to get much needed sleep, she sits on the couch with Elias and traces her little fingers over his tattoo. She asks innocently about how he got all of his scars, and he finds himself speechless. Eventually he tells her that it was just an accident, he tells her sometimes people get hurt and you can see where it happened for a long time after. She nods her head in understanding, and then she peppers a few tiny kisses against his skin, over the scars.

“Does that feel better, now?” She asks him after. “When I get hurt, Mama kisses it and it feels better.”

“Y-yeah, it does,” he tells her, and he isn’t lying even a fraction, “thank you, Mer. You should b…be a doctor, I think you might have secret healing powers.”

“Like Ty?” She asks through a stifled yawn.

Elias glances across the room to see Tyson and his father talking quietly, and it’s almost as if Tyson can sense his boyfriends eyes on him, he smiles brightly when he sees Elias and Meredith sitting together. For the first time possibly ever, Elias’s heart feels full. He doesn’t feel any subconscious urge to search for an escape or a distraction or something to numb him; he is perfectly content in this room with all of the people he cares about, holding eye contact with the love of his life from a distance but with an underlying sense of warmth and closeness. Knowing it’s all because of Tyson makes him feel gooey and weak at the knees, he never thought he’d meet anyone who would care enough about him to do even half of what Tyson has for him. He’s eternally grateful that someone so kind decided to take him in, show him that the world is not all sharp edges and misery but instead complicated beauty and life changing sunsets. Tyson gave him a sanctuary when he needed it most, and showed him that his feelings mattered, and showed him that he could be loved as he is, even if what he is constantly changes, and now is giving Elias something he has always ached to have: a family.

“Yeah,” he finally answers Meredith, “yeah, just like Ty. Maybe h-he gave you some of his magic.”

Meredith giggles, but she doesn’t disagree with him. Elias thinks that, as young as she is, even she can tell just how much Tyson has changed his life for the better.

It’s late when everyone leaves and Tyson and Elias are finally alone again, and they begin to tidy up the aftermath of having so many people over. Tyson stands in the kitchen, elbow deep in dish water. He can hear Elias in the living room collecting dishes, ticcing the entire time. Tyson listens to the soft clicking and humming and occasional curses, but in between that he’s murmuring compliments to the dogs, and he doesn’t sound bothered. After debating himself for a solid minute, Tyson decides to go check on him, because he did just go through something horrendous (again) and that was a lot of people to be around after isolating himself with Tyson for so long. Besides, he knows Elias’s tics flare up when he’s anxious or stressed, and for the past year and a half that’s nearly all that he’s been. It feels…habitual, now, call and response. He dries his hands off, and on his way out of the kitchen catches sight of an old vinyl his dad gifted him before he left, and he grabs it last minute.

Elias perks up as soon as he notices Tyson in the same room as him, smiles in a way that Tyson can’t quite read, can’t tell if it’s disingenuous or not. He watches Tyson as he makes his way to the new-age record player they haven’t used yet. Elias sets the dishes he was gathering onto the coffee table and joins Tyson, observing how carefully he pulls the vinyl out of its sleeve and sets it on the turntable.

“Wh…where did you get that?” He asks softly.

“It was my dads,” Tyson explains, “he told me to count it as a housewarming gift.” He turns and looks at Elias as the soft crackling of the record spinning rings out through the speakers. He’s jittery, but his face seems serene, unbothered.

When the music starts, Elias finds himself leaning against Tyson, watching the record spin and breathing in the slight static of the piano. After a few measures, recognition falls over his face and he gasps, snapping his head up toward Tyson. It was the song Tyson had played for him so long ago, before everything was ripped apart and they were left in the ruins. That seems like a dream now, the people in the memory who danced in each other's arms are strangers. Everything is entirely different now, and yet, when Tyson smiles down at him with his dark brown eyes shining and his face glowing with visible adoration, it feels like nothing has changed at all.

“This is…thi-this is the…” Elias stammers, his hands are flailing again, Tyson still can’t tell if he’s picking up on hints of anxiety or not.

“Yeah, baby,” he interrupts, this time around he’s the one to pull Elias close, starts swaying with him ever so slightly, “you remembered.”

Elias giggles, gets as close to Tyson as he can while tipping his head back to still see him. “Of course I- fuck!- of course I remember. Wow, it sounds even prettier like this.”

The dogs are exhausted from rough housing with Carter, but they offer a few interested glances at the two as they dance in front of the speakers. Tyson wonders if they’ve ever seen him and Elias this close, it feels like it’s been ages since they were able to melt into each other completely, with no outside distractions or worries. He hadn’t noticed it before, but now he feels a sense of togetherness that was muted for so long, he can’t tell if it had been him holding back, or Elias, or maybe both of them, but now neither of them are. They’re close, swaying in each other's arms, there’s no timid self-restraint or averting eyes or tension.

“The first time I showed you this song was the day I realized I was in love with you.” Tyson mutters it like it’s a very intimate, personal secret, despite them being alone. Elias blushes and smiles again, Tyson is so relieved to see him smiling so much, given what just happened to him. “I wish I would’ve told you that right when I knew. I regret keeping it a secret for so long.” He leaves out the part where most of that regret stemmed from losing Elias, from having to carry the knowledge that Elias almost died without knowing how loved he was.

“That’s ok, I d-didn’t tell you right when I knew, so we’re even.” There’s amusement in his tone, he trails his hand over Tyson’s shoulder and caresses the back of his neck, plays with his hair. Then, as if he can tell what Tyson is going to ask before he opens his mouth, he says “It was the night I came over without asking, and it was…it was late and you were-” he cuts himself off with a soft laugh, shakes his head to himself. “Man, you were so stoned when you opened the door. Like, Cheech and Chong level stoned, Ty. And you didn’t get mad at me for just showing up, you didn’t even ask me why I was there. You just…” as he trails off, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to put himself back into the memory. Tyson can’t stop himself from tracing his fingertips over Elias’s cheek gently, he’s too beautiful for Tyson to keep his hands to himself. Elias leans into it, and then he looks back up at Tyson and sighs wistfully.

“You just smiled at me. This big, lopsided smile that ma-ow, shit- that made my lungs hurt, and then you said ‘I’ve been thinking about you all day.’ I don’t think you even said hi. And when you said that I…I realized that I didn’t want anyone else in the world, I just wanted you. I just wanted to keep hearing you say that you think about me.”

“I don’t think I ever stop thinking about you.” Tyson chuckles. Elias wrinkles his nose up as he smiles, tugs at Tyson’s hair playfully.

“Yeah, well, as creepy as that sounds, the feeling is…very mutual.” He pauses, directs his gaze to the floor for a second, eyes shining with tears when he looks back up. Tyson frowns at him, but before he can really react or say anything, Elias is speaking again. “I want to thank you, Ty. I-I know you always say that I don’t have to, but I…you have changed my life. I feel like I’m whole, like I’m not s-so empty anymore. And that’s all because of you. U-um…tonight was really…meaningful, for me. Your family is incredible.”

Tyson breathes a sigh of relief, wipes away the tears streaming down Elias cheeks. “You’re alright, then? I was a little worried about having so many people over…”

Despite the tears on his face and the wavering in his voice, Elias laughs and nods his head. “I th-think this is the happiest I’ve been in…” he sighs, sniffles just a little. “In a long time.”

With that, Tyson leans in and presses his forehead to Elias’s, pulls his body closer. “Can I kiss you, Eli?” He whispers. Even as he’s asking, Elias is leaning forward, lips slightly parted, eyes screwed shut, breathing hitched and bothered. It’s invitation enough, but Tyson waits for an answer before closing the space between them.

“Please, Tyson…” Elias finally mutters, and as soon as his name falls from Elias’s lips, Tyson is kissing him like they used to be fused together and Tyson’s trying to absorb him again. There is nothing between them but clothes and the music floating from the record player still, and Elias can’t remember the last time Tyson touched him so unafraid, but it feels like finding water in the desert. Which is how Elias kisses him, like he’s been wandering around a vast sea of sand and his throat is parched and his muscles are weak and Tyson is a forgiving, ice cold waterfall that Elias can’t ever drink enough of. Just like everything has been since Elias woke up in the hospital, the kiss is different. It’s not anything that he’s ever experienced, with the closeness that doesn’t hurt and the innocence of a tongue trailing across his lip without trying to intrude behind it, with the occasional smiles and breathless giggles that they don’t let interrupt them for long, with the eyes closed tight out of trust and not fear, and Elias doesn’t hate himself and Elias feels desirable because he’s Elias not because he’s a toy to be used. And it all feels earth-shatteringly perfect.

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actuallyinvisibleninjah · 1 year

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I posted 3,874 times in 2022

That's 1,752 more posts than 2021!

97 posts created (3%)

3,777 posts reblogged (97%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@kitawolf12

@aliwonderland

@bixbythemartian

@fire-fira

@milomeepit

I tagged 236 of my posts in 2022

#nicholas cage - 4 posts

#unreality - 4 posts

#oh - 4 posts

#but like - 3 posts

#animal death - 3 posts

#food - 2 posts

#this is directed at facebook - 2 posts

#murder - 2 posts

#violent - 2 posts

#horror - 2 posts

Longest Tag: 65 characters

#and those words should be picked by the community that needs them

My Top Posts in 2022:

A vegan person who buys from companies that are burning down large chunks of the rainforest for farming, is going to be less environmentally friendly than a person who buys everything they eat, including beef and chicken, from small local farms. Vice versa, someone who is eating vegan and actively conscious of where their food is coming from, avoiding fad-products like quinoa and agave, and getting the protein in their diet from like, beans they bought at a farmers market, is going to have less of a negative environmental impact than someone who’s buying fast food produced mega corporation burgers everyday day. You can be plant based and environmentally conscious, you can eat meat and be environmentally conscious. You can be gluten free, keto, paleo, whole food only, whatever and be environmentally conscious. But just being whatever thing doesn’t automatically make you so, you have to actually learn where the food available to you is coming from and make responsible choices based on facts about specific things not generalizations, and you should not assume that someone isn’t trying to be environmentally conscious based off a one word description of their diet.

4 notes - Posted April 8, 2022

I don’t know why it works but if your noodles are boiling over and you just drop a little pad of butter in there it stops. I’ve never tried this without it working.

5 notes - Posted May 13, 2022

Actually I think Thomas Sanders *does* owe content to the people paying him money under the assumption it would cause content to happen more frequently. Like if you say “support us so we can create more” and then you end up creating less, that’s at best a mistake that Thomas is making that negatively impacts his fan base. At worst it’s a lie to get people to give him money. I don’t really think he’s doing it on purpose but I explained the situation to some of my friends and they went “huh, that sounds almost like a scam” and it kind of does. Does Thomas owe me content? No, I didn’t pay him for it. But there’s quite a few people who I do think at the very least he owes an apology to.

6 notes - Posted March 11, 2022

There is a website called Caredash, that is advertising itself as a way to find mental health professionals. It works with betterhelp. My mom is a therapist. Her name is listed on this website without her permission, and there is no way to schedule an appointment with her through this site. If you attempt to schedule an appointment with her the site will tell you that they were not able to match you with her, and then will recommend you some other therapists in the area that they receive a commission from for signing you on with them. They appear to be doing this with every mental health professional they can find on the internet. This is really fucked up.

12 notes - Posted August 2, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

My favorite part of Our Flag Means Death is the way that *trying to kill your friend* is treated. Break ups are absolutely way more serious than attempted murder here. Saying something problematic like “sewing is women’s work” is about equally serious to attempted murder. It’s a bit of a red flag and we probably need to talk about it before it gets out of hand.

12 notes - Posted April 25, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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solatgif · 1 year

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TGIF: Roundup for February 17, 2023

Tim Challies wrote a new article for us this week, imagining If God Would Outsource His Sovereignty. You can also read Everlasting Joy, my review of his beautiful book Seasons of Sorrow. We also reshared Roy Kim’s explanation on Why Pre-Engagement Counseling Is Better Than Pre-Marital Counseling, as well as The Light of the World: How Jesus is Reaching International Students by Karisa You.

In case you missed it, Hannah Chao and I released a podcast episode to take you behind-the-scenes of the new edition of our SOLA Network Magazine! Find the video and transcript on our website. Subscribe to our podcast for our interviews, messages, and article reads — Available for free on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, and YouTube.

This newsletter is one of the many ways you can keep in touch with us. Find us on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. For more, check out my Asian American Worship Leaders Facebook group and TGIF Playlist on Spotify. You can reach me on Twitter and Instagram.

Enter to win these excellent books! Reviews are in my related works section below. Thanks to P&R Publishers for providing these books for our giveaway, in partnership with my newsletters for @diveindigdeep and FCBC Walnut.

Articles From Around The Web

Abe Cho: A Portal to Another World

“Because if the Gospel of Jesus Christ is true, and if Jesus is who he claims to be, then the invisible kingdom of God has erupted into the time and space of our current reality. And for the Christian, this upside down kingdom of God’s grace is far more real to them than the social-material kingdoms we live in today.”

Sara Kyoungah White: The Call of the Piet-my-Vrou: Remembering South Korea while on Safari

“Every psalm I read that year in Korea reminded me of the children I lived with. Every night as I journaled my prayers, I sowed many tears on their behalf, praying for a reaping of joy, a bending of destiny.”

Yi Ning Chiu: My Last Supper with the Family of God

In response to our weakness, Christ serves us his final meal.

Check out the new edition of our SOLA Network Magazine! Download it for free and share it with your friends as a great way to be introduced to the work we do at SOLA Network.

Books, Podcasts, Music, And More

TGC Bible Commentary: Revelation

Explore Revelation as it encourages believers to maintain their testimony and hope expectantly for Christ’s return in this TGC Bible Commentary by Brian J. Tabb.

Walnut Women Podcast: Trusting God with Loss and Pain

Endora shares with Leslie about her struggles with grief and sorrow, and how God has used these losses to strengthen her faith in His promises and to find joy in Christ. She offers hope and biblical encouragement for those who are also grieving.

Aaron Lee: Related Works

Book Reviews: The Holy Spirit by Robert Letham, Jerusalem and Athens edited by E. R. Geehan, Poetry of Redemption by Leland Ryken, Loneliness by Lou Priolo. Listen to our TGIF playlist on Spotify. Join my Asian American Worship Leaders Facebook group.

Subscribe to our podcast for our interviews, messages, and article reads! Available for free on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, and YouTube.

Featured This Week On SOLA Network

Karisa You: The Light of the World: How Jesus is Reaching International Students

“We don’t have to cross oceans to see lives transformed by the Gospel—just our neighborhood streets, apartment hallways, and college campuses.”

Aaron Lee: Everlasting Joy: A Book Review of “Seasons of Sorrow”

“What can you say when you’ve lost a son? In Seasons of Sorrow, Tim Challies tells of both the pain of loss and the comfort of God.”

Roy Kim: Why Pre-Engagement Counseling Is Better Than Pre-Marital Counseling

“Suppose during the course of pre-marital counseling, your therapist told you that the history and trajectory of your interactions with your fiancee indicate an 85% probability of divorce. What would you do?”

Tim Challies: If God Would Outsource His Sovereignty

“In the life of the Christian, there are not two classes of providence, one good and one bad. No, though some may be easy and some hard, all are good because all in some way flow from his good, Fatherly hand, and all in some way can be consecrated to his service.”

TGIF: Roundup for February 10, 2023

Single but Not Lonely: Living Well While Unmarried / Joseph Forgave His Estranged Brothers. So Can You? / Good Leaders Are Easy to Follow: How Shepherds Shape the Sheep / What They Believe About Jesus / The Keller Center for Cultural Apologetics

General disclaimer: Our link roundups are not endorsements of the positions or lives of the authors.

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wenellyb · 3 years

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Is Sambucky Canon or Not?

TL;DR: Yes, it is

I've seen some people saying that they only see friendship between Sam and Bucky, and I can understand that. Because depending on your education, the environment you grew up and the kind of media you’re usually exposed to, you will have a different interpretation of different situations, in real life or in TV. Just let me insert a short story before I dive into the Sambucky topic:

My best friend's uncle is in his fifties and has been living with his roommate (a man) for more than 10 years. They lived together, went on holidays together but officially were just roommates. My best friend wondered if they were a couple, but never talked about it to her parents because it wasn't her business. Two years ago, they decided to come out and get married. My best friend's parents and his parents were genuinely surprised, they were not expecting that, at all, not even a little bit. Let me tell you that it didn’t even cross their mind that it was a possibility, at all. For them, it had always just been two men who had decided to live together because they were single. And preferred to have a roommate rather than living alone.

What I want to say with this story is that people will see what they want to see, or what they're used to see, or what they were raised to see. It’s human.

What I mean is that you will have different perception of a same event, depending on your own circumstances. And I think the writers of TFATWS were counting on that a little bit when it came to Sam and Bucky’s relationship. They obviously didn't want to make some big announcement or big love declaration.

And yes, of course, I have my own circumstances as well, influencing the way I see things. I have shipped SamBucky since Civil War, when they were supposedly enemies. I never expected anything to happen between them on screen. But then they got a show together and I was so so happy about it but I didn't expect anything other than friendship between them.

I was perfectly fine with that because a show was already more than enough: my man Sam Wilson was becoming Captain America, the show was great, the characters were great, their interactions were great, and this wasn't a love story anyway but a superhero show. I thought that here was no way the showrunners would ever go there. I changed my mind after episode 5. I tried to stay objective, but it was clear to me that the writers were hinting at a relationship that went beyond friendship between Sam and Bucky. In some of my previous posts, I explained that there are some scenes and writing choices that make absolutely no sense if you read them as a scene between two friends. I can link them if anyone’s interested.

Side note: I would like to know if one person on this website can tell me what was up with Bucky's behavior with Torres (in episode 5)? What other explanation is there, if not jealousy? It's a scene they chose to keep, so it was probably written this way, there must be a reason. Please I’m begging someone explain it to me. I'm genuinely asking, because otherwise that scene alone is canon Sambucky.

After episode 5, I was convinced they would make Sambucky canon, one way or the other and I started speculating about the ways they could do it. What I said was that if they did make Sambucky canon, they would do it in a very subtle way, in order not to make it too obvious because that’s generally how Marvel movies deal with love stories. And also because they wouldn’t want to scare away their homophobic audience ( I guess Disney needs their money...who knows)

So here are the scenes of how I imagined SamBucky becoming canon and the comparison with reality:

- What I thought we could get : AJ and Cass calling Bucky "Uncle Bucky" - What we got: AJ and Cass running up to Bucky and playing with him. This point is interesting because it’s also related to the point I made about how the environment you grew up in influences your perception of things. I grew up in a big family and I know that, at least in my family, kids don't run up to an adult like that just because it's their uncle’s friend or just because he's nice... There's a real bond there. They haven't seen Bucky just that one time when he slept on the couch. They're obviously close. But some people might just see this as kids being kids. Also, if you watch at how the kids were fake punching him, they were really coordinated with Bucky. They have done this plenty of times. 2.

What I thought we could see: A non-explicit scene where we were supposed to draw our own conclusions. I thought they could show us Bucky staying over for the night, and the last scene would be an empty couch, meaning we would have to understand that Bucky slept in Sam's room this time.

-What we got: Bucky arriving in Sam's car ( A few people on Tumblr pointed out that it was the car Sam was driving in episode 1) So here again we have a scene that a lot of people will not notice. But they still chose to put it there. 3.

What I thought could happen: Sam asking Bucky to stay in Delacroix

What we got: Bucky wrapping things up in New York, as if he was leaving the city for good and coming to Sam's party as if he already knew everyone there. You can read my take on this here. 4. What I thought could happen: The scene in the trailer where we see them looking in the same direction and then we get a shot from very far away where they're holding hands but it’s not so obvious because they are being filmed from a disctance. -What we got: The scene in trailer and then a blurry shot of Sam holding Bucky and then fondling with his neck to find the best spot to rest his hand on. So none of the scenes I was imagining happened exactly like I had imagined, but it felt like all of them happened but in a different versions, which is still crazy to me. If it had been only one scene. I could probably understand the people who see them as just friends. Actually, I still do understand the people who see them as just friends, because everyone has their own interpretation. What I am saying is that they are NOT being portrayed as just friends. There are TOO many scenes in the 6 episodes for it to be a coincidence. One or 2 would be ok but friendship doesn’t explain everything:

The therapy scene (not the therapy scene itself since it was improvised) but the therapist saying she had heard a lot about Sam and wanting them to do a couples’ therapy

Bucky following Sam no matter what

Sam saying ok as soon as Bucky says "do it for me"

Sam asking "what about Bucky?"

Bucky starting to touch Sam whenever he has the chance

Bucky being the one to bringing the suit for Sam

The boat repairing montage

Bucky wanting to stay at Sam's place, when a hotel room would have been more comfortable than a couch

The second day of boat repair in closed quarters with an intense staring scene.

And there are so many other scenes, soft touches, looks,...

These writing choices are not a coincidence, it’s not involuntary, and it’s not fan service ( Fan service is the roll in the flower field scene, or the therapy session). This is them telling a story.

Let’s not even talk about the scenes in Endgame:

Sam comforting bucky at Tony’s funeral

Sam looking up to Bucky for approval before accepting the shield from Steve.

So yes, Sam and Bucky are canon in the sense that Peter and Gamora were canon in the first movie, or Wanda and Vision were canon in Captain Civil War. Meaning that there was no big moment, kiss or anything, but the show is consistently throwing elements clearly showing Sam and Bucky as a romantic item and hinting at a lot more than friendship between them.

It is normal that some people have a different opinion. Because it is extremely rare, in big productions like this to have two male leads with romantic feelings towards each other, so not a lot people who see it will interpret it as such (I don't think it ever happened). You’ll see what you’re used to seeing.

I guess it also depends on what you expect from a love story. For me, the storyline between the characters, their scenes, their chemistry, the way their feelings towards each other are described, are the most important. The kiss scene is just there as a bonus, but I don't need it when the love story is told perfectly. If you’re used to seeing love stories with many kissing scenes, that’s what you will be expecting to see in most love stories.

If you're only used to seeing male friendships in superhero or action movies. The 1000th time you see men interacting in that type of movie or show, you are more likely to assume it is a friendship and nothing more, no matter how many codes and tropes usually associated with romantic movies, the writers and show makers are using.

Add to that the conviction that Disney would never approve Sambucky in a million years, and there you go, I can understand the people who see only friendship.

But, just think about it, if we had the same show, same scenes, same dialogues, but minus the action scenes and the project was being marketed as an Indie movie, would you think they were just friends or a blossoming couple?

If you read Sambucky’s relationship like a friendship: some scenes don't make sense. If you read it like a developing romantic relationship: it all makes sense. "When you hear hoofs, think horse, not zebra" If a writer or a film director chooses a last scene with a romantic setting and the two leads are staring at a sunset, smiling repeatedly at each other and then walking away together with one of them touching the other's neck, with a love song in the background, maybe friendship isn't the first thought they had in mind.

Some people may say “I see them as just friends” and other people may say “ I see them as lovers” and both are fine, because people have different perceptions, and that’s ok.

What I am saying is this post is that the show and the writers are portraying them as more than just friends, they’re portraying them as two characters who are romantically involved.

Perceive what you want but that’s how they are being presented in the show.

Bucky’s therapist said that the exercise she gave them was for couples who want to figure out what kind of life they want to build together. Then, the show ends with Sam and Bucky, staring at a sunset together, looking in the same direction.

“Love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction. “ - Antoine de Saint-Exupery

What else do you need???

This show had more romance than half of the Marvel projects out there. Not every love story needs a kiss (for now...)

We'll see in their next projects which direction the writers want to go with this. But since it was said that the writer on the movie is the same as the writer from episode 5, there's no doubt in my mind that we'll keep seeing this dynamic. I don't think they would have made the same choices if this had been a movie. But I won't complain that we got this. I hope they keep this going even if it stays subtle like in the show. Just hope they will add one explicit scene where one of the characters acknowledges their relationship. But even if we only ever get this show, it’s already a great love story. Let me know what you guys think and sorry for the typos and grammar mistakes, I was tired when I wrote the last part. I hope it still makes sense!

If you think they're only being portrayed as friends let me know why! I would also like to know about the way you see this!

#sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #tfatws #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws spoilers #Please feel free to comment on this and tell me what you think #I'm genuinely interested in having other POVs

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dreamwritesimagines · 3 years

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Burn The Witch 23 - Haunted Heart [Bucky Barnes x Reader]

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support and feedback my loves ! ❤ Here’s the next chapter, I hope you like it as well and please let me know what you think! ❤ Thank you! ❤❤❤

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, lovers to enemies, fake dating, mentions of blood, sex, violence, death, manipulation, language, guns, knives.

Summary: Coming home can cause issues.

Series Masterlist

SIX MONTHS LATER

You flipped the knife in your hand as the guy tied to the chair glared at you.

“You know,” you trailed off, “I’ve had a really shitty couple of months, Johnny- can I call you Johnny?”

“No.”

“Rude,” you commented, “Fine. John. I’ve had a really shitty couple of months so you really don’t want to try me right now. Just tell me where I can find your boss.”

“You’ll never find him you stupid bitch.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Since I’m going to kill you in a couple of minutes I feel like I can share some things with you,” you said, “My best friend says I keep everything bottled and I should talk about my feelings.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“See, that’s exactly how I feel!” you pointed at him, “Thank you. I mean, I feel angry at myself. I kind of fucked up with the man I love.”

“Jesus Christ, just kill me already.”

“I’m waiting for a text to do that Johnny,” you pointed out, waving your phone at him. “So, I tricked him and used him and threw him to wolves. And then Accords 2.0 didn’t pass and he has been pardoned once again, and he’s a free man now. I have a strong feeling that he’s not the ‘forgive and forget’ type of guy. You know, assassin to assassin.”

“You’re the chattiest assassin I’ve ever met.”

“Thank you, I’m trying to improve myself,” you said, “I mean what exactly should I do? I don’t even trust my agency at this point, my handler lied to me and I have been at this fucking place for six months now, hunting you down. Well, your boss but…”

“You’ll never find him.”

“We’ll see about that my friend,” you said, “So anyway, like what am I supposed to do? I lost the one guy I actually loved. How do you cope with that? Because drinking doesn’t work, sleeping with others doesn’t work…. Nothing seems to—“ you were cut off when your phone vibrated and you touched the screen to open the text message.

From: Julian

Go for it.

“Wait, no no no, I’ll talk—“

“Kind of too late,” you pointed the gun at him, “Nice to meet you Johnny.”

With that you pulled the trigger, silencer doing its job as there was no loud bang or anything. His body fell back with the impact, and you heaved a sigh.

“Maybe I need a therapist I can’t kill,” you mumbled and walked out of the warehouse to approach the car before opening the door to the passenger seat to get in.

“Is it done?” Julian asked and you nodded, rubbing at your eyes.

“Yep.”

“Are you hungry?”

You made a face, “Just because the General sent you here does not mean we’re going to become buddies.”

“I’m not trying to become buddies with you,” Julian stated, “I just want to eat fries and there’s a two for one deal.”

You eyed him up and down.

“Fine, I could eat fries.” You leaned back in the seat as he started driving, keeping your eyes on the road. Soon enough, you reached the city center and Julian got fries from a food truck, then sat across from you.

“So,” he said, “You do realize this whole thing would’ve been over by now if we actually worked together?”

“I’m not going on the field with you.”

“The General sent me here to help you.”

You dipped the fry into sauce, then popped it into your mouth, “You can help me by pretending you’re not here.”

“Y/N.”

“You know what they say Julian. Fool me once…”

“Don’t tell me you’re still holding that grudge.”

“You mean when you left me behind to die on the last mission we were together?” you asked back, “That grudge?”

“I told you—“

“I’m not going to talk about that with you,” you cut him off, “And I work better alone. Who told you we could waste the guy by the way?”

“The General.”

You grabbed the salt shaker to pour some salt on the fries, causing Julian to make a face.

“Are you kidding me? That was salty enough-“

“Why did he not text me?”

“No idea. Maybe he’s avoiding you because he promised you handler and here you are. Field spy.”

Your jaw clenched.

Or maybe he’s avoiding me because he fucking lied to me.

You had to give it to him, it was the perfect plan. The moment he had suspected you were getting too close to Bucky, he had come up with the one thing he knew that would make you switch sides.

And that-

That was below the belt yes, but that was also masterly.

But at the end of the day, you barely had two people to trust in the entire world, and you seriously doubted you could ever forgive the General for what he had done. You knew he held duty above all, above family and surely above you, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

You shook your head at yourself and grabbed another piece of fry.

“So um…” Julian shifted his weight, “Are you okay?”

You shot him a glare, arching a brow, “Peachy.”

“No I mean… About Barnes.”

“What are you talking about?”

“This whole Accords 2.0 failure, there’s no way we could go after him again.”

“I don’t want to go after him again.”

“You don’t want revenge?”

That made you straighten up your back and you put the fry down, “And why exactly would I want revenge?”

That made Julian fall silent and you nibbled on your lip.

“What exactly did the General tell you before you came here?”

“That there was a job here.”

“Bullshit,” you replied way too quickly, “Did he send you here to be my babysitter? He thinks I’ll go after Barnes myself is that it? That’s why they sent you here months after I left the country but right after Accords 2.0 didn’t pass.”

Julian licked his lips.

“Listen, the agency wants to keep you safe—“ he started but then his phone beeped. He grabbed it to take aa look at the screen, then cussed under his breath.

“What?”

“Check your texts.”

You touched the screen and frowned as your eyes skimmed the text.

From: General

Time to come home.

“Well,” you muttered, your heart dropping to your stomach, “Shit.”

***

Coming back home was harder than ever now. After catching up with Keith and Chloe, you were taken to your new apartment that was given to you by the agency as usual, and for the whole night you couldn’t sleep.

Even if there was no trace of Bucky in your new apartment –in your new life, you still couldn’t shake off this feeling. It was as if the moment you had entered the country, Bucky had entered your life in an instant.

Odds were, you wouldn’t really see him again. After all it was a big city, and Bucky wasn’t exactly the social type.

So your first week back in New York wasn’t exactly terrible. You were still waiting for your orders while getting to know to the city slowly, because after long missions it always took time for you to remember you had a real life there, real memories—

Well, as real as it could be, for a spy.

“Just see it as a vacation,” Chloe had said, “They threw you into another mission as soon as you got out of the country, it’s just a delayed vacation.”

As far as vacations went though, this one just sucked.

Maybe it was because you couldn’t keep away from places you and Bucky had been too, like this coffee place where you had first officially met.

You sipped your coffee, scrolling down on the news website as your eyes skimmed yet another article about Accords and whether you could trust superheroes or not, but you were soon distracted when someone pulled the seat across from you, making you look up from your phone.

And as soon as you did, your heart dropped.

You had to give it to the General, he was manipulative, he was a liar and he had betrayed your trust terribly but the one thing he had done right was training you well. Aside from that one second, you managed to adapt a look of nonchalance on your face, slowly putting your phone down.

“Hello Cap.”

Sam raised his brows and eyed you up and down.

“You’re back?”

You could swear he could hear your heartbeat and you shrugged your shoulders, looking around.

“Yeah,” you said, “Big apple and everything.”

“So much for the small town girl.”

“I have never been a small town girl,” you drawled, “Never been to Oregon either.”

“Yeah, I can tell.”

You turned your coffee cup on the table just so you could do something with your hands.

“Why?” he asked after a beat and you shifted your weight despite your whole training of feeling calm and collected, nervousness hitting you out of nowhere.

“You’re a veteran, Wilson,” you managed to say, “You don’t need me to tell you how the chain of command works. Army doesn’t care how we feel about orders.”

“I’m very familiar with how chain of command works,” he pointed out, “But you’re not a soldier, Y/N. You’re a spy.”

“That makes it even worse,” you stated, “I know it sounds like an excuse, but… you don’t know how my agency works. I don’t get to say no to orders, and I sure as hell don’t get to blow my own cover.”

“But you wanted to, didn’t you?”

Jesus Christ, Wilson was really good at this observation thing.

“Doesn’t matter what I want,” you said, “I’m no use to anyone if I develop a conscience.”

“But you did,” he insisted, “Why else would you come to help us? Why else would you warn him beforehand?”

“He told you about that?”

He shot you a look, “What do you think, Y/N?”

You scoffed a laughter. “I was feeling generous,” you said, “No other reason.”

He kept his gaze on you for a couple of seconds, as if trying to see whether you would cave before he took a deep breath.

“You know he was going to propose, right?”

That-

That was just too much. You could feel your jaw hanging as you stared at him in complete silence, his words echoing in your ears.

“No,” you said after a moment, then shook your head fervently, your nose in the air, “No you’re wrong.”

“I’m not,” Sam said, “Apparently he was looking for this… house painted in white with—a red door or something.”

Don’t cry.

Do not fucking cry.

Spies don’t cry over heartbreak.

You clenched your jaw and blinked back the tears, straightening your back.

“It’s a good thing he didn’t get to, then.”

“Y/N, he loved you.”

“No Sam, he loved someone who doesn’t exist,” you replied, “Sweet small town girl with sundresses and smiles and some house in the suburbs with kids and all that shit. Girls like me don’t get that ending, I have way too much blood on my hands.”

He pressed his lips together and you cleared your throat.

“How much does he hate me?”

“Why do you think he hates you?”

“Assassins aren’t good at forgiving,” you said, “I would know, we don’t have that talent.”

“That’s not a talent, that’s a choice.”

“It really isn’t,” you muttered, “So?”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

You let out a bitter laugh, “Yeah no. Actions have consequences and I’d rather not cross paths with the deadliest assassin in the world after double crossing him.”

“But you want him to forgive you.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Intuition,” he said and pushed his chair back to stand up.

“He didn’t kill your father, Y/N.”

You heaved a sigh.

“I know,” you said, “Trust me, I would’ve walked away so much easier if he had.”

“Enjoy your coffee,” he said and walked out of the coffee house. You threw your head back, closing your eyes.

“Yep. I shouldn’t have come back.”

***

“I never thought I’d say this, but I kind of hate that we’re not living so close anymore,” you pressed the phone between your shoulder and your ear and opened the door to your apartment as Keith chuckled.

“I knew you’d miss me.”

“Shut up.”

“You’re a softie deep inside. Very very deep inside.”

“If you repeat that in front of anyone I swear to God…” you muttered and he groaned.

“Have I told you they’re putting me in the same team as Julian?”

“You guys have a new mission?”

“Not a long one probably.”

“Why the fuck am I—“

“Because you’re on a vacation,” he cut you off, “And also they’re probably going to make you a handler, that’s worth waiting for.”

“That or….”

“We’re not talking about that on the phone,” Keith said quickly, “Amateur.”

“Careful there, I’ll outrank you soon enough,” you said, walking to the bathroom to wash your hands. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Alright, see you later!” he said and hung up. You put your phone into your pocket, then washed your hands and made your way to the kitchen.

It was only when you put the wine bottle back into the fridge that you noticed something was off. Your body moved on its own accord, before you knew it you had already grabbed the knife in your boots and threw it to the figure in the dark corner of the room but he easily caught it, metal hitting what sounded like another kind of metal before he stepped out of the corner. Your breath caught in your throat, and for the first time in your life you froze, all the training leaving your mind.

You were supposed to be looking for a weapon, any kind of weapon but somehow, your body refused to move.

Bucky turned your knife in his hands, his gaze pinning you to your spot before he tilted his head.

“Hi honey,” he said, his voice way too cold. “I’m home.”

Chapter 24

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagines

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with-love-from-hell · 2 years

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Vermillion Skies - Q&A

Thanks for helping me reach over 300 followers! I hope you enjoyed reading parts 8 and 9!

Here are some general Headcannons for the series, along with some answers to long-awaited questions in my inbox about the series! I love you all so dearly! If you have not read the series yet, be aware there are spoilers ahead! Read under the cut!

CW: Somewhat graphic discussion of past events in the series thus far [sexual violence, ignoring consent for medical treatment, abortion, death, pap-smear exam, blood/gore/violence among characters, jealousy/romantic rivalry, PTSD, etc...]

>> Though I have a Masters Degree in Psychology, I am not your therapist. If you have experienced any form of sexual abuse, assault, or harassment and are in need of help, please utilize the RAINN sexual assault hotline or online chat service, or find additional help using the NSVRC website. <<

Read Vermillion Skies Here

Timeline

To reduce the amount of spoilers, I set the timeline for this story somewhere between Season 1 and Season 3. Obviously that gives time for Lucifer and Mc’s relationship to develop, her to be offered a position as Ambassador, and her to still build up relationships with the brothers she was not as close to in season 1.

Mc’s Characteristics

The way Mc is written in this fic is similar to the characteristics of my Mc, Storm. Storm was a huge inspiration for this fic, as I wanted to utilize her and develop her character a bit more (and now I'm very attached lol help).

Primary features of the Mc: quiet/soft spoken, hyper-empathetic, short stature, long hair, pre-established lower self-esteem even before the assault, very patient, enjoys a lot of Lucifer’s interests (classical music, ballroom dancing, etc.), pretty organized in general, tends to be a workaholic, a little bit oblivious/ditzy, very optimistic prior to the assault but becomes very defeatist after being abused, even prior to the abuse she was very reserved in her sexuality and did not display her body much, she gets embarrassed easily at obvious flirting.

Mc’s Relationship to the Characters (Other Than Lucifer)

Mammon: He is her closest friend, if that wasn’t obvious lol. She often confides in Mammon a lot- not that he gives the best advice, but he’s a good listener despite his chaos. He definitely is very protective over her and this grows exponentially after the assault.

Satan: Their relationship is distant prior to the assault. She grows closer to him as he aids in her healing more than the others (outside of Simeon and Lucifer of course).

Simeon: Second closest friend, next to Mammon. She isn’t aware that he has feelings for her outside of “best friend” vibes until he starts calling her Lamb...then she suspects maybe he does, but can’t tell for sure because of her disrupted perception.

Solomon: Their relationship is close, but they aren't "besties" by any means. She mainly connected with him at first because he was the only other human around her, but they bonded a bit more after he began aiding her in her class work. After the pap exam, their relationship is definitely going to take a hit, but thats all i'll say right now. 😶

Levi: Probably the most distant from her out of all the brothers- which is why I assigned him with the most uninvolved role with the entire pap exam scene. He has a strong desire to be closer to her though.

Asmo: Mc had been reasonably close with Asmo prior to the assault, but afterwards they grew closer. He has been helping her a lot with the shame of her body and feeling contaminated/dirty as a result of the assault. There will def be more scenes of those interactions coming in the future!

Diavolo: Mc was more distant from Diavolo than all of the brothers. Mostly because he’s so darn busy. He absolutely was planning on getting closer to her though- like he would ask Lucifer to bring her to meetings with him and such- because he had a crush on her. Diavolo was very heartbroken when Lucifer began courting the Mc and a lot of jealousy came out until he finally got over it (somewhat). He still tends to be over-powering in the sense that he gets the final say in her care- despite her wishes (as evidenced by the situation with the pap).

Beel: Beel is probably the 3rd closest to the Mc in this fic- I tried to show that by the way he is very conflicted in parts 6 and 7 about engaging in the pap. Beel is also very protective of her and is definitely going to be depicted as experiencing his own form of secondhand trauma later in the series as a result of learning the details of the assault, and having to witness the Mc go through the pap.

Belphie: Belphie’s relationship with Mc is complicated. Obviously this fic is after the incident where Mc is killed by Belphie, so she (and Lucifer) is trying to regain trust in him- which is why Belphie was irritated at the idea of going behind their backs in the pap situation.

Barbatos: Their relationship is pretty close the more Mc spends time around the castle with Lucifer. Barbatos has always known she would end up with Lucifer romantically, so he tried to keep his distance to avoid being hurt by developing feelings for her like the others. I tried to depict their relationship as more of an older brother/younger sister or mentor/mentee type of situation.

Differences in Trauma Processing

I figured I would lay in a little of my background knowledge in trauma for these headcannons!!!

In regards to the 5 Fs (Fight, Flight, Freeze, Fawn, and Fortify), Mc and Lucifer react very differently depending on the situation at hand and what types of things are happening in the scene. Overall, I tried to depict the Mc as a combination of Flight and Freeze, whereas Lucifer is at first depicted as exclusively Fight. As you can see in the later parts, I begin to develop the characters to be a bit more complex in how they react to traumatic events- much like people are in real life!

Lucifer begins to develop a lot more traits of Freeze in the later parts, and I even toss in a few Fortify and Flight responses for his character too. I wanted Lucifer to be more complex than just “Sadist with anger problems” because he absolutely is more than that. While his wrath is a huge part of his personality in this fic, I wanted to break it down more and give him more depth- elaborating into why the responses happen, and where his breaking point lies in regards to his Fight responses. but even with his anger- it is very complex. Lucifer often doesn't understand why he is getting so viscerally angry (like when Dia makes the light-hearted joke in part 2- Lu knows he doesn't yet know about the assault, but his anger continues to grow regardless)

For the Mc, she kind of goes the opposite direction! Like with Simeon’s betrayal, she definitely shows a bit more of a Fight, despite the Freeze response still being very present. For future parts of this fic, she will continue to primarily display Flight and Freeze, but don’t be shocked if there are a few more variations thrown in there!

In regards to the other Characters, they each will have their own experiences of trauma just by being in close proximity to the two most traumatized individuals here.

Mammon obviously has his first response as Fortify- he denies a lot at first, but eventually succumbs to the truth when Lucifer tells him. His response I tried to depict as a combo between Fortify, Fight, and Freeze- with Fight becoming more present toward the more recent parts when he finally snaps in part 7.

For Solomon, he is definitely in the Fortify at first. He is fully denying a lot of the severe impacts for quite some time- up until he gets the rude awakening in part 9. He does display a bit of fight at his willingness to continue despite knowingly harming his friend.

Lucifer Can Feel Mc’s Pain

In this fic, I absolutely try to drive home the headcannon that when Demons pick a mate, they often share in their pain in some way, shape or form (whether or not it is inflicted by them or someone else, and whether or not it is physical or emotional pain)

So, for example- when the Mc is raped, he instinctively knows something is wrong bc of the ache in his chest. When he is pulverizing her rapist, he feels the burning in his lungs when her breathing stops. When she feels terrified of him in the scene where he postures toward Simeon and Solomon, he feels similar fear.

Lucifer is not aware that this is the case. Like he knows that when demons mate, this is a thing they can happen to both partners, but he doesn't think it can happen with an inter-species relationship between a demon and a human.

As Lucifer's emotions intensify, he does start to figure this out though. And its not just pain- most of his emotions are tied to Mc. Hers can often be tied to him too, but thats mostly just because she is hyper-empathetic.

What was Mc’s Past Like?

To say that Mcs life in the Human world was bad is truly an understatement. I Hc that she comes from a very emotionally abusive household, and has a lot of insecurity tied to her family. Her body image and self-esteem issues are a result of the verbal abuse she experienced, and this resulted in her withdrawing from many of her peers, so she was bullied throughout school for being the quiet weirdo who liked books and animals/bugs more than people.

Her immediate family is rather small (only her father, mother, and older sister), and she doesn't have much contact with her extended family. She mostly cut them off after graduating high school and going on with her life (obviously that trajectory will be where ever you as the reader had her go- whether it be working, going to college, or being a nomad. If im thinking of my vision of the Mc, that is Storm- so she went to college).

She is only really reached out to by them when they need something from her, and when her father died in a car accident. This happened while she was in Devildom during her first year, and Lucifer was absolutely by her side throughout that time as her family tried to force her to come to the funeral. She did go, but Lucifer attended with her and his threatening aura kept her shitty family members away for awhile, but they sort of just blamed her for being gone as to why he was dead.

Lucifer obviously had none of this and this is the point in time where he starts thinking of ways to keep her in Devildom indefinitely since it didn't really seem like she had much going for her in the human world. She had a few friends, but bc they're all adults with their own lives, they only meet up once a month- sometimes less- so that wouldn't be much of a difference if she lived in Devildom.

Will Thirteen, Mephistopheles, and Raphael Ever Be Involved?

I actually haven’t decided this yet! I have a long way to go before I actually meet them- so I suppose it depends on when I get there and how long I plan to keep the series going!

More About the Demon Who Assaulted Mc

So that demon I hadn't given much thought to at first, but as I am planning the trajectory of the story, I have given it some more intense thought.

The demon who raped her was in a few of her classes at RAD, and was very vocal about his distaste for Diavolo's exchange program plan. When he found out one of the humans was weak and had no knowledge of the realms, he began plotting his attack.

Like I said, this demon had been friends with Belphie. They both bonded over their distaste of humans and they would often talk about going to the human world and wreak havoc. Belphie only wanted to kill humans, but this demon had very specific desires that Belhpie thought were a little more fucked up. Per Beels request, he distanced himself from the demon because of how uncomfortable his open talk of abusing humans made him.

After Belphie was locked in the attack and that whole sitch with the Mc went down, he distanced himself from the demon more, but because he had never acted on anything he figured Mc would be safe- especially if the demon saw you with him.

He is a lower demon, and doesn't have much status/power. The only way he was noticed at all be Lucifer prior to this point was his habit of skipping class and painting graffiti on school grounds with derogatory comments toward Lucifer and Diavolo.

After the rape, Belphie feels incredibly guilty for ever associating with this scum, and takes on a lot of blame for your attack- especially since he had failed to warn Lucifer about how he frequently talked about raping humans on the reg. He's glad Lucifer killed him, but he would have liked to have done it himself.

Bonus: Inspiration for MC’s Look in Part 9!

#Vermillion Skies #shall we date: Obey me #Obey Me!#Obey me #Obey me swd #headcannons #obey me lucifer x mc #obey me lucifer #reblog #obey me #obey me dark #obey me comfort #obey me angst #300 followers event #angst #obey me headcannons #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me luci

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ellana-ravenwood · 4 years

Text

“I wish I knew how to help you” - Batsis x Batfamily

Synopsis : Everyone has tough times at some point in their lives. Bruce Wayne most definitely knows that. But when his own daughter is going through a really rough patch, he finds himself not really knowing how to fix things...

This particular subject has been requested so many times (the earliest request dating from August 2018....mmmm..), so watch me butcher it with bad writing. I thought, given how I feel lately, it was the perfect time to finally write it. I hope you will like it (runs away to hide) :

TW : Anxiety, depression, mention of suicide.

My Masterlist : @ella-ravenwood-archives.

__________________________________________________

There hasn’t been a lot of time in his life where Bruce Wayne felt so completely lost. Of course, he would be lying if he was saying he never got confused, or if sometimes, he wasn’t quite sure what to do, what to say...

But if there was one thing he was great at, it was problem solving.

Even in desperate situations, he could always trust his analytical and collected mind to help him out.

In fact, Bruce Wayne could count on the fingers of one hand the amount of times he felt utterly lost, defenseless, and couldn't figure out a solution to his troubles. Not even a questionable one, like bottling up all of his feelings and pretending he doesn’t care while he’s screaming and dying inside.

He recollected exactly five times of such an event occurring in his life :

The day his parents died.

The day he realized he couldn’t save everyone.

The day Dick came to live at the Manor, and Bruce realized he had no idea how to raise a child.

The day Jason died.

The day he saw Damian kill.

And now, spilling onto another hand :

...The day he realized he had no idea how to help his daughter, you, with her mental health struggles.

Each time he had been completely lost, there was someone to help him.

For his parents’ death, it was Alfred.

For the day he realized even as Batman he would never be able to save everyone ? It was Commissioner Gordon, and his years of being a cop in a city like Gotham.

Dick himself, and Alfred of course, quickly helped Bruce to understand what it meant to be a father.

Tim’s arrival helped him grieve Jason.

And all his children, from Dick to Cass, and the experience he acquired trying to raise them helped him manage Damian’s problems. It was a plus for sure, that the boy wanted to be helped.

But with you...Any attempt of his trying to breach the subject would result in you brushing his concerns off, getting frustrated, or sighing “I’m fine” and leaving to isolate yourself in your room.

Sometimes, it felt like you really wanted to talk to him. Like you wanted to vent, and tell him what was wrong. But you always seemed to decide against it, maybe in fear of bothering him ?

Most of the time, it felt like you were living with your anxiety in peace. Like you greeted it like a good friend. Bruce had always known you were a rather stressed individual, but you always held yourself up so well ?

Most of the time, it felt like you were perfectly fine. How could he have known ? How could he have known you weren’t ? Ah...but maybe the signs were all there all along...

And Bruce just didn’t know how to help, when even you, didn’t seem to want the help...But maybe that was the trick ? To keep trying no matter what ?

At first, it didn’t seem to him like this would be an issue that could render him absolutely lost like this. And he hated the fact that he thought that.

Because it stemmed from one pervasive thought that made him despise himself : “Her fight with her own mind aren’t as bad as Damian’s, Cass’s, or Jason’s trauma. Aren’t like what Dick went through. It will be easier to fix.” And maybe you felt that, maybe that’s why you wouldn’t let him help ?

Why would it be easier anyway ?

Because you had a calmer childhood. Of course, being Batman’s daughter meant you definitely went through things most children will never experience. But compared to your siblings, you had a somewhat normal childhood.

The biggest trauma of it being the fact your mother, Selina Kyle (author’s note : I’m not particularly talking biological child here by the way, just to make sure y’all can all identify to this. Thought I’d mention it), decided to leave you in your dad’s care and had a very little part in your upbringing up until you turned 12 or so, which is the time she came back. You never seemed to even be mad about this. It always felt like you knew your mom had her own battles to win, that she wasn’t quite ready to have a child, and you forgave her as soon as she came back into your life.

But maybe that was the problem ? The fact Bruce always thought you were strong enough to handle things ? You always seemed to hold your own. You’d always been fiercely independent. Like you never needed help.

When Dick had fits of anger, you’d just stay quiet and withhold it.

When Jason was sometimes overzealous, you’d just stay calm and collected.

When Tim had massive freak outs at times because he felt he wasn’t enough, you’d just reassure him and stay grounded.

When Cass would have nightmare at night and be so scared she couldn’t find her voice again, you’d stay up with her and make sure to soothe her back to sleep, even if it meant not sleeping yourself.

When Damian would realize how much he missed out in life, in his childhood, and how little he knew about the real world...You’d be there, holding his hand while explaining in details why he felt the way he felt.

Even Duke, who arguably was the “sanest” of them all, had times where things were too much for him, and you’d magically appear by his side to help him through it.

You always seemed to be the one everyone relied on.

The one that has it all figured out, that has it together. The one most like Bruce, able to control her emotions. But the one even better than him, because you could also help others understand how they felt.

And that was why Bruce never really noticed your every day struggles.

Come to think of it, the fact you were always so on point and great in your explanations as to why someone felt the way they did, probably meant you felt like them before...

Oh god. God, Bruce hated this. Hated himself, even.

Hated the fact that he thought your fights with your own mind weren’t as bad as what Damian or Dick went through, as bad as Cass or Jason’s traumas. As bad as Duke witnessing what happened to his parents, because you...Well you still had both of them. And they were on good terms, now.

He hated the fact that it took you almost dying for him to realize you had a real problem too. For him to realize your apparent “I can handle my own” attitude was all a fragile facade that could break any time.

He hated the fact that he had to witness you almost letting yourself die, to realize this...The scene kept replaying in his mind.

A night out as vigilantes. Part of a building collapsing. You pushing a woman out of its way, but then just staring up at the crumbling wall that would crush you, not moving. And the state of daze you were in, when you found yourself in your father’s arms as he saved you in extremis from a certain death that you were clearly letting happen.

You later said it was a mistake. It was a simple mistake.

But Bruce, from that point and on, knew better. There had been a time, not long after his parents’ death, where he wondered what even was the point in living anymore. Where he found himself in a similar situation too, where he could save himself and yet stayed in front of the death threat. Alfred saved him at the time, gave him a good scolding which Bruce didn’t even register.

He recognize that look in your eyes.

Because he had the same one, many years ago, before he had a chance at having a family again. Before you, Dick, Jason, Cass, Tim, Damian...It was a look that meant : “What if I just let it happen, what if I end the pain by ending it all ?”.

And Bruce hated the fact that it took him witnessing this look in your eyes for him to finally realize you needed help. It tore his heart apart.

He hated the fact it took him so long to finally act upon it, to finally do something for you. No matter how lost he was as to where to even begin.

And so here he was, on a calm night in Gotham, sitting on a roof and researching on the internet what can be done to help people riddled with anxiety and such. He knew you enough to know you’d never accept to go see a therapist. But maybe...maybe he could help just as good ?

He knew how he got rid of his own anxiety.

The same way he got rid of many other things...He submitted himself to a strict training allowing him to control all of his emotions, shutting some away when needed.

But he couldn’t even imagine making you go through the things he made himself do. Not his daughter. Not any of his children.

There was a reason, the training he gave all of you wasn’t even 10% of what he used to do. Because he had nothing to live for except becoming strong enough to bring back justice to Gotham. Because he had nothing to look forward to except the fact that he was going to make sure no kid in that god forsaken city would go through what he went through ever again...

He gave himself the ability to turn into a machine. To shun all feelings away. Because he had a mission.

He would never, ever want any of his children to feel like this. Even if he managed to, in appearance, make himself feel nothing...It would always cause him tremendous pain. He knew how this felt, to force yourself to control everything.

No. His method was most definitely not fit for his daughter. He did not want her to become like him. And so, scrolling through forums, websites and blogs, he tried to find the best way he could to help his kiddo. It seems like there was almost like a “list” of things every person suffering from anxiety went through every day...

Wondering if your loved ones are upset with you.

“Are you mad at me ?”

Is the text you send to your oldest brother, Dick, immediately regretting it.

Because now, you were sure he’d find you annoying, pushy or anything of the like. Of course, Dick would never. But your mind was telling you he would.

He hadn’t responded to your text in a day, while he would usually be very reactive, and you didn’t need more to think he hated you, now.

Knowing there is no reason for you to feel that way.

Knowing for Dick to be “mad” at his little siblings, it would take a lot (you weren’t even sure you’ve ever seem him mad at any of you, except maybe the times you put yourselves in danger while he’s your team leader, but then it’s more a problem of being mad at himself than really at you.

Yet you cannot control it. You cannot. You are sure now, that he hates you.

Your father doesn’t understand why you’re so morose that day, and why you snap at everyone. He doesn’t understand, and you don’t tell him. And Bruce just ends up thinking you’re in a bad mood and leave you alone, while you desperately want to talk.

You want to tell him that you think Dick hates you. You want to hear him reassure you, even if technically, there is no need for reassurance. Of course your brother doesn’t hate you, he’s probably just busy, he just started his new job in Bludhaven, and moved in a new apartment and...Yes.

Rationally, of course you knew your brother, who has always been there and never shied away from saying he cared about you and love you, doesn’t hate you.

Yet you cannot help but think you did something wrong. You cannot help but think maybe he does. And you want to tell your dad, and have him reassure you, even if you don’t need to.

But instead, you snap at him. Instead, you push him away. Because you couldn’t handle your dad too thinking your annoying. Of course, he would think you’re annoying, a nuisance, if you told him you think Dick hates you...because obviously he doesn’t.

It was a vicious circle. So instead of possibly-but-probably-not-but-still-maybe be hurt, you pushed the one person you wanted close away, snapping at him and isolating yourself in your room.

TING ! Your phone, it’s ringing ! Oh please god, please be Dick !

It is your brother. He answered !

“Of course not ! Why would you think that ?”

You analyze every single word, and how he didn’t use an emoji, while he always does ! And the way he said “why would you think that ?”...he’s for sure mad at you now, and he thinks you’re the most obnoxious little sister that ever walked this Earth.

But you answer :

“Oh no reason lol. Hey wanna binge watch Gilmore Girls with me this week end ? Only you understand how a true masterpiece this show is.”

He doesn’t reply that day, and you think about it the entire night. He doesn’t come at the patrol of course, as again, he just settled in Bludhaven. And it starts. The spiraling of overwhelming feelings, the impossibility to let go of something.

You cannot think of anything else but sending another text to ask if he’s really not mad at you. You decide against it, because you don’t want him to think you’re annoying. Because you understand he has his own life now. Now that he moved from the Manor.

You understand he must be busy. That he has to settle in. That he doesn’t have to be available whenever you want, and that the fact he had always been up until now proved he was the best big brother anyone could ask for.

But you can’t help it. You think it must be you. That he’s not answering because it’s you.

And all of a sudden, you question every relationship you have. What if none of your siblings love you, and are just polite ? What if they’re lying because you’re really the only sibling out of all of you they don’t like and they’re just too nice to...Oh god. Your dad must hate you too.

Because you keep needing him to reassure you about stuffs. Ah yes, today you shunned him away, but sometimes, you guilt trip him so he says he cares about you. Or so he tells you nice things.

And suddenly, one of your biggest fear, the one where you ask for too much out of the people you love is back. And you cry. You cry all night. Because you have too many mood swings. You isolate yourself too much. But you don’t know, you don’t know how to make them see your fear of not being cared for...

And so you cry. Wondering over and over again “why am I like this ????” as you think all of your loved one are upset with you, and will never want to talk to you again.

Later in the day, Dick answers that he would love to watch GG with you, and there’s an emoji this time. Ah. So maybe he doesn’t hate you...

So many people wouldn’t even think this was a big deal, but for you...for you, it was...

Every small decision feels like it has life or death consequences.

You want to tell them. You want to tell them that’s why you couldn't choose what you wanted at the drive through fast enough. Why you stumbled on your words, and ended up blurting out : “Whatever Jason took !” because your taste in food was the closest to his.

You want to tell them, that even such a small issue, in your head, took a huge place. That you rehearsed what you were going to say when it would be your turn to speak to the waiter. That you got all tangled up, and didn’t ask what you actually wanted.

You want to tell them that sometimes, even the smallest “yes or no” question haunts you for days. That “what ifs” won’t let you alone.

You want to tell them, but instead you take the meal you didn’t really want, and eat it in silence, listening to everyone talking and enjoying this family moment. You stay quiet, your mind focus on how clumsy, dumb and useless you are.

Just because you couldn’t order something at the drive through.

You stay quiet, but your mind is racing about how much you suck. How you should get out of everyone’s way. Because you can’t even order food properly.

You feel guilty, because this is one rare family moment when you’re all together, and your siblings all have fun teasing each others, laughing and talking, while you just nod sometimes, smile, and die inside.

Just because you couldn’t order something at the drive through.

You think you’re absolutely insane. That you should be checked in in Arkham. You-

Bruce notices you’re quieter than usual. He notices you didn’t take your favorite burger. He wonders why, because he knows you really REALLY like that burger. Sometimes, he goes out of his way to go get you guys’ favorite food, and he knows that this burger is one of yours...

But he doesn’t dwell on it. Maybe you just wanted to change for once (which wasn’t much like you but oh well). And the fact you’re quiet ? Maybe you’re just lost in your own thoughts and day dreaming. After all, you do like to have some quiet and alone time, and this family dinner is happening on this time.

So Bruce doesn’t say anything, even if his guts tell him something is wrong.

Overthinking. Fearing something could go wrong.

You are in constant fear of what's going to happen if and when something happens to your dad ! Or your siblings ! What if you become homeless for some reasons ? What if you have no friends or family to return to ? What if what if what if what if what if what if what if what if what if what if what if...

Intrusive thoughts, they call them. And they don’t want to leave for sure. They’re persistant. They stay up until you overthink them to the point nothing makes sense anymore. To the dissociation.

And it makes your every day life a living nightmare.

Bruce, as he reads this part of an article on the internet, about how people suffering from anxiety are in a constant state of worry, feels his heart tighten at the mere idea you are going through this.

He knows you are. And he hates the fact it took him so long to realize because...

Not being able to control what's happening now or in the future.

Bruce could recollect so many times where, even as a child, you’d ask him questions like : “What happens after you die ?”, “What will happen to me when I get old ?” etc etc.

At the time, of course, he dismissed it as questions every kid asks. Wondering about the world around them. He never saw how much those questions would haunt you, how much sometimes, you couldn’t let go of things you perfectly knew you had no control over...

The signs were all there though.

You weren’t lost in day dreams, you were lost in nightmarish scenarios about what could possibly happen in the near future.

You were, every minute of every day, worrying about something that was currently happening, something that happened recently, or something that might happen in the next few moment, later the same day or in the future.

It was something you had to live with, and it never been just a child curiosity. As you grow up you stopped asking those questions out loud, didn’t mean they weren’t haunting you...

Making a mistake that will result in someone judging you.

You always had to be irreproachable.

You were a perfectionist.

A lot of time, people passed it as : “like father, like daughter.”

And Bruce should’ve known better...Why was he like this ? This part of him certainly didn’t stem from anything good. Yet he ignored the fact you acted exactly like him. The fact you were turning into him, on that front...

My brain is a TV and someone else has the remote.

... ... ... ...

************

Bruce had enough. He knew. He knew how you felt, and why you acted the way you did sometimes. And it was time. It was time to finally take action.

But he couldn’t do it alone. And he wouldn’t. In fact, they’d all be so mad, if he executed this plan on his own...

Because you. You were their precious sister.

They loved you, so much. And it would kill them, if they knew you really meant it, when you asked if they were mad at you. If they hated you. If they...

They always think you’re joking, or that you’re tired or something. That you have “mood swings”.

You don’t.

For you, all those issues are very real. But they don’t understand, because you’re always there to catch them, and they never expected you needed to be caught.

So when their father expose to them what he thinks is going on with them, and when they realize he’s right...

They feel crushed.

How ? How could they not notice their beloved sister was suffering so much ?

And so that day, they all swear that they are going to do everything in their power to help you. No matter what.

They will never give up on you.

No matter what..

************

“Why am I like this ? Why am I like this ? Why am I like this ?” You repeat to yourself, over and over again, as you feel your heart beat like crazy while it has no reason to.

While your chest hurt, and you feel the weight of anxiety on your shoulder, without even knowing why.

You keep telling yourself you suck, you keep being too harsh on yourself, and oh, oh if you only knew that your entire family right now, was plotting to help you feel better.

Unfortunately...

************

Dick’s antics soothe you for a bit, but as soon as he’s gone your heart goes wild again, refusing to stop, and your mind repeats bad thoughts to you.

The next day, Dick planned the PERFECT sister/brother day. Planning things to spend time with you, just like when you were little and it was just you and him.

It’s a perfect day indeed. Everything makes you forget your anxiety. You smile, for the first time in months since this weird extreme anxious state started.

Dick always knew how to make you laugh, and how to tease you just enough so that you wanted to show him what you were made of !

But once you’re home...

And Dick can try, try and try again, but no matter his effort, he can only relieve your pain when he’s around, and unfortunately, he isn’t always around.

************

Jason is patient, with you.

He listens, he empathizes and does not patronizes.

He’s there when you need him. He celebrates every small victory from you (like finally being able to order the burger you want). He encourages you, gives you all the hope he can. And it means a lot, coming from him.

Because Jason suffered a lot. He went through a lot. His death, and his traumatic return...

He tries to keep you hopeful. He is patient. Available. But he does things too well. You’re afraid he spends too much time with you, and forgets his own mental health. You know he loves to meditate, but haven’t seen him do it in ages.

Because he’s also keeping an eye on you. Your father probably told him the crumbling building debacle...And now he makes sure you’re ok.

But to the detriment of his own mental well being ?

You feel like you’re weighting him down. And slowly, he notices you’re avoiding him. And he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t want to push you, or force you to do anything...

************

It has always been easy, to talk to Tim.

Your brother is the only one in the family that did not become a Robin for personal reasons. Sure, he was struck with tragedy later in life (or he would never be your brother now...), but at the core of it...He was just a kid who wanted to help.

He was a fan of Batman, who really REALLY wanted to make himself useful. He became Robin, not because of any personal motivation but because he was just that selfless.

And so, it has always been easy to talk to Tim.

Which is why he’s surprised, when he realizes you’ve never told him about your anxiety. About your depressed thoughts. You vent a lot to him, but about small things. About things you can both laugh about.

It has always been easy to talk to Tim, and the fact you cannot address your anxiety problems tells him all the extent of it.

Tells him you’re truly suffering, and that he needs to get better.

To become an even better listener, for you. And as you witness him, just like Jason, sort of forgetting about his own well being, you cannot help but feel even worst...

They mean well. They mean so well. But you cannot stand them putting their own health on the line just for you. After all, you’re just a loser who doesn’t deserve any of those wonderful brothers and sister...

************

Duke tries to help you “temper your thoughts”.

His mom used to do that to him, as a child. He was always rather active, suffering from ADHD and such. In a lot of ways, his trouble resembled the ones you had with anxiety.

And he thought that maybe, helping you tempering your thoughts would be the best.

What does that even mean ? Well. Whenever he felt like you were anxious about something, scared or stressed, he would ask you if you were alright up until you’d finally tell him what was making you anxious.

And then he’d ask you the series of question his mom asked : “What’s the worst that can happen ? What’s the best that can happen ? What’s most realistic, or likely ?”...At first you didn’t really understand the point.

But soon enough, you got it. This was helping you turning your intrusive thoughts against themselves. Helping you see the good sides of things.

Unfortunately, just like with Dick’s technique of making you laugh and such, when Duke wasn’t around to remind you to consider the best, worst and most likely option...you forgot that trick.

************

"Let’s go to a quieter place, or go for a walk.”

Cassandra tells you, whenever she sees you get overwhelmed by something. And it works. It does.

You two just walk in silence, hand in hand.

Your sister’s presence reassuring, and warm. Her care for you sipping out of her very being, from her hand to yours.

“Let’s go to a quieter place, or for a walk.”

You go outside, and you don’t speak. She’s just here for you.

But she can’t always be around, can she ? She can’t always just magically appear next to you in moments of need, and say :

“Let’s go to a quieter place, or for a walk.”

But when she can. She does.

She knows when you get overwhelmed by sounds, by smells, by anything. And she brings you to places that makes you feel at peace.

Cassandra was never one to speak a lot, but she always understood.

************

Damian can’t help but feel sad that he, and the rest of the family, aren’t enough for you to feel better. That they can’t win against your depression and anxiety, no matter how hard they try.

And Damian. Oh Damian tries.

He makes sure you have everything you need. He makes sure to be there when it feels like you’re not feeling well, he follows you like a shadow and...

You both get more and more frustrated.

Damian puts a lot of effort into making you feel better, and you keep snapping at him, or pushing him away.

It’s because YOU’RE the big sister. YOU’RE the one who’s supposed to take care of him. But it seems like lately, Damian is obsessed with your well being, and he doesn’t even let you tuck him in anymore...He’s the one that comes tuck you in.

And deep down, you feel like it’s exactly what you need. You want to let your baby brother take care of you. And his worries are so sweet, and makes you feel all warm inside by how adorable this kid can be. How far he came back from.

Deep down.

But you’re not ready to admit you need help. Especially not from your 11 years old brother. No. He’s the one that needs the cuddles and the reassuring words. He’s the one that had it way tougher than you. And him taking care of you, although it feels nice, doesn’t feel right.

And it hurts, to see your little brother get sad because he can’t help you like he wants to. Because he thinks he’s not enough for you, and that’s why you’re feeling the way you are...

************

Nothing goes how they think it was going to go.

You do not get better right away. It doesn’t even feel like you’re getting better at all. On the contrary.

It feels like you push them away even more, that you become even more irritable, that...that...that you go further and further away from them.

And they don’t understand.

Even you, don’t understand.

Why do you feel so bad ? So Sad ? So anxious all the time ?

You don’t know. You don’t know. You don’t know.

“Why am I like this ? Why am I like this ? Why am I like this ?!”

You repeat this to yourself every day, without being able to find an answer.

And Bruce...Oh, your father came to the conclusion that the last and only option is that you need to go to therapy, you need professional help.

************

“What ? Why ? I’m fine dad !”

You say, anger pointing in your voice, as he tells you that.

“No you’re not, (Y/N). We can all see it. And there’s so much we can do we...I...”

There’s a silence. A heavy one. And it breaks Bruce’s heart, to see tears welling up at the corner of your eyes :

“It’s fine. I get it. I’m too much, aren’t I ? That’s why right ? I ruin you guys’ life ? You know, I noticed a shift not long ago. I know you’re trying to make me feel better, and I know you all get frustrated because you can’t. I swear I try dad. I swear I try to not get those bad thoughts. To not think you don’t love me, for whatever reason. To not think like I’m a burden. I swear I try to not be anxious. I try to not worry, about every little thing. I try so hard ok ?! But it doesn’t work ! And I know it’s wearing all of you down. I know it. But...I’m...It’ll be fine ! IT’LL BE FINE !!”

You scream those last few words, and a silence installs itself between you and your father.

Bruce just looks at you, and you cannot stand the pained look in his eyes. You never wanted your burden to transfer on your family like that...why ? Why did you get worst and made them notice you weren’t ok ? Why ?

Maybe it would’ve been better, if your dad didn’t see you about to get crush by this building, and hadn’t saved you. They’d have a-

“I won’t stop trying.”

Your father’s voice cuts your terrible thought, and you look up at him. He walked slowly to you, carefully, as if afraid to scare you. As if afraid you’re gonna “tt” him, and run to lock yourself in your room.

But for some reason, you don’t move. And you let him come close.

He brushes a few fingers on your cheek, as he used to when you were a child and unable to sleep. Him softly humming to you and brushing your cheeks slowly always made you fall right asleep...

“Until you feel better. And I will tell you over and over again that I love you and that I am here for you, if it’s what you need. I am your dad. I am here for you.”

And he understands your pain oh too well. It’s not because he managed to be able to shut his own mental health problems out, that he never feels them.

You are your father’s daughter. Unfortunately in that case.

Oh. Oh he wishes he could take on your pain. He could take on his shoulders your entire burden. He wishes it was only him, that felt that way. That you would never, ever feel anxiety, or depression again.

He knows it is not that easy. He understands.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Something breaks inside you. Something that was on the verge of shattering for years, but snapped only now.

“I just...I just wish I could help you. I just wish I knew how. I am trying too, (Y/N). And I won’t give up on you. No matter what you think. I will never give up on you.”

Those words. Those were so simple. Yet what you needed to hear for so long.

Because no matter your siblings’ effort, or Alfred’s, or your dad’s. Your friends at the Young Justice. Anyone you ever cared for...You always were afraid that one day, you’d be too much for them.

That one day, all your mood swings, pushing them away, venting and complaining often...would be too much. And that they’d leave you.

Alone forever.

“I’m not giving up on you.”

Coming from your dad. You knew he said the truth. You knew.

There’s a short silence. You look at your father, and even Queen Anxiety couldn’t make you think he wasn’t being genuine.

“You...That’s...I...”

Getting chocked up, you weren’t able to say anything, but he understood.

And he was there to catch you. You went right into his arms, and he held you tight, trying to convey to you all the unconditional love he has and will always have for you, no matter what.

No matter how much you push him away, how broken you get, how much you hate yourself and think you don’t deserve any kind of love...he’d always, ALWAYS love you. And would never give up.

“I’m here. I’m here. I will always be here.”

His voice was soothing. It has always been soothing. And he was there.

He was there.

“Thank you...”

You manage to whimper out, as he holds you against his heart.

And, finding it hard to reign his own emotions in (his children have always been the only ones who could cross all his walls and find the vulnerable Bruce who feels everything), Bruce repeated as much as you needed to hear that he was here.

He would always be here for you.

Always..

And the path to your recovery was now open.

__________________________________________________

Here we are. I am sorry if this is sort of...bluargh. Or not what you wanted. But I do hope you liked it. Haha I feel like this story is so ridiculous...I guess this feeling is in the theme eh..........Maybe it’s also because as usual, I wrote very late into the night, and sleep deprivation always make me feel like I do stupid things. Write terrible stuffs.

Reblogs and feedbacks are always welcomed ?

Haha. Convincing.

See you soon with another story, much lighter than this one for sure haha...

2K notes · View notes

unmaskedagain · 4 years

Text

Rock Star

I was feeling a bit of writer’s block this morning. So I went through my prompts and found this awesome one. It has a bit of angst.

She lost her friends. The boy she was in love with broke her heart. No one in class apart from Chloe would even speak to her anymore. Lila’s lies had taken root in class, leaving Marinette in the back alone and abandoned. The worst part was that Marinette didn’t even know if she could be friends with any of her classmates again after the truth was exposed. In the effort to cling tighter to the coattails of someone who promised them the world, they had abandoned a childhood friend as if the friendship meant nothing; as if Marinette meant nothing. And as if that wasn’t enough, Akumas were getting stronger every day. Chat Noir was pushier than ever before. Most days it was all too much.

Most days Marinette didn’t want to get out of bed. She rarely smiled anymore. She couldn’t find it in her to design. It was like the life force had been drained from her. It didn’t take long for her parents to notice. However, after weeks of trying, when it became clear that Marinette wasn’t going to talk to them and that she wasn’t getting better, they sent her to a therapist. After they managed to get her to promise to at least try.

Dr. Vanderbilt was a kind woman with greying red hair and a Scottish accent. It took multiple sessions before Marinette started to open up about her problems at school; about feeling overwhelmed. One day after a session, the doctor gave Marinette a notebook.

“What’s this for?” Marinette asked taking the black notebook. The front of it said it had a 1000 pages.

“Whenever you’re feeling overwhelmed, I want you to write.”

“Write what?”

“Whatever you want,” Vanderbilt smiled. “What you’re feeling. Poetry. Songs. Quotes you know. Write a story. Whatever helps you get what you’re feeling out, lessen the load you’re carrying a bit.”

So Marinette did.

It was a struggle at first. She never thought of herself as much of a writer. Then she started writing random quotes she knew. Then Marinette started writing a bit of poetry just to try to express herself in a way she could understand. However, during a particularly troublesome day, when Alya accused her of being lazy and not being a good class president, Marinette resigned her position much to the shock of the class and started writing song lyrics.

One of the recommendation from Vanderbilt was to always stop doing things she didn’t want to do just because it made other people happy; especially if it was at harm to herself.

The doctor made Marinette write 100 times: I will not set myself on fire to keep you warm.

Marinette always hated being class president; the stress alone could kill a dozen elephants. She hated doing free commissions so she stopped that too. She hated doing the whole birthday celebrations, when everyone was quick to forget her that year. Or plan parties and fundraisers for trips that class made sure to make clear they didn’t want to her go to or on. So she stopped that too.

It was freeing.

Writing lyrics to songs were freeing. Soon she was writing them during class, lunch, after school, when there a moment of free time when helping out at the bakery.

And Vanderbilt was right. It did help her.

Marinette to smile a lot more. The pep in her step was back. She started hanging out with Chloe and Luka more and more. She made friends with others kids in class. She created a website and started selling custom designs.

One Friday, after school, Marinette found herself in Jagged’s Hotel room with Chloe and Luka. Jagged had asked Marinette to bring his new concert wardrobe that he had commission from her. He had and Clara Nightingale were going on tour together.

After Jagged had reviewed the clothes and approved them, proclaimed each outfit to be, “Rockin!”

Marinette found herself writing a song in her notebook while Luka and Jagged discussed musical influences. Chloe and Penny discussed a potential internships.

She was so invested in writing that she didn’t notice when the talking stopped. Or when Jagged asked her if she wanted Pizza.

Marinette jumped back when a hand suddenly waved in her face. “Wait! What!” She looked around and saw the amused faces of Jagged, Penny, Chloe, and Luka. Even Fang had a long grin on his face.

“What’s this love?” Jagged asked pointing to her notebook. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for ages.”

The bluenette blushed and tried not to hide her notebook; it would only make them more curious, “Nothing; just a notebook for ideas.” Technically that was true.

“Right on, can I see?” Jagged asked.

Marinette instantly pulled the notebook to her chest and her blushed turned a dark red. She was not going to show a Rock Star the song she wrote. She’d rather die. “Nope! Nah ah, nothing to see here.”

Chloe rolled her eyes, “Yes, because that’s totally what someone with nothing to hide does.” The blond looked at Penny. “She writes song lyrics. They’re pretty good.”

Marinette glared at the blond, “Traitor.”

Luka looked a bit curious. Jagged had a full blown grin on his face, “I knew it!” he shouted. “I knew there was a rocker in you. I had just had to wait a bit, love. Come on. Let me see then! Show Uncle jagged your songs.”

It took about twenty minutes to get Marinette to agree and then another ten to pry the notebook out of her hands. She watched with a pit in her stomach growing bigger and bigger as she watched Luka, Chloe, Jagged, and Penny flip through her notebook. Reading the lyrics that came straight from her heart.

What if they hated them? What if they thought she had no talent? What if they thought she was a freak? What if! What If!

“This is good, mate,” Jagged suddenly said. An impressed look on his face. “These are really good.”

“Told ya,” Chloe said smugly.

Penny nodded, “I wouldn’t mind commissioning some songs from you.”

“I’d like to jam together,” Luka said. “Maybe we can do a duet.”

Jagged suddenly shot up, “Penny! Call the guys. We need a band! Marinette’s gonna sing for us!” He ran for his guitar.

“Marinette’s going to do what now?” Marinette shouted.

Marinette was going to sing.

She sat on a dark brown wooden stool, in front of Jagged’s backup band, with Jagged and Luka on guitar. Chloe and Penny watched in the background. An assistant help up a camera.

Jagged had decided to give Marinette a rockstar makeover; well as much as she would let him. Her hair was pulled back in a faux hawk with a few curls framing her face, her makeup was flawless, her face was painted to look like she had been crying and her mascara had gotten everywhere.

It took a while for Jagged, Luka, and she to work out the music would be good for her songs and what songs she’d use. She decided to let the four: Jagged, Penny, Luka, and Chloe decide on the best ones. Marinette was too bias, she knew.

They had practiced. Everyone assured her she had an amazing voice but Marinette thought they were a bit biased too. They loved her too much to hurt her by saying anything mean.

“Hey fans watching!” Jagged said into the mic. “Today, I got a special guest here. My honorary niece and personal fashion designer; Marinette. She’s written some kick ass songs and agreed to prove that she’s a rockstar like her Uncle. Give her some love!”

Marinette got up and waked to the mic.

The drum beat started slowly. Marinette took a deep breath. The guitars and piano started.

Marinette opened her mouth to sing,

“Someday I won't be afraid of my head

Someday I will not be chained to my bed

Someday I'll forget the day he left

But surely not today.”

The beat picked up a bit.

She fought not to close her eyes as she sang. Instead, she thought of why she wrote the song; all the pain, all the mess going on inside. Her blue eyes got a faraway look to them.

“One day I won't need a PhD

To sit me down and tell me what it all means

Maybe one day it'll be a breeze

But surely not today

But surely not today”

Admitting she was in therapy was hard. Penny comforted her and admitted she went a lot too. Jagged hadn’t been happy when Chloe told the two adults just what was happening in Marinette’s class.

“Oh you don't know what sadness means

'Till you're too sad to fall asleep

One day I'll be snoozing peacefully

But surely not today

Surely not today.”

Marinette voice carried across the room. She let herself get lost in the music. Otherwise, she’d be too panicky over the fact that she more or less admitted to being depressed.

“One day I'll swear the pain will be a blip

I'll have the hardest time recalling it

I'll be the king of misery management

But surely not today.”

This song was a promise to herself. That she would move on. She would get better. Somehow, someway, Marinette would conquer all that she was going through and be better for it.

“One day that song won't make me cry anymore (oh no no)

One day I'll get up off the bathroom floor (hey yeah)

Oh, piece by piece I'll be restored

But surely not today (surely not)

Eh, not today”

Marinette swayed to the music, dancing in place. The other people in the room watched, entranced by her voice.

“oh you don't know what happy means

If it's only in your dreams

I'll be acquainted with my jollities

But surely not today

Yeah, surely not today.”

There were days when Marinette swore she forgot what it meant to be happy; questioned if she had ever been really happy. Or if she had just fooled herself into thinking she was. She knew better now. And Marinette refused to let the dark thoughts win.

“Surely not, surely, surely not

Surely not (surely not today)”

Marinette sang that part softly. She knew she wasn’t going to get completely better right away. But she would… One day.

“One day the thought of him won't hurt the same

Won't need distractions to get through the day

I guess I hope I'm gonna be okay

'Cause I'm not today.”

The song slowly died down. Silence filled the room. Then there were claps and cheers. Jagged’s new manager Harvey Boyd looked ready to wet his pants from excitement.

“Yes!” jagged yelled. “That’s how you do it!”

Marinette blushed again and ran off stage as Luka readied himself to perform. Penny and Chloe both assured her that she had been amazing but Marinette couldn’t stop her heart from racing in her chest.

Chloe helped prepare her for her next song as they watched Luka perform.

He had gotten used to being Solo since Kitty Section kicked him out the band. Luka sang a called, She will be loved. A sad melody that was fit him to a T.

“I don't mind spendin' everyday

Out on your corner in the pourin' rain

Look for the girl with the broken smile

Ask her if she wants to stay awhile

And she will be loved, and she will be loved”

When he was done, once again Harvey Boyd had that hungry look on his face.

Then Jagged performed one of his hits. After that he brought Marinette up on their makeshift stage again.

Marinette didn’t feel any better performing the second time. She’d be singing the song Jagged chose.

“Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

So much for my happy ending

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

So much for my happy ending

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh”

The song was definitely more Rock than her last one. And she wrote it most about Adrien, some of it geared toward Alya and the rest of her friends.

“Let's talk this over

It's not like we're dead

Was it something I did?

Was it something you said?”

Marinette had wondered for months what she had wrong. Why it was so easy for them to just ignore her; disregard her, end their friendships.

“Don't leave me hanging

In a city so dead

Held up so high

On such a breakable thread”

They left her alone. Adrien left her alone. She trust them, and just left her.

“You were all the things I thought I knew

And I thought we could be…”

Marinette closed her eyes for just a moment as the beat of the music changed.

You were everything, everything that I wanted

“We were meant to be, supposed to be, but we lost it

All of the memories, so close to me, just fade away

All this time you were pretending

So much for my happy ending

So much for my happy ending.”

The song went on for a few more minutes. She had let the music as the guitar solo slowly died down. The song was met with applause.

Marinette performed a few more songs, along with Luka. After one of them, Harvey had come directly up to her and Luka and offered to be their manager. Apparently, Jagged’s label had been watching them and wanted to give each of them a record deal. If Penny and Chloe hadn’t been there, both Luka and Marinette wouldn’t fallen her their butts in shock.

Jagged called Boyd away to discuss something.

Luka gripped his guitar so tightly Marinette feared it would break, “That didn’t just happen, did it?”

“Nope,” Marinette shook her head, earnestly. “It’s the fumes from all their hairspray. It must have knocked us out. We’re in coma right now.”

Chloe glared at them. “Oh. Shut. UP! You were amazing. You both were. Marinette you screamed Girl power. And Luka, there’s probably a million girls planning on marry you right now.”

“I have to call my mom!” Luka and Marinette said at the same time.

Her parents were excited about the news. But they made it clear as long as it didn’t interfere with her school work, she could do whatever she wanted. Sabine and Tom were just happy their little girl was back.

Luka said his mom was the safe. School first, hall of fame second.

Jagged pulled Marinette on stage for one last song. The song was chosen by Chloe. It was the song Marinette wrote once she realized she was done. She was done with the drama in class, done with fake friends. Done with game and lies. Done with mean comments and ice cold glares. She was over it. And Marinette didn’t care anymore.

“You wanna play, you wanna stay, you wanna have it all

You started messing with my head until I hit a wall

Maybe I shoulda known, maybe I shoulda known

That you would walk, you would walk out the door.”

Marinette watched Penny smile as she turned on the big fans pointed at her.

Said we were done, you met someone and rubbed it in my face

Cut to the punch, she broke your heart, and then she ran away

I guess you shoulda known, I guess you shoulda known

That I would talk, I would talk

She remembered Alya standing in class renouncing their friendship, and nearly everyone joining her. The look on Lila’s face as she finally fulfilled her promise. Adrien not doing anything, and avoiding contact. He never stood up for her; not once. He blocked her calls, stopped answering her texts, until finally he let Nino and who else in class convince him to end his friendship with Marinette outright.

But when got over the loss, the heartbreak; she decided it was for the best. Marinette didn’t need them. She didn’t want them. Marinette swore she’d never be friends with them again.

“But even if the stars and moon collide

I never want you back into my life

You can take your words and all your lies.”

The fire in Marinette’s eyes caused a few people to step back; including Luka. Then a wide smile spread over her face and

“Oh I really don't care

Even if the stars and moon collide

I never want you back into my life

You can take your words and all your lies

Oh oh I really don't care

Oh oh oh I really don't care?”

When the song ended, everyone cheered.

Jagged grabbed the mic, “Wasn’t she pure Rock and Roll, or what?” He picked up Fang. “What do you think, Fang? You loved it! For those of you who don’t know; this is my pet,” He told the camera. “Totally coolest guy ever. I’d never do anything mainstream like get a cat or anything.” He said with a wink. “For those of you who loved today’s acts; I’ve got some good news. All songs are going to be on itunes. Just look them up! In Addition; my label wants to offer both Luka and Marinette records deals. Who knows, maybe I’ll reach out to Clara about them coming on tour with us; we could use a couple of awesome opening acts.”

Marinette went home with the biggest smile on her face. She didn’t think much what happened. She figured the record deal wouldn’t go anywhere; someone would realize just how lame she was and stop it dead in her tracks. Marinette also figured that Chloe had exaggerated about how many watched; no one wanted to see some Amateur sing, even if it was on Jagged Stone streamed it.

It wasn’t a big deal, Marinette thought when she went to bed, tomorrow no one would even remember her. Still, it was a pretty fun.

By Monday morning, Marinette would learn just how big of deal it really was. Little did she know that, overnight, her song ‘Not Today’ was downloaded over 2 million times? Her song ‘Happy ending’ sold over 3 million. But ‘Really Don’t Care’ broke records. The rest of the songs had had performs sold well too; each selling over a million copies. The world was listening to her music, and she had no clue. Luka did pretty well too; his songs were just trailing after Marinette’s in sells.

Marinette had been helping her parents in the bakery’s kitchen, listening to the radio, when a new song started to play. Marinette turned white as a sheet, “M-Mom! Dad!” She said, her voice trembling.

“What’s up, honey?” Tom asked, worry clear in his eyes.

She pointed at the radio with a shaky hand, “That’s mine.”

“What?” Sabine asked confused.

“That’s mine,” Marinette repeated. “That’s my song!”

Her parents looked even more confused. Until they listened closer to the song and recognized their daughter’s voice.

Sabine dropped the pans she was holding, “You’re on the radio,” She whispered. “You’re on the radio.” She yelled, cheering.

Tom pulled his daughter into a giant bear hug, “My sugarplum’s a Superstar!”

After Marinette’s song

Once, she finished in the bakery, Marinette ran to Chloe’s. When she was let into the penthouse, she rushed to Chloe’s room, and as soon as she saw the blond, she yelled, “I’m on the radio!” And screamed. Chloe screamed with her.

Then Luka called and screamed, “I’m on the radio!” The sound of his mother cheering the background. As far as he was concerned it was the best day of his life. The year had sucked so hard; first his sister became one of Lila’s groupies, then he got kicked out of his own band, he realized he and the girl (Marinette) he had a crush on were better off as friends, and he broke his lucky guitar and had to fork over his savings to buy a new one.

But getting a record deal, being on the radio, nearly made all of it worth it. Luka still really wanted his sister back though.

The three friends spent the rest of the weekend hanging out and being amazed at their luck. Chloe got the internship she was after in the PR department. Thanks to Penny, she’d be Luka and Marinette’s promotor. Or least learning firsthand how everything works.

When Monday morning came, Marinette was still oblivious to just much had changed in so little time… Until she got to school, and some random girl asked for her autograph. Marinette stuttered out a, “Sure.” And signed the girl’s notebook. While she was doing it, four other kids lined up behind her. She signed each one with a smile.

“I really like your song: Not today,” One guy told her. “It’s nice to know I’m not the only one that gets that way sometimes.”

Marinette was so touched, she nearly started crying right there. She would’ve if Chloe hadn’t dragged her away, with a hiss about not crying in front on fans.

On the way to class, a few kids stopped and asked her for a picture. She agreed. But when more and more kids tried to get her attention, Marinette, once again, had to be saved by Chloe.

“You are not getting mauled on my watch,” Chloe tossed her hair over her shoulder. “I’d never get to work in PR again.”

Marinette giggled. Chloe rolled her eyes with a fund smile.

The smiles died when they reached class. They had gotten there early. Marinette was rarely ever late anymore sense she had lighted her work load. Only a few kid were there. Max, Nathaniel, and Mylene; they all looked at Marinette with wide eyes.

Marinette ignored them as Chloe and she went to their seats. They made light talk and ignored the looks of the other students as more and more arrived. Most didn’t say a word to her; not knowing what to do or say.

When Rose arrived, she immediately rushed over to Marinette, “I love your music. I didn’t know you could sing!” She chirped. “I can’t believe you performed with Jagged Stone. You’re so lucky.”

The bluenette gave the other girl a small smile, “Yeah it was amazing. Luka was great too,” She added. “He’s ecstatic about the record deal. He was so bummed when Kitty Section kicked him out; something about him holding you guys back. Did you guys ever find a new singer and lead guitarist? It’s been months, right?” It was spiteful. It was the meanest thing Marinette had ever done. And they deserved it.

Rose visibly wilted. So did Ivan and Juleka. Every member of Kitty Section regretted kicking Luka out of the band the moment they saw him performing with Jagged Stone; getting the break of a lifetime. And when they heard about a potential record deal… well, let’s say regret didn’t begin to cover it.

“Oh, we’re working on it,” Rose smiled, a big fake smile on her face. “We got a lot of people we’re considering.” The truth was, and it was hard for Kitty section to learn, that most people who had a fraction of Luka’s talent didn’t want to work with a bunch of teenagers. And without Luka there, no one was reminding them to practice or book gigs.

Rose returned to a seat, feeling more bummed than she had when she got to the class. She had been happy for Marinette, and for Luka. But she had so many dreams for Kitty Section and herself that just because she was happy for them, didn’t mean she wasn’t unhappy for herself.

Chloe pulled Marinette back into the conversation, just as the last of the students arrived, “So, once you sign the record deal, are you going to go on tour with Jagged and Clara. Luka said he’s going.”

Marinette frowned. She hadn’t really considered it much. Clara had reached out to her congratulate her on the record deal and tell her how much she loved Marinette’s songs. Clara had hinted hard that she’d love Marinette to come on tour with her. But Marinette didn’t know. Being a rock star wasn’t ever one of her goals in life.

“I still want to design,” Marinette admitted.

Chloe shrugged, “So do that too.” She suddenly gripped Marinette’s arm. “You can wear design your own dress to the Teen Choice Awards, and the MTV music Awards. You can design my dress!”

Marinette laughed, “My song came out like three days ago, and you’re practically writing my acceptance speech; I might not get nominated.”

The blond scoffed, “Oh you’re getting nominated. Do you know how many people downloaded your songs? Records were broken. Even my mother played ‘Really don’t care’ whenever she wants someone to stop talking to her now. Go on tour!”

“I’d need more songs,” Marinette said. “I’ll need to release like an actual album.”

“Penny went through all yours songs, remember?” Chloe said. “She sent me a list of all ones that she think would top the charts. She wants to record, ‘Fight Song’ as soon as you sign with the label. And she swears, ‘I kissed a Girl’ is going make people lose their minds.”

Marinette sent her a smirk, “That song’s half yours remember; we wrote it after you and Kagami got closer.”

“Won’t even hide the body, Dupain-Cheng,” Chloe growled.

Marinette laughed, “Fine! If I go on tour, I want you there with me. I couldn’t do it with you! You’re only one I’d trust me my social media accounts.”

“How could you invite Chloe,” Alya asked hearing the end of the conversation as she arrived just after the bell rang. “I’d be a much better social media influencer than her!”

Chloe raised an eyebrow, “Uh huh, and how’s the traffic for the Ladyblog?” She asked.

Alya flushed with anger. It was bad. They all knew it was bad. Ladyblog had died dramatically after Ladybug vocally for the other press to hear told Alya she didn’t work with reporters who didn’t fact check. “Marinette’s my bestie; I should be going with her.”

Marinette snorted, “Last I check your bestie was Lila. Or don’t you remember ending our friendship?”

“Well, I, uh,” Alya stuttered out. She had completely forgotten disowning the bluenette. She had been so excited when her mother told her friend’s name was trending, thinking she’d see Lila Rossi, only to see Marinette Dupain-Cheng on the top search list of the day. Then she watched the video of her performing, when Jagged mentioned the record deal, Alya lost her mind. Her mind was filled with images of her and Marinette at music awards shows and on tours; movie premieres. It was all going to be amazing.

Except it wasn’t. She and Marinette weren’t friends anymore. A balloon popped inside Alya.

Marinette gave her a sad smile, “What did you think I forgot? Or you must have.”

“The chances of that happening or as likely as Jagged Stone owning a cat,” Chloe smirked as Lila walked into the door. “Or did you forget that part too? Wonder how Lila saved something he never owned?”

To her credit, Lila didn’t bat an eye. “He doesn’t own one now. He must have forgotten the poor thing once he got really famous and they went out of style. I wonder what happened to it.” It was good performance. Lila even got teary eyed.

Still, Lila was met with suspicious looks. The class started to wonder if she was really their golden ticket. Or if the pissed of the real one instead.

“Congratulations, Marinette,” Lila simpered, jealously flaring in her eyes. “Who knew Jagged Stone was your Uncle?”

“Shouldn’t you?” Chloe poked yet another hole in her story. “You said you were oh so very close.”

Marinette smirked, “I had get my rock and roll genes from somewhere.”

#ml fic #ml salt #marinette dupen chang #luka couffaine #chloe bourgeois #Marinette deserves better #adrien salt

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rhysismydaddy · 4 years

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After Midnight pt. 1 (Feysand)

Synopsis: After a tumultuous, heartbreaking relationship, Feyre Archeron turns to online dating for a break from normalcy. Or rather, to Velaris Nighttime Ventures, the most exclusive, high-dollar escort system around. She needs to ease back in to intimacy, so this seems like the perfect idea. But what happens when her escort turns out to be someone she can’t get out of her head? Someone who seems to understand and appreciate everything about her?

My many disclaimers: Stole a line in here from The Hating Game. And one from ACOTAR obviously. And the story line is loosely based off of The Kiss Quotient. Basically, I’m a fraud.

__________________________________________________________

~Feyre~

If I told any of my friends I’m about to hire a hooker, they’d laugh themselves silly.

And, to be honest, the idea is a little ridiculous to me, too.

I’ve never had a problem getting a date in my life. Brownish blondeish hair, blue-gray eyes, and an athletic build give me slightly above average looks. A lucrative job makes me financially sound and independent. A lifetime with two sisters gave me a sense of humor.

I’ve dated prom kings, nerds, and everything in between. I’m completely normal.

Or at least I used to be.

After everything that happened last year, I don’t know if that’s true anymore.

My therapist tells me constantly it’s okay that my last relationship changed me. And the multiple degrees on her pretty green wall tell me she knows what she’s talking about and that she’s completely correct.

Even if... even if it doesn’t feel okay.

Even if I can hardly stand looking in a mirror or being hugged or someone giving me a compliment.

Even if I haven’t felt like myself in so long, I don’t even know if I’d recognize it if i did.

Because while I used to love putting makeup on, choosing a dress, and going out, the thought now fills me with so much dread it makes me nauseous.

What if I just make the same mistake as last time?

My sister's told me my whole life to guard my heart, but I always laughed it off and said she was being cynical. And what do I have to prove it? Trust issues and a standing appointment Dr. Motley.

Men don’t deserve my trust. At least not right now.

But... it’s time to move on in the physical sense.

And since running the risk of taking home the wrong man scares me shitless, I’ll start with someone who can’t reject me, can’t make me feel worthless.

Someone who won’t develop feelings for me or get attached and demanding. Someone... who won’t mind giving me control.

A hooker.

Or escort, like the Velaris Nighttime Ventures website says as I scroll through pages and pages of profiles.

Gods, this is more stressful than my first gallery opening.

All the profiles include is a picture, probably-fake name, height, an age, and a simple sentence about them.

It feels creepily similar to online shopping. And there are so, so many options. How the heck am I going to choose one?

Scrolling down further, my eyes roam over men of every skin tone, age, and height. I don’t have any real preference, but decide I need to have a few ground rules, otherwise this will take forever.

Age? I’m twenty-seven and don’t have an interest in being a cougar, so I set the range from twenty-eight to thirty-five.

Height? At 5′6, I’m not exactly tall, but I’ve always found men who were more attractive, so I shrug and put the minimum at six feet.

Pressing enter, I watch the website sort, then look at the number of men left. Thirty. Not bad.

Scrolling through slowly, I realize it’s kind of like a yearbook for an all male college or something.

A college full of really sexy men.

I pause on a few, but something about them make her keep going. I want the complete opposite of my ex, so any with features like him get eliminated.

Eventually, I get to the last row, feeling a little dejected.

But then I see him.

His eyes seemed to pierce through the screen, and once I see him, I can’t look away. Without another thought, I click on the profile.

The name under the picture reads Rhysand. No last name, probably for privacy purposes. He’s a few years older than me. And tall--6′3 tall. But that isn’t what draws me closer. It’s the sentence he’d written.

To the stars that listened -- and the dreams that are answered.

My fingers ignore the rational part of my brain and click the button to book an appointment, and before I know it, I’m looking at a confirmation page.

For tonight at midnight.

Oh gods.

~Rhysand~

After working at the bar for a few hours, I head back to my shitty apartment to get ready for tonight’s appointment.

Someone has booked me for an “evening of adventure and pleasure” as the confirmation email tells me.

Wonderful.

All I know is her name: Feyre. It doesn’t sound like an old-lady name, so there’s that.

Those are the worst. It feels like fucking someone’s grandmother. Not that I’d know, exactly. And I mean sure, most of my clients are older. But there’s older, and then there’s old. Fine line between the two, let me tell you.

Most of the people who hire me are in their forties, trapped in miserable marriages, and desperate for a decent lay. They’re also filthy rich, because I’m not cheap in the slightest.

It’s why I’d agreed to this shit in the first place.

Yeah, I have to psych myself up and sleep with a random lady, but the pay is killer. And the more money I make, the quicker I can stop.

So I shower and go through my pre-appointment routine, trying not to think about what’s become of my life.

There weren’t any special requests on the appointment, but the meet was set for a swanky hotel downtown, so I put on a dark suit and white dress shirt. My hair doesn’t need much work, so I leave, figuring I’ll get there early.

The drive over’s quick, and soon I’m walking inside and sitting at the bar. She has my picture, but I don’t have a clue what she looks like, so she’ll have to come find me.

After a few minutes, someone settles next to me, and I turn around with an expectant smile.

But when I see who it is, I stop. And hating myself more than I thought possible, I tell the woman, “Sorry, I’m waiting for someone.”

Which really fucking sucks, because she’s beautiful as hell.

Smooth skin, dark blonde hair, blue eyes, and kiss-me lips kind of beautiful.

She gives me a strange look, then says words I’d never expect from someone like her. “I’m Feyre. I’m the... client.”

The way she cringes on the word tells me it’s her first time doing something like this, and the thought makes me a little too happy.

I know I should say something to comfort her, but all I can think is... she’s definitely no grandma.

~Feyre~

He keeps staring at me for a few more moments, then smiles and says, “Sorry. You’re not what I was expecting.”

I nod, then realize I have no idea what to say. Or do. Fuck, this is weird. “Do you want a drink?”

Rhysand shakes his head, then says, “Feel free, though.”

That’s the first good idea I’ve heard all day. After ordering from the bartender, I turn to the man next to me and smile sheepishly. “I don’t really know how this works. It’s my first time with... this.”

“I figured.” He’s turned toward me, one arm braced on the bar. “You can have your drink, and we’ll go upstairs when you’re ready.”

A nervous laugh ebbs out of me, and I blush. “Okay.”

Gods, am I really going through with this?

I mean sure, he’s hotter than all hell, but he’s a prostitute.

Would you rather invite a random man home with you? the bitch that lives in my brain asks with a knowing smile.

I ignore her as a drink’s set in front of me, finding it helps a little. The man next to me just watches, face a mixture of confusion and amusement.

Somehow, the photo didn’t do him justice. He’s ridiculously attractive, with dark hair, almost violet eyes, and tan skin. There’s a hint of stubble on his strong jaw, surrounding the sensual mouth that’s currently smirking at me.

I’m definitely attracted to him, but this is still weird.

“So, why are you doing this?” he asks as I drink. “If you don’t mind.”

I’m sure as hell not telling him the truth, so I say, "I’ll tell you my story if you tell me yours.”

Rhysand smiles, and it only makes him more attractive. “Fair point.”

Then he looks me up and down, raises his dark brows, and asks, “Ready?”

Not in the fucking slightest. “Sure.”

By the time we reach the elevator, I’m practically shaking. Telling myself that I can do this--that it’s what I want, for gods sake--doesn’t really help. But I don’t say a word as we glide up, then walk to the room I’ve rented for tonight.

When we get inside, I avoid looking at the bed as I turn to him.

Rhysand smoothly takes off his suit jacket, then leans against the wall and crosses his ankles. “You seem nervous.”

He certainly doesn’t. Every move he makes is smooth and easy, like he’s so comfortable in his body he doesn’t ever get nervous or self-conscious.

Must be nice.

“I do?” It’s a deflection, and we both know it.

“You’re shaking like a wet dog.” My nose wrinkles at the analogy, and he grins. “A very cute wet dog.”

I told myself I’d be alright, but now that I’m alone with him, I realize I’ve told absolutely no one where I am tonight. And if things go wrong... I start pacing. “I’m, uh... it’s just... nothing. Let’s do this thing.”

I should write sonnets.

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t say a word as he walks to sit on the edge of the bed. Feeling like the biggest idiot in the world, I sit next to him.

“Why don’t we just take things slow?”

Thank the gods. I nod.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, using manners I definitely hadn’t expected but much appreciate.

I nod again, trying to keep my hands from shaking.

Rhysand raises a hand, but I swallow and push down the flare of panic as he cups my jaw and tilts my face to his. Then he leans in--keeping his word and going very slowly--and I brace myself as his lips brush against mine.

My body doesn’t exactly know how to feel when they touch. On the one hand, a very handsome man is kissing me. On the other... a man is kissing me.

I ignore the second thought and kiss him back.

His lips are silky soft against mine, slowly urging them open, and then his tongue is in my mouth, caressing mine. Everything’s slow and sensual and practiced.

And even though it’s a picture-perfect moment, it feels like that scene in the movie where the dumb blonde goes down the dark hallway while the entire theater screams at her to run.

Oh gods oh gods oh gods.

My brain’s playing me a repeat of the last year on fast forward, and I press my eyes closed to try and block it out.

I’m fine.

Rhysand leans into me, and then I’m on my back with him hovering above me, still kissing me. His surprisingly muscled frame is heavy against me, pressing me down into the soft sheets, and his elbows are by my head.

Nothing’s wrong.

Everything’s wrong.

I take a quick moment to remind myself that if this had happened a year ago, I’d probably have wrapped myself around him and let him do whatever he wanted.

But the past twelve months weren’t just a bad dream. And the band-aid protecting the stupid, naive girl I used to be from the harsh realities of the world has been ripped off and torn to bits.

And suddenly, I can’t breathe.

His head snaps up immediately, and violet eyes gaze down at me, full of concern. A weak hand comes up to press against his chest, and he sits up immediately. “Feyre? Are you okay?”

I shake my head and practically roll off the bed onto the floor. It’s completely undignified, but I don’t care. My lungs are on fire, my throat tight with the tears I’m barely holding back.

I have to get away from him; I have to get some space.

My back hits the wall, and I curl into myself, pressing my forehead against my knees.

Breathe, Feyre, breathe.

The silence in the room is broken only by my gasps, and I focus on the sound, letting it remind me that I’m here, that I made it out.

I don’t let myself think about the other person in the room. It’s just me, and I’m fine. I made it out.

There’s scratchy carpet under my legs, a wall behind my back, and more than enough air in the room.

Eventually, my brain catches up with the obvious, allowing oxygen to fill my chest. I’m gulping down breath after breath until my heart rate finally starts slowing down, and it’s only when my head stops feeling fuzzy do I open my eyes.

Rhysand sits on the bed, beautiful eyes wide, watching me.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. Gods, he’s probably uncomfortable beyond belief. “I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s not your fault,” I say, cutting him off and shaking my head. I know I should get off the floor, but my legs feel like jello, and I don’t want to crawl around again. “I, um...”

The words to explain the panic don’t come easy, but he stays silent, giving me time.

And because I’m a coward who still can’t admit what happened to me, I repeat the words my therapist suggested I try.

“I have problems with intimacy.” It’s hardly a whisper, but I know he hears it. “And, um... I thought it would be easier with someone like you.” I flinch at my own words and try to make it sound less offensive. “I didn’t mean-”

“It’s okay, Feyre. I understand.”

Tears burn the edges of my eyes, but I force them down and steady my voice. “You can go. There’s money on the desk.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not leaving you like this. Unless I’m the reason.”

“No, it’s not you,” I assure him. “You’re great. I just have a hard time relaxing with- I mean around-”

“Men,” he finishes quietly.

And even though I didn’t tell him, he looks like he can read the words off my face. Rhysand doesn’t say another word, but his eyes are understanding and calm.

He extends a hand, the silent invitation clear, and for some reason, it makes me smile as I slowly get to my feet, using the wall to support me.

Walking over, he takes my hand in is, and I notice how rough his palms are. Before I can wonder what he does to get such big callouses, he takes my other hand and places them on his shoulders.

“You’re in control. There are no expectations with me.” The words wash over me, settling in, and my heart slows down a bit. “If you want to kiss and call it a night, we can. It’s up to you.”

For some reason, hearing that he doesn’t care helps. It’s the reason why I chose this, I guess. I’m the client, and I’m in control.

Finally feeling calm, I slowly run my hands over his shoulders, down his arms. He’s heavily muscled, but it’s smooth and lean, not bulky. From a physical life, not from hours spent in a gym.

I can see the faint lines of tattoos beneath the shirt, but I don’t move to unbutton it.

His eyes stay on me, and I meet them as my hands drift to his face. The stubble I’d noticed earlier is rough against my fingers as I trace his jaw, then the strong slope of his eyebrows.

It’s been a year since I touched a man. Longer since I did so this... leisurely.

My hands find their way into his dark hair, and I smile at how soft it is. His head tilts back a little and his eyes drift close. I don’t know if he’s putting on a show or actually enjoying this, but he seems calm at least.

And I think... I think this could work.

Working on my intimacy issues with him could help fix me, maybe even get me ready for a real relationship.

So I lean in slowly and press my mouth to his.

Like he said, I’m in control. While earlier had felt like being kissed, this feels like kissing. I move my mouth slowly over his, tracing the curve of his lower lip softly.

He really is a beautiful man.

And patient, too. He’s extremely patient while I take my time learning the shape of his mouth, then the angle of his jaw. He stays still, eyes closed, letting me explore.

I slowly drift back to his mouth, and when he eases his lips open, I meet his tongue with mine. It’s slow and light and just enough to make me want more.

My breath comes shorter, but it isn’t in panic.

Taking his hands from the bed beside him, I place them on my hips. His fingers flex, but they stay exactly where I put them, even as I wrap my arms around his neck and press a little closer to him.

We’re still just kissing, but I feel it in my entire body, all the way to my toes.

I pull back and take a deep breath, not knowing how to put what I want into words without embarrassing myself. Bright violet eyes meet mine as Rhysand runs his tongue across his lower lip. “Just say it.”

How can he read my face so well after just an hour of knowing me?

“Lean back,” I say, my face warm with a blush. “But don’t turn us over. I can’t... I feel trapped.”

Rhysand just nods, gripping my hips tighter, then lays down with me on top of him. My chest is against his, my legs resting in between his. It’s the closest I’ve been to someone in a long time, and I wait for the panic to set in, but none comes.

“You okay?”

A small part of me wishes he wouldn’t be so damn understanding and nice. It’s making me feel so incredibly stupid, even as it warms my heart.

I nod, then put my head down against his chest. “I’m so embarrassed.”

“Why?”

Looking back up, I meet his eyes hesitantly. “You’re probably so weirded out by me. Paying you just to come make out like teenagers.”

He smiles, and it makes some of the nerves untangle. “Silly woman. I could kiss you all night. You have the most delicious mouth.” He leans in and kisses me, as if to prove it, then makes a deep humming sound.

“That’s absurd,” I mutter, even though I feel a lot less anxious now.

Rhysand shakes his head, then says, “You taste like fucking candy.” His arms loosely wrap around my waist. “Tilt your head to the side and I’ll prove it.”

I do, and his mouth meets my neck, slowly but in a way that makes it feel like I’m being devoured. Tingles shoot down my body as he sweeps my hair off my neck to get better access, and a soft moan escapes me as he sucks on the spot between my shoulder and neck.

He pulls away enough to say, “You have a really sexy moan, too.”

My face goes scarlet, and he grins up at me, then we’re kissing again. Gods, the man can kiss. He’s letting me control everything, but it’s obvious he’s good at what he does.

Even though I’m almost delirious with lust--something I haven’t felt in a long, long time--I know this is enough for tonight. I’ve already had one panic attack, and I don’t want to push myself too hard.

So I pull back and tell him, “You can go. I don’t think... this is good for tonight, I think.”

“I feel like you’re not getting your money’s worth if I leave now,” he says, and if I could’ve sworn I hear a hint of sadness in his tone.

I shrug, not telling him the money for tonight was nothing to worry about. Instead, I just slide off him and stand up, straightening my shirt. “It’s was more than okay. Seriously. Thank you for being so understanding.”

Rhysand rises fluidly and grabs his jacket, then turns to me. Before he can speak, I say, “I actually wanted to talk to you about another appointment.”

After an awkward pause, he says quietly, “I don’t really do... repeats.”

“Oh.” There’s no way to hide the disappointment in my voice.

I’d thought that I’d be able to work with him slowly. Build on what we did tonight. The thought of having to find a different man and explain why I’m so emotionally stunted... shit.

What if I freak out again, in front of someone new?

Gods, no wonder he doesn’t want to come back. He’s already had to deal with an hour of my trauma. Who would ever sign up to do it again? I’m damaged goods.

“It’s not you, I promise. I’ve just had a few clients get sort of... attached. So I made a policy to not meet with women more than once.” He sounds nice and apologetic, and it grates my nerves a little.

Rejection is rejection no matter how you look at it.

And no matter how fucked up I am, I don’t need anyone’s pity.

But, like a big girl, I smile and nod. “I get it. It’s fine. I’ll find someone else. Your money is on the table.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Find someone else? What do you mean?”

My eyebrows fly up at how shocked he sounds. He just saw firsthand how not okay I am, and he’s surprised?

“I mean that I’ll find someone else. I have intimacy issues, and I need to work on them. I understand completely that you’re uncomfortable with that, and I’ll find someone who isn’t.”

There’s a flicker in his jaw. “And you’re planning on using the website for this someone?”

“It’s really none of your concern.”

“Feyre, there are some not so great people on there. You shouldn’t use-”

My patience snaps. “You have absolutely no right to lecture me. You don’t want the job, I will find someone else, since it’s such a goddamn burden. Now thank you very much for tonight, but you’re community service is done. You can go.”

There are too many emotions on his face to process them all, but I definitely register shock.

“I promise it isn’t about you, okay? You’re great. Hell, I’d want to sleep with you even if I wasn’t getting paid. But I have a policy, and-”

“Like I said, I understand. You can go now.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “Don’t use the site to find another guy.”

There’s something about the command in his voice that grabs every last thread I’m hanging by and rips them free. I march over to him and jab a finger into his chest. “Do not tell me what to do. Ever.”

Rhysand eyes narrow, but it isn’t in anger. It’s like he’s looking at a puzzle, and he just figured out the piece he’d thought would fit won’t. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

I remove the finger-gun from his chest, but he doesn’t make any move to leave. Instead, he catches me completely off guard by saying, “I’ll do four more appointments.”

Rolling my eyes comes a little to easy. “Don’t do me any favors. I’m not your goddamn charity case.”

“No, because if you were, you’d probably be a little grateful.” Whatever retort I had planned dies in my throat. “But it’s not pity. I don’t want you getting hurt by some other guy from the site.”

There’s enough genuine concern in his voice for me to believe him. And the last thing I want is to put myself in danger.

But I still ask if he’s serious, because to be honest, it sounds perfect.

If I can fix myself in six appointments.

That’s a pretty big if.

“Yes, seriously. But I’m going to charge you more, and we can only meet here.”

I shrug because I sure as hell wasn’t about to invite him to my place. And unless he’s planning on charging enough to buy a house, it should be fine. “Okay.”

He glances at me, then down at himself, like he’s suddenly aware he’s still standing here. “Okay.”

And just like that, I’ve hired a hooker.

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Part 2 is here because I have no self-control. Let me know in the comments/my box if you want to be tagged :)

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#feysand #feyre archeron #feyre #rhysand #feyre x rhys #rhys #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acotar fanfiction #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight

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