#i don’t hate it but i don’t think i’ll ever revisit the season besides maybe the first episode | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kjack89 · 3 years

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gold rush

As was requested, a sequel to ‘tis the damn season (tumblr, AO3). ExR, modern AU, former relationship. Still not a happy ending. Still the potential for writing more.

I’m here.

Enjolras sent the text message and tried to ignore what felt an uncomfortable amount like nerves as he leaned against the fence, scrolling aimlessly through Twitter. He jumped when the gate swung open next to him, relaxing only slightly when he saw Grantaire. “Hey,” Grantaire said, his breath fogging the air.

“Hey,” Enjolras returned, a little awkwardly, wondering what the protocol was for greeting an ex.

Luckily, Grantaire solved the problem for him, reaching out to give him a quick, one-armed hug. “I honestly wasn’t sure you’d call,” he said as he let go of Enjolras. “Considering how we, uh, left things.”

Enjolras was tempted to ask if he was referring to how they’d left things a few nights ago after their chance meeting outside of the bar, or how they’d left things a decade ago when they broke up, but decided against it. “Technically I didn’t call you,” he pointed out instead, shoving his phone in the pocket of his coat. “I texted.”

Grantaire grinned. “Pedantic as always,” he said.

Wordlessly, they fell in line next to each other, walking down the sidewalk in momentary silence, which Grantaire broke with a sideways look at Enjolras. “So are you still scared of my parents?”

Enjolras scowled. “I’ve never been scared of your parents,” he said, somewhat insulted.

“Then why would you not just come up and ring my doorbell instead of texting me?” Grantaire asked, amused. “For that matter, why did you never once ring my doorbell the entire time we were dating?”

“I don’t know,” Enjolras said honestly. “I guess it never occurred to me that I should have.”

Grantaire chuckled and shook his head. “Well, I suppose I can forgive you,” he said, nudging Enjolras lightly with his shoulder. “You were in high school, after all. And an idiot.”

“Thanks,” Enjolras said sourly.

“But I’m sure you’ve had a lot more experience meeting the parents of your significant other, Grantaire continued, glancing sideways at Enjolras. Right?”

Enjolras hesitated. “Depends on what you mean by experience,” he hedged.

Grantaire raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“In my defense, I haven’t really ever dated someone that seriously.” Grantaire didn’t say anything and Enjolras winced with sudden realization. “Besides, um, besides you, I mean,” he muttered.

To his surprise, Grantaire just laughed lightly. “You don’t have to do that, you know,” he said, and Enjolras frowned at him.

“Do what?”

Grantaire shrugged. “Pretend like we were more than what we were.”

Enjolras frowned at him. “I was under the impression we dated for three years in high school,” he said warily, wondering where exactly Grantaire was going with this.

Evidently, nowhere, since Grantaire just shook his head and looked down at the slush-dotted sidewalk. “You know what? Let’s not do this right now.”

Part of Enjolras wanted to ask, again, do what?, but he figured playing dumb wouldn’t get him particularly far. Instead, he asked, “Why not?”

“Because this is our last night in town together, and I assume when you texted me this morning to ask if I wanted to grab a drink that there would actually be drinks involved,” Grantaire said with a sigh. “And I don’t know about you, but I prefer my drinks without dredged up decades-old arguments.”

Enjolras cocked his head slightly. “Does it count as an argument if only one party is seemingly involved?”

Grantaire didn’t laugh. “I’ll defer to the lawyer among us on that.”

“Then I would say no,” Enjolras said, but Grantaire still didn’t so much as crack a smile. “Seriously, I’m not sure where you’re going with this, and I’m definitely not sure I can table something that I don’t understand.”

Grantaire sighed and crossed his arms tightly across his chest. “Can we please just get that drink?” he asked, sounding tired. “It’s too fucking cold to have this conversation out here. And you know that I’ve always been better arguing with a drink or twelve in me.”

“On that point, the defense will stipulate.”

“Ok Yoda,” Grantaire said with a snort.

Enjolras scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Grantaire gave him a look. “Please tell me that I don’t have to explain Star Wars to you.”

“Fuck off, you know that’s not what I meant,” Enjolras said, without any real heat. “But if you see me as Yoda, of all characters—”

“I didn’t say that, but your turn of phrase was particularly Yoda-esque,” Grantaire shot back.

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “So you don’t think I’m like Yoda?”

Grantaire smirked. “Didn’t say that either.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes and huffed, “I feel like I’m beginning to understand why Han shot first.”

“Oh, so now I’m Greedo?” Grantaire asked, half-insulted and half-amused.

“And I didn’t say that.”

The familiar bickering carried them all the way to the bar, where they settled at a table in the back. “Uh, vodka tonic for me,” Grantaire told their waitress as he struggled to peel his sweatshirt off, the tshirt he was wearing underneath caught up in it as he tugged it up over his head.

Enjolras tried not to stare at the swath of taut skin revealed, and it took several tries before he realized the waitress had asked him a question. “Uh, what?”

“Can I get you something to drink?” the waitress repeated, looking like she was trying not to laugh.

“Uh…” Enjolras trailed off as Grantaire, finally triumphant over his sweatshirt, settled back in his seat, his arm muscles shifting as he reached up in vain to flatten his hair. “I’ll have the same.”

The waitress nodded and headed over to the bar, and Grantaire frowned at Enjolras. “Since when do you drink vodka?”

“Since when do you?” Enjolras returned, arching an eyebrow. “Last I saw, whiskey was your drink of choice.”

“Yeah, well, too many Jamo shots will ruin even the best whiskeys,” Grantaire said with a light laugh. “Besides, clear liquor has less calories, and I’m trying to watch my girlish figure.”

Enjolras laughed and the waitress returned with their drinks. Grantaire picked up his drink and made a mock toast. “Happy holidays,” he said, taking a large sip, as Enjolras just shook his head, his own sip much more reasonable.

“So now that you have alcohol in your system,” he said, setting his glass down on the table, “can we revisit what it was you were talking about earlier when you said that I shouldn’t pretend we were something we weren’t?”

Grantaire sighed. “Just when I was beginning to have a nice time,” he said mournfully.

“Grantaire.”

Even after all those years, it appeared Enjolras saying Grantaire’s name had a similar effect as it used to, as Grantaire sighed again, tracing a finger around the rim of his glass. “I just think you and I remember things a little differently,” he said carefully. “Maybe it’s just nostalgia coloring your memories, or maybe you’ve got early-onset Alzheimer’s.”

Enjolras frowned. “That’s not funny.”

“And the one thing I ever had going for me was making you laugh,” Grantaire said, a little too wry to be a joke. “But seriously...whatever you and I had, it wasn’t a relationship.” He tried to smile, but to Enjolras, it looked more like a grimace. “Not in the traditional sense of the word, anyway.”

Enjolras searched his expression for a long moment, trying and failing to understand what he meant. “What are you saying?” he asked finally.

Grantaire picked his drink up and drained it before glancing around for their waitress. “I’m saying that you were my boyfriend. But I wasn’t yours.” He spotted their waitress and gestured to her before meeting Enjolras’s eyes again. “I was, at best, your friend with benefits.” He made a face. “Probably more accurately, I was your booty call. Physical release. Whatever you want to call it.”

“That’s—”

Not true was what Enjolras desperately wanted to say, but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to. Mostly because he had a sinking feeling that Grantaire was correct. Grantaire arched an eyebrow as he waited for Enjolras to say something, taking a sip of his drink when the waitress returned with a refill. “Fine,” Enjolras said finally. “Maybe it was mostly physical, but that wasn’t all it was.”

“Sure, it was also your rebellion against the heteronormative world,” Grantaire said, nodding.

Enjolras scowled. “That’s not what I meant.”

Grantaire sighed. “Enjolras—”

“I loved you.”

Grantaire’s expression was unreadable. “Maybe you did. I can’t exactly claim to know every thought that’s run through your head. But I can tell you that that’s not how you acted at the time.”

“Was I really that horrible to you?” Enjolras asked quietly.

Grantaire considered it for a moment. “I think to be really horrible, that would have required you to care more about me,” he said slowly. “Instead, you...tolerated me, I guess.”

Enjolras’s chest felt tight as he thought desperately back on their relationship, on some piece of evidence he could present that would prove Grantaire incorrect. Instead, his mind replayed a litany of memories he had long since buried, of all the times Enjolras had scoffed when Grantaire tried to do something romantic, or told him to be serious when Grantaire asked him to homecoming or prom, or blew off their date nights because he had work to do on a protest.

Or, worst of all, that early morning in Enjolras’s bed, when Grantaire told him that he loved him, and Enjolras had told him that he needed to leave before Enjolras’s parents woke up.

Enjolras swallowed, hard, and forced himself to look at Grantaire. “You must’ve hated me for how I treated you,” he said softly.

Grantaire’s smile was sad. “I’ve never once in my life hated you, Enj,” he said quietly. “If anything, I hated myself for not being someone you could love.”

“I’m sorry.”

Grantaire shook his head. “That’s my issue, not yours. You didn’t do that to me.” He managed a tight smile. “I knew who you were when we were together. I knew what you wanted out of life, and I knew I wasn’t going to be a part of that.” He took a swig of his drink before adding, “And let’s also not pretend like I was some kind of stellar boyfriend. I was a fucked up mess.”

Enjolras huffed a sigh. “Maybe we both were,” he mused.

“Is that what this is about?” Grantaire asked mildly.

Enjolras frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, is this whole trip down memory lane with me just you trying to figure out where it all went wrong for you?”

“I– Who says it all went wrong for me?” Enjolras blustered. Grantaire just arched an eyebrow and Enjolras sighed, frowning down at his own, mostly untouched drink. “I guess I did envision a very different life for myself,” he admitted.

“And you’re not happy with where you are right now?” Grantaire asked, in a way that suggested he knew the answer and just wanted to hear Enjolras say it.

“How could I be?” Enjolras asked, aiming for levity as he added, “I wear a suit to work everyday, Grantaire. With a tie. My father told me he’s proud of me.”

Grantaire snorted. “The horror.” He propped his chin on his hand. “But speaking of your father, what happened to your college fund?”

“My college fund?”

“Yeah, you said that you’re working as a corporate attorney because you have to pay off your student loans, right?” Enjolras nodded and Grantaire continued, “If memory serves, your grandparents left you a fairly sizeable college fund that you were supposed to use to pay for school so that you didn’t have to take out student loans.”

“Ah,” Enjolras said, wincing. “They did.”

“And?” Grantaire prompted.

Enjolras sighed again. “And in a moment of well-intentioned idiocy, I donated every cent of it to charity.” He paused and took a sip of his drink. “Well, almost. I did pay for undergrad with it. But what was left went to charity. And then my father told me that he would be happy to pay for law school.”

Grantaire raised both eyebrows. “Really?”

Enjolras made a face. “Yeah, if I agreed to specialize in business law.”

“And?”

“And I told him to get fucked,” Enjolras said bluntly before making a face again. “Of course he’s clearly had the last laugh, so.”

Grantaire shook his head, his expression softening. “Don’t count yourself out yet. I mean, for Christ’s sake, you’re not even 30 years old yet. You’ve got time.” He paused before adding, “Besides, I still believe in you.”

Enjolras gave him a look. “Be serious.”

Grantaire half-smiled. “I am wild.”

A small smile twitched at the corners of Enjolras’s mouth and he shook his head slowly. “I keep thinking that you’ve changed so much, but then you go and say something like that and it’s like we’re 18 years old again.”

Grantaire laughed and took another sip of his drink. “I don’t know that I’d say I’ve changed,” he said.

“Then what would you say?”

“That I’ve had a lot of therapy, mostly,” Grantaire said, suddenly serious. “And grown up a little. And that while I may not have changed as much as you’re giving me credit for, I’m also not the fucked up mess I was in high school.”

Enjolras nodded, looking down at his drink again. “I wish I could say the same thing.”

“Well, it’s not too late to try.”

“I suppose not,” Enjolras allowed, managing a small smile, though it quickly faded. “And now I feel even worse.”

Grantaire frowned. “Why?”

“Because we’ve spent all this time talking about me and I haven’t asked you anything about you.” Grantaire made a face but Enjolras continued, “What are you doing these days? Hell, where are you living these days?”

“In a van, down by the river,” Grantaire said dryly.

“Hilarious.”

Grantaire smirked. “I like to think I am.” He shrugged. “I also prefer keeping a little mystery about me. Keeps ‘em coming for more, you know?”

Enjolras arched an eyebrow. “So you’re not going to answer even basic questions?”

Something darkened in Grantaire’s expression. “I mean, what is there to say? You want the square footage of my apartment? You want me to drone on about my terrible, awful, absolute godsend of a cat? You want me to talk about the latest exhibit I’m curating at the gallery I work at?”

“Actually, yeah.” Enjolras said, a little defensively, even if he didn’t quite understand the hard edge in Grantaire’s voice. “I’d like to hear about your life, if you’d let me.”

Grantaire shook his head and finished his second drink, already looking around for their waitress. “You really don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?” Enjolras asked impatiently.

“Pretend you’re interested.”

“What makes you think I’m not actually interested?” Grantaire scoffed and looked away, and Enjolras swallowed, hard, realization hitting as the theme of the evening returned in full force. “Because I never used to be.”

“Not particularly, no.”

“I’m—”

Grantaire looked flatly at him. “I swear to God, Enjolras, if you try to apologize one more time…”

Enjolras held his hands up defensively. “Fine, then I’m not sorry for being a completely self-absorbed asshole.”

It was a little too caustic to be a joke, which is probably why Grantaire just shook his head, something contemplative in his expression. “You were never self-absorbed. A little self-important, maybe, and with a white savior complex to rival the colonizers you so desperately hated—”

“Watch it.”

Grantaire smirked, though it quickly faded. “But your problem was never that you only cared about yourself. Your problem was that you cared so much about saving the world that you didn’t have a lot left for the people right in front of you.”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “Yeah, well, I don’t have that problem anymore,” he said tiredly.

Grantaire just raised an eyebrow. “That remains to be seen.”

“Harsh, but fair,” Enjolras said with a dry, humorless laugh. “Well, in the spirit of trying to show you that, tell me about yourself. And I will actually listen.”

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed. “Fine, I will tell you about myself – if you answer one question for me.”

“Anything.”

“Why now?”

The stark question took Enjolras by surprise, and he blinked at Grantaire. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, why do you suddenly want to know about me?” Grantaire asked, a challenge in his tone. “My phone number hasn’t changed. Facebook exists. Hell, you could even find me on LinkedIn if you really wanted to. But you never made that attempt. So I want to know why you care now.” He gestured around the bar. “Because if it’s just proximity, you go back to your life tomorrow, and I go back to mine, and since the likelihood of us running into each other again is pretty slim, you don’t have to waste time pretending to care.”

“That’s not fair,” Enjolras said quietly.

Grantaire jerked a shrug. “Maybe not. But like I said, I grew up. And I don’t have time for anything but honesty.”

Enjolras’s brow furrowed. “Fine, you want honesty?” he snapped, more riled than he had any right to be. “The phone works both ways. If you had wanted to stay in touch, you could have just as easily.”

A ghost of a smile crossed Grantaire’s face. “Objection. Presumes facts not in evidence.”

“I beg your pardon?” Enjolras said coldly.

“C’mon, you’re a lawyer, if I can pick up what that means from watching reruns of Law & Order, surely I don’t have to explain it to you.” Enjolras just gave him a look, and Grantaire sighed. “Fine, I guess I do.” He picked up his drink and lifted it in a mock toast once again. “I never said that I wanted to stay in touch.”

Grantaire didn’t deliver the words harshly, but Enjolras still recoiled. “Now who’s the one who doesn’t care?”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them, but it was too late to take them back. Hurt flashed across Grantaire’s face before his expression evened out. “There are a lot of things you can accuse me of,” he said quietly, “but don’t ever accuse me of not caring about you. Not after everything.”

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras said softly. “That was...out of line.”

“You think?”

Enjolras swallowed and looked away. “So why didn’t you want to stay in touch?” he asked, a little roughly.

Grantaire sighed. “Because I preferred not knowing,” he said simply. “If I didn’t know where you were at, what you were doing, then I could imagine you however I wanted to.” He managed a small, slightly sad smile. “And, at the beginning at least, I could imagine a way that we could still work things out.”

“Like what?” Enjolras asked, intrigued despite himself.

Grantaire glanced at him. “Do you actually want to know?”

“Yes.”

Enjolras wasn’t sure if Grantaire would believe him, but it didn’t seem to matter. Or maybe Grantaire had been looking for an opportunity, and this was as good as any. “I used to imagine showing up at your fancy law school,” Grantaire said slowly, with a genuine if wistful smile. “I used to imagine that I’d sneak into one of those fancy alumni dinners – I don’t know how – and I’d hide in the background, watching you, biding my time. Then when the opportunity came, when you made some claim about the working class or something, I’d casually speak up, contradict you or ask for your sources, just to watch the recognition on your face as you looked at me.”

“But you never did,” Enjolras said, his heart beating painfully in his chest, and Grantaire snorted and shook his head.

“Of course not,” he scoffed.

Enjolras frowned slightly. “Why not?”

Grantaire just shook his head. “Logistics aside, because I knew the reality would never have been as satisfying as what I imagined.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, in the version in my head, you’d smoothly counter my point, we’d bicker like old times and then you’d excuse us to discuss this further. And then…” He trailed off, his smile turning sad. “Well, then we’d wander around campus, bickering some more and it would be like you’d never left. Like we never ended.” His voice cracked and he looked away. “Perfect.”

Enjolras almost didn’t want to speak, to interrupt the moment, but he also couldn’t stop himself from asking, “And you didn’t want to try for that?”

Grantaire shook his head again. “Of course not. Because it was a dream. That version of me and that version of you don’t exist.”

“Do you think they ever could have?” Enjolras asked.

“I don’t know,” Grantaire said honestly. “But it doesn’t matter. If there’s anything I’ve learned over the past decade, looking back only gets you so far.” He finished his drink and set it down with a clunk on the table. “Let that be the lesson of the evening, I guess. And speaking of…” He looked at his bare wrist as if pretending to look at a watch. “It’s probably time I got home. I’ve got an early train to catch in the morning.”

“Hang on,” Enjolras said, frowning. “You still didn’t tell me anything about you.”

Grantaire smirked. “Oh, you noticed that, did you?”

Enjolras gave him a look. “So stay,” he said, more of a request than an order. “Have one more drink. Tell me about your life.” Grantaire shook his head and Enjolras reached across the table, closing his hand around Grantaire’s wrist. “Please.”

“I can’t,” Grantaire said quietly. “But you’ve got my number, if you ever want to continue this conversation. Or, y’know, start a different one.”

“I wish…” Enjolras trailed off. “I don’t know. I wish I had more time. To make things up to you.” He met Grantaire’s eyes. “Or to at least try.”

Grantaire smiled crookedly at him. “Are you kidding me?” he asked, twisting his hand in Enjolras’s grip so that he could grasp his hand. “You’ve given me the only thing I’ve wanted for ten years.”

“What?”

“You asked me to stay.“

Enjolras’s throat felt tight. “Grantaire—”

Grantaire let go of Enjolras’s hand and stood, grabbing his coat and sweatshirt. “Take care of yourself, Enjolras,” he said softly. “You know how to reach me if you want to. Otherwise…”

He didn’t bother finishing his sentence, just rapping his knuckles lightly on the table before walking away. Enjolras watched him leave, wondering not for the first time if this is how Grantaire had felt watching him leave a decade ago.

Wondering if this was really the end for them.

And wondering, just a little, if this was what heartbreak felt like.

#enjolras #grantaire #exr #enjoltaire #enjolras x grantaire #fanfiction #les miserables #modern au #former relationship #light angst #idk what even to tag this as #there's a lot of painful honesty here #things that should have been said a long time ago etc etc #and then it fades into the gray of my day-old tea 'cause it could never be

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years

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Eccentricity [Chapter 11: You Don’t Come Around No More]

A/N: I apologize profusely for the long wait. Thank you all so, so, so much for your support. Every single reblog, message, comment, emotional rant, and/or screech of despair makes my day, and I couldn’t do this without you. 💜 Only THREE more chapters left!!!

Series Summary: Joe Mazzello is a nice guy with a weird family. A VERY weird family. They have a secret, and you have a choice to make. Potentially a better love story than Twilight.

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: “More To Life Than Baseball” by Petey.

Chapter Warnings: Language, angsttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt.

Word Count: 7.5k.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @bramblesforbreakfast @maggieroseevans @culturefiendtrashqueen @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @escabell @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee @deacyblues @tensecondvacation @brianssixpence @some-major-ishues @haileymorelikestupid @youngpastafanmug @simonedk

The Rain

I wish I felt empty.

I’m supposed to feel empty, right? I’m supposed to feel steeped in grey, oceanic misery; I’m supposed to dip in and out of depressive naps all day and sob delicately over creased photos and fading, wistful memories. I always envisioned heartbreak as a soft and inherently feminine sort of affliction: the hems of nightgowns and bathrobes sweeping along hardwood floors, Kleenex boxes and concave couch cushions, weepy phone calls to friends and aunts and mothers, Queen Victoria wearing black for the rest of her life after Prince Albert’s death, Mary Todd Lincoln sinking into dark and hushed obscurity. Women, hollowed out by despair, cross the history of the earth like lines of latitude.

I don’t feel empty at all. I don’t even feel sad. I feel razored by sharp, red, ceaseless anxiety. I am consumed by thoughts of what I did wrong, what I said that started the wheels of doubt spinning in his mind, if he had known how it would end from the start. I dream of white, clawed hands dragging me down through cold waves. I hear words scream to me as I toss at night in my suddenly too-spacious bed, words that now hit me like knuckles to the gut: Shhh, hey, it’s just me, don’t get up, as Joe slipped beneath the Arizonan blankets, wrapped an arm around my waist, kissed my collarbone as I tumbled back into sleep; I love you to death, as his Subaru idled in Charlie’s driveway; Baby Swan, listen to me, nothing is supposed to hurt, okay, so if anything hurts, ever, at all, you tell me and we stop, deal? as we stood in the doorway of our hotel room at the Four Seasons in Chicago. And now...and now...

And now everything fucking hurts.

It doesn’t make any sense; and yet it does. Look at him. Look at me.

The Polaroid photo from Homecoming was still taped to the top of my full-length mirror. I peeled it free like a layer of translucent, friable reptilian skin, tore it straight down the center, burned both halves over a brand new three-wicked, lemon-scented Bath And Body Works candle—a gift from Renee and Paul—and closed my eyes like a child casting a wish over her birthday cake like a spell. I wished for my memories to vanish with the photograph. I wished to get hit by a truck and wake up in the hospital with no recollection of the past two and a half months. I wanted the Lees to dissolve into distant, enigmatic mystery; I wanted to join the rest of Forks in believing that they were nothing more than bewildering and yet harmless freaks, barely worth noticing, one of those glitches of the matrix that were better off ignored like liminal seconds of déjà vu. I wished to carve out every part of myself that they had ever touched.

And Joe’s voice came rushing back from where we stood by that star-lit fountain outside the Church of Saint Lawrence, accompanied by falling raindrops and a crooked grin: I can make wishes come true.

The three tiny flames flickered in the breeze that sighed through my open window. The bright, citrusy scent of the candle reminded me of Lucy. I couldn’t fucking win. What else is new?

I turned back to the mirror. I flinched when my gaze snagged on my reflection: bloodshot-eyed, swollen-faced, utterly unbeautiful, restless like a caged animal. Look at him. Look at me.

I ripped the last memento off the mirror—Official Citation!! No More Sad Spaghetti!!—and watched the yellow square of paper catch fire, curl up around the edges, become unrecognizable, turn to ash. And I wished over and over again, like a poem, like a prayer: Let me forget, oh god please let me forget.

Charlie keeps asking if I’m okay. The answer, of course, is no; but I can’t tell him that. So I wear a serene smile like clip-on fangs, a cheap polyester cloak, crimson smudges of lipstick like trails of spilled blood down the side of my neck. Every day is Halloween for me now. I dress up as someone who isn’t haunted, who hasn’t become a ghost.

And when Charlie turns up the World Series or I’d Do Anything For Love on his geriatric, staticky kitchen radio—the same radio he’s had since my mother was the one joining him for daybreak coffee and Pop-Tarts—I choke back tears like dragonfire.

Missing In Action (Revisited)

Joe wasn’t here. Neither was Ben.

Lucy, Rami, and Scarlett were sipping cups of tea at the Lees’ usual table, their eyes downcast, their voices low and murmuring, their pristine lunches neglected. Lucy and Rami were dressed in matching charcoal grey turtleneck sweaters; Scarlett had come from Fencing Club and was wearing royal purple yoga pants and a black tank top, her duffle bag of gear on the floor by her sneakered feet. Her hair was in a long fishtail braid. Archer hadn’t mentioned her since Joe broke up with me. That either meant that it was going blissfully and he didn’t want to injure me further, or that Scarlett had ended things as well.

Since Joe broke up with me. That sounds so fucking pedestrian.

I stared at the three present Lees, almost leered, commanding them to see me, to acknowledge me, to admit that I had once meant something to them, that this hadn’t all been some transitory delusion to fill the cavernous void of losing my home, my life as I knew it in Arizona. They took no notice whatsoever.

Jess kicked me beneath the lunch table. My attention snapped back to her.

“Sorry, what?”

“You want to go shopping with me and Angela tonight?” Jessica’s hands were folded just beneath her chin, her voice gentle, her eyes large and sympathetic and watery. This was her version of being supportive. I appreciated it...in a perpetually tormented and preoccupied sort of way.

“No thanks.” I forked my cold, sauceless spaghetti listlessly. I’d forgotten to pack a lunch. I didn’t have an appetite anyway. I had deleted the GrubHub app from my iPhone and had no intention of using it ever again in my comparatively short and calamitous human life.

“You could come to temple this weekend,” Jessica pressed.

“Uh.” Mingling with a churchful of sociable, wholesome, marriage-obsessed adolescent Mormons sounded like the absolute last thing I’d want to spend my evening doing. “That’s a really generous offer, but I’ll pass.”

“Well you have to do something,” Angela said. “You can’t just sit in your bedroom alone all weekend and stare at the wall and wallow in self-pity.”

We’ll see about that. I turned to Jess. “How’s Vodka Boy from your Indigenous Peoples of the Arctic class? Did he ever reappear? What’s his name again, Elmo? Ellington? El Chapo?”

“Ellsworth.” She frowned as she slurped her patron-drink-of-Mormons Sprite. “And no, he definitely failed out or overdosed or something, because he never came back.”

“Tragic,” I noted.

“But I’m pretty sure Mike’s coming over this weekend, so we’ll see if I can get some Netflix and chill action going.”

“Jess,” Angela chastised, widening her eyes and nodding to me subtly (but not quite subtly enough). No talking about getting lucky in front of the heartbroken single loser, that look said.

“I think I can be emotionally supportive without taking a goddamn vow of chastity, Angela!” Jessica hurled back.

“I gotta go.” I stood, threw on my backpack, discarded my nearly untouched lunch.

“You’ve barely eaten anything!” Angela protested. “You’ve barely eaten for a week!”

“I’ll live.” I picked my umbrella up off the slippery tile floor—peppered with muddy shoeprints and pearlescent drops of water fallen from coats and limp, sopping locks of hair—and headed out into the pouring rain. I hated the rain. I hated it. Maybe I had forgotten that for a while, but it all came hurtling back now like a hurricane, like a hand cracking across my face. I ached for the desert, for blatant and unapologetic heat, for palm trees and cacti and naked stars in the night sky. I had been researching marine biology graduate programs in the Southwest. There were good ones at UC San Diego, UC Santa Barbara, Texas A&M, the University of Southern California, UCLA. I would miss Charlie and Archer—and maybe Jessica and Angela on occasion—and absolutely nothing else about Forks. At least, that’s what I promised myself.

This is a no-giving-a-fuck-about-Lee-boys zone, I thought morosely.

Ben was brooding at our table in Professor Belvin’s classroom. It was the first time he’d shown up to Chemistry since that day Joe met me on the beach at La Push, since the place I’d once occupied in his universe had closed like a wound. I took my seat beside Ben. The window was shut today, the downpour outside torrential. Ben recoiled, just enough for me to notice; he was wearing his oversized black hoodie and practicing his Welsh, his handwriting messy and unbalanced.

“You could have warned me,” I said.

Ben didn’t glance up from his notebook. “Would that have made it any easier?”

“No,” I realized in defeat. I guess it wouldn’t have. I pulled my own notebook, my favorite pen, and a can of Diet Coke out of my backpack.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Ben said. “You really need to know that. It had nothing to do with you. And none of us are happy with the current situation. None of us.”

None of them. That included Joe. “Interestingly, that didn’t stop him from creating it.”

Ben was thoughtful, debating his next words. “We’re probably going to be moving soon.”

“What?” I startled; my turquoise blue pen dropped out of my grasp and rolled across the table. Ben snatched it up and returned it to me. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“And what, just redo this whole college thing?”

Ben shrugged. “We’ll probably start our junior years over again. Gwil will say there was some horrible family tragedy and we needed a few semesters off. I could use the extra time to figure out Calc anyway. Parametric equations make me want to kill myself.”

I just stared at him. It didn’t make any sense. “But...why would the whole family leave Forks? Because of me? One pathetic, aggrieved human? Do you all pack up and relocate every time Joe fucks and dumps someone? That must be exhausting.”

“It’s better for everyone if we get some distance. Put more space between our world and yours.”

“But...” I tried to imagine never seeing any of them again: no Mercy humming merrily as she tossed handfuls of homegrown carrots to the alpacas, no Dr. Lee dabbing away my blood with an ageless sort of patience, no Scarlett or Lucy or Rami, no brief glimpses of Joe as he avoided me in the campus library. It’s exactly what I wanted; and yet it wasn’t. It so, so, so, so wasn’t. It keeps getting worse. How is that possible? My voice was flimsy and quivering, absolutely pitiful. Disgustingly pitiful. “Who will be my lab partner?”

Ben peered over at me with wide, confused green eyes. And then—gingerly, awkwardly, like holding an acquaintance’s baby for the first time—he laid his hand over mine. “I’ll miss you too.”

Professor Belvin lectured about coordinate covalent bonds. I didn’t absorb a word. I conjugated Italian verbs with my turquoise blue pen, sketched disordered whirlpools of ink, tried not to think about whether this was my last-ever Chemistry class with Ben, whether it was my last-ever weekend sharing Forks with the Lees. Those rageful, frantic thoughts were back. What did I do wrong? What didn’t I do right? Why did he have to leave?

My nomadic gaze caught on a flier on the wall next to our misted window. I had assumed it was a leaflet for some club or protest or seasonal dance that I would definitely not attend, but it wasn’t. It was a missing poster.

Have you seen this student? the flier asked in bold, businesslike black font. It was urgent, but not quite despairing; not yet, anyway. I could hear a Dean of Student Affairs cajoling some affluent, strings-of-pearls-adorned mother over the phone: Yes ma’am, you have my full attention and I can assure you that we’re very concerned, but I’m sure it’s all just a misunderstanding...he’s probably gone backpacking or sailing with some friends and forgotten to call home. You know how college students can be. Beneath a large photo of a grinning blond kid—pink polo, flushed cheeks, clever crop job to nix a can of Natty Light clutched in one fist—was a name: Ellsworth Jonathan Griffin.

Ellsworth, I thought, my stomach plummeting. The guy from Jessica’s Indigenous Peoples of the Arctic class. He hadn’t failed out. He was missing. Missing like a 20/20 episode or a true crime podcast, missing like the pregnant stillness before a murder is confessed in some glaringly florescent-lit interrogation room, before a distended and bloodless corpse washes up on shore.

I turned to Ben. He noticed me eventually, crinkled his brow, shrugged in that way that seemed so petulant if you didn’t know him well enough to not be offended.

I pointed to the flier and raised my eyebrows. Ben twisted around in his chair to look. Then he sighed, scribbled a sentence in the corner of a piece of notebook paper, tore it free, and slid it across the table.

Ben’s note read, in atrocious penmanship: Are you seriously asking me if I ate that guy?

Maybe, I wrote back after a moment’s hesitation. Maybe that wasn’t exactly what I was asking; maybe I just wondered if he knew anything about it.

In either case, Ben’s reply was swift and resounding, and underlined three times: No.

Sorry, I wrote, abruptly remorseful. I am a jerk. And I added a frowny face for good measure. Ben chuckled when he saw it, shook his head, gave me a drawn little smirk. His words tiptoed around in my skull, leaving searing imprints like footprints in the sand. I’ll miss you too.

I have to forget about them. I drummed my turquoise blue pen against my notebook as Professor Belvin drew families of molecules on the whiteboard with squealing dry erase markers. I have to find a way to make myself forget.

Jessica was waiting for me in the hallway after class. It was part of her convince-Baby-Swan-not-to-jump-off-a-cliff initiative. “Hey.”

“Okay,” I told her with steely resolve. “I’m ready for you to set me up with one of those guys from your church or temple or whatever. I’m ready to be a nice wholesome wife, pop out like six kids, learn how to scrapbook, give up caffeine and horror movies, do the whole white picket fence thing. Sign me up.”

Jessica blinked at me. There were flecks of fallen mascara on her cheekbones like ashes. “What?”

“You’re a Mormon, right?”

“Girl, I’m not a Mormon,” Jessica said, puzzled. “I’m a witch.”

Lucille

I found Joe where he usually was these days: sprawled on the sofa, engulfed in the same blue Snuggie he’d been wearing for thirty-six uninterrupted hours, gazing catatonically at the big-screen tv. A 90 Day Fiancé marathon was on. Some rodentish guy named Colt was apologizing to his gorgeous, aspiring-green-card-holding Brazilian love interest for calling the cops on her during their last screaming match. He was also apologizing for the fact that they lived in a two-bedroom apartment with his mother. I didn’t need clairvoyance to see where their future was headed.

“Hey,” Ben said when he spotted me. He was sitting next to Joe and occasionally tried to shove pieces of popcorn into his mouth, which Joe accepted passively like coins plinked into a gumball machine. Ben had been his shadow for the past week; he was perhaps the best equipped of us to understand this degree of melancholy, of hopelessness.

“Ciao.” And then, to Joe: “How are you?”

“Terrible,” he replied, not tearing his eyes from the tv.

“I figured.” I squeezed between them on the couch, curled up next to Joe, rested my chin on his shoulder. He ignored me completely. I could hear Mercy tapping at her laptop keyboard out in the dining room; she was browsing through Zillow listings in Portland, Buffalo, Pittsburgh, Cleveland. Dear god, please don’t let us end up in fucking Cleveland. “Guess what.”

Joe stared at the tv for a long time before he answered. “What.”

“I had a vision of you. Just now, as I was doing laundry. Crystal clear and very scenic too, I might add.”

“Fascinating,” Joe said flatly.

“What happened in this vision?” Ben asked, far more invested, which I was thankful for.

“It was pretty far away, maybe a year from now. I saw you in the desert at night, under a full moon. There were cacti everywhere. The shadow of the Milky Way was threaded through the sky, and the stars were very bright. I could make out the constellations Pegasus and Cassiopeia. You were filling up a tiny glass bottle with dirt.”

“That’s remarkably helpful,” Joe said.

“It is, a little bit,” I insisted. “It means you get through this. That you have a future. I get nervous when I go too long without a vision of someone in the family. But now I know you’re going to be okay.”

The reflections of the feuding 90 Day Fiancé couples danced in his glassy eyes. “Being alive doesn’t mean you’re okay.”

“That’s dark,” Ben said. “Even I think that’s too dark.” He pushed a handful of popcorn into Joe’s mouth. “Are you gonna hunt at some point or what?”

“No.”

“You’re just gonna sit on this couch and waste away?”

“Yeah.”

“You want me to bring you anything? Grizzly bear? Brown bear? Fuck it, I’ll get you a polar bear if that’s what you want. There’s probably some on the black market. Rami would know.”

“He what?” Mercy called from the kitchen. Her typing had stopped.

“Nothing, Mom!” I shot back.

“I don’t want anything,” Joe said. That was a lie, of course. We all knew what he wanted. Rami couldn’t stand to be around him; the thoughts were relentless, smothering.

I linked my arms around Joe’s neck, laid my head against his chest, sighed deeply and mournfully. “I’m sorry,” I told him. “I know that doesn’t fix anything. But I’m so, so sorry. And I’ll help however I can. We all will.”

And I had accepted that Joe wasn’t going to respond at all when he finally whispered: “I just wish I could forget.”

Cato

My rolling suitcase snagged on the cobblestone driveway. The tiny spinning wheels bashed against concrete as I scaled the front steps. As the taxi pulled away, I dug around in my suit pocket for my keys, found them, unlocked the enormous front door, stepped inside the palace as my suitcase trolled along the marble floor.

“Cato’s back!” Charity announced as she breezed down the nearest staircase, beaming and embracing me. She was a lovely, innately warm woman from Pointe-Noire, Congo; she still wore the silver cross necklace her mother had once given her around her neck. “Did you have a nice flight? Wait, let me check.” She pressed the fingertips of her right hand to my cheek. I felt the memories rush up like blood to a flushed face: the bite of sipped champagne against my tongue, the thin semi-transparent newspaper pages gliding between my fingers, the husky voice of the bearded, bearish naval officer who sat in the seat beside me, the misted silhouette of Vladivostok as it rose up out of the Pacific Ocean. “Uneventful, but pleasant enough. You flew commercial?”

“The jets were otherwise occupied, apparently.” Charity could see things with the predictability and precision that Lucy so often lacked, but only the past. I pushed her hand away. “Was that really necessary?”

“You’re not mad,” Charity declared, confident, impish, helping me shed my suit jacket and draping it over her arm. “You’re never mad.”

She was very nearly correct. “Where are the rest of the kids?”

“In the kitchen. Go say hello, they’ve missed you dreadfully.”

“I know the feeling.” I kicked off my Berlutis, ran a palm over the wiry fur of the Irish Wolfhounds that appeared to greet me before they resumed padding watchfully around the palace, and went to the kitchen, my black socks slipping a bit on the marble floors.

I could hear their voices before I reached the door: laughter, teasing, complaints, requests. The scents of pancakes and cold butter and maple syrup were thick in the air. Charity was one of our four newest recruits, and they all still had that energetic lightness of being human, a youthful enthusiasm, a relative normalness. I spent quite a lot of time with them. It was my job—to help with the transition, to keep them happy, to facilitate the welding of their individual parts into the beastly machine that was the Draghi—but oftentimes it felt more like a reprieve. Some would stay close to me as they matured, others would grow in different directions, like ambitious vines climbing the skeleton of a garden trellis. I usually missed them when they ‘grew up,’ so to speak...although there were exceptions. I had never liked Liesl. I had always liked Ben. I opened the door.

“Ah, you are home!” Ksenia cried from where she stood over the stove, a spatula in her right hand, bouncing excitedly in place on her small bare feet.

“Hey!” Max and Austin called together. They were both sitting with their shoes propped up on the unglamorous kitchen table. There was a massive formal dining room that could accommodate up to twenty-five guests, but we rarely used it.

“Good morning,” I said, aware that I was smiling for the first time in days.

Max groaned as he scrolled through his Google search results on a burner phone. “What the fuck. My name is one of the top five dog names again. I think I’m gonna have to change it.”

I ruffled his long blond hair, stealing a piece of bacon from his plate. Max had grown up a trust fund kid in Perth, Australia. His mother was old money; his father was a professional surfer. “Your name is fine.”

“Really, Kato Kaelin? Is it really? How am I supposed to intimidate people when I have a fucking dog name?”

“So make them call you Maximilian,” offered Ksenia in a heavy Ukrainian accent. She’d only been with us for eight months, but her English was coming along swimmingly. She flipped a massive A-shaped pancake on the sizzling griddle. That one was for Austin.

“Seriously?” Max said. “That is just way too many syllables. They’ll be halfway down the block by the time I’m done introducing myself. ‘Hey, come back mate, I haven’t killed ya yet.’”

“At least you aren’t stuck with a basic-white-boy-circa-1992 name for all of eternity,” said Austin Tyler McInerny, originally of Sheboygan, Wisconsin. He was chomping on a multicolored Fruit Roll-Up, which swung from his mouth like a lizard’s tongue. He’d been working at an ailing skatepark when Larkin found him. He still enjoyed showing off his kickflips, and kept insisting that he was going to teach me how to ollie. I didn’t have the faintest idea what an ollie was.

“Do you want a pancake, Cato?” Ksenia asked, passing Austin his plate and wiping her hands on her pink apron. Her black hair was tied in a high ponytail with a matching rose-colored ribbon. She looked so young. She was so young, actually. Nineteen. And she would be forever.

“No, thank you dear. I’m alright.”

“I like Alaric,” Max decided. “First king of the Visigoths. Alaric is a name fit for a vampire. Creepy, yet dignified. Or maybe Silas. Or Draco.”

Austin shook his head as he swirled a river of viscous maple syrup over his A-shaped pancake. “Definitely not Draco.”

“Why not?”

“Well, the Harry Potter connection is unfortunate. People will hear Draco and think of that obnoxious white-haired kid from the evil snake-people house or whatever.”

“Oh, right,” Max sighed. “Like I said. Alaric would work.”

“So many A-shaped pancakes!” Ksenia poured a K on the griddle for herself.

“It’s good for you,” Austin replied, pointing at her with his fork. “We’re practicing English.”

“Alaric Luther,” Max mused, scrolling through his phone. I didn’t think he’d find that on any list of trendy dog names. “Alaric Lothaire...Alaric Lucian...”

“I like your name, Max,” Larkin said from the doorway. None of us had heard him arrive. He was leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, wearing a deep maroon suit and a ring on every finger, grinning hugely. He was exactly as I remembered him: stunning, captivating, terrifying. The kitchen fell quiet. I could smell Ksenia’s pancake beginning to burn.

At last Max chuckled nervously, pushing soggy pancake hunks around on his plate with his fork, averting his gaze. “Guess I’ll keep it then.”

“I thought I heard you come in,” Larkin told me.

“It’s always a pleasure to be home.”

He nodded out towards the hallway. “Come. Regale me with the stories of your travels.” Then his eyes flicked down to my socks, and he grimaced—slightly, briefly—before turning away. “And find your shoes.”

I followed him through the hallway, the living room, the grand front foyer with the crystal chandelier, into the elevator. Larkin did not speak, but he hummed as we ascended: House Of The Rising Sun.

It hadn’t always been like this. It was difficult for me to pick out the details of what had changed—the tone of his voice, the proportion of wonder and gratitude I associated with him versus fear, the way this palace (or the one in Reykjavik, or Juneau, or Ivalo, or Murmansk, or any of the others) felt when I stepped inside it—but I knew something had. It had begun before Ben left. It was much worse now. Older vampires, in my fairly learned opinion, are something like the stars. They mellow as they age, temper their character flaws, grow wise and patient like Nikolai or Honora or Gwilym Lee; or they rage until they burn away every last atom of humanity, until they destroy themselves and take entire solar systems down with them. Increasingly, I harbored fears that Larkin was a vampire of the latter variety. And we were all his planets.

In his study, Larkin dropped into the chair behind his desk, brought a hand to his forehead, surveyed a disarrayed flurry of papers: letters, notices, deeds and titles, meticulously managed accounts of finances and disciplinary actions. Larkin had a laptop and burner phone, of course, as we all did; but he liked to work in paper as much as possible. That’s how he’d done things for centuries, since long before the name of the inventor of the internet (or harnessed electricity, for that matter) was a whisper on his parents’ lips. The sky outside was clouded and seeping soft rain.

“Things have been busy?” I ventured.

He frowned, gesturing to the cluttered desk. “I’m in purgatory.”

“I’m terribly sorry to hear that. Can I help?”

“The Lancaster coven says they’ll need an extension for their dues. That’s the second year in a row, now it’s not just an exception, it’s a precedent. If you let one coven bend the rules, others will follow. So something will have to be done. Then there’s Stockholm. Anders’ coven has eaten a few too many locals—including the mayor’s favorite niece—and now the city is launching an investigation. Fucking idiots. They’ll probably all have to relocate. There’s some new territory dispute in Lima between Alejandro’s coven and a group of strangers that just came out of the Andes. We’ll have to make their acquaintance, of course. And as if all that weren’t enough, Rigel accidentally fed on a heroin addict and he’s currently detoxing in a cell in the basement. Would you check on him for me? I’m sure your presence will be a...” He waved his hand distractedly, almost dismissively, searching for the words. “A comfort to him.”

“Of course.”

“How are the Lees?”

“Fine. Typical. Gwil’s putting in a lot of hours at the hospital. Rami’s planning to get another law degree. Ben is, uh, adjusting. Slowly, very slowly. He’s not particularly content. But he hasn’t murdered anyone that I’m aware of.”

“How nice.” Now his eyes darted up to catch mine: focused, luminous, unreadable. “Nothing new at all?”

And instantly, I wanted to tell him everything. I forgot why I had ever planned to blunt the girl’s existence, to conceal her talent entirely; I felt her name rising in my throat. And then I remembered again. I’m doing this for Gwil, for Ben.

I pretended to ponder Larkin’s question, as if it was so difficult to remember, as if there was nothing left to sift through but a trunkful of mundane details from the trip like a grandfather’s tattered correspondence and tarnished war relics. That was something an average family might have squirreled away in their attic, I assumed; I’d never met my own grandfather, and he sure as hell wouldn’t have had anything to leave me if I had. “Joe’s got some new girlfriend, but I don’t think it’s serious. I doubt she’ll be around long. You know how Joe is. Scarlett’s seeing someone too, actually. A Quileute kid.”

“Poor boy.” And Larkin grinned like a shark beneath burning eyes. “He’s in for a lifetime of disappointment. Who will ever be able to hold a candle to those memories?”

Larkin had a moderate preoccupation with Scarlett’s beauty, her...tenacity. Her lack of talent was a great disappointment to him, a somehow more egregious fault than Joe or Gwil or Mercy’s. What a shame, Larkin often said. And I believed I knew what came after in his mind, although never aloud: What a partner she could have been.

He was still grinning at me. His expression was hollow, vacuous. A shiver clawed down my spine. He was waiting for something. No, he was searching. I stared back, and I willed for that intangible, contagious harmony I carried around like a wedding ring to hit him like carbon monoxide or bromine: undetected and yet inexorable, knocking him off his path of inquisition.

What does he suspect? What does he already know?

“Anyway,” Larkin continued abruptly, turning his attention back to his paperwork. “I’m glad there’s nothing to worry about in Forks. Liesl will be back in the next few days, Rigel will be ready to work again, I’ll come up with a plan to handle all this and my mood will improve tremendously.”

And where has Liesl been? I almost asked; and then I didn’t. It was a good sign that she was coming home. I had looked for her once while I was in Forks. When I made up my mind to find someone—when that switch flipped in my skull or in the tangle of nerves of my solar plexus or wherever it lived—it wasn’t like poking around on Google Earth: zooming in here, scrolling over there. A goldish trail lit up on the floor, a ‘Yellow Brick Road’ Honora and I sometimes joked, and I followed it. And I had no way of knowing how far that trail might lead. A route heading dead east from the palace might stop in the next town over or continue across the Pacific Ocean; my search might last one day or a hundred. In Forks—as I perched in a soaring western hemlock tree in the forest outside the Lee residence on a cool October evening—Liesl’s trail had led north. North to Vancouver, to Victoria, to Dawson, to Alaska? Who the fuck knew. I was just relieved it hadn’t led to the tree next to mine.

“Well, as always, I’m happy to assist however I can,” I told Larkin. “Just let me know and I’ll be on the next flight out of Vladivostok.”

“I appreciate that, Cato.” He smiled, paternally this time. And then he spun his chair around to peer out the window into the episodic flares of lightning that illuminated great dark clouds like neurons in a celestial brain. I hate thunderstorms. They remind me of South Carolina. “But I think you’ve earned a rest.”

After checking in on Rigel—irritable, frenetic, pacing, and yet predictably pacified somewhat by my visit—I trotted up the main staircase to the second floor of the palace. I found her in our bedroom: sitting at her easel, a paintbrush held in one graceful hand, an image like a photograph on the canvas. I promptly pried off my Berlutis for the second time today and tossed them into the closet.

“Ciao, amore,” I said.

“Ciao!” Honora replied, beaming. Her curly brunette hair was pinned up and away from her face; wayward tendrils spiraled down to brush her bare shoulder blades, the back of her neck. “Just give me five minutes...I have to finish the shadow of this tree...”

There weren’t many in the Draghi who survived the transition from Nikolai’s leadership to Larkin’s, but Honora had. She was gentle to a fault, a hopeless warrior, turned into an immortal on her forty-fourth birthday when Rome was still an empire; and she was without any talents whatsoever, except for one which was useless in combat. Her paintings, drawings, and sculptures adorned every palace the Draghi owned. Each year, Larkin would ask her to paint all of us together, incorporating any new faces, erasing the memories of those who had proven themselves unworthy. One such portrait, I knew, hung in Gwilym Lee’s home office.

I went to the woman I called my wife, laid my palms on her shoulders, leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “Take your time, love.”

“Everything’s alright?” Honora asked, looking hopefully up at me with large, wide-set jade eyes. No, not just hopefully. Trustingly.

“Everything’s alright,” I agreed, not knowing if I believed it.

Shadows And Spells

“He just...just...disappeared?!” Jessica sputtered, scandalized, gaping at me as she held a Styrofoam cup of spiked apple cider in her clasped hands.

We were on a quilt near the outskirts of the sea of beach towels and blankets that circled the bonfire. Women—wearing flowing dresses or robes or tunics or not very much at all—flounced around the flames banging tambourines and reciting chants that I didn’t know the words to. Some carried torches, beacons of heat and light in the darkness. Jessica was wearing a short black shirt, fishnet tights, and a black crop-top turtleneck sweater; I had opted for a bohemian blue dress patterned with stars, an old thrift shop find and the closest thing I owned to Wiccan festivities apparel. I had a cup of hot apple cider as well, enhanced with a generous splash of Captain Morgan, but hadn’t quite conjured up the rebelliousness to drink it yet.

I suddenly recalled Mercy bringing me an endless supply of virgin autumnal sangrias as Joe and I swam in the hot tub on the Lees’ back porch. As soon as you turn twenty-one, you can have the real thing. I frowned, shuddered, took a bitter and burning sip.

“Yeah,” I replied. “He told his roommate he was going to a frat party or something and never showed up and never made it back home either. The parents are blaming the university, the university is insisting he must be off with a girlfriend or on some hipster soul-searching nature adventure or whatever, it’s a mess.”

“Jesus,” she murmured. “What does your dad say?”

“He’s been helping the state police with the investigation. There’s really no evidence of anything. No witnesses, no footprints, no surveillance footage, no handy anonymous tips...”

“No body,” Jessica finished.

“That’s morbid.” I downed the rest of my cider. Was the world already beginning to list like a ship on choppy waves, or was that just my imagination? I guess it would be possible. I’d barely eaten all day.

“You were thinking it.”

“Well, one’s mind does tend to wander towards homicide under such circumstances.”

“It is the season of the dead.” She grinned wickedly, then took my empty cup. “He’s probably fine. I bet he wants to drop out to become a weed farmer and hasn’t worked up the guts to tell his parents yet. You want another?”

“Sure.”

“Cool. I’ll be right back.” Jess rose to balance on black boots with five-inch heels and staggered off to the foldable table piled high with cans and bottles and snacks. I was getting the impression that her Wiccanism was more of a novelty than a spiritual commitment.

The season of the dead. Now that’s VERY morbid.

There were some guys laughing, smoking home-rolled cigarettes, and toasting glasses of red wine on a nearby mandala blanket, bespectacled intellectual types who were probably getting PhDs in Anthropology or Medieval Studies at the University of Washington. One of them—curly-haired, pale-eyed, wearing a sweater vest and a cautious smile—raised his wine glass in my direction. I waved back without much enthusiasm.

“He’s cute, right?” Jessica asked, plopping back down onto our quilt and shoving a full cup of spiked cider into my grasp. She motioned for me to drink. I did. “That’s Sebastian, but he likes to be called Bash. He’s twenty-three and speaks fluent German.”

“Charming.”

“He’s very...uh...gifted. I’m not saying I know from personal experience, but I’ve heard it from a very reliable source. And his parents own a beach house in Monterey. You could go skinny-dipping.”

“In the ocean?” The world was definitely wobbling now. I was warm all over, numbed, fuzzy; it was becoming difficult to picture Joe’s face, to hear his voice. This was good. I kept drinking. “No thanks. Too many sharks. They have great whites down there.”

Jess tossed her long, loose hair and sighed impatiently. “I’m just saying that the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. So you should pursue that.”

“I’ll totally consider it.” I lied. I would not consider it.

She smiled, sympathetically, fondly. “I can’t believe you thought I was a Mormon.”

“I can’t believe I’m out in the Washington wilderness commemorating the Gaelic festival of Samhain, but here we all are.”

Jess glanced over my shoulder. “Oh my god. He’s coming over here.”

“Ugh.” I craned my neck to see. Sebastian—whoops, my mistake, Bash—was approaching. “Please distract him. I don’t want to talk to anyone. Also I’m pretty sure I’m getting drunk and I don’t want to do anything humiliating, like sob uncontrollably about how much I miss my ex-boyfriend.”

“Don’t worry. I gotchu, Baby Swan.”

“Hey Jess,” Bash said, but he was looking at me. He pitched his cigarette off into the trees. What the fuck, who does that?

“Only you can prevent forest fires,” I told him in a woozy, mock-Smokey Bear voice.

“What?” he asked, baffled.

“Ignore her, she’s drunk,” Jess said quickly. “So what’s up? Come on, sit with me. Keep me toasty. Teach me some German...”

As they chatted and giggled and snuggled closer together—I’m starting to think that Jessica might have been her own reliable source—I studied the forest, watching to make sure the cigarette didn’t begin to smolder in the damp brush. The voices and crackling of the bonfire and sharp ringing of the tambourines faded into one muted, uniform drone. The trees reeled in the haze of the spiked cider; the cool wind moaned through them. And then, for only a second: a glimpse of something impossibly quick, something silvery and reedy and sunless.

What was that?

I blinked. It was gone. I blinked again, staring penetratingly. The swarming heat from the cider evaporated from my skin, my blood. There were goosebumps rising all over me.

What the hell was that?

I remembered how Calawah University students sometimes reacted to Ben: flinching, withdrawing, autonomically fearing him on some primal, evolutionary level. They knew he was a predator. They knew they were prey. It was chillingly similar to what I was feeling now.

I have to get out of here. I have to go home.

I shot to my feet. Oh, wrong move, that was too quick. I swayed, and Jessica reached up to steady me. “Are you—?!”

“I’m fine,” I said. “I gotta go home now.”

“What?! We just got here! Look, chill out, let me get you some vegan samosas or something—”

“No, seriously, I have to go.”

“Okay, okay,” Jessica conceded. “I’ll finish my drink and we’ll call an Uber, alright?”

“Really?” Bash asked, crestfallen.

“I’ll call an Uber,” I told Jess. “You stay, I’ll go.” Maybe she shouldn’t stay, I thought foggily, irrationally. Maybe it’s not safe.

“I can’t let you go alone. I got you drunk and now you’re a mess and if you end up murdered it would be my fault. There are unsolved mysteries going around, you know.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Girl, there’s no way I’m gonna—”

“I’ll call you as soon as I get in the Uber and I’ll stay on until I’m physically inside my house, okay?”

Jessica considered this. Bash leaned in to nibble her ear. I could smell the red wine and nicotine and animalistic lust sweating out of his pores. And unexpectedly, agonizingly: a biting flare, a muscle memory, Joe’s fingertips skimming down the small of my back and his scent like winter nights saturating the capillary beds of my lungs. Stop, stop, stop. “Okay,” Jess agreed at last.

“Awesome.” I was already opening the Uber app on my iPhone.

My driver was a Pacific Northwestern version of Santa Claus: wild grey beard, red flannel, L.L.Bean boots, rambling about his upcoming trip to hunt caribou in British Columbia. I honored my promise to Jessica and kept her on speakerphone for the duration of the twenty-minute drive. I rested my whirling head against the seat, let my eyes dip closed, watched the intermittent streetlights appear and disappear through my eyelids. I let myself into Charlie’s house when I arrived, wished Jessica goodnight (and reminded her not to get pregnant), and meandered clumsily into the kitchen for a glass of water and a cookie dough Pop-Tart to ward off a possible hangover. Charlie was snoring quietly on the living room couch. I watched him for a while, smiling and achingly grateful, before heading upstairs to my bedroom.

My window was wide open; that’s the first thing I noticed. I didn’t remember leaving it that way. I was always neglecting to lock the window, sure—I kept forgetting that there was no one to leave it unlocked for anymore—but I hadn’t left it open when I went to meet Jessica this evening. Icy night air flooded in. The stars were bright and furious in an uncommonly clear sky.

“You trying to give me pneumonia, old man?” I muttered, thinking of Charlie. I tossed my iPhone down onto my bed and crossed the room to close the window. And as it creaked and collided with the sill, I heard my closet door open behind me.

Someone’s here. Someone’s in this room with me.

I turned, very slowly; it felt like it took a lifetime. She was standing in the doorway of my closet, sinuous and white-haired, wearing black leather pants and stiletto heels and a long-sleeved lace blouse the color of blood, the color of her eyes. And she was harrowingly beautiful; not like Lucy or Mercy, not like Scarlett. She was beautiful like a prehistoric jawbone, like a serrated crescent moon, like a blade.

The owl. The goddamn albino owl.

I recognized her immediately. I heard Joe’s words as he introduced each vampire in the immense painting hanging in Dr. Lee’s upstairs office to me, though I desperately didn’t want to: She’s literally Satan, only blonder.

Her name tumbled from my trembling lips. “Liesl.”

“Wonderful, we can skip the introductions.” Her voice was like windchimes, cutting and brisk, with a hint of an Austrian accent like a shadow. Now she was at my bedside and picking up my phone, scrolling through it with lightning-quick and dexterous thumbs. “Hm. No texts from any of the Lees in the past week. So we don’t have to worry about them dropping by, I suppose. Joe got bored with you already, huh?”

“Evidently.” My own voice was brittle, anemic, weak; just like my ineffectual human body.

“That’s quick, even for him. How sad.” She sighed, tucking my iPhone into her red Chanel purse. “There’s a private jet waiting at the Forks Airport. Pack a bag. You have five minutes.”

“Please don’t hurt my dad,” I whispered, scalding tears brimming in my eyes.

“Of course not,” Liesl replied with a savage, saccharine smile. “Not yet, anyway.”

51 notes · View notes

nebulablakemurphy · 4 years

Text

Misconception

John Murphy x Emori

Summary: In the aftermath of the last war Emori and John become a family of three.

Warnings: Possible spoilers for the 100 season 7, mentions of child birth.

Earth is nice. A bit different than any of them remember. Quiet, more serene; just the remaining members of the human race and the ocean, for the rest of forever.

The food is much nicer than algae, the ground vaster than the expanse of the tin can they’d called home for six years.

Yet not as luxurious as the castle they’d occupied in Sactum. But this is home, this is where they put roots down. This is where they’re going to live.

It’s been about three months, since judgement day. Death, transcendence, and everything in between.

Emori still loves catching her fish, proudly displaying them to anyone within shouting distance.

Her body is beginning to fill out, just the slightest bit. In a way that assures John she’s not hungry. She’s happy, and healthy, and wants for nothing.

Days are spent with friends, that have become family. Nights are reserved for themselves, more often than not, ending up a spent pile of limbs on their makeshift mattress.

“John?” Emori mumbles, still basking in the after glow of their love making. “Are you sleeping?”

“Emori, I love you,” Murphy sighs, bonelessly curled around her back, “but I’m gonna need a few more minutes before I’m good to go again.”

“Not that,” Emori huffs a laugh.

“What’s on your mind?” He asks, toying with the fingers of her badass hand.

“If something happens to me-“

“Nothing’s gonna happen.” John says, reassuring himself as well. Emori is fine, she will be fine.

“I need to know that you won’t try to-“

“Hey,” John stops her a second time. “Baby, nothing is happening to you.“

Emori pauses, then forces the words past her lips. “I’m pregnant.”

Silence. Deafening silence.

Murphy clears his throat. “Jackson knows?”

“Confirmed it this morning.” She nods, staring down at her hands.

“We have Sanctum.” He reasons, “all the medicine there.”

“We do.”

“Then we’ll...figure the rest out.”

“Is this alright, John?” Emori asks, with bated breath.

“All those years on the ring, when we were playing primes; the timing was bad. Always a war to fight, people to save. Now, all we have is time.” He pauses, hoping the right words will come. “I don’t love the idea of sharing you, but if it’s with our kid, you won’t catch me complaining. What I should be asking, is if this is alright with you?”

Emori allows the corners of her mouth to curl into a smile. “I want this baby, more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”

John takes a steadying breath, placing a hand over the barely there bump. “You and this baby will have everything you want.” He kisses her shoulder, speaking directly against her skin. “I promise.”

“You’re what I want.” Emori whispers, resting her hand over his.

———————————————————

Emori is well on her way to the second trimester; but the nausea still gets the best of her on occasion. Causing her to just miss Raven’s shoes, as she purges the contents of her lunch onto the sand.

“You feeling alright?” Raven asks, immediately. “Should I get Murphy?”

“No, I’m fine.” Emori insists, with a shake of her head.

“That’s the second time this week.” Raven is not so easily convinced. “Jackson should check you out.”

“Jackson has,” Emori purses her lips. “Nothing to be concerned about. I’ll survive a little morning sickness, even if it does last past morning.”

“You’re-“ The mechanic breaks off. “You and Murphy? How?”

“After years of walking in on us, you know how.” Emori rolls her, brown, eyes.

“Well, congratulations. Right?” Raven claps Emori’s back, lightly.

Congratulations...yes, that’s right. “Thank you.”

“How far along?” The brunette leans in, with renewed interest.

“Almost three months.” Emori tells her.

“Have you thought about names yet? Because I think Raven could be unisex.”

Emori let’s out a laugh. “I’ll be sure to mention it to John,” she teases. “But I think you’ll be our only Raven.”

“It was worth a shot.” The woman shrugs. “Hey, do you want to see what I’ve been working on?”

“No nuclear reactor or toxic radiation involved?”

“Why would you think that?” Raven snarks.

“Then yes,” Emori agrees, “I’d love to.”

————————————————————

“Hey,” John greets his love, when she enters their hut. “Good day?”

“Raven and I are working on a pipe system that will pull drinking water from the valley. We’ll be able to get it from a tap.” Emori grins, a bit of pep in her step, as she comes to lie beside him. Pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Exciting.” Murphy deadpans, leaning into her warmth.

“It means actual showers, John.” Emori stares down at him, propped up on one elbow. “No need for the lake or running back to Sactum.”

“I thought you liked sneaking off to Sanctum.” Murphy nuzzles the underside of her jaw.

“I miss Kaylee’s bed.”

“Maybe Raven can build you one of those.” He jest, crossing both legs at the ankle.

“Speaking of Raven,” Emori trails off. “She suggests that the baby should also be named Raven. I told her I’d run it by you.”

“Yeah...” Murphy narrows his eyes, “not gonna happen.”

“I don’t think we should name this baby after anyone, living or dead.” Emori admits. “Bringing honor to the people we’ve lost is much bigger than that. With this baby, we start over.”

“I want that too, Em; to start over.” John whispers, there are so many things he would do differently now. “Do you have any actual names in mind, for our bundle of joy?”

“Not yet.”

“We’ll come up with something.” They’ve got time. “If not, hey you, should be sufficient.”

“Very funny.” Emori frowns, feeling her stomach turn.

“You ok?” John takes her face in his hands.

“A little nauseous, it’ll pass.”

“Be nice to your mother.” Murphy insists, attention now directed at Emori’s belly. “I’d like to keep her around.”

————————————————————-

Days turn into weeks, Emori’s bump grows. There is no hiding it now, even if she wanted to. The others have been very supportive, offering their babysitting services, when the time comes.

Emori flips back the flap of their shelter, waddling over to their bed and flopping down, without a word.

“Rough day?” Murphy asks, coming to sit beside her.

Emori offers a groan, in response.

“Should I massage your feet or something?”

“Or something,” she grumbles, “my back hurts.”

“Say no more.” John eases skilled fingers over the skin of her back. Applying slight pressure to the tense muscles. “One back rub coming right up.”

Emori sighs, relaxing into his touch.

“We should revisit names. Hey you, could make their big debut anytime now.” He murmurs, their child responds to his voice, with a swift kick.

“What are you thinking?” Emori wonders, resting her hand against the fluttering life in her abdomen.

“Odessa.” If she hates it, back to the drawing board.

“It’s beautiful...” Her voice catches in her throat. Saying things aloud makes them real, names make them real. “Are you hoping for a girl?”

“I’m hoping for a healthy baby, and a healthy you.” John annunciates each word for emphasis.

Emori nods, knowing better than to press the issue. “Now we need something for a boy.”

“Lady’s choice.” He kisses the back of her neck.

“Kai?” It’s different and unique, just like their child will be.

“It’s got a ring to it.”

————————————————————-

“John!”

The sound of Emori’s frazzled cry has Murphy chucking his dinner plate aside. Racing for the tree line, where he finds her, perched on a log. One foot bare and elevated off the sand.

He kneels down, taking the raised leg into his lap. “What’s wrong?” John asks, unable to spot an obvious problem. “Did you trip? Something bite you?”

“My shoe fell off and I can’t reach.” Emori informs him, crossing both arms over her chest.

Relieved, he chuckles, “that’s adorable.”

“It’s not.” Emori scowls, “I hate it. Now get the shoe.”

“Oh come on, this is the home stretch. Might as well try to enjoy it.” John will miss her belly brimming with new life. The promise of a future he wasn’t sure they’d have.

“Would you enjoy not being able to see your toes?” Emori snaps. She will do anything for her child, but she misses her independence.

“There are worse things,” he shrugs, bending down to retrieve the shoe. “Besides, I’m more than happy to help.”

“Thank you,” Emori fights back a smile. Watching him complete the task, with a brisk kiss to her lips.

————————————————————

Emori’s pained groan wakes John, from a dead sleep.

“‘Mori?” He grumbles, rubbing at tired eyes.

“Don’t panic,” Emori says, curling in on herself. “I’m having contractions.”

“Yeah?” He springs into action. No false alarm this time. “How far apart?”

“Not far enough.” She attempts to lighten the mood.

“We need to wake up Jackson, and get you to Sanctum. Can you walk?”

“I can try.” She nods, through gritted teeth.

“Never mind, I’ve got you.” Murphy sighs, lifting Emori carefully into his arms.

“Before we go...” Emori stalls, knowing he won’t like what she has to say. “I need to talk to you about something.”

“Talking can wait, this can’t.” Murphy replies, moving quickly toward the doctor’s tent.

“If things don’t go as planned and it’s a choice, between me and the baby; you choose the baby. You choose the baby over me, you choose this baby over everyone.”

“Emori, we’re not doing this now.” He shakes his head.

“Promise me, John.” Emori feels tears burning at the back of her eyes, but makes no effort to fight them.

“Emori-“

“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.“

“I won’t let anything happen to either of you.” This is the time that everything goes to plan. This is the time it has to.

“Promise me.” Emori’s voice is hoarse, as another contraction seizes her muscles.

“I promise.” He promises that neither of them are going anywhere. Losing Emori once was bad enough.

————————————————————-

They’re back in the operation room, the same one where John lost the love of his life. The equipment is here, poised and ready to go. It only makes sense for it to be here. Fate is cruel that way.

“Alright, Emori,” Jackson touches her knee. “You’re a full ten centimeters. When you feel the next contraction, I want you to push.”

John doesn’t miss the nervous tremor of her bottom lip. “You and me,” he reminds her. ”We’re doing this together.”

“I love you, John.” Emori smiles, through the pain. Then taking a deep breath in, she bears down.

“I love you too.” Murphy whispers, squeezing her hand tightly. Although it kills him to see Emori in pain, John remains calm and focused. This time it’s for something, this time she isn’t dying. “Good job, baby.”

They continue on like this, until her limbs are heavy with exertion, and his hand has lost all feeling.

The exasperated sound that leaves Emori’s lips, with a puff of air, is bearable. The tortured whimper that follows makes John wish he could do it for her.

“Emori, you’re doing great.” Jackson assures her. Stealing a glance at the beeping monitors beside the bed. “But I’m starting to see signs of fetal distress.”

“What’s that mean?” Murphy demands.

“It means we’ve gotta move this baby.” Jackson confirms both of their fears.

“I’m trying,” Emori says.

“What if she can’t?” John asks, watching fear and defeat paint her features.

“Then the only option would be a cesarean section.” None of them want that. But they have the equipment, he has the experience.

“Look, no offense, but we all remember what happened the last time you pulled something out of her.”

“This is different.” Jackson reminds him, “no internal damage.”

“We’ve been at this for hours, maybe Jackson’s right,” Emori agrees. Anything for this baby.

“I know you’re tired. But I need you to finish strong. Our baby needs you to finish strong. When the next contraction comes, you’re gonna push like hell, and we’re gonna have this baby.” Murphy insists, helping her lean up, so that he can climb onto the table behind her, for support. Her back now resting against his chest, with his legs bracketing hers.

“Ok,” Emori nods, adjusting her grip on John’s hands. “But if it doesn’t work-“

“It will work.” It has to. John rests his cheek against hers. Feeling Emori’s body begin to tense with the next contraction. “3,2,1, go.”

Through gritted teeth, Emori finally manages to move the stubborn baby down. Of all the birthing positions they’ve tried, this one finally seems to help a bit.

“Here comes the head,” Jackson announces.

“That’s what I’m talking about, Emori.” John kisses her sweat damp temple, her head clunking back onto his shoulder. “Deep breath, do it again.”

The scream that follows could raise the dead, full fear and desperation and then-

A second voice joins hers, much smaller and higher in pitch. A baby, their baby. Announcing it’s arrival to the world.

“Hey, you’re done.” Murphy says, grounding her to reality. “You did it.”

“I did it,” she smiles, peeling her eyes open.

Jackson places the wailing child on her chest.

Still covered in dark blood, she is the most perfect, wonderful, thing either of them have ever seen.

“Hi baby,” Emori let’s tears fall freely, “my baby.”

“Get a load of you, beautiful.” Murphy whispers to the infant. Her tiny eyes are open wide, trying to focus on the sound. “Welcome to the world.”

“She’s got your eyes.” Emori would recognize that color blue anywhere.

“You ok?” John asks, noticing how lax she’s become.

“Fine.” Emori assures him. “Tired, but fine.”

“Everything alright down there, doc?” He calls to Jackson.

“Everything’s good.” The doctor is all smiles. “Once she delivers the placenta, I’ll stitch her up and we’re all clear.”

Both their heads snap toward him.

“Don’t worry, we’ve got anesthetic this time.” Jackson clarifies.

Relieved Emori sinks back into John, humming to the newborn, who is beginning to stur.

————————————————————-

The sleepless nights are endless. Leaving the first time parents worried that maybe they aren’t cut out for this. Maybe they aren’t doing enough. But after a few weeks, they fall into a routine.

Odessa is a happy baby, with her father’s eyes and a head full of chestnut curls. She resembles Emori for the most part, which pleases John to no end. The little girl has everyone wrapped around the tiny fingers of her badass hand.

“Did you teach her to fish yet?” John calls, spotting Emori at the shoreline. Holding their daughter to face the waves, basking in the orange glow of the setting sun. “She’s gotta start pulling her weight around here,” he jests. Closing the distance between them, to caress Odessa’s chubby cheek.

“She might be a little young to cast a net.” Emori laughs, feeling John press a kiss to her head. “But she’ll learn.”

The eleven month old kicks her legs, reaching out for her father. “Dada.”

“She wants you.” Emori takes a step toward him.

“Not your finest decision, kid.” He mutters, under his breath. Taking the little girl into his arms. “I’d much rather be held by your mother.”

Emori smiles at the scene before her. Their daughter latches onto Murphy’s nose, with her right hand. “Fatherhood suits you, John.”

“I don’t know about all that.” The only thing that he knows for sure, is that he can’t mess up. He can’t mess her up.

“I do.” Emori assures him.

Murphy stares at his wife, with nothing but adoration and wonder; their child in his arms. “We should do this again sometime.” He nods toward Odessa.

“Funny,” Emori raises her brows. “I was thinking the same thing.”

Misconception taglist: @arcticaid @camilahopper05 @silver-gold-copper

#emori the 100 #john murphy x emori #john murphy #memori #emori x murphy #emori kom spacekru #john murphy fanfic #the 100 spoilers #the 100 season seven #the 100 imagine #the 100 fanfiction #memori fanfiction #memori fic #Christinawritesthe100

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kazbrkker · 4 years

Text

Chapter 8: Second Chances

Chapter summary: Aftermaths of the Wolf’s escape & two painfully, oblivious pining idiots.

Warnings: mention of stitches, old scars. (3502 words)

28 October 2019, 2330 "Alexis" and "Alex" | Codename Aces CIA with SAS and Urzik militia Sakhra, Urzikstan

"Stop moving," Alia grumbled exasperatedly for the fifth time. Her nimble fingers were supposed to make stitching up Alexis' gnarly forehead gash easy—if she could stay still. Then again, nobody could sit still through that without anaesthetic.

Begging for a distraction, Alexis' teeth scraped against her pale lips and her fingernails subconsciously dup deeper into Farah's arm with every stitch.

"I don't know why you do this without painkillers," Alia mumbled absentmindedly, every movement meticulous. It went unanswered, for Alexis refused to supply the 16-year-old with more horror. A few more stitches later, the young girl leaned back and smiled.

Thank Heavens. High pain tolerance, sure, but needles... Alexis was wise enough to stay far away.

Alexis' impatiently patted the medical gauze, nodding at the decent patch-up. Of course the Marines had professional medics on deck, but when Alexis awoke, she felt responsible for Alia's red-rimmed eyes and loud sniffles. So, pain be damned.

Alia scowled, swatting her nosy hand, "No! Do you want an infection?"

"I am older than you," Alexis reminded.

"Yes. More stupid too."

Bewildered, her neck craned towards Farah, jaw-slacked at the commander's blatant shrug in agreement. Overwhelmed by the thunderous support, "This is a mutiny of some sorts..."

"Uh-oh, your boyfriend is coming," the young girl loudly announced. Her accusation reeled stares from closer bystanders.

Heat found its way to Alexis' cheeks, spreading under Farah and Alia's teasing grins. Dizziness soon trickled in, forcing her to blink rapidly in an attempt to concentrate past the nasty headache. "Alex is not my boyfriend."

"Did I say it was Alex?"

Farah huffed, bumping fists with the younger. The conniving duo displayed megawatt smiles when Alex and Kyle came into hearing distances. Holding a box of ration packs, Kyle gestured for them to take their pick. That knocked their smugness off.

Alex plopped beside her, eating out of his rations. "Tell me you feel better," he more than demanded, giving her battered state a once-over. His eyes lingered on her forehead.

"Am I supposed to lie?"

A shadow flickered past his face, "Should I bench you?"

"Yes, if you wish to die in your sleep," her quick movements to snatch away his wristwatch communicator intensified the pain. "Although blunt force trauma is not as deadly as this headache."

"Crack another joke and I'll deliver you to Price," Alex threatened at her lightheartedness. Though his menace soon faltered at her radiant grin.

"Boss is not in a good mood," Kyle chimed in.

"Mutiny..." Alexis mumbled. "Fine, no more jokes about concussions."

The group chatted about their game plan for tomorrow when a rude growling stomach sounded. It certainly didn't go unnoticed by Alex, who willingly gave up his rations. Packaged pasta had never tasted better, she mumbled gratefully, "Have I ever told you how amazing you are?"

Alex laughed, "Now I know you hit your head too hard."

"Would you be open to the idea of getting matching injuries?"

"Are you flirting with me?"

"No, it's just in season," Alexis shook her head, bemused. "Shut up and eat your veggies, you're giving me another headache."

The scorching look of triumph was clear in Farah and Alia's expressions and for the same reason, she purposefully evaded their eyes.

"I thought the CIA frowned upon dating in the circle?" Kyle asked casually.

The unexpectable question forced her to choke, coughing loud enough to render someone patting her back. Alexis flushed at his concern, aware of the stutter in his pats. Both CIA agents were red, and boy, were Farah and Alia having a field day.

Alexis prayed her face was the usual controlled indifference. This wasn't the first time someone mislabelled their friendship, so why was this suddenly a big deal? "Yup. They hate it."

Kyle's lips formed an 'o' upon realisation, "Sorry, I thought you two were..."

Alex cleared his throat, "That's a popular opinion."

"Maybe everybody has a point. You did call her baby–" Alia cheekily added.

You little...

Alexis gently slapped a hurried palm against her mouth, muffling the jocular giggles from the young woman. It didn't stop her from cheekily winking at the group. Other than the two in cynosure, the others wore matching grins.

Perhaps they were playing matchmakers, but right now, her priority was to dig herself a hole.

From the unreadable look on Alex's face, he felt the same. When Alia tried to wrestle out of her grips, she thought the reddish hue on his face was a figment of her imagination. Yet if it wasn't, he sure didn't spare her the glory with this knowledge, as his head swiftly lowered to observe the hardwood floor panels.

Witnessing him this taciturn was a rare sight. Before she could entertain her illusions that maybe her friends were onto something, Price yelled for Kyle.

The tension in the air snapped.

"Get some rest. We need energy to catch the Wolf tomorrow," Farah gave a friendly side hug, saving Alex from Alia's nagging reminders about her stitches. He replied with a salute.

And then there were two.

"She's awfully like you," Alex smiled. Spitfire personality, dauntless and stubborn.

"Hopefully not, I'm a horrible person," she joked wearily, eyes losing in a battle against the slurry languor that washed over her. Coupled with the splitting headache, she wrangled between climbing upstairs to find a bed or staying here. The latter almost won until she was hoisted up.

"Don't bother, you're not walking," came Alex's reply and she obliged. When she reopened her eyes, Alex had already sat her down a bed to unlace her boots. She carelessly slithered her sweaty top off her skin.

They squeezed into a tightly-confined shower, sighing in bliss as warm cascades of water enveloped them, splashing the warfare away. Her arms looped contentedly around Alex's neck as he started to wash her blood-crusted hair, careful to shield her head wound.

"Hi," Alex wore a suspicious smile.

She sighed, "Here we go."

"Damn right. You have an immaculate talent for making people worried."

"Why thank you..."

Goosebumps raised as he silkened down her arms, tracing the red streaks clearly shaped from her nails. The way his dark eyes fastened on her made her heartstrings twitch nervously, "You could have died."

She laughed humourlessly. "You think too little of me."

"I'm serious, never do that again. You run into anything you can't handle..."

"I had him under control," she retorted.

"Clearly not enough."

"The bastard got to me. My fault, okay? I messed up. I don't need another reminder," she snapped, and the hands in her hair stopped. "Shit, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

"Sure you did," he nodded, not in the slightest offended. The fact that someone managed to one-up her caught his attention instead, "What did he say?"

Now Alexis suspected he could read minds. "Why did you think he said something?"

"Call it a hunch."

Alexis sighed, not fond to revisit her failure. "Alex..."

That was her warning, and he took it. "Just saying, I've never seen Price that worried."

She closed her eyes and shook her head dismissively, "He's just annoyed he'll have to answer to Maddox and Forbes. I'm a prized possession."

The cubicle echoed with their laughs.

Alex worked past the scars that littered her body, leaving trails of soap bubbles. He could pinpoint them with his eyes closed, yet with today's new additions, he had more to commit to memory. His thumb brushed over a spot on her upper right thigh, smirking at the slight shudder he induced but more so at the memory.

Was she nervous?

Hearing Alexis' hoarse voice confirmed his suspicions, "Remember this?"

"'course, you took a bullet for me," Alex said, still glazing over the raised bump.

August 2016, Brazil. 30 grand bounty over their heads. They played a dangerous game of cat and mouse with the entire city. A mercenary almost tore through his kneecaps until she knocked him out of the line of fire.

A charming smirk reappeared, "Few things say "I love you" like a bullet to a non-essential area."

She snorted, punching his chest. Cloudy mist floated around them, the water was too hot, almost scorching. Or maybe it was his warmth, she guessed. Her mind was foggy, only thinking how much endurance she had to not bask in the feeling of his coarse hands.

Then again, she was a soldier. Willpower was all she got.

Maybe not, her hormones decided. As hard as she tried to toss the raunchy thoughts, Alex made it difficult. Especially his arms... she was a real sucker for strong arms. The temperature was sweltering and with their bare bodies practically pressed together was not aiding.

"Switch," was all she said before she forcefully flipped them, leaving her under the running water—hoping it would clear her mind. Hasty fingers weaved in his wet hair, her turn to bathe him.

"Nasty scar," she picked up their conversation, "Scares people away."

"Maybe you should revaluate your definitions of a partner," Alex scoffed, "Scars are god damn sexy."

"In theory, I must be sexy as hell."

Hm. You have no idea.

The bullet scrap on her arm healed nicely by now—still an open wound, though it no longer hurt when she raised her arms. Useful to know, as she foamed his hair. Her gaze traced the numerous tattoos across Alex's body, eventually landing on his chest.

Her favourite tattoo of his—a butterfly.

Butterflies are the universe's proof that second chances exist, this stuck with her ever since she read that somewhere in a digest.

A similar tattoo rested along the sides of her ribcage, accompanied by an eye on top of it. The idea struck her when she finally made Lieutenant. It felt symbolic, a parting gift to her old life.

She always had a sneaking suspicion Alex wanted a matching tattoo but was too afraid or embarrassed to say it. He'd chat her ears off about parallel tattoos, as if she didn't pick up on it. So it was no surprise when one day, he suddenly showed up with a butterfly stuck on his chest.

It was a sweet gesture and thus made her way more resolute to not jeopardise their friendship. Tattoos were sacred to a man like Alex, who never stood a chance against Command. He'd make sure to find something he loved in every location he went, and inked it. His way of establishing control over his job—by remembering parts of the good.

Her finger skimmed past his butterfly before grabbing the showerhead to drown his hair clean. They were two people engrossed in good memories among warfare. And it felt liberating.

That was until she noticed he was looking at the prominent area on her chest.

Burnt flesh, the size of his palms, staring back at them.

The entire atmosphere shifted. A shiver of glacial magnitude rushed from her toes and her heart sank. The scar's jaggedness made her feel even more self-conscious.

Hot poker on her skin, an iron branding from the mob. If she closed her eyes, she could envision the exact scene. Fear not, if the mental baggage wasn't enough, there was a physical one.

"You deserve the best, you know that?" She didn't know which irked her more, the sympathy in his tone, or that he placed her on a pedestal.

I'm damaged goods, the thought fed her demons. So why do I deserve the best?

She peered at the man in front of her, every word earnest. He'd say it a million times and yet she wouldn't believe him.

Perhaps it was the head injury or hormones, but her eyes soon welled up with tears. Within seconds, what started out as small sniffs transformed into full streaks of tears. The tears blended into the stream of falling water but it was unmistakable.

The sight broke Alex's heart. Shattered it, really.

Silently, Alex switched off the faucet and dressed her. Every step jerked new tears that stained his bareback. At her quiet sobs, he berated what an idiot he was for reminding her.

The contact of soft mattress made her flinch. With tear-stained eyes, she gaped at the man who Omar Sulaman promised to kill and it almost made her whimper pathetically.

The malice thoughts stopped whispering when warm touch on her face descended her back to reality.

Alex.

"Yeah?" She hadn't realised she said it out loud.

"Stay with me," she implored. His head was already nodding, but it didn't satisfy her.

A hand shot out anxiously, "No, not this. You can't ever die on me." Her sudden request puzzled him. "Promise me."

"I promise," he said. "What happened, Alexan– Alexis?" Her birth name sat heavily on the tip of his tongue, almost escaping in his concern.

Over time, she'd built a reasonable resilience from Alex's relentless questionings, yet today her defenses lowered. "Back there... He said he'd kill you, he'll make me watch," she swallowed the rising bile. "And I let him go... Fuck."

Alexis felt like an utter failure. Not only did she fail to extract information about the stolen gas, but more people would suffer as a result of the Wolf's escape.

Losing the usual silver lining from her interrogations made her dangerously close to spiral out of control. In her mind, she unjustly tortured a man. And it was vile—even if that man was Omar Sulaman. Now, she found the line between her and her torturers blurred.

Though she didn't specify, Alex placed two and two together. "The Wolf?"

She merely nodded, still gripping his arm painfully like he'd slip away. The desperation her pleads carried haunted him.

"I'm going to fucking kill him," He saw red, only able to suppress his anger by making this promise. Without hesitation, he levelled their faces together, mumbling reassurance of I'm not going anywhere.

In the moonlight, Alex could still see the faint tint of pink that stained her nose—he compared it to the pink chrysanthemums he saw earlier today. How could anyone still look this enchanting while sobbing was a mystery to him, though he was staring right at the answer.

She never ceased to amaze him.

"I'm with you, okay? Always." This sentence never lost its genuineness. He'd do anything for her—the world begins and ends where she says so.

She felt his lips move against her ear, and her racing heart slowly composed itself from his assurance. Losing composure was uncommon for her, but even in this exception, she was sagacious enough to know the air between them had long changed.

Refusing to play host to her desire, her head stay lowered. She opted to wipe her tears and joked about how she didn't want his ghost to haunt her, hoping a distraction would alleviate her pounding heart.

Despite her prayers, Alex tilted her chin upwards to meet him, "Never happening."

They were so close. "Even when you're a ghost?"

"Mhm. I'm pretty hard to shake."

"You'd definitely be one of those annoying ghosts... With no sense of boundaries."

The magnetic allure of her lips called to him. On its own accord, his thumb ghosted ever so slightly over her parted lips, stealing a sharp breath from them both. They were dead silent.

And something in Alex warned him to reduce his voice to a whisper, afraid that he might scare this moment away, "Boundaries... You want it...?"

Everything was electrified. His touch, his gaze. Alexis worked hard not to crumble under his intense stare.

Then it happened, his gaze fell on her lips. She definitely didn't imagine that.

"Do you?" she deflected. Mildly embarrassed that her voice had the abraded texture of stone against stone.

Even when her lungs screamed for air, Alexis still forgot to breathe. She was busy listening to the angel and the devil warring inside her, pleading to her rationality. It was clear which side won when she closed her eyes.

Her world was pitch black. Senses put into overdrive. The touch along her jawline felt like it burned. She thought if this was what being set on fire felt like, she'd gladly pay the price.

His breath fanned across her nose. And then their noses touched.

Alexis felt horrible for her overworking heart, rapidly pumping oxygen to her brain—she certainly dared not to breathe, terrified to screw this up. Maybe there was a screeching voice inside her head, but it was fogged by her desires.

Tingles rushed through her when his lips brushed her own, the velvety feeling of it already so addictive. Alexis closed her eyes, waiting for the impact, and then–

A sharp knock forced them both apart.

She almost got whiplash from how fast she turned to the door, making her clutch her head in pain. The silhouette of Kyle Garrick stood in front of them, head still bowed while reading a prescription off a medicine tube.

"Nero- no, Neosporin," he cluelessly recited. "Antibiotic cream." When Kyle finally raised his head, a look of doubt crossed his face upon the flustered duo.

He awkwardly tossed the tube to Alex. "Okay... Weird vibe. Alia said to apply it or else."

"Thanks, Garrick," Alexis grimaced at her slightly pitchy voice, "Um. Get some rest, yeah?"

"Mhm. As you were..."

The door closed after him. Tensed at the shuffling sounds behind her, her brain replayed the scene much to her protest.

"Still want me to stay?" Alex said in a low voice. She hadn't realised she was still staring at the empty doorway.

What was that? She never loathed her noisy thoughts more than this moment. Oh fucking fuck, shit. I'm so stupid.

No... Why am I embarrassed? He initiated the stupid kiss! She reasoned, digging for some form of consolation to find the courage to snap around, preparing herself for what might come next. But she wasn't expecting the smug smile he so proudly wore. She then wondered if she should feel relieved or nervous.

But as a wave of dizziness forced her to grab a handful of bedsheets, she inwardly spoke gratitude that she didn't have to decide.

What was this? What were they, really? Too many questions and too little answers.

"Come on, it's past your bedtime," Alex pulled her back into the bed and started to administer the medication on her cheek wounds. Today was already a heck of a day, and with the soothing circles rubbed into her skin, she surrendered to her tiredness.

"Night..."

Upon her steady breathing, Alex tossed the tube across the room and it landed accurately on his vest with a soft thud. His finger outlined a path from her forehead and hovered hesitantly above her lips. The very same one he should have already felt.

Thanks, Garrick.

A frustrated sigh escaped him, loud enough to make Alexis nuzzle deeper into him, an arm draped over his waist.

He laid back down, replaying their scenes from earlier. A bolt of lightning might as well strike him now—maybe that would explain the bursting feeling in his chest.

"Wow," he mouthed in realisation. "I'm a damn idiot."

Years ago when she tipsily ended up on his doorstep desperate for him to take the pain away, he willingly obliged. No denials that he had the biggest selfish reason to say yes.

Fuck, it was a strange feeling to finally get all that he dreamt of. That night, he was too busy planning a confession in his head to sleep. But by dawn, the demons inside him questioned if he truly deserved someone like Alexis.

Someone like her? For him? It was too good to be true. His mind raced with the "What ifs?"

"What if our jobs clashed?"

"What if I put her in danger?"

"What fucking if the long distance fucks everything up?"

Their friendship would be in shreds. And she was one of the– the most important person in his life. No way would he lose her.

So he pushed her away—looked her in the eyes and lied. For Heaven's sakes, he wanted to punch himself. And he knew he made the right decision because when their friendship took a hit for a few weeks, the loneliness was unparalleled.

He didn't want to feel that way again. Ever.

Alex might have kept their friendship, but at the cost of everything. He liked to picture how different things would have been, if not for his cowardice. He thought about it frequent enough to imprint a permanent gnaw in his heart.

Now, here it was. A bloody second chance. His second chance.

Alex peered down to the butterfly tattoo on his bare chest, smiling. The universe's proof, alright, he whispered, "Gotcha."

The night ended with Alex falling into dreams of the woman he loved.

‧͙⁺˚*·༓

a/n: they're such stupid fools... & omg i hate this chapter so much idek. btw what do yall think alexis’ real name is?

taglist: @flyboidameron @wanderlustgiant (wanna be tagged? lmk!)

#call of duty x oc #call of duty x reader #alex modern warfare #cod alex #echo 3-1 #john price #captain price #kyle garrick #farah karim #hadir karim #kate laswell #oc: alexis #fanfiction #call of duty #modern warfare #ysrwrites: kl #please read tw carefully #killer instinct

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dauntless-cakeneedstobe-eaton · 4 years

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Jeff x Annie Song Fic-One Shot AU: Extended Version of Ending in Pascal’s Triangle Revisited (Season 1, Ep 25)

Song-Fic (Inspired by “I Want Crazy” by Hunter Hayes and “Clarity” by Zedd ft. Foxes)

“High dive into frozen waves where the past comes back to life...Fight fear for the selfish pain it was worth it every time.” (Clarity)

Well, that went..unexpectedly to say the least. I like to think that it’s hard for me to get thrown off my game. From watching my father leave, to getting kicked out of the firm, I like to think I’ve seen it all. I like to think about myself a lot, which with my overall charm and muscular physique, shouldn’t come as a surprise...who wouldn’t? I say all of this ironically, considering that there are two women in there who--for whatever reason--think about me...a lot.

I know what you’re thinking: Jeff, stop being every girl in every teen rom-com that gets stuck in the middle of a love triangle. I’ll be the first one to say that this isn’t necessarily a love triangle. At least, I don’t think it is. I don’t think I’ve ever been in love with anyone ever. All that sappy crap makes me want to throw up. That’s why I made sure to stay at least one hundred feet away from it--more like one hundred and five just to be safe. The whole “I want to be with you for the rest of my life” trope is a bunch of BS the entertainment industry sells us in order to make our expectations ridiculously high. So. Not. Worth. It.

I made sure to make every woman I have ever been interested in a fling. Nothing more, nothing less. When I made things official with Slater, I thought I would give this whole “commitment” thing a try, but that obviously didn’t end well. I never put any serious thought into Britta before, but I’d be lying if I said I was never curious about it. Standing out here just avoiding them wasn’t solving anything, but besides drinking, running away was the only thing I knew how to do.

“No I don’t want good and I don’t want good enough...I want can’t sleep, can’t breathe without your love.” (I Want Crazy)

In the middle of all my thinking, I saw a figure in a blue dress in my line of vision. Annie. I felt my lips curving upward, with a weird sense of relief as she approached me.

“I thought you left?” I asked quizzically. Annie put her bags down beside her. She sighed before answering.

“I couldn’t go…”

“Why? What happened?”

“I honestly don’t know,” she started, with a soft laugh, “As we were driving off, I finally started living in the moment, but at the moment I realized that Greendale is where I belong.” She shrugged her shoulders at me with a smile. I smiled at her in return, admiring her big, blue eyes. I once told her that she had dangerous doe eyes; I still stand by that statement. There was something about her--not just her eyes--that made me want to be a better person. She could force me into ridiculous situations, but they always felt natural as long as I was with her.

“What about you? What’re you doing out here?” Good question. What exactly was I accomplishing by being out here?

“Well...Britta and Slater just told me that they loved me.” Saying it out loud solidified it into reality. There you go universe. Happy now? I studied Annie’s reaction...for no particular reason. She looked shocked, as expected.

“Did you decide what you’re going to do about it?” I laughed.

“Not even close.” She giggled. It was nice to hear a comforting sound amidst all the chaos in my head.

“You can’t keep them waiting! You need to make a decision. Oh! I can help you!” she nodded excitedly.

“Oh? And how do you plan on doing that milady?” I asked mockingly. She gave me an offended glance to which I laughed.

“Hey! As long as it’s for you, I’m willing to help in any way I can!” she stated indignantly. When it actually registered what she said in her head, she blushed bashfully. I felt my palms start to sweat. “Anyway,” she continued calmly, “Tell me how you feel about Slater.” Another good question.

“Slater feels like a good choice to me. She’s intelligent and put-together. She makes me feel like I can leave my horrible past behind and become a new person.” Annie gives an impressive nod.

“Okay, so how do you feel about Britta?” Oh boy.

“Britta...she makes me feel like I’m good enough. She feels good enough too. Like I can be myself around her, flaws and all. She makes me feel like my current self is someone worth being.”

“Jeff you are in a pickle of all pickles.”

“Thanks Captain Obvious Annie.” She fake saluted at me. I genuinely didn’t know who I liked better. I didn’t know who I could stay committed to. I didn't know who I had more of a spark with. Maybe there were a lot of things I didn’t know.

“If our love is tragedy why are you my remedy? If our love’s insanity why are you my clarity?” (Clarity)

“Hmmm. Maybe you could reach a decision more easily if you could practice saying what you just said to their faces. Maybe once you look them in the eye and say how you’re feeling, some spark will fly?” I thought about it for a moment...it could work. Seeing that I didn’t automatically reject her idea, Annie perked up. “Okay I’m taking your pondering as a yes! Now all you have to do is say what you just said to me. Except this time, I’ll pretend to be both of them for the most authentic experience possible!” Normally, this is where I’d reject her idea, but I decided to humor her. “Alright Jeff, look at me and pretend I’m Slater.”

“Okay I’ll try.” I opened my mouth to start, but as I looked into Annie’s eyes, all words left my brain...and I don’t know why.

“Earth to Jeff?” She waved her hand in front of my face, taking a step closer to me. I was suddenly aware of her close proximity. Why couldn’t I focus? Why was it impossible for me to see her as anything but Annie? I looked up at her eyes again. Same as always. Big and...beautiful. She was beautiful. I scratched the back of my head.

“I...uh...sorry about that. For some reason, I can’t play pretend when it comes to you.” Annie blushed and looked away before nervously asking, “What do you mean?” It was hard for me to put a finger on what exactly I meant by that. She was just so different from both Britta and Slater that it was hard to pretend that she was them. When I tried to explain this to her, she asked “Is that a good different or…?”

“Of course it’s good.” I replied quickly, cutting off any more of her hesitation. I didn’t want Annie to think that I thought about her in any sort of negative light. I was convinced that she didn’t have a single bad bone in her entire body. It would hurt me to think that she thought otherwise.

“You’re different because with you, it’s like I can see clearly,” I started. She tilted her head slightly, her eyes capturing the last light of the darkening sky, amplifying the oceans of blue I saw. “With Britta, and even Slater when we were officially together, I always felt...blurry. Like I was walking on eggshells. I had to try so hard to not mess up around Slater...to be this perfect boyfriend. Around Britta, I felt no need to improve on my current self. I like that she accepts me for who I am, but I feel like I’m not growing at all around her. Maybe that’s another reason why I’m so confused about this whole thing.” Annie gave me an understanding nod.

“I don’t think you should feel that way about yourself. You’re capable of more than you know,” she said, giving me one of her award-winning Annie smiles. I smiled in return, feeling a certain warmth grow in my chest. “I know you’ve gone through a lot growing up, and that you try to shield yourself from pain and commitment with this cool-guy persona, but I hope you feel that you can be yourself around me. Because I think about you a lot. I want you to know that someone’s always thinking about you even if you feel like no one cares.”

I think this is when I saw it...when everything made sense. I was always able to see and think clearly around Annie because she let me be myself around her...but being around her made me want to be a better person. She always pushed me to be the best version of myself, but not a completely different person. If there was one thing Britta has ever been right about, it was me being jealous of Annie and Vaughn. I didn’t like the idea of someone taking away our adventures together. I hated to admit that to myself. I didn’t want to admit that helping Annie with her Halloween party and debate team was actually a lot of fun. I didn’t want to admit that we made a really good team. I didn’t want to admit that I liked being the reason for her smile. Because admitting all of that would make me a sap--something I swore to never be.

“I didn't know that you thought about me a lot,” I tried to ask casually. Little did she know how fast my heart was beating right now. I saw her rub her arm uncomfortably.

“While Vaughn was driving away, there was still a piece of my heart left at Greendale. I felt it tugging back the farther we went,” she said cautiously. She shyly looked back up at me. At this point, my brain wasn’t functioning I swear.

“Did that piece happen to be me?” I looked at her earnestly. I always knew that Annie was genuine. I wanted to know whether or not whatever I was feeling was reciprocated. Evidently, her brain must have not been functioning either because she leaned timidly leaned forward and touched her lips to mine. I found myself on the verge of getting lost in her, but she pulled away too quickly. Way more quickly than I would have liked. It was a sweet kiss, one that I have never felt before. In that brief moment, I knew which choice I wanted to make. No hesitation. I brought her lips to mine once more for a more passionate kiss. She kissed me back. And it felt like the best thing in the world. My arms encircled her waist and moved to her hair as I felt her pull me closer. This is what I wanted. This is what I needed. She was a choice. And in this moment, I chose Annie above anyone else. This felt right. This was the way it was meant to be.

#community #jeff winger #annie edison #jeff and annie #jeff x annie

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crazy-loca-blog · 4 years

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Personal thoughts on… 2019 releases (Part I)

Note: As the title says, these are just personal opinions on Choices books and chapters. Of course, you may agree or disagree with them, I only use this platform to express my thoughts on what I read every week.

After dealing with a lot of work and stress (to the point I ended up being sick in bed for a few weeks and now after a few months I still haven’t fully recovered), I’m finally back!

I’ve been playing Choices for over two and a half years now, and I honestly can’t remember a busier year than 2019. We’ve had the chance to read over 30 books! So I wanted to take some time to give my personal opinion on these releases. As there are so many books to talk about, this will be a three-part post and I will also include current releases and books that were released during 2018 but were finished in 2019. The list is organized in alphabetical order and it doesn’t include the VIP Books (as I don’t have access to the feature) or the seasonal books (as I’ll talk about them in another post, after all of them have been fully released).

A Courtesan of Rome (November 14, 2018 - June 12, 2019): I have a feeling that ACOR was one book before the hiatus and a completely different book after the hiatus. At first I found the story interesting, but it wasn’t like I was waiting every week for a new chapter to be released (honestly, those “8 years ago in Gaoul” scenes killed my mood so, so badly during half of the book!). However, after the hiatus, things seemed to move faster and that caught my attention. Overall, I really liked this book and I enjoyed reading it. I have a soft spot for these MCs that are super smart, so I loved to see our badass girl using her beauty and her brain to reach her goals. The LIs were awesome, too. I don’t think it was one of those “They’re all so good, I don’t know which one to choose” situations, but it was nice to see how every LI represented a different point of view of the conflict, so kudos to the writers for it. Of course, after the final chapter it was pretty clear that we won’t be having a second book, but I’m not that sure if it was actually planned to be a series. Sad.

Across the Void (August 20, 2018 - May 13, 2019): This book has probably one of the best graphics in Choices… but it also has probably one of the worst plots and some of the most hated characters in the app. We got this nice MC whose only mission was to be the captain of a luxury spaceship in the middle of a civil war. Of course, we got caught in the middle of it. And what does our MC do? He/She throws parties so the passengers and the crew can relax! We also had these annoying siblings who didn’t even think about making our job easier, a male LI that we shared with our brother, a male LI that hid very important information from us (and we got to know about it at the end of the book), and a male LI that we barely saw in the book. Thank God for the female LIs in this book! On top of that, we had to choose if we supported the Jura or the Vanguard without even knowing what their role in this conflict was. Thankfully, the hiatus helped to improve things a little and the final chapters were way better than the first ones where nobody seemed to have clear what was going on with this war. Of course, the fact that we had a choice to kill our MC at the very end of the book means that there is no chance to have a second book, but I wouldn’t mind revisiting this era with a better story in the future.

America's Most Eligible: All Stars (January 16, 2019 - May 1, 2019): Have you noticed how reality shows that are pretty successful in the first season tend to become lame, boring and repetitive in subsequent seasons? That’s exactly what happened to me with AME. I enjoyed the first book, even though I don’t think it has super memorable characters and there is nothing like “wow” in the plot, following the story was easy and (don’t deny it, because you know it’s true) it definitely made our competitive side to blossom. But in Book 2, things became repetitive and boring. Sure, we got some new characters, such as Vince and Slater. Sure, it was nice to see Mack, Jen and some other familiar faces once again. But Carson continued being Carson, Ivy continued being Ivy, and Bianca was denied as a LI (again). So, overall, we got nothing new or refreshing in this book… and we ended it with a proposal? After dating out LI for like 2 months? We just didn’t need another wedding book.

America's Most Eligible: Wedding Edition (September 18, 2019 - Present): I seriously think the only reason why AME got a third book is because of us, the fans. The whole series has been about competitions and winning… and of course, we have to spend A LOT of diamonds to win. So I assume the first two books were very, very profitable for PB because of course, we all want to win. However, as we’ve learned this year, having a wedding book may actually end up “killing a series”, and AME is not the exception. From the moment that the writers turned our wedding special into a competition, I knew things were going to be weird. In my very personal case, having Slater in my party made no sense at all, because my MC has never trusted him, so they’ve never had a good relationship. Then, having to compete against Vince and Ivy, our biggest enemies in the competition is so… basic. I’m kind of tired of the dynamic with them… it’s been two books already. And then we have all these super weird storyline with Jen. I mean… how is it possible that she is the showrunner, but at the same time she is a contestant… or even our fiancée!?!? The only thing I may rescue so far is that finally all Bianca and Slater lovers got a chance to express their feelings (and I’m so waiting for drama if you reciprocate them!). But that’s all.

Baby Bump (December 9, 2019 - Present): I know this book is on the list of the “most hated books in 2019”, but for some reason I can’t explain, I still haven’t found anything that truly disgusts me about it (maybe I’m lowering my standards?). I know and I understand that some people feel uncomfortable because we didn’t have a chance to choose our baby’s dad, or because our baby’s dad acted like a total freak by proposing in the second chapter, but I have a feeling that things will improve, especially because our own MC seems to be a grounded person overall. Probably my main complaint goes to how some stuff seems to be repetitive from other books (besides those Big Sky Country vibes all over the place). I mean… why is the evil girl always a bitch? Why do we always have to choose between an insanely rich LI and another LI who’s not so wealthy? When did the MC, both LIs and Luisa become “a gang”? I know there are too many things that seem out of place now, but I have faith. It won’t become a masterpiece, but it won’t be a complete disaster either.

Bachelorette Party (July 18, 2019 - October 17, 2019): Humor, fun, romance, but above all, friendship. I really liked this book at the very beginning because it was a light story, but at some point I felt the writers ran out of ideas right in the middle of the story and started dragging things. They tried to add a more serious touch with the case plot (I even thought we would be having some plot twist as we did in the Perfect Match series), but I think they failed. I kept waiting forever to see a connection between the case and some characters such as Reed or Skip, as everyone seemed to be connected with it in some form, but that never happened. Also, we had Aisha, a trans character who most of us loved at first, but who became annoying after blaming everyone but her for losing the case and not telling the truth behind it (even when she knew we could have been killed she didn’t say the truth… come on, girl!). Finally, I missed our MC having her own self-healing plot after breaking up with her boyfriend/girlfriend… there were only mentions and a few questions about how we were feeling, but that was all. I would have loved to see our friends doing some things for us. At the end, I got a bittersweet feeling about it. I enjoyed the story overall, but there were so many things that could have been explored within the plot, that I’m not fully satisfied with the story.

Big Sky Country, Book 2 (July 27, 2019 - November 9, 2019): I never, ever in a million years would have thought that Big Sky Country would have a second book. Even though I love all these beautiful characters in the story, I thought the plot was pretty lame and boring overall. I can perfectly remember how criticized it was. So I was prepared to read the second book just because I had already finished the first one. But I’m soooo glad that PB proved me wrong here. Not only we had a second book that was much better than the first one, but we also got a story where the writers did a fantastic job trying to balance the screen time of all the LIs and they succeeded when trying to blend all the different plots in one single story. In my opinion, the weakest point of this book was actually the final chapter… Asha won, Clint died, and we became official and got engaged to our LI in like 10 minutes… it just felt too rushed for me.

Bloodbound, Book 2 (May 17, 2019 - August 30, 2019): Even though it’s not one of my personal favorites (and probably that’s why I don’t understand all the hype for it), if I had to choose between the first two books, the second one is the one I like the most. I feel a lot of things improved when compared to BB Book 1, but my special mention goes to Lily… she annoyed me so much in the first book, for some stupid reason I can’t explain, I barely could stand reading her lines… but she definitely grew (A LOT!) in the second book. Also, we were introduced to some new characters, such as Serafine or Nikhil (I’m pretty sure that there’s more about him that we don’t know yet). Sure we had some fantastic moments, such as the crossover with Nightbound (I hope to see more of it in Book 3) or discovering who was behind the Order. But there’s no doubt that my favorite part of this book was when the gang went to the Order headquarters and discovered that the only one who could access was the MC… realizing that the real power of our MC (at that point) was simply to be human, and not a vampire, blew my mind. That’s why I wasn’t rooting for her to become a vampire.

Bloodbound, Book 3 (November 9, 2019 - Present): One of the biggest complaints made by Choices players is that the writers seem to have problems trying to make a series attractive over time. We see unnecessary content that doesn’t add up to the plot, and a tendency to drag things in general. By the third book, people seem to be struggling with the series more than enjoying them. Well, this is not the case of Bloodbound. The series not only had its biggest plot twist by turning our MC into a vampire, but also we may notice the writers have not stopped to impress us. Of course, this book is the darkest one in the series, and after 6 chapters I still have so many questions… should we trust Rheya? Is she good or bad? What’s the real power of our MC given the fact that she’s also the bloodkeeper? Will our MC end up being the villain of the story? So far, I’m pretty happy with this book. If things will continue to be like this, I would LOVE to have a fourth book (especially if it’s said that this is the last book in the series).

Desire & Decorum, Book 2 (December 17, 2018 - April 8, 2019): Even though in my opinion this is the weakest book in the series, one of the things I value the most about it is how the writers managed to create this powerful MC in an era where women actually didn’t have much power and they were basically expected to get marry and obey their husbands. Of course, the whole plot where we were forced to marry Duke Richards was the main focus of the story, but seeing our girl standing up by herself, being helped by her friends and her true love, and saving the queen (and England) was an absolute pleasure. However, it wasn’t enough to fully convince me. The duel between Duke Richards and our LI, Duke Richards becoming Mr. Richards and getting arrested, and Briar’s happy ending are probably the best moments of the book, but even though I enjoyed it, it’s far from being one of my favorites.

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occasionalfics · 6 years

Text

The One To Stay, 3 (Thor X Reader)

masterlist | tost masterlist | part 1 | part 2

Summary: Time to get to work to build your defense. Your personal defense, that is. But when something doesn’t go according to plan, a wrench is thrown into the cogs.

A/N: Thoughts? I actually don’t have a lot of notes this time XD

Tags: @thewayilookatbacon @mysweetcookie99 @httpmcrvel (let me know if you want to be added to the list!)

Words: 4,811

Loki appeared to adore the idea of hidden chambers, as you thought he might. “There aren’t any connecting tunnels, and some of the rooms are still quite empty-“ you started.

“I’m sure I’ll find uses for them,” he interjected, examining the smooth walls of his room with deft precision. He didn’t speak for some time, just knocked on the flat surfaces of the room to find the hollow spaces.

“Showers are at both ends of the suite,” you told him, as if he were still listening. “Alert me if you need anything, please.”

He ignored you, so you took your leave.

Everyone was settling in, nicely, you hoped. Hulk - or Bruce, rather - didn’t appear to like the situation too much, but none of them did. You didn’t blame them. You hated these circumstances, but you did what you had to put your plan into motion. It was time your father step down or be taken down, but you needed allies and troops to see the plan through.

It would take a while to earn the Asgardians’ trust. At least Thor had almost smiled at you when you’d shown him his room. Loki liked the palace enough, and from what you’d heard, he was the least trustworthy to begin. Perhaps he’d do whatever the group at large did, though you doubted that. You had to keep an eye on him if he was notorious for having his own agenda.

The Valkyrie, Brunhilde, liked you least. You considered revisiting her room, to try to apologize for everything, but decided against it. She didn’t want to see you, and you wanted to show her that you respected what boundaries you could afford her. You needed to give her time to process that this situation would not last forever. You had to give her reason to believe that you would, indeed, restore her freedom and Thor’s kingdom to his hands when the time came.

You had to show them all that you were not a Trickster God. You were the Goddess of Mercy. Despite your aggression on their ship, you were also kind and caring. It was completely possible to be cunning and ruthless in battle, but soft and compassionate in personal matters. The two could coincide; some stories you’d heard of Thor confirmed that much.

You went to the common area, plopped on the couch, and opened the book you’d placed on the table the last time you’d been in the room. It was a fairytale collection, Midgardian in origin. One of your siblings had put it in the library long before you’d come around, but you spent much of your childhood reading through it, teaching yourself how to recognize the Midgardian letters. The particular story you were reading was about a girl the size of a thumb that was kidnapped by forest creatures - a toad, a bug, and a mole. She faced the changing of the seasons with courage and friendship, until she found the Vale of the Fairies. You were just getting to the part that you loved the most - when the Fairy Prince gave her a set of dragonfly wings and asked her to marry him, making her the Queen of the Fairies - when someone else came into the common area.

“A fan of Hans Christian Andersen?” Bruce asked.

You glanced up at him, nodding from behind your pinky, which rested just above your lips. Your other fingers rested against the side of your face, and your elbow was against the arm of the couch on which you’d sat. “His stories are so full of longing and hope,” you said.

“He was...kind of a sad guy, from what I’ve read,” Bruce said. “Liked to pine a lot, but all of his crushes were never requited.”

You frowned just a bit and said, “How sad.”

Bruce shrugged. “Could be worse,” he said, looking around the room instead of going on. You knew what he was getting at, though.

You shut the book, placed it on the table once more, then shifted to bring your legs up onto the couch, bending and tucking them beside you despite the grime on the bottom of your boots. “I hope you’re at least comfortable in your bedroom.”

“It’s kinda small,” he said. “The Big Guy...he’s used to more space.”

“Right,” you said, not having even thought of “the Big Guy” until then. “I can see about remodeling the room with higher ceilings and reinforced walls, if you’d like.” You didn’t know how long that would take, or where Bruce and the Big Buy would go in the interim, but you’d worry about that later.

Bruce stared at you for a moment, like they all had at some point between your takeover and dinner. His head was cocked to one side, just slightly enough to match his curious expression. “I don’t get you,” he said. “One minute, you’re taking down the whole team with a look and the next, you’re giving us all elaborate prison cells and offering to remodel them to our tastes. Who does that?”

You shrugged. “Someone that’s not proud of her methods, but knows there are reasons for those methods, I suppose,” you said, pushing some hair away from your face as you leaned forward a bit.

“What I still don’t get is why you want to overthrow your dad,” he said.

You hushed him, looked over your shoulders, and only returned to Bruce once you were sure there were no guards around. When you were satisfied enough to do so, you said, “My father has spies everywhere.”

“So you want to kill him?” he asked, coming over to the couch. He sat beside you, his brows furrowed in confusion. “That doesn’t make any sense!”

“That’s not why I want him off the throne,” you said, adjusting so you wouldn’t have to speak very loudly.

“Then why?” he asked.

If this was how you were going to get Bruce and the Big Guy to trust you, then so be it. “My father’s been on the throne too long,” you said. “He was a generous, giving leader once. He took care of his people. Even during my lifetime, he’s done more for the people than they will ever know. And they’re grateful to him in turn.”

“Being old isn’t a reason to kick someone off a throne, if they’re an effective leader,” he said, whispering now.

You nodded. “You’re right, Bruce,” you said. “But he is no longer an effective leader. My father had many lovers, many wives, and he loved each one more than the last. He outlived them all. When my mother died, he grieved for months. I’m not entirely convinced he’s moved past her death even still, and I was young when she passed. But ever since he returned to his duties, he’s been greedy, selfish, and unkind. I’ve had to be his voice of reason and mercy too many times since my mother’s passing, and he barely listens to me.”

“You told Thor his people could thrive here,” he said.

Again, you nodded. “And they can, just not under my father’s rule. My people and the people of Asgard deserve a leader, not a ruler. They deserve someone they know well, someone that still cares about their well being. Someone that can fight for them, in both the physical and political senses.”

He thought for a second, then said, “A warrior Princess-slash-Goddess of War and Mercy.”

“Perhaps,” you said. “Or a warrior King-slash-God of Thunder, should he prove to be a better leader.”

“That’s not what you said at dinner,” Bruce said, squinting once more at you.

“It’s not,” you said. “I do want the throne, because I think I’d make a good leader of the people. But I won’t take it unless I earn it, and I expect anyone else that contends the throne to feel the same.”

“You would just hand over your birthright to a foreigner?” he asked. “This plan doesn’t make any more sense than it did when I asked a stupid question.” That last part appeared to be more to himself than a response to you.

“No, but I would concede if I wasn’t the best option,” you said. “Are you an avid reader, Bruce?”

He paused at your seemingly off-topic question, the nodded.

“I thought so,” you said. “So am I. I’ve read all kinds of things. Wonderful, artistic poetry; gorgeous narratives of worlds I’ll never see but in my imagination; horrifying tales of war and woe and destruction. Those tend to be my favorite. I learn the most from them. For example,” you said, leaning closer to him to speak at an even lower volume. “The villains of many war stories are the pompous, self-righteous people that only fancy themselves heroes. They don’t earn their thrones through valor and service, but through selfish acts of derision and revenge. I don’t intend to be one of those villains in this story.”

“But is that..not how you got Asgard?” he asked.

You shrugged. “Maybe it seems that way, but I know I’m not their hero. Despite Surtur stepping in to stop Hela, I know it was you, the Valkyrie, Loki, and Thor who saved the Asgardian citizens.”

“And Heimdall,” he said. “The Gatekeeper.”

“Exactly,” you said with a nod. “So maybe you consider me the villain of the story. I don’t blame you for it, but I intend to change your mind, and to help gain your freedom to return to Midgard sooner rather than later.”

He stared again, more like he had when he’d been standing. “You’ve cleared up exactly zero of my questions about...all of this,” he said, gesturing to all of you.

You sighed. “I hope, over time, the answers you’re looking for will find you. For now, I’ll promise you two things: first, that I’m not nearly as complicated as you think,” you said, giving him a small smile. “And second, that you will see your home again. It just won’t happen until my father is dead.”

You decided to show the Asgardians them the truth, rather than telling them. Maybe, you thought, they would believe in your cause if they weren’t taking in information from you - you, who’d kidnapped them, threatened them, and confused them.

In the morning, you met them in the common area as breakfast was being served. You had it all brought to your suite, to keep as few guards in close proximity as possible. If you’d eaten in the great hall, your father’s men would’ve surrounded you. You knew you were just lucky that your father hadn’t summoned you for breakfast, in any case.

When they gathered, you noticed that each of them looked and smelled better than they had the day before. They all walked taller, too, and wore fresh clothes. You took them by surprise, standing in the common room while food was being brought in on trays. That wasn’t the surprise though; compared to the day before, you were a completely different person on the outside.

Instead of green and black, you were draped in light pink, the color of sunsets on clear days. Instead of tight trousers and a tailored top, the pink fabric draped over each of your features, flowing from top to bottom. They couldn’t see the shoes you wore, but they certainly weren’t dirty battle boots. Instead you had on little light colored slippers. You looked like a Princess, from your twisted hairdo to the slight rouge you’d put on your cheeks to the dainty bracelet you had on that you doubted anyone could see beneath the sleeves of the dress.

“This is new,” the Valkyrie said, nodding at you. She didn’t look amused, but you didn’t mind.

You shrugged. “It’s tradition. And it’s how the citizens recognize me.”

“It’s nice,” Bruce said. He sat on the couch and watched as the last few trays were brought in and placed on the various surfaces around the room. “What’s it mean we’re doing today?”

“I thought I’d give you a tour of the city, if you’d like,” you said. “We can see how your people are faring so far.”

“It’s been a day,” Loki said. “How badly could they be doing?”

“I think it’s a great idea,” Thor said. You hadn’t noticed until then, but he looked only at you. His stare was intimidating, regardless of the fact that he only had one eye to stare at you with. Everyone else was glancing at the food, but not Thor. “After all, this is home now, isn’t it?”

“I’d hardly say so,” Loki said, sitting at the other end of the couch from Bruce.

You ignored him, gesturing to the food. “Please, eat,” you said. You waited for one of them to reach for a plate, more out of respect than anything else. But no one moved, and you remembered what the Valkyrie had said the night before. She wouldn’t eat anything you didn’t. And here, in the palace, you couldn’t blame her. If your father knew anything of your plan, he wouldn’t be above sending poisoned food to your suite.

“Right,” you said, moving to the main table to pick up a plate. You went around and filled it with cold meats and fruit, warm pastries, and a spoonful of porridge. You heard them all move to join you before you’d filled the plate, and by the time you sat down, each one of them had eaten something already. You settled in and started to eat as well, the breakfast as normal as wearing a dress made of soft pink satin, at least to you.

You were comforted when everyone ate in relative silence. No one was questioning you or the food or the planet. No one was angry or downtrodden. Everyone was at ease, relishing in the peace of the room. Bruce and Thor went in for a second helping, and as they ate, you asked if anyone wanted anything else. The Valkyrie asked for mead, which you went to find. You came back with butcher’s paper, and after you gave the Valkyrie what she’d asked for, you went around and wrapped up what was left of the food.

“Planning on giving it to starving children?” Loki asked, his tone sarcastic, like he couldn’t believe that would be your intent.

You nodded anyway. “Of course,” you said. “I normally do. Although, most are not starving.”

You could tell by the silence that followed that they were all still confused by you. And that was fine - it would be a while before they understood your choices. That was to be expected. You just hoped you could be patient enough for long enough. For now, however, you continued to wrap up what was left of the food in the paper, careful not to crush any pastries. You found a few leather satchels to stack the packages in, then helped the Asgardians with cleaning up the plates and trays, which were left in somewhat neat piles for the house staff to pick up later.

“Who’s ready for an outing?” you asked, pulling the straps of the leather bags up to your shoulder. They didn’t match your dress, but you didn’t care. The gesture wasn’t about the dress - it was about showing the Asgardians that they could trust you had your people’s well being in mind.

Thor nodded and, surprisingly, smiled. You found yourself unable to look away from his bright face, but you tried to fight through the feeling anyway. You bit your lip, turned around, and headed out of the room before anyone could catch the hint of heat in your face. You lead the way through the corridors, down bright but silent hallways and past too many doors and open rooms to count. You nodded to the guards who stood on watch at the front of the castle, then continued on into the courtyard where many festivals were held throughout the year. There was a grand fountain in the center of the yard, and rose bushes lined the walkways, filling the air with a floral, sweet scent that made you relax and walk with straighter posture as you passed them.

The Town Square was less than a mile away from the palace. The walk was warm and quiet. You didn’t turn around to make sure, but you were convinced your guests were taking in the splendor of the area. You weren’t just proud of your planet because you were its princess, but because it genuinely was a gorgeous place. Its only rival had been Asgard, as far as you were concerned.

Children were running and playing in the Town Square. Merchants lined the streets, their tents pitched and tables already assembled with the day’s goods to trade and sell. You waved to many people as they called out to you, bowing with huge smiles on their faces. Some of them you called back to by name, especially the jewelry makers. They were some of your favorite merchants along the main road that lead to the pit.

Before you’d made it to your destination, Thor caught up to you, walking at your side rather than behind you. “Your people adore you,” he said.

You shrugged. “I adore them,” you said, unable to keep yourself from smiling. “They’re lovely, artistic people. And I believe it’s important to support what they do.”

He leaned toward you, which must’ve taken extra effort given your height difference. “Does your father feel the same way?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” you said. “He used to, but I haven’t seen him outside the palace walls in some time. I prefer the Town Square to the Throne Room, in any case.”

The Town Square opened into a round pit. It wasn’t deep - there were a few concrete steps that lead to a flat surface. The area was entirely open, and at that time of the morning, it was still shaded enough to be bearable to sit in. There was a bench at one end of the pit, and children played within its confines. When you approached the steps, some of them stopped and waved. Some bowed, especially if they were older. You smiled and waved back, then picked up your skirts before descending into the pit.

The children cheered and crowded around you and the Asgardians. Some of the faces were unfamiliar to you - normally, you knew nearly everyone you met in the Town Square, but not that day. You knew the unfamiliar children had to be Asgardian, so you smiled especially softly at them as you made your way to the bench.

You put the bags on the bench first, then sat beside them. The children all filled in the space in front of you, pushing past the Valkyrie, Loki, Bruce, and Thor to find a spot as they sat and looked at you. “Good morning everyone,” you said.

“Good morning Princess (Y/N),” they called, mostly in unison. The Asgardian children all looked on, turning to their new friends for guidance or keeping their eyes directed at you. Some of them looked scared, and you knew it was because, only a day ago, you had thrown their ship off course and brought them here, to a place they didn’t know.

You knew that, in order to earn your throne like you’d told Bruce you wanted to do, you were going to have to earn more than just the trust of the four Asgardians in your care. You’d have to earn Thor’s people’s trust, too. The faces of the children who recognized you reminded you how much work was to be done.

Still, you smiled and opened one of the bags. “Those that have been here before know to take one item before passing a bag,” you said, your voice echoing just slightly enough to be heard by all. “But today we have more friends here than we normally do. So let’s share as much as we can, okay?”

Many of them gave a resounding positive answer. Some nodded, and others continued to stare. Your smile stretched as you opened one of the bags, then bent forward and handed it to a girl who looked to be about seven. She took something wrapped from the bag, then passed it before opening her item. You opened the other bag, then handed it to a boy at the other end of the front row. As they all passed the bags, you settled on the bench, pulling your feet up under you into a criss-cross position.

As they ate, you told them stories. You always did. You liked to recount the stories you read the night before, so that day you told them of the Thumb-sized girl that became Queen of the Fairies. You told them about the toad that took her from her windowsill, of the Maybug that flew her high up a tree only for his Maybug friends to ridicule her, and of the Fieldmouse that housed her during the winter, only for a swallow to carry her into Spring and the Vale of the Fairies.

“When the Fairy Prince saw her, he thought she was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen,” you said, dramatically clutching your heart to the tune of childlike laughter. “He could see how scared the little girl was, so he offered her a pair of dragonfly wings, so she could be like him. He was kind to her the way no one else had been before. When he asked the girl to marry him and become his Queen, she accepted. And there she lived, among people her size with wings just like hers.”

“I love that story,” one of the children said.

“Me too,” you said with a nod. “It’s one of my absolute favorites. And next time, I’ll tell you all about the Ice Queen who turned Summer to Winter with a flick of her wrist!”

They cheered, got up, and milled about the pit. Some children came up to thank you, and you welcomed them, hugging and smiling and laughing with them. After everything that had happened the day before, this felt so normal and wholesome, and it warmed your whole being to know you made a difference to the children.

A little girl with a long brown braid came up to you, her eyes wide and apprehensive. You didn’t know her, so you hunched down until you were eye level with her and asked, “What’s your name, sweetie?”

She didn’t answer at first. She just stared, the way many of the other Asgardian children had at you. A large body moved closer to you, and when you looked up, you saw an adult approaching. The woman wasn’t someone you knew either, and by the look on her face, she clearly wasn’t happy that you were speaking to the child.

“Get away from her,” the woman said to the child, grabbing her small arm in a larger, dark hand. Her lips puckered, and you thought she might spit at you, so you backed away and went to raise your hands. But the woman simply picked the child up and walked out of the pit. You heard her tell the girl, “We don’t talk to her, Romi. She’s a mean, evil person. She took our king away from us.”

Of course, that was when the Asgardians came over to the bench. You weren’t sure how the woman had missed them as she left, but you weren’t focused on that. There was a pain deep within you as you watched that woman walk away. It would’ve been worse if little Romi had looked at you over her mother’s shoulder, but she didn’t, and you were thankful for that at least. Still, this was just another reminder that your plans were working on thin hopes. Romi, with her round little face, had seemed so terrified of you, despite your story and your kind voice.

You wondered how many more children were just as scared, all because you’d stormed their ship like a Ravager instead of a Goddess and Princess.

The smile had gone from your face already, and it did not return as Thor, the Valkyrie, Bruce, and Loki all stood around you. Thor had the leather bags hanging from his shoulder, but you hardly noticed. You couldn’t make eye contact with any of them, so you stared at the stares beyond Loki’s waist.

“That was quite the show,” the Valkyrie said.

“Didn’t go exactly as you planned?” Loki asked.

You shook your head pathetically, only half-paying any attention to the question. That child was scared of you - a small girl with braids named Romi was terrified, and would remain so because you had taken their liberator from them, and in turn, taken their freedom. All to create the appearance of pleasing your father, all to betray him and take his place. You tried to rationalize - one child was nothing when it came to revolution. But that thought only frightened you. You didn’t like it, so you shut it off and sat straight suddenly.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered. You still didn’t look at any of them as you stood. “I must return to the palace. Please, stay in town and get to know the merchants or...whatever you wish.” You picked up your skirt and pushed between Loki and the Valkyrie, moving out of the pit before any of them could really comprehend what was happening. You hurried through the Town Square, back through the streets you loved and past the people that loved you. You kept your head down and put a flat hand out over your eyes to shield them from the sun that had finally risen to its full height. If anyone called out to you then, you hardly noticed. You simply kept going, walking straight through the courtyard by the palace, through the heavy stone doors, and across the grand, spacious grounds to your suite, and then to your private chambers.

You’d had the hidden chambers built for fun, as a whim on a night when you were particularly lonely. But since then, there was one hidden room that you went to whenever you needed to be with your thoughts, or when you needed to push them out. Between your dresser and your window was a little knob. You turned it, and the wall which otherwise looked seamless, opened for you. Beyond the door, you stepped down a spiral of steep stairs until you reached the next floor; the stairs dropped off into a dark room you knew well. You crouched by the fireplace, finding it by touch alone, and carefully lit a flame with the tips of your fingers. Fire was your father’s specialty, but you’d taught yourself some basic pyromagic. When the fire had caught, you stood and undid the fasteners on the back of your dress. You let the fabric fall from your body before you went to the chaise a few feet away, where you then laid down and pulled a thick fur blanket over you.

If you pretended hard enough, the blanket still smelled of your mother: peppermint, white sage, and a hint of cinnamon. It was a comforting, cool smell that brought your memories of her to the front of your mind. You’d been young when she had passed away, but you remembered her face perfectly. You looked like her, or so people told you. But you never thought so; she was gorgeous, young, vibrant, and so kind. People always said she was the kindest of your father’s many, many wives. She loved the people the most. She’d commissioned the pit. The bench had her name on the back. It was her place to go and tell the children stories and give them treats.

But that, like much of the light on the planet, died when she did. You’d only reinstated storytime a few years ago, when you were finally able to go out and sit on her bench and pretend to be her. The only person that didn’t seem to like that so much, until today, was your father. Then again, he didn’t like much anymore.

That child, you thought. Romi. She and her mother were terrified of you. You could only imagine what your mother would’ve said, if she were alive. The longer you breathed in her scent, even if it was imagined, the more you envisioned the disappointment on her face.

That shook you harder than Romi and her mother. The possibility of your mother being so...upset with your choices broke your heart. But you’d made choices, and now you were going to have to face the consequences of those choices. You knew what she would say to that, if she could: Do it with grace, kindness, and compassion. Show them you love them. They will love you, too.

You weren’t so sure of that.

#thor x reader #thor odinson x reader #the one to stay fic

97 notes · View notes

fuzziekins · 4 years

Note

6. What made you realize your current labels fit you?

if it’s ok i’m gonna combine this with question 10, which is when did you realize you weren’t cishet, since when i think about it i usually group the two ideas together. And because it’s a long story and i have no idea how the hell to shorten it i’ll have it under the cut.

So my current label i use is demi-whatromantic asexual [with a slight aesthetic preference toward females]. I include the aesthetic attraction in brackets because sometimes i use it and sometimes i don’t, and maybe that’s because my label in general makes attraction confusing to me or because i’m just plain obsessed with Elsa from Frozen. But because that’s a lot to explain, i usually just say i’m ace or queer. Even if people still don’t know or understand asexuality, sometimes saying i’m queer is just enough to get the point across without needing to go into a needlessly detailed explanation. And while i know everyone has their own personal feelings about queer, as a label or as a word, i like the inclusivity of it. It’s enough for people to know i’m not straight, but it also leaves the door open if people want to know more. There was no specific moment that made me realize queer can fit my just as much as demi-whatromantic asexual; just the occasional tagged queer content on tumblr and the reassurance of some posts that the community has reclaimed the word and whatever each individual’s relationship or feelings are to that word, it’s perfectly ok and valid. I’m allowed to use that word for myself if i see fit. The rest of my label is slightly different.

I figured out first that i was asexual. Except i didn’t realize it until maybe 6 or 7 years after first even seeing the word. I saw it for the first time here on tumblr with the most basic description and i just thought, ‘ok that sounds like it could be me.’ But ultimately i decided it was a problem for future me because i had school to worry about. And even after that it took some times to realize that’s what specifically fit me. And i can’t just say that i had this light bulb moment where i looked up more details about asexuality and knew it was right for me, because that feels like it negates all the steps it took to get there.

After my dad passed, art became a sore topic for me to the point where i couldn’t even enjoy it for myself. But being a creative person, i had to do something. So i put my focus into writing, specifically roleplaying, which is something i hadn’t done since college. And honestly, i wish it didn’t take that to make it the first step because i know had i been able to realize any of this sooner and gotten the chance to tell my dad, he would have been more than accepting and i really hate that’s a moment i missed out with him. Anyway, i happened on a roleplay group kind of my accident but it gave me the chance to not only revisit a couple of OC’s i created back in high school, but also create new ones. The first LGBT+ one didn’t come around for me until a year later; before then the characters i made were straight because i didn’t think much or know better. But the more i roleplayed with these characters, the more i got to explore. When i created more characters i really got to think, ok does this person have a preference?; can i imagine this character eventually in a relationship?; is it ok i just automatically think this character is a lesbian? And the first thing with that, that really hit me, was with the first OC i ever created. My online friend and i were plotting, trying to figure out which of our characters might be friends. And she had just created one similar to one of my characters. Another online friend, he shared a birthday website as kind of a joke and kind of inspiration to help with relations; there was a date compatibility thing or something on the site. It turned out to be funny because some of the characters with pre-existing relations based on that were totally accurate and others were way off. But with two specific characters my friend and i were looking at, the site said they’d make a great couple. And at that time, that particular OC of mine had gone from being hetero to simply open-minded, since she never thought of relationships before and i never particularly saw one for her. But as soon as we read that, it clicked. And not only did the plots and inspiration start coming, but it led to so much character development for my OC. A character i created in high school to basically be a one-dimensional bookworm who was now not only questioning her newfound friendship but her sexuality. And as i wrote her discovering that, i noticed i was putting some of my own tendencies into her - her awkwardness and the way she reacted to certain topics, for example. My friend commented my character was probably ace in addition to realizing she was a lesbian. I didn’t think much of it then, but that was kind of the first piece.

The second piece came in the form of the show The Bold Type. Admittedly the show hasn’t been as good since its first season, but that’s beside the point. But from the first episode we’re introduced to this one character, Kat, and in her interactions with another character you could feel the chemistry between them. And part of her arc for that first season was coming to terms with her feelings for that woman and realizing she wasn’t straight. And for me, someone who was only a few years older than her 20something year old character, that was something i didn’t know i needed to see. I’m naive, childlike, and oblivious. Even if i had known anyone who wasn’t straight up until then, i wouldn’t have noticed or asked anything. But seeing that on screen, someone in my age group who actually didn’t know who she was and was starting to figure something out about herself, it gave me permission to question. Even if that question was, why the hell am i enjoying this so much?

But what really did it for me was the show Andi Mack on Disney Channel. It was one of the few shows i actually enjoyed at the current time on Disney Channel, even though by all accounts i should’ve been done with all that ages ago [except i’m a disnerd]. And after the first season ended and season two was rapidly approaching, the big question and anticipation was in the form of a character’s coming out. Fans have been picking up that one of the characters may have been gay and were waiting for confirmation. And that confirmation came in the season two premiere. And, if memory serves, there was a reason why it was met with acclaim the way it was. The scene in question involved two characters, Buffy and Cyrus, sitting at the diner. And there was that slow build up, just knowing that Cyrus needed to tell Buffy something. And when she asked if he liked another boy, Jonah, Cyrus nodded sadly and said “I feel weird. Different.” Ultimately, she ended up promising him in the most comforting and encouraging way, “you’ve always been weird. But you’re no different.”

And for me, even as an adult, hearing those words just made everything click. I had no idea how much it meant to hear that. I always knew i was different from other kids growing up. I was treated different. I knew i was weird. And for the most part, i accepted that. But i didn’t understand what made me so different. At that point, i had the faintest basic knowledge of a few different sexualities courtesy of creating OC’s. Only one of them, at that current point, had identified as ace by choice. And suddenly i looked deeper into the meaning of asexuality. And just about everything about it fit for me. Why i didn’t experience attraction the ‘normal’ why. A potential reason why i never had the powerful urge to date or why i pushed the idea to the side so much. It even explained my childlike nature; i’m a kid at heart, but knowing that a “stereotypical” ace is someone who is naive, childlike, etc, it made sense why that was such a huge factor in my personality. Because i was a stereotypical ace. I told one of my best friends about a month later, and then i think 3 or 4 months after that, i posted on my Instagram about being ace. It’s felt right ever since.

Sometimes i do get specific and say i’m a s-x repulsed ace, because the topic really makes me that uncomfortable. But even if i don’t use it out loud all the time i know, as far as the asexual umbrella goes, that’s exactly specifically what fits me. So since hearing “you’ve always been weird, but you’re no different” and learning the full definition of asexuality, that’s what made me realize that fits me.

As far as my romantic orientation goes, it’s more of a grey area and sometimes i still struggle with it. While i’ve openly identified as asexual officially for two and a half years, i’ve had my romantic label for maybe no more than 6 months. When i read that asexuals can be anything from heteromantic to gay to bi to aro...basically anything...originally it felt like there were so many possibilities open. It made me feel good to know that i could basically be anything. But it also made me terrified because how the hell was i supposed to know? Now that i knew my asexuality basically screwed up my attraction to begin with, i also had to admit that it took a lot for me to get close to people to begin with. And, even more so, since my dad passed, the wall i already had up became bigger and stronger. I felt for a time like i lost a lot of support during that dark period and the last thing i wanted to do was let new people, or anyone in.

The obvious answer was that i was probably, if anything, demiromantic. Because if it took so much for me to open up to actual friends in the first place, to get close with them and develop a friendly bond, how much more time, effort, and energy would it take to get close to someone romantically? I thought about using that label for a little bit, but it didn’t fit. And, as someone who feels her emotions so strongly, powerfully, and, to a point, near uncontrollably, i questioned what the hell could be wrong with me that i couldn’t knowingly feel a basic romantic attraction? Aromantic was probably much more accurate, but from what i recall reading online, it’s also perfectly normal for anyone who is aspec to feel broken or like there’s something wrong with them because they’re missing something so “important”. And especially when i already hated so much about myself, finally feeling comfortable with myself about one thing - my asexuality - and knowing that it was right for me and that there wasn’t anything wrong with me about that, the last thing i wanted was to put myself down and feel more shame about who i was.

I think it was sometime last last year, in 2019, that i first started seeing the word quoiromantic pop up. I think it was on one of the LGBT+ blogs i follow, or maybe an asexual or aromantic specific one. And another word for quoiromantic is whatromantic, since quoi means what. What is romantic attraction? What’s the difference between that, aesthetic attraction, and sexual attraction? What makes someone know they feel that specific attraction? And as someone who naturally asks “what?” or “what’s that?” albeit jokingly, it felt plausible. And it felt like a reasonable explanation for why i really didn’t know anything for sure. Because, even when i tried to think back to when i was in school, did i ever really feel attraction? Was it so faint i didn’t even recognize it? Was i mixing it up with maybe platonic attraction? I had no fricking clue. Simply saying “what” summed it up so simply for me.

I don’t include anything gender related in my label. As far as i know, i’m cis. My body is female and, to my knowledge, i’m comfortable enough that i don’t think i need to identify as anything else, save for really not being comfortable in dresses or heels. But if someone called me dude instead? I don’t care. I use dude as a term for everyone regardless of gender (unless someone tells me otherwise for the sake of their personal comfort). My gender doesn’t feel like something that needs to be changed or defined, unlike my sexual and romantic orientations.

When i saw my whole label together, i think about it, and i connect all the dots, it makes sense for me. Sure, i could simply say whatromantic asexual and leave it at that. But whether it’s platonically or maybe it really does have the faintest connection to romantic attraction and it’s so faint and confusing i wouldn’t know it if it slapped me across the face, keeping demi felt right. Quoi- or whatromantic, to my current still-baby LGBT+ knowledge, is generally seen as a microlabel. It’s something under the aromantic umbrella that is so super specific that a lot of people wouldn’t understand why it needs to exist. It exists to bring a sense of comfort. And that’s exactly what it does for me. It’s the main romantic label for me while demi serves as the microlabel. And ultimately, as someone who has the overwhelming need to always explain themself, i want to have a label that encompasses everything. Even if i don’t always explain my identity or simply say i’m queer, i want to know the details for my sake.

And i think ultimately, the more i say it to myself in my head, and think of all the ways i may have to explain it to people, the more i know it fits me.

#queer #queer asks #lgbt #lgbtq #lgbtqiap #long answer

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angeltriestoblog · 4 years

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I Miss 5 Seconds of Summer???

A few days after 5 Seconds of Summer held their concert in the Philippines last 2016, I wrote a blog post with this exact same title then went on to elaborate that I missed the version of them that I fell in love with. I’ve unarchived it so anyone who bothers to read this has a salient starting point, but be warned: I seriously can’t make it through the entire thing without suffering from a chronic cringe attack—who ever told 16-year-old me that she could write?!

—

I have listened to 5SOS’ entire discography almost exclusively today. But my Spotify followers wouldn’t know. In an expert attempt to evade their judgment, I go on Private Mode so I can cry to their music in peace. I’ve also been watching a couple of their videos too. My favorite is this live performance of Ghost of You where Calum Hood does some immaculate vocal blending at the 1:26 mark. I have my watch history paused though so I don’t get bombarded with more recommendations and end up spiraling further down the hole.

It’s funny how I think that removing every trace of related activity on my corner of the Internet could also erase it from my own memory, render it as a mere figment of my imagination instead of a clear manifestation that I’m starting to like them again. And it might seem even funnier that I am convinced that people care! But then again, I did unstan them pretty publicly a few years back following a misogynistic interview they did for an issue of Rolling Stone, which also featured all four of them almost fully nude on the cover.

To this day, I continue to dissect the piece with one part of me thinking that I might have overreacted, having seen and read it for the first time when I was 14 and much more of a prude, and the other knowing that I did not. In one paragraph, Luke Hemmings admits that during the early years of the band, they took advantage of the amount of female attention they were at the center of. “They were wildest on their early tours, when they’d go to bars to mingle with fans after shows,” it read.

In another, Hood talks quite nonchalantly about his infamous dick pic that made its rounds on the Internet the year before, and how it surprisingly gave the band a lot of publicity. “Now I’m just working on the sex tape,” he jokes. “I’ll call Pamela up, like, ‘Hey, it’s been a while. We really need to hype this band up!’”

Having risen to fame as the opening act of the clean-cut British-Irish group One Direction, 5SOS was immediately touted as a boyband—next in line to 1D’s throne, or competing with them for the crown, depends on which magazine you read. Though this exposure granted them a huge teenage fanbase (myself included), they hated the label that came with it. They constantly asserted that they played their own instruments and wrote their own songs, and behaved in a way that well-curated, expertly marketed groups would not: carefree, loud, playfully and forgivably naughty. No one would believe them though. People would say it’s the curse of being conventionally attractive in the music industry. You were almost always expected to be a popstar, a commodity that catered to the masses. But they tried anyway: maybe a lip ring and a couple of tattoos would do the trick, sprinkle some curse words here and there in interviews, get caught smoking or drinking.

That interview was their final act: their big-time effort to break away and hopefully land a spot amongst the rock bands they looked up to and wanted so desperately to impress. Even if it meant objectifying, mocking, and taking advantage of the girls who propelled them to stardom in the first place. Simply put, that interview was them desperately trying to get rid of fans like me. And so, I obliged.

—

Now that I’ve been staying at home for almost three months straight, I have revisited a lot of old favorites: poorly written fan fiction I used to eat up in my early teenage years, full seasons of Nickelodeon TV shows (only the good ones) downloaded off sketchy places on the Internet, my childhood journals filled with my loopy handwriting and family of stick figures. I know I’m not alone in this pursuit: it seems like we’re all holding on to remnants of our past to remind us that we have experienced better days, and they will surely come again soon.

I felt like it was inevitable I’d return to 5SOS because they had released their fourth full-length album during the first few weeks of the quarantine. Everywhere on social media, I was reminded that one single was out, and then another, and then another and I figured that it wouldn’t hurt to give it a try. After all, I did give Youngblood, their third record, a spin when it first came out as well. I thought their attempts at experimentation bordered on pretentiousness, and figured that if this was the musical direction they wanted to take, I’d surely hate every succeeding record as well.

But the problem was I really liked it. Although it wasn’t a no-skip album, each track was different from the rest, all showing a level of inventiveness and mastery of musical technique not present in previous releases. After playing the entire thing again and again, even the songs I didn’t vibe with at first started to grow on me. Turns out the beauty of Easier and Teeth is in the details: the thrumming bass at the beginning, the unconventional vocal inflections, best appreciated in an enclosed area with the volume on high. My amazement at how their musical style had progressed over the years led to me listening to all of their albums in chronological order, then rewatching some of their funniest interviews which were alarmingly easy to retrieve from memory.

During these times, I’ve wondered why I still remain curious about what they’re doing, why I still give their music a shot when I see it on my Release Radar. They never apologized for the article and I assume that they talk about things of that sort even more now that they’re older.

And I guess the answer is simple. Besides the fact that the music is honest to God amazing, they kind of made me who I am. Having found them during the height of my teen angst phase, I reveled in having idols who were open about rebelling against the system and forging our own paths despite being looked down on by those older than us. It was through them that I was introduced to bands that further diversified my taste in music, that I started experimenting with a more introspective type of writing that led to the style I employ to this day. I made so many good friends because of them, some of which are still in my life today. Looking back, I wouldn’t consider it the best version of myself but she was different. More importantly, she was really happy.

—

I am well-versed in the discourse surrounding problematic faves, and I know that if I ever find myself in such a situation, I have two options: either go down the productive, politically correct road and steer clear from them, or continue to consume their work but with the knowledge that what they did was inexcusable. I teeter between boycotting their music altogether—because even Spotify streams can be translated into revenue and there’s nothing that powers oppressors like financial stability and fame—and choosing to separate the art from the artist so I can appreciate good work without the reputation of its creator clouding my judgment.

I guess at this point, I probably am looking at them with rose-tinted glasses. I heard that some victims of even the most abusive and toxic relationships look back at their time with their former significant others with fondness. Though what I had with Calum, Ashton, Luke, and Michael was nowhere near romantic, and their transgressions far from a personal attack, maybe it applies to my situation too. I look at 5SOS now through the lens of the 14-year-old who embedded watching Keeks into her daily routine, or fell asleep listening to Heartbreak Girl on repeat and rejoiced when it hit 1,000 plays on her iTunes. They are no longer that band, and I am no longer that girl. And while it doesn’t hurt to remember the times when we were those people, I must remind myself that things can never go back to the way they were.

Maybe this doesn’t have to be as dramatic as I’m making it. But that’s the good thing about keeping this blog despite getting published on other corners of the Internet—I can make it as dramatic as I want to be.

#quarantingz #personal #angeltriestoblog #5 seconds of summer #yas we back with the personal essays babey!!!#kasalanan to ng ghost of you #this blog aint dying

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itsdjjones · 7 years

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With You | DJ & Parker

TAGGING: @notpeterxparker & @itsdjjones

TIME: Thursday Night 5/25

PLACE: DJ’s apartment

NOTES: DJ and Parker chillin like always acting all domestic. But they are “just friends” okay? Eventually having them decide that Parker should move in.

DJ Thursday night and DJ was in the kitchen of his apartment with his best friend Parker. The two were inseparable. So much so, that people always assumed they were dating. His roommates were out for the night and it was just the two of them making food. It wasn't unusual to have Parker there and the two of them acting super domestic together. She was always at the apartment and DJ didn't mind. He liked having her there. "I still think we should have made two dozen cookies tonight. One for you and a twenty three for me because I cannot control myself." he laughed and teased her as he opened the fridge to find them something to drink.

Parker smiled as she shook her head and let out a laugh before she smacked his arm. "Rude and no wonder why the workers were watching us close today." She teased as she leaned against the counter and unwrapped her sucker she had bought. She was glad that she had the night off from the club. Or she wouldn't be here for dinner. She liked spending time with DJ, of course they gotten mistaken for being a couple but she didn't mind since she enjoyed his company. She tossed the wrapper away, brushed her pink hair away from her face and went back making dinner. "Though, I happened to sneak some dessert in without you noticing."

DJ rolled his eyes. "Okay but I wanted cookies....wait what dessert? The sucker you're eating is not dessert Parks." he laughed as he poured them some water for dinner. He finished dinner with her and they walked towards the couch to sit down and chill. He rested his legs up on the coffee table as he switched on Netflix. "What do you wanna watch?" He asked as he looked over at her. DJ looked back at the screen and flipped through the selection of movies and tv shows. "I've been rewatching Stranger Things...again" he laughed.

Parker laughed as she chewed on it and tossed the stick away. "Oh I know, but I brought homemade brownies." She said before she told him thank you and placed her legs onto his legs before she thought about what to watch. "Stranger things is great and sometimes you have to prepare yourself for the second season." She laughed and glanced at the selection. "What kind of mood are you in?"

DJ gasped when she said she brought brownies. "You did? You know I seriously love you right?" He laughed. Parker put his hand on top of her legs that rested in his lap and he smiled. This was content for him. "Right? I mean you can never be too prepared I always say." DJ shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe comedy? Not sure. What about you?" He asked, glancing over at her.

Parker laughed as she nodded. "I do but I love hearing it." She said before she relaxed. She saw his hand on top of her legs, feeling comfortable and content. "Nope, you cant." She shrugged and glanced over at him. "I'm down for a comedy."

DJ nodded. "Comedy it is." He looked back at the tv and found a movie for them to watch. He pressed play and as the movie went on, aimlessly watched and spent time looking at his phone. It was a movie they had both seen and mostly it was just background noise at this point. DJ all the sudden tossed one of the couch pillows at her and he smirked. "I went on a date today" he said realizing he hadn't even told her about his date with Lucia.

Parker pulled out her phone and started to play Bubble Witch Saga 3 once she saw him pulled his phone out. She was into the game so much, she let out a gasp when she felt the pillows at her. "Oh you did?" She asked as she exited out the game after she tossed the pillow back at him. "With whom?"

DJ "Lucia Lopez" He said. "She seemed cool but I'm not sure if its gonna go anywhere. Or if I want it to. Maybe there's something wrong with me." he laughed lightly, but was completely serious. "We went to the lake and the arcade though and got pizza. It was fun. Just reminded me how much I miss that arcade" he chuckled and sighed.

Parker raised an eyebrow, knowing the girl since they both are nerds. "Nah, there's nothing wrong with you DJ. She's cool, maybe it doesn't click between you two?" She suggested as she propped her head with her hand and listened to him. "That sounds like a fun date and yeah, have to revisit it sometime soon."

DJ "I guess" DJ shrugged and thought about how much he got along with Parker than Lucia. They clicked very fast when they met. "Yeah it was fun. Oh well, at least we'll be friends though now right?" He smiled at her. "Anyways, yeah I forgot to tell you that." DJ was always telling Parker everything. She was the person that really knew him the best. Maybe even better than he knew himself. She knew him before he found his faith and he was seen as this big player. Everything changed when DJ started going to church and reading the bible, except Parker. She was the one thing that was ever constant in his life.

Parker returned the smile as she agreed with a nod. "Right, another friend you can tease." She said and nodded once more. "It's okay, I forgive you." She took in his appearance, glad who he was and how far he had came. She had seen him changed, from a player to someone who had grown and she was so proud of him. She knew that she couldn't live without him in her life.

DJ "no but you're my favorite to tease. Always." He smiled and poked her cheek playfully. "Maybe I'm just destined to grow old with you and will be in our rocking chairs, single and alone and yelling at kids to get off our lawn." He laughed. DJ could never imagine life without Parker. She was his rock. He scooted closer to her and wrapped his arms around her. "You know I love you right?" He asked. Something DJ said often to her.

Parker playfully rolled her eyes when she felt him poked her cheek and smiled as he talked. "Maybe, and that would be perfect because we can get a dog. I would also bake, a ton of desserts. We have to do it!" She said through her laughter. She snuggled into him when he scooted her closer to him. "I do, and you know that I love you?" She asked as she cupped his cheek gently.

DJ "We should get a dog now, I mean who are we kidding?" He shrugged. "We're gonna get so fat" DJ laughed and he looked at her when the girl touched his face. "Really? Wow I thought you totally hated me. I mean why else would you be here all the time?" he joked and fake scoffed. DJ kissed her temple and he smiled. "No but seriously we should get a dog." He said changing the subject back to dogs. Typical.

Parker nodded as she agreed, matter as well. "Ourselves." She replied as she glanced up at him and laughed as she shook her head. "Nope, we're going to be working out every day." She met his eyes as he looked at her and shook her head with a smile before she cuddled into him. "I could never hate you." She felt him kissed her temple and let out a sigh as she wrapped an arm around him. "We should, also. We should just move in together because we hang out a lot together."

DJ pulled away from her for a moment at her suggestion. "Wait really?" he asked. "You should. I mean we have the extra room. It's not that crazy of an idea Parks." He shrugged. "You just gotta deal with what's his face taking all the hot water" he laughed, speaking about his roommate. "Move in." DJ smiled. "You basically live here anyways."

Parker glanced up at him when he pulled away and looked at him. "Would it be okay with your roommates if I moved in?" She asked as she thought about how much gas she would be saving, along with money. "Pfft, I can deal with that. Besides, I can always beat him to the shower." She grinned when he mentioned move in and nodded. "Okay, I'll move in." She kissed his cheek with a smile. "And we don't have to figure out days who gets the dog."

DJ laughed and he smiled at her. "I don't know why we never thought of this before" he said pulling her closer. "I mean seriously." DJ was really excited to have Parker move in. He hoped it didn't effect their friendship but he wasn't too worried about it. "True. You wanna go to the shelter tomorrow? We can pick out a furry friend and then we can start packing your stuff." He smiled at her.

Parker shrugged and looked at him still. "I don't know why either." She replied and felt him pulled her closer. "Okay." She was beyond excited for this to happen. She had a feeling it wasn't going to effect their friendship. "Yes! I don't work tomorrow or Saturday, so Im basically yours for those two days." She matched his smile and wanted to do a happy dance. "And I don't have that much since I rented out a room."

DJ "Yeah we could probably knock it out in a day" he smiled. "Okay tomorrow we can pack and then Saturday we can go get the dog. Just so we don't have a dog running around when we're trying to move stuff you know" DJ smiled at her. He moved away from her arms as he stood up to put their paper plates in the trash. "I'll text the guys though and let them know" he said pulling his phone out of his back pocket. "So you gonna stay the night tonight?" he asked wondering if she had to go to work. DJ wasn't super fond of the work that Parker did but he tried to be supportive. He just knew she was much better than that. She deserved better than that and somehow DJ wanted to take care of her.

Parker "We can." She grinned and nodded as he talked, knowing that he was right. "Not only that, having the chance of the dog running away and us chasing after it. Then we can go shopping for the dog." She moved away when he did, took a sip of water before she told him thank you when he threw away the paper plates. "Okay and I should do the same for my roommates." She pulled out her phone, exited out of the game and nodded. "Yeah, someone said that they could take my shift tonight since they need the extra money." She knew her work was kind of a slightly hard subject between the two but she had to do to make a living and she didnt bring her work home with her.

DJ "coool" DJ said slowly. He put his phone back and nodded towards her. "I'm gonna shower and get out of these jeans. We should watch something else. This got real boring" he laughed and gestured towards the tv. "You can wear that shirt that you like tonight if you want" DJ knew that Parker liked that one shirt of his and she would usually wear it when she slept over. He stripped off his shirt and walked towards the bathroom to shower real quick.

Parker placed her phone onto the table and stretched a bit. "I agree and sweet, thank you." She slipped off her shoes and headed into DJ's room to grab the shirt. She slipped off her pants, placed her shirt on top of her pants and slipped on the shirt. She headed back out, grabbed the remote and looked through the selections.

DJ showered quickly and he came back out to the living room with boxers and a tshirt on, ready for bed whenever they decided to sleep. "Find anything good?" he asked as she sat back down next to her, smelling fresh and clean. DJ had to admit he loved it when she wore his shirts. He would be lying if he said she wasn't completely gorgeous but they have always just been friends, nothing more. Even if sometimes they'd cuddle in bed and do couple stuff. It was all platonic. At least that's what DJ thought.

Parker smelled the body wash he used and smiled when he sat back down next to her. "I did. Riverdale. It's a mixture between Twin Peaks and other shows. Or, we can watch Sausage Party with a chance us losing our brain cells?" She asked as she glanced over at him. She had always loved when she smelled his body wash after the shower and took in his appearance. She couldn't deny that he was handsome, she had eyes but at least everything they did was platonic. At least she kept telling herself. "Or we can watch Tropic Thunder?"

DJ raised his eyebrows. "Well I'm gonna pass on Sausage Party" he laughed. "The other ones sound good though. I haven't watched Riverdale before." He moved his arms to the back of the couch behind her. "Whatever you wanna watch I'm cool with." DJ smiled at her, content in spending time with her. He thought of how it would be when she moved in. They'd probably have way too much fun together.

Parker nodded as she agreed. "Good choice." She laughed and raised an eyebrow. "Well, then we're going to watch it." She gotten more comfortable as he moved his arms and returned the smile. "Tropic Thunder, then Riverdale?" She suggested, not wanting to move from her spot and knew there would be a lot more of this when she moves in.

DJ pulled her into his arms and he watched the tv with her for the rest of the night. It was a typical night for them but DJ loved every minute. After hours of Netflix DJ had fallen asleep there on the couch with her in his arms. Wouldn't be the first time this ever happened but DJ didn't care. He was comfortable and content with her there.

#para #para: parker #para: withyou

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peristeron · 7 years

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so y’all its time for the rare “maybe i need to re-examine my dæmon form" time with mala, thoughts under the cut

right, so. for those not in the know, who happen to decided to poke into this out of curiousity — i use the dæmon forum’s methods, which are basically taking the whole thing as a personality typing dealio, for self-reflection and shit. for the past several years i’ve been solidly settled as a tawny frogmouth, and before that, before the shift in analysis style i was a palm cockatoo

BUT recently i’ve been noticing some thought patterns i think i’ve pretty much always had but never entirely paid much attention to or noticed, namely some stuff relating to being image-oriented, particularly when i’m actually dealing with conflicts and not running the fuck away or otherwise avoiding the shit out of them. this isn’t something i ever considered about myself because generally i hate the spotlight and am so conflict-avoidant that the competitiveness that almost always goes along with being image-oriented doesn’t fit me At All

however

i’ve been noticing as a pattern through the past few months just how much i am Deeply Concerned with how things will Look, even when i feel generally past the point of going through the motions/playing the social game/doing my usual sugarcoating that is a lot more purposeful and careful than it probably seems. i Care about how i’m going to look to a theoretical Audience, to the point that it will utterly stress me out in some environments to the point of turning into a slug (see: dreamwidth). i want to make sure my shit is water-tight, i want to make sure that i come out looking Good. which, given internet culture (and especially dreamwidth and tumblr cultures), makes sense, especially for someone whose brain spends 75% of its activity centered on Avoiding Stress/Conflict/Unpleasant Things. if facing something Unpleasant and actively getting involved, it makes sense to not want things to get More Unpleasant due to one’s own phrasing or actions, etc.

anyway

one of my biggest problems with form finding, right, is that my cognitive functions are INFJ and my enneagram is 6w7. that isn’t a combination that’s very common and, from what i can tell, is viewed as kind of weird. i’ve re-examined both of these things (bc i try to avoid quizzes with personality typings and instead try and figure out how the systems work to pick The Most Accurate One, bc im that nerd), and i’m pretty heckin solid on it. but because its an uncommon and weird combo, it can make form finding difficult — bc finding an analysis that has the right combination of weird INFJ/6w7 traits is ............ yeah

NOW FINALLY ON TO THE GOOD SHIT

so i’m poking around on the spreadsheet, bc i know it isnt infallible but its a handy resource to get started with, and i keep pulling up things that are absolute duds. and then im like, “coyote, sure, lets just fuckin look” bc its listed as infj and 6. the analysis linked to that needs some editing, but doesn’t seem egregiously wrong and ... weirdly ... fits more than i expected. so out of curiousity, i popped over to the other two coyote analyses, both of which were written by forum analysis experts

and i stare. because this is............ hmm. it isnt a Perfect Fit, at least i dont think so, but its............... its more on point than i really expected. wtf. the other analysis doesn’t fit nearly as well, which i wonder how much of that is really down to differing interpretations or if it’s because of............. something else idk, but ironically that’s the one that has infj listed in the coyote’s possible mbti. this one doesn’t, but is more accurate to me. /scratches head

this is just So Weird to me bc i’d largely like. not........... considered a canine for myself before, not seriously, not since i got started and went through the “Maybe I’m A Wolf” phase. i’ve been birds for the longest time. but the birds that worked for me before (tawny frogmouth, mourning dove, though that second one fit a lot less closely) are distinctly missing the image-oriented stuff. and the bird analyses i know that definitely do center on it too much. so looking outside of birds, let alone finding one that fits as well as that coyote analysis, is just.................. Weird. it feels so Weird

it even nails something that, like. i never looked too closely in regards to myself bc i didnt like it:

¤ Possessive (revisited) Only some coyotes are territorial year round, but all are territorial during breeding season. Although there's not a lot of information out there on the subject, it appears that coyotes are territorial of the core 10% of their territory year round (usually where the den is located). How aggressively a coyote defends its territory will depend on available resources. In times of plenty, they're more lax; when food is scarce, they're less welcoming. Similarly, coyote people are not Possessive with a capital P, but they are possessive of things they see as uncommon or unique to them. The more obscure the interest or thing, the more possessive they are. Finding someone who shares these interests makes them feel like their individuality is being threatened. In contrast, when something is really popular or common, they don't expect it to be "their" thing and aren't upset by others embracing it. Basically, you could call them conditionally possessive.

SWEATS..................... LOUDLY. i. yeah. this is a kneejerk reaction i have. its not as uniform/regular/predictable as that, and i really need to pay more attention to that feeling and analyze it more when it happens, but i uh. sometimes........... i......... yeah

like. typically, i am not a jealous person. 97% of the time, i dont get jealous about my relationships, to the point that polyamory is a very real possibility for me and has been a thing for me in the past. but occasionally. occasionally. i’ll get... possessive a bit. and a bit jealous, wanting to helicopter and wanting to demand All The Person’s Time, No, Play With Meeeeeeee. i dont let myself do this, ever, because i know its Bad and it feels extremely uncomfortable to feel it to begin with. and there are some things i’ll get weirdly possessive about, usually more along the route of ideas kinda thing. i get the whole insecurity about “if this other person does the thing, then everyone’s going to like them more than me, and no one will like me any more because that person is better than me.” which is bullshit but i haven’t figured out how to bury it yet

squints off............... also i wanna talk about this:

¤ Competitive ... Coyote people are competitive by nature. They want to succeed and have trouble enjoying themselves if they're losing or struggling. This might cause them to drop activities they find difficult while focusing on what they're good at. They have a habit of comparing their achievements to their peers', which can lead to motivation or jealousy. They want to be the best in their field (or at least feel comfortable with their status), and they'll do what they can to stay there.

again, like i said earlier — being competitive isn’t something i typically consider a trait i have. i dont like conflict, competition feels way too much like conflict to me, i dont like negative attention, etc. ..................... but. b u t. the way this is phrased here? the bolded shit? which is pretty much the entire thing? y...eah. this hits it right on the fuckin head for me. i avoid competition because i hate losing and dont trust my reactions when im not doing well in a competition situation. i avoid things i’m bad at for the same reason (and bc feeling like a failure, bad thought spirals, perfectionism (which is also a trait in this analysis), etc). and, here’s the kicker, even if i’m not participating in something competitive at all, i’m still constantly comparing myself to other people, esp other people who are doing similar things to me (such as, say, role-playing courier six, the most open-ended player character in the bethesda fallouts and thus why am i comparing my OC to other OCs that’s fucking stupid). i may not feel like i want to be The Best One (is that bc i have no ambition/drive, which is a thing, or is it bc i have a huge amount of self-worth problems and therefore can’t imagine myself as being The Best and besides i wouldn’t want that pressure to be and stay The Best) — but i want to feel comfortable and safe in a status of being One Of The Better Ones, or even just One Of The Good Ones. and i want to maintain that status because i hate change (even if i can deal with it after some adjusting)

again — all of this is shit i’ve never wanted to really look too closely at or even admit too much, but it’s been there for a very long time, so its not like i’m magically developing this. its just............. that i’ve ignored it. and now im starting to be more honest with myself about it and its raising a lot of questions

anyway i may not be a goofy af looking bird guys i may be a clumsy, goofy coyote. ???????????????????????????????????

#mala talks #long post #TDF #dæmons #i'll probably make more posts like this #as i poke around at other forms #i'm not Sold on coyote yet despite everything #i wanna keep shopping around #bc u never kno what u'll find #for those'a y'all who are brave enough to try to read more on the dash #and are wondering why i bolded my links #its so the links stand out more on my layout

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skysphoenixmode-blog · 7 years

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First Sneak Peek Chapter

2015 Part 1 (Me vs Brittany)

Chapter Song: Norah Jones- Good Morning

This is the chapter I've been waiting for to be very honest. This one I hold very close and dear to my heart. This is the beginning of what has been prior to this year the hardest two years of my life. Before I begin I just want to make perfectly clear that this chapter right here is in no way blaming this person for everything that has happened. I did back then. I was lost and in rage. I didn't know what to do with myself. This was when I confronted her last year before 2016 happened. Now that my stepmom is no longer in the picture, and then some, a part of me wants to make this right the right way. Yes, I know what people are going to say. They are going to be like “Oh Sky it's been two years. Why haven't you still let this go?” Blah blah blah blah. You know what there's a difference between not letting it go and revisiting this. Anybody who wants to think that I'm not letting it go? Fine fuck you but go ahead because I don't care. I'm not going to involve anyone anymore. This is my fight and my fight alone. Before I begin, I'm here to tell you all right now that yes, I have been trying to get ahold of her here and there but it’s rarely and its only when chaos is happening in other areas of my life but I'm doing it to do the right thing and trust me I'm going to get into the entire story right here and right now. The truth is as well, I do sometimes wonder if it’s because of my actions during this whole dilemma is what caused the rest of the last two years of my life to be my worst hours yet. Not because of what she did. That doesn’t matter at this point but because of what I did. If anybody who has read this still doesn't get it and know that I'm not a bad guy and I'm not as bad as a lot of people think I’ am up to this point so far and going forward then again fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. One more time FUCK YOU!!!! All right, now that I've let that out. I'm going to get back to this chapter I don't know what's going to happen, we could become closer than ever before. We could somehow get together. We could just have more respect for one another. She could still hate me. I could still hate her. I just don’t know what’s going to happen. Crazier shit has happened What I know is that while I'm not going to apologize for what I felt, I ‘am here before you a humble man to say I've done some shitty things too during this whole Dilemma. When it first happened, I put the blame on her all of it. Even for my guys struggling two years ago. It was wrong and it crossed the line. It's something I have to live with the rest of my life. Shit I even feel like some of the shitty things I did was karma coming back Why? You are about to hear all of it and I mean all of it. Ladies and Gentlemen here we go.

It all started 3 years ago. Close to the end of 2014. It started in October. Me and my friend Brittany who were very close at the time, we were on top of the world. We would talk a lot. We would go to one another for our issues. I'll get to that here shortly in case anyone is wondering. She was someone I cared about. Who is Brittany you asked? Brittany was someone who I met at one of my old hang out spots. She worked there. It was called Bikinis. It was a sports bar here in town. Yes, I know what people are going to say, you were hanging out at a tit bar or whatever? Yes, I was. So what? I'll admit some of them I became close with but Not because of the sex frustrations. Some others yes, I did because they were attractive. I'll admit that too. Brittany was in the other category where I didn't. Maybe I liked liked her a little bit. Maybe I didn't. What I do know is the care and love for her that I felt was legit. Unlike some other people that she told me about. Especially other guys. I legitimately gave a shit about her. It was 2014. We were talking a lot. I even remember where I learned my lesson of overdoing it about talking every day or texting or whatever. Due to events from back in the day. Right around my 21st birthday we started becoming closer and closer. I remember that afternoon. I spent the day downtown at Bikinis. Watching some World Cup and having some drinks. Of course, I just got done establishing Bikinis as one of my spots by then. Although I did admit that yes some of them from back in the day were fucking attractive, others I legitimately cared about as good friends and or family. I took care of my people like I always do. I went to get them drinks from Starbucks. I was always there to listen to their problems which was fine because I showed that I care. Especially because they've always let me hang out there. I even became tight with some of the managers. Mainly Jade and Rod. Although I don't talk to them much anymore. I will occasionally if they don't hate my guts. Jade is busy with mom duties with her beautiful twins Zach and Maddie who are now 1 and I believe 2 come August and then of course Wifey duties with her beloved Eric. Rod is now the general manager at Lalas bar here in town. Not downtown but it's actually north and I believe not too far from me if I'm not mistaken and of course he's being Rod. Todd was cool and funny as shit but I don't talk with him much anymore. Nothing happened. I just I don't talk with him much anymore. Dom, I will occasionally. Corey haven't seen him in a while. Mainly Jade and Rod. Same with Karen. Actually as of Right now, Karen and Acacia are the only ones I’ve been talking to and keeping in the most contact with the most. Any who, so my birthday we started talking a lot more me and Brittany. It was also the beginning of the sweet notes that Brittany wrote for me which I later set on fire which I will get to in a moment. Bear with me here. It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Over the next couple of months, we would talk increasingly. She even was my biggest supporter come the time of fantasy football season. I even remember where the day of one of my drafts came, I made her some CDs because I remember her telling me she didn't have much in her car so I took the time to do something nice for her to tell her much love and much appreciation. I almost came close to having a draft party for the first season of my DFW Nation league which Jade and Rod were a part of. Rod left before year 3 but Jade was a part of it since the very beginning. I even got her and few others some drinks. Can't remember who else was there off the top of my head. I went to my Starbucks of course. I remember her favorite drink was some sort of bean frap. Shit if we were still talking, I could easily ask her but of course we are not. So, when I came in that Sunday, I gave it to her and she was just overjoyed. We gave each other a hug, and then of course we just went back to Good ol me and Brittany being funny and then some. Things were great. October came and that was a small beginning but it really didn't start till December. October is here and this was before I left for Missouri for a few days since I didn't go in September for Danny's wedding which I now feel like a Jackass for. I went to go see him and Sam and then of course the rest of my family. We were supposed to hang out one Tuesday night. Have some one on one time outside of work. Not a date. Least that's not I was wanting and I hope she didn't think it was or thinking that I was expecting that. So that Tuesday arrives. I had to do yard work. (Ugh Yard work I hate it so much.) I was quickly raking the leaves. I had my iPod on listening to Public Enemy. I was in a Public Enemy mood. So I was in the zone the entire afternoon trying to get the stupid leaves done. We were talking throughout the entire day. About the normal shit we would talk about and of course being funny like Michael Scott and Holly from the Office. Not that we were in a relationship like they were. Oh no no no no no. Hell no. Not that I don't think she's attractive. She's cute and she's beautiful. I'll admit that. I'm not afraid to admit that at all. Besides what do I have to lose. Now I don't have any sexual attractions towards her. I didn't then and I don't now. Anybody who does not believe me can yes go to hell. Cause like with everything else I don't care what people think. Any who while we are talking, we are of course trying to figure things out for that night. Not a big deal but if there's one thing I'm very serious about it’s about time. If people are honest with me then I will understand. So 4pm comes around, I'm done with raking the leaves. I take a shower because we had plans for 7pm. I get ready because we were going to have dinner at Bikinis because she was off. Had great food obviously. Why else would I hang there? I always got a buffalo chicken sandwich. I love anything Chicken. I'd prefer that over red meat. So I get ready. Of course I don't dress super fancy cause again it's not a date. Once I'm ready I charge my phone for a little while because my galaxy kind of started to become a piece of garbage. Once it's done charging, I gather myself. I make sure I look presentable because again even though it's not a date, I don't want to look like shit. So I leave. I got on my route. I put on my headphones because I don't like talking to people on the bus although I ended up talking to this really nice veteran. Just telling me about his story. Now as long as he's not crazy or anyone for that matter and clearly, he wasn't then I'm going to listen. So about 6:30 I get off near St David's Brackenridge because I got a text from Brittany saying that she got called in and she wanted to postpone because she didn't feel like going in which of course she lied to her superiors. Now on one hand while I was open to going somewhere else, I didn't want to pressure her. So I was like that's fine. We will just do something another time probably when I come back. So I end up going anyways. Just because I had a lot on my mind. I go because the Mavericks were playing that night. They were playing Philly if I'm not mistaken. Jade was managing that night plus my former homegirl Tamra was bartending. I went and it was a great night which is what I needed especially because I did something shitty which I will get into later on in regard to why I'm going then. So after I get back from my four days, I was invited to a goodbye party for someone else who used to work there. It was not Brittany but bear with me here. It was another one who used to work there. Her name was Jaime. Good ol J-Spinn invited me. I always got along with her. However, I shouldn't have gone but I did just to be supportive. She invited me. A lot of her friends there I did not know. Vince Young was actually there. He knew her. Which was surprising but unfortunately, he was kind of a douche. Colt McCoy would've been better. Him or Justin Tucker. So it was around 2pm when it started me. The only 4 I knew were Jaimie, Amanda, Leslie, and Tamra but even then, otherwise once again I was just the odd man out. It wasn't my cup of tea. Besides I have nothing interesting. Due to my history of either I drive people away or people just plain and simple don't like me. It was after I ended up being the 4 that I knew photographer for a few pictures but again back then I was stupid unlike now. So as soon as I took the pictures, then realized that ah fuck this this is not my cup of tea. I went up told Jaimie good luck in Nashville. Gave her a hug and then I took off. I went back to Bikinis but instead I had another hangout spot which was none other than the Parish. My homegirl at least I still in a way hope so, Karen was the lead there. She was Bartending there that day and Rod was managing. I went there to hang and have a drink. Not sure if I had lunch that day but I did go before I took off to my house. When I went, I was Wondering if Brittany was working that day. When Rod came down I asked him.

“Yo Bro, Is Britt working today?” He then said, “Nah Man, she moved!!!” I was surprised and I was like “Really?” He confirmed it. Happened while I was gone. Of course, I wasn't mad…. yet. It's coming but not yet. So, a few hours later, I messaged her. Saying “Hey is it true you moved?” She messaged me back a yes with a sad face response. Again of course I wasn't mad because it's out of my control. She even apologized which was unnecessary. As November went on, she was having a hard time with the move and guess who she came too every damn day? Me. We talked almost if not every day. She messaged me because again I was the one who was there to answer the call when she needed someone to talk to. I don't care what anybody says, it's a goddamn fact. I wouldn't be saying that and then some if it wasn't true. So yeah, I enjoyed it. We facetimed each other a few times and it was nice. She even had a few times because of our common love of Starbucks where she would send me pics of her drinks or Her and her beautiful Dog Kenya taking Starbucks Runs. It was beautiful. Her dog Kenya was a beautiful pup. Of course, she wasn't a baby but the love that Brittany had for Kenya, it was Admirable. It was adorable. One day I was at the bar having lunch and a drink after work. My somewhat still occasional homegirl Alexis who was also close with Brittany was Bartending that day. While Alexis and I were talking, I get a phone call from Britt. Of course, again, I was happy happy happy. All was well. It's getting close to when it all changed. But any who, I answered. Britt and I were talking for a few minutes. Alexis then was telling me to tell her hi and of Course Alexis wanted to chat with her for a minute. I handed her over my phone. They talked for a minute which of course Alexis had to get off before I want to say Todd was lead that day. Last thing we needed was for Alexis to get in trouble. Before, it was discovered and I was the first to know and again this is a fact but I was the first to know That Brittany was going to be up in December for a few days. Unless there is something I don't know or people are fucking with me, it is a fact that Brittany told me 1st out of our old group that she was coming. I told others Alexis including if I'm not mistaken, she was surprised. Then of course she was excited too. So yeah there's that. I mean why else would I be the first out of our old group? I don't know what goes on behind the scenes unless I'm included or if I decided to involve myself because some shit is going on, I don't know. What I do know is that she wouldn't have told me first if she didn't come to me almost every day while she was having a hard time with the move. Now on to when it all began. December came around. I believe it was a week or two before Christmas. The time that she was supposed to come rolls around. Once she gets here, I don't hear from her for days. Which is alright. I don't really care. Last thing I want to do is pressure people. As a matter of fact, when I heard from her it was the night of a Christmas party that we were both invited too by Todd. She went. I however did not. Why? Because again I'm not a big group person. Everyone was going to be drinking. Again, I don't have a problem with that. I have more of a problem of being the odd man out sometimes because of me but others because I just don't have anything in common with people also because I have a history of driving people away apparently and I don't care what anybody says. History has a factor to do with it. History will always have a factor to do with anything. So before she went out and besides I was having a bad night with my old man and my stepmom, we made arrangements for a quick lunch the next day. To have a couple of hours together before she took off for Houston. I wake up the next day, I get ready…. again. Although I'm not doing anything fancy. I head downtown. I take a quick walk around the capitol and I'm on the phone with my sister. It was a normal conversation. All was good. Here is where it began. Throughout the morning, I was trying to get ahold of her. I gave the space so I'm not doing it every five minutes. I was trying to get ahold of her for the time. I don't want to be late or nothing. Just like my father always does. Of course, I didn't hear from her at all that morning. I head to Bikinis (at the time I called it BKs because I didn't want to sound like a pervert. I don't know why. It's just me. It's an anxiety problem. Besides I wasn't like other scumbags who went in and treated them like sex objects. I was weird in a different way, but I wasn't a scumbag. Shit why would they even tell me things that they would have to put a smile on otherwise. Because that's who I ‘am. Loving good ol everybody's best friend Sky. Looking back now there were some, not all but some who I thought were fucking gorgeous and sexy. Those are the ones who I didn't talk to a lot or haven't kept in touch with in years. That's fine. Those however who I became close and tight with like My Homegirl Acacia and Karen who as of right now are the only two I keep in touch with the most out of anybody they were beautiful especially personality wise.) I went to have a drink. It was dead that day. It was just My Homegirl at the time Tina and Elissa working. Todd was managing. I went to hang out with Tina for a little while. Tina was the first person I befriended back in the day. Yes, she was gorgeous and attractive. I'll admit that. However, because I was trying so desperately hard to make friends and not lose them especially in a city that I was still trying to get used too even though it's been 3 years since I moved there at the time. Here is where it all began. I was talking with Tina. It was about 2:30pm. I went to the bathroom to take a leak. Of course, thank god, I can leave my stuff behind the bar. It’s what happens when I take care of my people. I get special privileges that no one else gets. I'm in the bathroom for about a minute and then I come out. My phone Buzzes. I get it out and I check it. It was a message. Are you ready for this? Are you sure? Last chance? Ok here it is. It was Brittany. I check the message and here's what it said. The message was:

“Hey Bubs, I just woke up. I’m going to have to postpone again. My grandma is in the hospital and I need to head back. I'm so sorry. I promise you we will have a rain check.”

I'm not sure and I don't remember the exact message. If I did I would Reedit it. So, I apologize if well yes….no shots at anybody. It was close but I know for a fact that I don't remember the exact words. However, I then thought to myself well wait a minute. Something isn't right. There were some red flags. Number 1, I saw that she was up all morning. I don't even have to look on IM on purpose to see that she was on too. Second, I have sources who confirmed with me that she was at Target. Third if I remember correctly there was even a pic of her at Target. Don't hold me to that. It's not for certain. But the point is, I caught her in a lie. A couple lately plus when it happens more than once, something is not right. So yes, I got pissed. I told her how I felt. I was mad for a little while. Oh, if you think that's the moment where I got even worse, I haven't even gotten started yet. So, a month later comes, I meet with Alexis for lunch one day. To talk about it. I don't necessarily remember why. Looking back at it now, I didn’t necessarily remember why I needed too but unlike back then, now I'm not stupid. Now I'm a lot smarter than what a lot of people think I' am. However, it happened. So, what happened was at the time before Alexis and I had it out for one another, we were tight. Believe you and me, we went at it. A lot. I wasn't always right but I damn sure wasn't always wrong. She wasn't always wrong but she damn sure wasn't always right. That's not what this chapter is about. See part 2. Now back to the current time, Alexis was right about somethings. Now unless she was covering Brittany’s Ass which honestly, I would not be surprised, she did clarify the grandmother side. At the time before Alexis and I had our little situation, she was somebody who I always listened too. Alexis also told me about this little Movie/Documentary called The Secret. It was about how if you put your mind to it and fight the dark and think positive, then good things will happen. Now by no means am I saying she's wrong. It was a great movie. However, I tried it (multiple times and it didn't work). There's a lot of things that people don't understand. Like I said earlier, when more tough times than pleasant have happened…...consistently, then after a while as you get older, it gets harder to trust everything and everyone. It's not impossible to get that under control but it will not get easier. Also, growing up whenever you suffer a lot. Your home life is fucked up, people are treating you different in school, etc. all while going through said fucked up home life where your mom was unstable a lot, mentally abuses you, and forces you to be positive to shut you up or otherwise I would be in trouble. Really? Like you think that's going to help? When I'm suffering, you get frustrated because you don't know what to do…. well to anybody going forward who says that to me or anybody, here's my advice……..

1. When we say we just need you to shut the fuck up and listen for once and let us have our moments, then shut the fuck up…... let us talk. Let us vent and let us have our moments. Don't force anything down our throats. We will get over it. When you come to us, we don't judge. We let you have your moments of just letting it out. Let us have ours. When we need help, we will come to you. The biggest thing is when we are backed into a corner, the biggest help is you shutting the fuck up and give us a safe place to let it out for once.

2. When you say it's frustrating that you don't know what to do, that's not helping. It's an excuse and a way to shut us up. You think that's going to help? No that's worse. Unconditional love and support.

3. Take some goddamn accountability for once. Don't put it on us all the time. I cannot stress that enough. When we're the ones who always admit when we are wrong even if we are not at fault, look yourselves in the mirror as well. We can't control you. We can however damn sure call you out. And if we see the evidence, and it's right there in front of our eyes, take responsibility. Don't hide. It's called being a coward.

4. Again, unconditional love, support, and respect. Not everybody to me at least applies to this but a lot do. When we constantly do the best we can to be there for others, help them, talk to them, let them have their voices, etc. We don't ask for much but the same thing in return. When others need something and we are always there or try to be, all we ask is the same. Is that wrong? I don't think it's wrong at all. But that's just me. I'm not the millions and millions of people here on this planet. I'm not god. I'm not the leader. Trust me if I was this world would be a better place.

That's that. So, any who, I watched it from start to finish. It was good. So afterwards and this is where it really starts. I got me a juice from the store. I came home. Sat at my desk. Turned on AC/DC. Rocked out. I got on my laptop and I went on to order some flowers to surprise her at her new job. To say hey no hard feelings. I paid good no I mean damn good money to have them sent to her. I even specifically told the flower guy to follow the instructions. Do not fucking reveal my identity and yet the motherfucker did. Either that or she went ahead and read it anyway. This is where it started. I'm at work the day it happened. I get a message. It's from her. Unfortunately, it wasn't what I expected. It was the opposite of what I was expecting and yes hoping for. Again, because unless Alexis was covering for her ass which at this point I wouldn't be surprised about and yes wouldn't even be mad about, I wanted to say hey I'm sorry for being a prick. This however is where it got worse. So instead of just a thank you and hey business as usual, I kind of get bitched at. I get that ok maybe it wasn't the best idea now but back then I didn't know any better. I said I did know better but I didn't. My intentions were to do something nice to say hey I'm sorry for being a prick. My intentions were in no way, shape, or form to say hey I want to fuck you. I get where maybe yes now it kind of gave that vibe. Back then I didn’t know any better. So yes, I lost it. It gets worse in 2016 but again this wasn't the only situation I dealt with and I will continue to speak that until people do get it. Anybody who thinks that this was the only situation I dealt with, then yes, I'm going to say it that you are a moron. Also, I don't care what you think. The difference is, lately I'm now starting to realize that I wasn't completely innocent in this situation either but I’ll get to that here in a minute. I got angry because of two reasons. 1. I don't like it when people are not honest with me and not straight with me. I'm not perfect but if people are straight and honest with me. Yes, I might get anxious. Yes, I might get mad but you know what it's more at myself. Because yes, I know better for the most part. Somethings I just plain and simple don't know shit. However, I'm always willing to learn. Also, if anybody knew what I grew up with then you would know too. 2. All I wanted was a simple conversation. Yes, looking back at it yes, I was overwhelming. Overwhelming with the way I acted. The truth is I wasn’t able to learn easily the right way how to deal with situations growing up. I did learn but I had to learn the hard way. As I’ve grown over time, all I ask for is honesty. I’m a big boy. I’ll get over it. About a couple of nights later, I went to Frank Erwin Center (our home arena for basketball). Other little-known fact, she started temporarily started supporting my guys. I never even asked. She did and it was great because the beginning of that season, we were doing well. Very very well. Well after the situation started and once we started struggling, I set her notes on fire. Posted a video of it (Took it down shortly after). All because I started to blame her for every time we lost the rest of that season. I mean it’s crazy but it’s true. Cause it did feel like our season that year went downhill ever since that situation started. Was it wrong? Yes, it was wrong for me to do that and blame her. The feelings were valid because my feelings were hurt. Even after she fucked up first, I also screwed up. I mean ill address this again here in a little while. The feelings were valid and are still valid on both sides. Yes, I was overwhelming back then but because I had a lot to learn and I didn’t know as much during that time that I know now. Also, a lot of things that people still don’t get. I still have a lot to learn today. We all do but I have gotten better and I felt like I’ve grown as a person. That doesn’t make me a bad person though. My feelings were valid because again look at the beginning. The flowers as well even though again I understand that maybe to her new coworkers that it gave off the impression that I wanted to sleep with her (which obviously I didn’t), I did it because I wanted to apologize for the way I acted. At least I didn’t buy her jewelry, chocolates, or a fucking stuffed bear. I could have but I didn’t because I’m a lot smarter that people think I’ am. The fact that if everything else I’ve done for her wasn’t a problem, why were the flowers? It makes sense now kind of. So yes, I blamed her, I called her a curse, I blamed her and that situation for being the cause of everything else that has happened over the past 2 and a half years of my life. Setting her notes on fire in front of Frank Erwin and posting a video bout it to send a message which I took down shortly after was clearly not the answer and to some it made me look insane. But before I get to that and by the way, few weeks ago after an unexpecting betrayal by two of my former best friends, I tried it again. I’m going to put the message that I made for her on here but before I do that, again number 1 this wasn’t the only one. Do I regret being a shittalker and opening my mouth in front of everybody that we both know? Absolutely. 100 percent. It should’ve been between just us. However again there is still a lot about me and my life and situation that not a lot of people know about including her. Even though my feelings are and were 100 percent valid and not a damn thing is going to make me think otherwise, it’s not an excuse for some of the shit I did. Yes, I have a confession, there have been times here and there really since November of last year when I did try to make peace because at the end of the day I don’t want problems with anybody. However, as I start to realize more and more, I do have a lot of regret. Sometimes my conscious haunted me in my sleep. Sometimes even when I’m busy like with a lot of things, I have flashbacks about it and some of our greatest memories. Have you all seen shows on tv that sometimes there will be scenes where you are somewhere and a flashback of anything from that place or who you are with happens then it takes you back to the current time? Yes, that’s me right there. Happens to me. I have felt a lot of times that the last two years, the hell that came along with it were because of my actions in this dilemma. Now everything else that happened in other areas, I stand by it but this situation some of the things I did.... I was wrong. If there is one thing that people should know, when I’ am wrong I will admit it and I know when I’m wrong. In this situation, we both fucked up. She has nothing to apologize for. She did last year when I was at my worse due to the situations with my family and everywhere else. Speaking of that, last year because of my situation with my home life all that will be discussed about here shortly in the next two chapters, when the beginning of my family dilemmas first started.... I started losing it on the inside and I confronted her for the first time since March of 2015. Of course, she apologized but before she revealed that I need to live a Brittany free life, she said she doesn’t keep in touch with a lot of people from Austin which obviously that was a lie at least from what I noticed etc. Everything else she was right on the money. It was wrong of me for some of the things I’ve done. At the end of the day, I want her to be happy and I wish her nothing but the best. Also, if it absolutely matters most, if she ever needed my help in a dire situation, I hope she knows that I will be there unconditionally. Before I end this chapter with the message of my final attempt to make things right but the right way, to anybody I may have annoyed with it etc., sincerely from the bottom of my heart I do apologize. Now without a doubt to put a close on this. Here is the final attempt message I wrote for her just a few weeks ago and then I recorded it just for her, but privately:

Hey Britt

Ha-ha how are you doing?

Yes, I know it’s a surprise me doing this

Especially because the last conversation we had necessarily didn’t go well

I know what you are going to say about the I need to Live a Brittany free life.

You are still right

However, I’m here tonight because I’m done messaging but I’m also done running.

It’s time I own up to my mistakes. It’s why I feel like I have some unfinished business only this time i do it the right way and I don’t run and be afraid. Because lately my conscious has been haunting me because of a lot of things that people still don’t understand and don’t know about

Yes, you are also right. You have your life. I also have mine.

That’s fine

That’s never been the issue

The matter of keeping in touch was never an issue and if it was or if I made it feel that way, I apologize sincerely from the bottom of my heart.

At this point I don’t have any with you at all.

I forgive you. I forgave you awhile back after what has been a second consecutive year of hell. A summer of hell where my family fell apart

At this point you have nothing to apologize for

Now it’s my turn

Before I do that

I want you to know

I’m not doing this for any other reason but to make some of my wrongs right. I’m doing this to clear my head, my conscious and my heart.

Whatever happens happens

Whether you believe me or not.

That’s fine

I’m not asking for your forgiveness.

I’m not asking for you to feel sorry for me

I’m not asking for anybody to do that at this point cause honestly that’s not an issue

There’s more to my story that I’m learning more and more of.

No matter what I’m still going to be me

However, the only thing I’m asking is if you please find it in your heart to understand and believe me when i say that this has not been on my mind a lot since summer in 2015 and then since we last talked spring of last year.

There is a lot that happened in other areas that you do not know about.

Which is why I kind of lost myself. Which is why I was not in a good place mentally and I was hurting in my heart.

It’s also why I’ve done shit I’m not proud of including during our little situation. Which I will get to here in a minute.

As time went on and more happened, I began to lose myself more. However, I’ve also learned more about myself and became more confident to be proud of myself and to accept myself especially recently after the betrayal of two of my former best friends.

Hence the last two years and then some throughout my entire life are why i have decided to write a book on my life up to this point. Because again there are a lot of things people including you do not understand about people like me and again then some

I wanted to wait until the book to give a more grown up apology but I’m done waiting. So here it is

Brittany,

I’m here to tonight whether you still hate my guts or not to finally admit my wrongs. I’m not asking for us to be friends again. I’m not perfect but I did the best I could. I’m not a bad person but I know I’m in no means a golden boy Angel. I’ve done a lot of shitty things. I’ve also done a lot of good. I don’t think what others including you think. I don’t see what they see. I don’t witness what they witness. I don’t hear what they hear. Likewise, on the other end with me. I know I said a lot of shitty things. I blamed you for my guys struggles two years ago after you temporarily supported them before our situation. I called you a curse. I know there is a possibility that people may have talked. If they did well then, they were right. It’s why I’ am here tonight to tell you that despite some of my feelings that I felt from my point, how I did it was no excuse. It’s not who I’ am. I was raised better than that and looking back at it now I did know better. You are not a bad person. You are not a shitty person. I know that I was overwhelming with my whole family instantly crap when we first met. I know I was overwhelming with a lot of things. For that I’ am sorry. I’ am sorry for all the pain, stress or just anything in general that I have caused you during this situation. If there’s one thing I can thank you for, it is the beginning of a journey to make me even more stronger and better. By no means are you at fault for anything. Not for my guys struggling. Not for the last two years. None of it. I said all of that after the flower incident because I didn’t know better. I was just trying to do something nice after the first time. Back after the end of 2014. I still had a lot of anger in my heart and a battle within myself that I’ am still fighting every day, I’m not going to get into it right now. See my book when it is done. I still got a long way to go but as far as this chapter of my life goes, I’ am a man of my word when I say I have nothing bad to say about you. Not now, not ever, not in the book. I know I did during our situation. No matter what I felt during our situation, it is absolutely no excuse for some of things I’ve done and some of the things I have said. No one is perfect. I damn sure am not. You are a wonderful human being Brittany, you are full of light and gold. I’ve enjoyed some of the good moments we’ve had. You are a good person. I regret everyday some of the things I’ve done in so many areas including this one. I think you are a beautiful soul. I know I was overwhelming with my too attachment problem and my negativity. The attachment thing comes from while I was growing up with my conditions etc., Mental, and psychical, I didn’t have a lot of friends. I was at the bottom of the totem pole, bullied, etc. Taken advantage of because of my situation. Never good in groups, hence its why I didn’t show up to the Christmas party. Growing up my home life back in Missouri was absolutely no help at all either. That’s all I’m going to get into regarding that for now. It will all be in the book in due time. That being said, no matter what has happened or what is about to happen, I accept it. I have for a while. Like I said I’m done hiding and I ‘am done running from who I ‘am. If fate one day has a plan for us to be friends again or acquaintances, then two things. One I hope I can have the opportunity to show you the real me. Cause one thing I will say is this negative side of me, I don’t like it. People say I love it but I don’t but again I hate it more than anything. However, one more time more will be in my book when it is done. But when more tough times than pleasant have happened, you start to lose trust in a lot of things. Everything and everyone. It’s not impossible to make it a little better and get it under control but it doesn’t get easier. Hence its why I used to be always eager for the perfect moment. All I wanted from the very beginning was just a fair chance to talk. I know I was overwhelming and you had every right to run. As time passed on, its why here we are here tonight. I ‘am here. A humble 23-year-old about to be 24 come July. With Asperger’s and a little bit of autism, both very high functioning by the way. That doesn’t mean I ‘am capable of doing something like this cause trust me if I wasn’t capable, I wouldn’t be here tonight doing this but here I ‘am. Right now, I have been trying to right all my wrongs because it just feels like I can never do anything right. I’m damned if I do damned if I don’t. Right now, yes I ‘am more scared than ever. I’m even scared right now doing this. But I ‘am doing it to show that I still have balls and courage to stand up. Stand up for me but also own up to my mistakes. Right now, this isn’t easy. Right now, because of yet another situation. I ‘am scared and yes I do feel alone. But I’m done running. Then two, it would be an honor if when my book is done, that you would read it. I’ am doing it to take a stand for people like myself and just anybody who in general is struggling. Shit if you are struggling, then it would be perfect for you as well I’ am sorry from the bottom of my heart for some of the things I have said. Some of the things you have heard. Some of the things you may have seen. The stress I have caused you. The amount of times I may have overwhelmed you. I’m just from the bottom of my heart as a very humble man here tonight one year later after not being in a very good place in my head and my heart, very very sorry. Despite what I felt, despite the battles that I’ am still battling everyday etc., it is no excuse for some of my wrongs. That’s why I mean what I say. I know that I’ve messaged you here and there trying to apologize but hearing it from my voice is different than reading something. Last but not least and this is something I’ve told anybody in general, should the universe plan for us to be friends again and to heal the wounds, if there is an issue that you have with me, please don’t be afraid to confront me. There are a lot of things that while I’m not willing to change such as being afraid to have my voice and then some, I never want to be intimidating towards anybody who has a problem with me. I’m here to listen and while I’m not perfect, I will do my very best to work on it and to continue to be the best version of myself I can be. If I do get mad, its mad at myself. Because i do know better but also because I’m trying to beat the constant thought that I’ve had through my entire life of I’m not good enough and I can never do anything right. That is why I’ am having the courage and the confidence to do this here tonight (list current time) May 5th, 2017 for you to hear it from me. From my voice. No matter what happens next, I’m still going to live my life. I’m still going to be ok. I’m still going to be me. Why? I’ve been through worse and I’m still standing. Before I move on with the next phase of my life after what was recently due to another setback that involved my former best friends that cost me my job and that temporarily put me back in that not so good place, I had some unfinished business but this time now that time has passed. For me to do it right. Brittany, no matter what happens and no matter what has happened, I still think you are a wonderful human being with a heart of gold. Even though you may hate me, I still love ya. I have nothing but love and respect for you. I think about ya once in a while. I hope you are doing wonderful. You deserve nothing but the best. I forgive you. I forgave you after I started phase 1 of starting over which I will get into should we have a catch-up heart to heart. Key word should we. No pressure whatsoever. Shit I’m not even asking for a response. All I ask is that you hear me out. Despite everything, it is no excuse for me acting like giant asshole. And I have to live with that and a lot of others for the rest of my life. Don’t ever change. Be yourself. I hope you are doing wonderful. One more time I ‘am very sorry from the bottom of my heart. I wish I could say more. But this is the best I can do yes even though I’ve tried to message you a few times here and there. But I didn’t do it the right way. This time I ‘am. Thank you for taking the time here tonight to listen to this and hear me out. I hope this shows you how serious and how much I mean everything I said. I do not expect you to trust me. No matter what, again I ‘am not asking for us to just be besties again. I know better now. No matter what happens again, I’m going to be ok. I have my life. You have yours. I still have a long way to go to getting better but I feel like I’m getting better. One more time before I figure out the next phase, I ‘am doing this for no other reason than to right some of my wrongs because I do still feel like I’ am a curse to myself and people around me. Thank you again. God bless you. Give Kenya my love for me. And I hope you are doing wonderful. Take care of yourself old friend

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