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hes-writer · 4 years

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Reign (3)

Summary: harry sees something he's supposed to have

Warnings: angst in the beginning, angst in the middle, angst near the end

Word Count: 4881 words

A/N: @devilinbetweenthesheet-s : dont cheat and don’t do drugs, kids

Tarnish (1) . Halo (2) . Reign (3) . Trial (4) .

Errors (5) . Ruin (6) . Crumble (7)

Error Taglist

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A writer that cannot write is dead.

When one loses the ability to tell their stories and anecdotes through the mere action of swirling words together to create an imaginable atmosphere of real-world fantasy; they are dead. A writer recovering from the mundane and mediocre way of penning experiences to bounce back into what they used to be is difficult. It is easier to free fall and drown in the depths of despair. The moment thoughts and rumination fog up to form a blurry image of conviction is a warning sign, blaring at the back of their minds and sometimes even in their faces.

Harry is a writer--or, he was. Picking up the pen to style the words lingering in his head used to be as easy as blinking; quick and natural. Now, the words claw at the swell of his throat, trying to spit an adjective to describe the way he felt. It was at the tip of his tongue, waiting to be lathed into existence. It did not matter if his cognition was mingled with various chemicals aimed to be able to feel happiness.

He was sober but he had trouble placing his finger on why it was so strenuous to narrate his feelings throughout the breakup. Being high or drunk was never the answer for him. Weed made him tired and made him have a case of cottonmouth. Harry learned from a young age that he should only ever engage with alcohol if he was in a mindset and setting that catered to increase existing good vibes. He thought that maybe he was in an odd phase of perceiving the opposite, and so he intoxicated himself enough to understand that it didn’t matter if he was soaked head-to-toe in sobriety or whizzed out of his mind by the amber liquid swirling in the glass in his hand. But that wasn’t the circumstance. It also didn’t matter if he was grasping his favourite pen to write--because it was comfortable--or tapping his calloused thumbs against his phone keypad. Hell, it didn’t make a difference when he sat down and prepared his typewriter to indulge in a headspace of vintage songwriting. Maybe that would help.

It didn’t.

He had stories to tell. Everything was laid out in misty overcast yet Harry’s great ideas morphed into gentle mistakes, harsh mistakes and discoveries that had him almost ripping his hair out of the roots of his scalp. When he felt the wave of his ocean-thoughts rise and peek where the sand shifted, his fingers were ready to move and discern for the eyes to see. But with each fritter, he couldn’t seem to get even two paragraphs in to decide that it was utter shit.

Harry was old enough to understand that slumping on the wet sand was a part of life. Sometimes picking up a fistful of grains and throwing them back to the sea was a great way to release frustration. But it seemed like this plunge of his ability to write was a hole of quicksand. He was trying his hardest to displace himself as swiftly as possible but it only made his scenario worse. The muddy sand clung unto his legs like sticky glue, heftier with each effort to leave. He wanted to move on. He wanted to forget everything that occurred in the past four years. Harry wanted to erase Y/N from his life because she wasn’t around anymore to bring those memories back to sparkly existence.

What he needed to do was nestle himself into a certain depth, calmly, in order to pull a limb out and ensure that his progress on the so-called ‘moving on’ did not have any drawbacks. Until then, he cannot possibly create songs that he was well-known for if he wasn’t patient enough.

He wanted so badly to tell his side of the story. Harry craved to think as clearly as he did when he told Y/N about his plan for their future. Admitting to his feelings was a hard route. Sure, he can be vulnerable but it took a great deal of convincing on his part to immerse himself in the deepest parts of his brain to understand why he felt the way he did. He usually had the means of songwriting to help him out but that obviously wasn’t working out that good for him.

___

Harry was packing the rest of Y/N’s things in boxes to be picked up later in the afternoon. He was annoyed at first at how she depended on him to fold her clothes properly instead of doing the bundle of the work herself. But he guessed that she didn’t want to be around him for longer than she had to. To be frank, he also did not want to indulge in what might turn into an argument if they spoke about the reason for their breakup. It was just a bit confusing because he had an urge to still want her around despite their less than likely situation.

Torture. If Harry had one chance to describe the way he felt right now; it was torture. With every nook of Y/N’s side of the closet emptying into brown, cardboard boxes--he physically how much she had integrated her life with his. How much space she took up in his life. How his clothes and her clothes were so interchanged between them that he couldn’t decide if the gray pull-over was actually his or hers. And in a moment of selfishness did he tuck it away for his safe-keeping despite seeing the tag imprinted on the inside; a shop that he hadn’t set foot in so it was a guarantee that it was hers.

Her scent embedded in the thin threads of each fabric wafted to his nose; each with a new wave of memories engulfing his senses as if each piece garnered a specific scent tailored to a specific event. Like her sunflower sundress--it smelled of fresh flowers as if the print was a scratch and sniff that released a fragrance. Or their DIY-ed tie-dye shirt of pastel blue and cotton candy pink. It was a matching piece made out of the cheap dye and a simple white tee but it was theirs. Things like these made Harry want to yell in frustration because every time he thought that he was completely over her-- Y/N appears out of visibly nowhere and towers over him.

Seeing her for the first time in days was a breath of relief. She looked fine. Glowing even, and Harry did not know what to make of it. As sadistic as it sounded, he was expecting dry-stained tears and a birds’ nest of hair trampling her head. Instead, Y/N was dressed for comfort in her baggy jeans and an even looser sweater covering her body. Her lips were drawn in a thin line, giving him a nod in greeting as he gestured to the boxes littering the floor.

Harry offered to help--it was the least he could do. And somehow, silence protruded from the tense atmosphere, begging to be cut by a knife yielded through their voices nipping at each others’ emotions.

“Let go of my damn hand,” Y/N stated, her hard stare could turn Harry into stone. He just wanted her to listen before she left.

He shook his head in denial of her request, tightening his grip further. “No. Listen to me, Y/N,”

“What do you possibly have to say that will change anything between us?”

And maybe it was her fault for assuming that he wanted to fix things. The sliver of hope thinly dressed behind closed lids enabled her to think that maybe he was going to say that he wanted to make things work again. That he had broken up with Camille and he realized what a stupid he had done throwing away everything they built up to for the past four years for an affair that couldn’t quench the thirst of his desire to have a family.

Harry sighed, a shadow of mischievous smirk painted on his lips. But maybe it was Y/N’s sight in deception because she could never see Harry as anything other than sweet and kind Harry incapable of hurting a fly.

“What? I don’t intend to. We’re broken. We’re beyond fixing,”

The hitch in her breath was as sharp as the stare he was searing her with. Forcing her to please understand that this would be their last conversation--if time and fate were on their side. “You’re not something I would take the time to handle,”

“Stop saying shit you don’t mean, Harry” Y/N rolled her eyes in annoyance. His macho act was barely an act and more like a stage curtain easily pushed with a flick of a wrist.

“Things I don’t mean?”

“You heard me,” She crossed her arms over his chest in defence, leaning against the closed trunk. “Say what you will but our love was real. Don’t make me seem like I’m crazy. Don’t tell me that I’m a mistake,” Her voice was filled with confidence because she knew the affection that Harry diffused.

The cradles of his palm at the small of her back when they had to walk past a crowd. The subtle graze of the back of his fingers caressing the bare skin of her arm. Kisses pressed to her temple as she read a novel and swirling fingertips twirling her hair. These were acts of love that happened nearly every day in their relationship. A routine that felt different if it wasn’t done to or with each other.

Exasperatedly, Harry felt the same itching crawling up his spine. His ego ballooning into a delicate size and one more word from Y/N’s lush lips would have him on his hands and knees, begging for her back.

“This, us, was a fuckin’ mistake,” Harry’s accent thunked heavily in her cochlea, practically spitting the words out of his mouth as if they were poisonous. Ringed fingers gesticulated the space between them to emphasize how much of a misunderstanding they truly were. “I should’ve known the second things went further than planned,”

Y/N felt her heart drop to her full stomach. The feeling so nauseating that she instinctively palmed her belly over the fabric to protect her little baby from his harsh words. Even though they weren’t directed towards anyone but Y/N. She didn’t think that their unborn child deserved scrutiny from their own father.

“You don’t mean that, Harry.”

Because how could he? Not when he emulated sincerity through his syrupy voice. Not when he spent hours loving on her tummy and spoke to it like he would if she were pregnant. Especially not when every kiss from him felt like a buzz of electricity coursing through her veins because he was the main distributor of her happiness.

Harry truly was an asshole for making her hope and wonder of what the future held when he was unsure himself. He did want a family. That was a statement in all its truthfulness. What he wasn’t sure about was if he wanted a family with Y/N. He could have a family; kids of his own in his own time. But Y/N didn’t have to necessarily be the mother. So was he besotted with the concept of family and marriage regardless of who it was with?

“But I do,”

The rain started drizzling in frequent spurts, planting a fat droplet on her cheek that could be argued as a tear escaping Y/N’s eye. It hurt a lot to hear that from him. The man of her dreams blatantly denying each sugary word because his plans had changed.

“You’re a goddamn mistake is what you are,’

“Why are you. . .saying all these things to me? Are you trying to hurt me?” The shakiness of Y/N’s tone had Harry swallowing his words down his strep throat.

He shook his head in disagreement, “No, I’m not. ‘M just tryna make you see my side. So you can understand,” His head dipped to the side, softening his tone yet stern as though he was speaking to a child.

And that was one of the reasons why Y/N didn’t believe his all-too stoic demeanour about her. Harry was great at making others see his side regardless of how much in the wrong he was.

So why was he struggling?

___

Needless to say, he wasn’t very respectful towards Y/N any other time afterwards. He had unblocked her number months after blocking it at one point and demanded answers that he didn’t have the right to know. In retrospect, Harry was embarrassed by the way he acted. He did cheat on her and suddenly he was a saint because she moved on quicker than he thought she would? Unbelievable.

In his defence, the night he became the drunk caller was the same night he fought with Camille about having children; having a family they can call their own. Ever since that discussion did Harry notice a dispatch in their relationship. It was like they were aware of a missing link that had disappeared in their connection, but neither one of them wanted to be the one to bring it up. Harry supposed that now that Camille knew what he wanted (and vice versa)--she was feeling the pressure of giving in to him. Don’t get him wrong, Harry absolutely wanted a family and he thought that Camille was the right partner to build it with. However, he couldn’t help the voice at the back of his mind slyly whispering that he had forced her to give him what he wanted for the sake of saving their failing relationship.

___

It had been two and a half years since he mildly and miserably accepted that his dream family was being erased like a pencil on paper.

The first year; Harry still clung to the obscure hope that Camille might change her mind of having kids. Many fights sprouted between the two of them concluding in them sleeping at different places for weeks on end until they eventually crawled back to each other like an invisible string. The second-year; Harry brought up the idea of adoption. It was a hard choice for him as he desperately wanted kids of his own. A boy that looked like him and his love or a little girl that smiled at him with deep dimples mirroring his own.

And Harry liked to think that he was just on the edge of convincing Camille to consider the option when his tour was scheduled a few months after. A new dealbreaker was that Harry wasn’t going to be around much to watch and nurture the little bub they might’ve adopted. It was a sudden intrusion to think about since Harry was good with kids. He knew that. That was why he had three godchildren of his own. But what hit him the most was how sure Camille sounded when she yelled at him about leaving for months at a time and returning for a bit, only to leave again. Now, Harry hadn’t considered that part. But surely he will be ready to choose between a family and his career, right? When the time comes, he thought.

___

It pained Harry to admit that his relationship with Camille was dwindling down the drain. The knowledge that there was no future--the one that Harry envisioned--for them was getting more and more real each passing day.

A late-night grocery trip was one of the many examples that had Harry rethinking his actions for the past couple of years. It was the time period where night owls arose and barely any customers littered the aisles. Still, Harry made sure to keep his hoodie up to shield his face.

Camille had an early flight to Milan in just a few hours later that day and she wanted to purchase some things to bring with her; in case they weren’t available in the country. So here they were at three in the morning.

As Camille walked ahead of him in her sweatpants and a plain tee, Harry couldn’t help but let his eyes flicker to the clothing section to his right The first-floor space was decorated with pastel blues and pinks; a stroller was displayed with a price would not make a dent in Harry’s bank account.

“‘M just gonna grab somethin’ over here, Cam,” Harry muttered as he pointed a thumb behind him. She nodded, “Meet me at the produce? Need to get you some fruits,”

Harry felt guilt thudding his chest because although he was losing feelings he thought were written in stone, Camille appeared to care for him the same way she always had.

He walked to the brightly lit area, puffing his cheek as a cute onesie caught his eye, “You’re so golden” with the word ‘golden’ printed in a shiny, yellow glimmer. He smiled at the thought of baby angel cooing at him as he tickled her tummy. Harry passed by the shoes next, picking up a pair barely the size of his palm. His mind flashed back to a conversation with Y/N years ago,

___

“I’m just saying,” Y/N took a bite of a pickle she held on her left hand, “Baby shoes have no business being that expensive,”

Harry chuckled from his place across the counter, “Babies need shoes too, love,’

She grabbed her fork and stabbed a piece of strawberry from her bowl, “I didn’t say the don’t need shoes. For tiny things, they could at least be a bit cheaper,”

Harry watched as she munched on a pickle on her left and took a bite of a strawberry on the other. His tongue poked out in a gag at the odd combination, resorting in glare and a huff from Y/N.

“You should try it instead of judging me,’

“No, thank you. Watching you eat it is enough for me,’

___

Harry craned his head at each aisle, hoping to find Camille and to distract himself from the endless Y/N related thoughts that somehow returned to his brain. He needed his girlfriend to remind him that he cannot just knock on Y/N’s door and ask her about the baby she has. If he could hold them for a bit because his baby fever was through the roof.

Locating the produce section, Harry whistled mindlessly as he searched for a blonde head of hair, failing to notice that there was a basket in front of his feet. He had kicked it, jolting him out of his thoughts in a hurry.

A man with brown hair sporting an outfit similar to his (sweats and a hoodie), chuckled at him as Harry leaned down to retrieve the gray basket filled with a jar of pickles.

“Sorry man,” Harry muttered, holding the handles up for the man to carry.

“It’s alright, it happens,” The guy had not seen his face yet, too busy inspecting the carton of strawberries.

He decided to continue the conversation, “Strawberries and pickles? Odd combo, huh,” Harry was briefly reminded of Y/N’s obsession with the two rival products.

“Yeah, m’lady loves ‘em. Had a craving in the middle of the night. She’s in the car right now with our lil bubba,”

Harry’s heart fluttered at the mention of a baby. He needed to get his rails in check. He cannot keep having his heart bursting with adoration at the mere mention of a baby.

“I’m Connor,” He said, finally facing Harry after choosing the best carton.

“I'm--,”

“Harry!” Both men turned their heads towards Camille carrying a basket full fruits and green veggies, “Got you some stuff to blend for your smoothies,”

Connor squinted his eyes at the couple and Harry internally screamed because he knew that he and Camille had been recognized. “Harry. Yeah, I know you,” The sudden hostility made Harry confused as Connor grasped his basket from him in a harsh manner, heading towards the checkout.

The rest of the time inside the store was filled with curiosities as Harry carried the paper bags towards the car, barely recognizing Connor’s figure heading towards his own vehicle. Luckily, Harry has parked only a few slots away and could inconspicuously watch Connor and his so-called ‘lady’.

Except, Camille was ushering him to hurry up as she still had a few things to pack at home.

___

On most days, Harry was used to waking up alone. Used to feeling the shiver crawling up his side, used to seeing the indent left by Camille’s body instead of her. He had grown familiar with the sudden cast of loneliness blanketing him thicker than the duvet on top of his body.

The early morning trip to the store had tired him out, paired with the overthinking of the man named ‘Connor’ that flipped his attitude towards him quicker than he could kick the grey basket with his feet. He flopped back to the mattress after washing his face and brushing his teeth. It was noon when he jolted out of bed again at the sound of his front door opening, voices filling the empty space that had Harry running towards the foyer in case there was an intruder.

His tense shoulders sagged in relief when he caught sight of his mum and Gemma, “Oh, s’just you guys,”

Both women looked up at him at the top of the stairs, “You forgot we were coming over for the weekend, didn’t you?” Gemma teased as she headed to the living room. Harry followed, walking down the stairs.

He scratched the nape of his neck nervously, “No. . . “

“Can you help me reach this, H?” Anne called out from the kitchen.

His mum gave him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek, “Yes, you did, by the way. Slept through the whole morning. Good thing Camille let us in before she left,”

At the sound of a bag crumpling and squeals echoing the hollow house, Harry scrunched his nose in curiosity, briskly walking where Gemm was currently holding up tiny baby clothes in front of her. “Who’s that for?” He thought of any possible friends that had had a baby recently but couldn’t recall any.

She immediately stuffed the clothing into the bag, nervously placing a hand on her chest, “Gosh, Harry, you scared me,” Her brows went high on her forehead in alarm, sharing a look with her mum trailing behind Harry.

“Well? Did I miss something?”

“Oh, it’s for one of my friends,”

Harry contemplated on his next words, “D-did you know that Y/N had a baby?” It couldn’t be right if his sister and mum knew about his exes baby and not him, right? That’s just plain odd to still be in touch with an ex's family. His brows furrowed in suspicion as both of them declined his question.

“What? Nooo,”

Awkward silence filtered through the air as Anne sipped water from her mug and Harry was slowly putting the pieces together. Gemme dove to the centre of the couch where her phone was when it rang suddenly, surprising all three of them. Harry was quicker, eyeing his mum and sister and inspecting the emoji substituting as a name before sliding his thumb to answer it.

"Hey, Gems! Are you coming to the park? We're waiting for you,”

Harry felt his heart drop to his stomach just as the phone nearly slipped from his clutch. That voice. He could recognize it from everywhere having spent nearly every morning for the four years that they were together hearing it lulling him out of sleep. It was Y/N’s voice calling his sister who was looking extremely anxious.

He tapped on the ‘mute’ button, “What does she mean ‘we’?”

“Nothing! Give me my phone back,” Gemma tried to reach for the device but Harry held it high beyond her reach.

“I saw the picture you sent me. I told you that you and Anne didn’t have to get me anything,” Harry felt dizzy. “Connor and I got some things a few weeks ago. But that skirt is so adorable!”

One part of him was glad to hear her voice. In fact, Harry found himself smiling too, despite what he just heard. Connor. “Harry, won’t be there right? Hello? Have I been talking to myself this whole time,” Y/N laughed a little; she had a habit of talking endlessly when she was excited. It made Harry more sombre, letting his guards down and his arm in reach for Gemma to grasp.

“Hey! I'm just organizing the clothes, see you soon!" Gemma jammed her finger on the red end call, anxiously glancing at her brother, piecing everything together.

“Who's Connor?" Could it be that the Connor he met last night was the same as Y/N’s? The one who bought pickles and strawberries--one of Y/N favourite food combinations? He mentioned that he had a little girl and Y/N just called to meet his sister and his mum at the park. And baby clothes?

Anne and Gemma looked at each other, quickly deciding that for the benefit of Harry that they should tell him at least a little bit. He was looking as if he was going insane, especially with his bed head pointing his hair out in different directions.

“He’s Y/N’s partner”

Harry gulped, reeling his thoughts to a halt, “Partner? And the baby is...?” The last bit of confirmation was all he needed to lash his feelings out.

“Is... waiting for us at the park! Sorry H gotta go,” Gemma was swift enough to gather all the bags without having Harry chase after her. His state of confusion and shock was enough to render him partially speechless and immobile.

“Hey wait!”

Anne garnered his attention, “Oh, Mrs. Q from next door wants me over for dinner. I’m sure wants to see us both. Why don’t you get ready, Harry?” Anne tugged his arm in the direction of the staircase pushing him to stumble up a couple of steps.

Harry was confused. He made the sounds of his footsteps creeping up the wooden stairs, hearing his mum quietly talking to Gemma on the phone, “Elmsway Park, you said? How long till you're home? I’m not sure how long I can keep him occupied,”

With that being said, Harry was out of his house, silently unlocking and locking the door. He was dressed in some basketball shorts and a graphic tee, slipping on the first pair of sneakers he had tossed aside. Harry jogged to his car, typing in the name of the park on his phones’ GPS. The route was only a few minutes away so he decided to take his time, gathering his scattered thoughts along the way.

He parked just beside the playground scouting the trees around the premises. Harry decided that it was the perfect day. The sun was out. It wasn’t too humid and the birds were chirping on the branches. He could see why the playground was full of children running around in delight. The green patches of grass were partially filled with picnic blankets and food to be shared. Families laughed with each other as one in particular caught his eye.

It made him smile at first, seeing just how adorable the couple was with their baby. He exited the car, making sure to lock the vehicle. With his hands jammed deep in the pockets of his shorts, Harry could feel the tethered grass rubbing against his legs. As he got closer, he couldn’t help the twinge of familiarity spark in his chest, recognizing that what he was staring at was Connor playfully chasing a little girl of about two-years-old as she squealed at how close he was getting to tagging her.

Harry stood by a tree, shielding him away from view. He tried to appear invisible without seeming too creepy. He knew that it was only a matter of seconds before his eyes found the woman he had been missing, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

Connor picked up the little girl in his arms, dotting pecks all over the girls’ cheeks, causing her to giggle and push his face away with a tiny palm. And there she was standing outside the raised platform of the playground, coming up to the both of them with a juice box in hand to hydrate the little angel. Connor turned his attention to Y/N, planting the most adoring kiss on her lips that made her smile so wide and the baby cover her eyes. They laughed together, looking like a picture-perfect family.

Gemma sat on the bench, flickering her gaze to the precious family in front of her and to the figure of her brother walking away from the scene. Her heart broke for Harry, and it cracked, even more, when he turned back. This time, watching Connor and Y/N cheer on baby angel to go down the slide. Both of them clapped their hands in enthusiasm as the girl hesitantly slid down the plastic slide. The smile on her face was infectious.

It almost made Harry smile, too.

___

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Trial aka pt 4 is already up on Patreon! (link in bio)

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#harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfic #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles drabble #harry styles imagines #harry styles angst

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angeli-marco-writes · 3 years

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Elizbeth Debicki - Reunion Revenge

A/N - I love Elizabeth with everything I am, I'm sure I've said this before. I don't know why there aren't more fics about her. As always, I do not know Elizabeth, nor do I claim to: this is a work of fiction and wholly my own. I mean no disrespect to any of the careers mentioned at some point in this, just bear with. This is a set at a high school reunion, but I went to a private secondary school in England, so my experience is obviously not everyone else's. Reader has a twin brother, have fun with that. I also based this on a Tumblr post I saw, and thought that would be a swell concept to work into a Liz piece of writing: ‘never understood the whole showing up at your high school reunion revenge fantasy cause, like, really? high school?? I don’t want anyone from that time in my life to have any idea where I am or what I’m doing. do not perceive me I am dead to you and you are dead to me.' 8k.

Warnings - a little angsty, mentions of bullying, smoking, mentions of homophobia and slurs, wlw explicit smut, fingering, sex toys (strap-on), bathroom wall sex in a semi-public place, the whole shebang (literally). 18+

Summary - At first, when your brother roped you into attending your high school reunion with your wife, you hated the idea. Now, all eyes are on you, all the focus on your career, and maybe this is the revenge you always needed, of course aided by Liz's quick thinking and hidden surprises.

AT THIS CURRENT POINT IN TIME, you would more than happily murder your brother for roping you into this. And for convincing Liz to come along, which is somehow worse than your own enforced attendance, as though your presence will make any difference to the people who made the seven ‘best’ years of your life a pure living hell.

Your brother did have your back through it all, and considering that he was supposed to be the best one to succeed, he needs you there for some moral support after his career took an unfortunate nosedive that everyone is undoubtedly going to be gawking over.

You never understood the whole ‘showing up at your secondary school reunion revenge fantasy,’ but that’s mostly just because they don’t deserve to know who you are anymore. They broke you continually, and you’re past it now: the only thing that could take you back to that mindset is being back in that great hall with the gossiping busybodies. It’s not your fault that you were a closeted gay for so many years. Well, that’s another cause of concern. Notorious homophobes, and you’re bringing your wife.

“Come on, honey, we have to go inside.” Liz tells you, her long fingers curling around yours affectionately.

She has a point. You’ve been in the car park for ten minutes now, your knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. Her continual lavishes of kisses to your neck seem to be the only redeeming factor of your procrastination.

“Hmm, kiss me first.” you say.

She doesn’t disappoint, curling your hair behind your ear—wearing special diamond earrings she got you on your second anniversary—and catches your chin tenderly between her polished forefinger and thumb, tilting your face up to meet hers, her lips slanting over yours, melding together perfectly.

She’s the only good thing about this situation, about any situation: the only reason your brother was able to bribe you to come. Your main qualm about today is that you don’t want anyone from that period of your life to have any idea where you are or what you’re doing. You’ve been dead to them for years, and they to you. You don’t want them to perceive you whatsoever. But maybe, with Elizabeth on your arm and a brilliant career under your belt—everything you ever wanted—you can reap revenge. No one is in touch with you, so your arrival will be such a surprise, not that you exactly care about that, having blocked out and repressed a whole lot of that time period. You wouldn’t be able to even do this without Elizabeth, though.

“Liz,” you moan when she nibbles on your lower lip in that signature way she does. “We can stay here, we don’t have to go in.”

You shift your hand over the centre console to rub over her clothed thigh, your grip more than a little suggestive, prying further up…

“No baby,” she coos, “later, I promise. We’ll be late.”

You grumble, but only momentarily. She has a point, and a thing about being on time to everything. So you load out of the car, Liz coming around to the drivers side where she offers you her hand. She’s more chivalrous than any guy you ever pretended to date, an absolute gem of a person. You don’t even get jittery on the short walk inside, not with her thumb caressing your hand, your legs brushing together.

You can’t say you’re surprised when, at first, no one even turns to look at you, though relief floods your system, Liz bending down to kiss your forehead in a conciliatory manner.

“Oh my God, y/n, I’ve been here twenty minutes! Why didn’t you pick up?”

“I was busy,” you say to your overzealous brother who is suddenly hounding you, attaching to your side.

He bristles, visibly shaking off his discomfort, before he’s linking his arm through yours and is tugging you along, out from beneath the wooden balcony, tugging you away from the shadows.

The hall is the exact same as it was both when you came and left the school, oak panelling everywhere, great glass windows stretching to the ceiling with sills too high for anyone to climb onto, a stained glass shrine above the stage. Put-me-up tables are littered around, sheathed with white cloths and ribbons with your school emblem on them, decorated with drink dispensers, mugs, wine glasses and cheap biscuits. The whole… scene brings back that awful sense of dread you got when forced to sit here, in tacky red woollen chairs, frayed and bobbled, that itched your legs, every Monday and Friday for assembly. It’s a beautiful room, truly, with a reinforced floor beneath the original boards, slightly splintering beneath your low heels, and you know every nook and cranny, every escape route, but the bad memories tarnish the space.

Liz, darling as she is, senses your discomfort, and creates small talk with your brother as you’re steered between groups of people you scarcely recognise until you reach the apex of the room, where his old friends stand, hunched over in ill-fitting suits, brooding over their brandy, no doubt complaining about their dead end jobs and lack of girlfriends.

“Hey buddy…” one of them says, trailing off once he hears a woman's voice, his eyes darting up—first to Elizabeth, then down to you. “Your sister and your girlfriend? Dude, she’s hot.”

“Isn’t she just?” Liz teases, a malicious smirk creeping onto her lips.

You haven’t even noticed, but some subconscious part of you has tucked your joined hands behind you, covered by Liz’s long, flowing dress.

“How you doing, wait, I know, don’t tell me…”

“y/n.” you snap. “Fine, thanks.”

“Well that’s good, good, isn’t it? I was just gonna call you mini y/l/n—”

“Don’t, that isn’t my name anymore.”

His eyes dart down to your left hand not held by Elizabeth’s slender fingers, instantly noting the glistening silver princess-cut ring nestled above a platinum wedding band.

“Married? Nice. No wonder the guy didn’t come,” another one chimes. You’re not entirely sure what he means, though it’s undoubtedly a dig at the fact Elizabeth is far hotter than you are.

Your brother is slowly growing angrier and angrier, the cords of thick muscle in his shoulders tensing, his nostrils flaring, his thinned eyes conversing with Elizabeth’s blues over the top of your ducked head.

“Yes, well,” you play along, and desperately look to your brother to continue the conversation.

“What are you all doing for work now?”

Everyone gives a boring answer: salesman, accountant, finishing up law school, working in an office, with one trainee chef in the mix. These men have all just done what the school or their parents expected and wanted them to do, no one has any ambition. No wonder you were always the odd one out.

“What about you?” the chef asks your brother.

“Oh, I’m on a sabbatical at the moment,” he replies sheepishly, eyes suddenly training on the floor before turning quickly, fixing on you. “My sister’s done really well for herself.”

Their surprise is palpable, seeping off them, dripping onto the floor via the loose threads of their cheap blazers.

“Yeah, I’m a translator for political and legal proceedings, you know, with cabinet ministers from all over the world, those who speak the languages I do, at least.” you answer pridefully. Your talents always were overlooked when you were at school, apart from by one special teacher, whom you haven’t actually seen yet.

“She’s marvellous, really,” Liz says, and you can’t help but feel a hint of guilt from neglecting her for so long, so you squeeze her hand a little tighter, and rub your thumb over her wedding ring. “I’m gonna get us some drinks, babe. What do you want?”

“Red wine would be lovely. Unless you want me to drive home?”

She pecks your lips, “Of course not, enjoy yourself. You want anything, mate?” she turns to your brother.

“I’m good, thanks.” He mock-salutes.

“Don’t be long,” you warn her, swinging your hands out from their cover with a sudden flush of courage, and detaching them.

She looks down at you curiously, but her smile quirks into a smirk the second you pinch her hip and lean up on your tiptoes, capturing her pretty pink lips with yours, swallowing the small surprised gasp that escapes her. You can feel eyes on you all over the room, the situation genuinely feeling as though everyone besides your brother is staring upon you with disgust as her lithe arms wrap around your body, her one hand straying lower than you were prepared for, arching into her chest as she nibbles your lip again, your one hand cupping her flushing cheek.

A moment later, she’s releasing her hold and strutting away, all eyes then glued to the sensual sway of her hips, her long legs carrying her across the room faster than they thought possible. Then again, being 6-foot-3 as a beautiful woman is quite the surprise to people, they all expect her to be garish, uncoordinated, and though she’s clumsy at times, she’s certainly better at general levels of human functionality than you are.

“Dude, stop staring at my wife’s ass.” you hiss to the first man. If only they were worth your bother or time, you might have remembered their dreary names.

He splutters for a moment, bringing a ring-less left hand up to loosen his lilac tie. “Wife? What the fuck? How are you married to a woman before we are!”

What a mystery.

“You gay or something?” the trainee lawyer chimes in again.

“You got a problem with that?” your brother accuses, puffing up his chest pompously.

“Well, no… just surprised.”

“Astonished.” another pipes up.

“Isn’t that a big word.”

You showed the tell tale signs of being a lesbian for years, the popular girls all pretended you were preying on them in the changing room, calling you a d*ke for years until you reached the point of just changing in the bathroom to stop yourself from snapping at them. They must’ve always had a hunch, and why ever they thought Liz was your brother's girlfriend is beyond you. Men truly are more trouble than they’re worth.

“Yes, I’m gay. Yes, Elizabeth is my wife. I didn’t realise this would be earth shattering information.” You cast your eyes up to the ceiling, erected like a great old Church steeple, and shutter them for a moment, gathering your bearings. “I’m going to find Liz, little man. Told you I shouldn't have come.”

“Don’t call me little man!”

“I’m ten minutes older than you, I’ll call you what I like.” you tease, sticking your tongue out childishly, receiving a sarcastic sneer from your brother. Right now, all you want is Liz. “I wish I could say it was nice to see you all again, but then we’d all be liars. Goodbye.”

They gawk in a greatly uncouth and infantile manner as you stride away, pep in your step as you approach your stunning wife, wrapping your arm around her stomach as she waits for her tea—English Breakfast, naturally—to cool down.

“Hey beautiful,” you greet.

“Hey, you. What happened?” she asks, instantly noting the sallow bags that have swiftly formed beneath your eyes.

“They were being arseholes, c’mon, let’s just stand in the corner until it’s socially acceptable to leave this hellhole.”

“We can go now if you’re uncomfortable, baby.”

Ever the forward, sympathetically thinking wife.

“No, no. I came here, I’d better make it worth my while.”

She tangles her fingers with yours, “Okay darling. Say the word, we leave.”

There aren’t words for how safe you feel thanks to Elizabeth, even just with this fractional amount of contact from her. She’s the answer to all your prayers and more, the thing in life you'll never deserve. Her love for you is endless, her affections infinite, and every day, you fall more and more in love with her, especially when she’s as kind as she is now.

It barely takes five minutes, the two of you hugging, kissing, leaning against a broad oak pillar, half shadowed, for someone to approach. One of the girls you despised, costume jewellery on her wrists, a self aggrandised smirk painted onto her fake lips. Martha? Mabel? Maddie?

“I heard you were here,” she starts, placing her tackily manicured hand onto her hip, “it’s so good to see you! How are you?”

“Great, thanks.” you say blandly, keeping your attention on Elizabeth’s hand entwined with yours.

“This is your… friend? Why did you bring a friend to this?”

She laughs mirthlessly, such a fake sound—like this cow's boobs—it makes your primal instincts flare. Elizabeth holds you impossibly closer, her arm around your waist tightening as you seek solace in her.

“y/n and I are married, thank you. I don’t appreciate the homophobic, disrespectful insinuations.”

She stifles another laugh, “You’re punching above your weight a bit aren’t you, y/n.”

“Don’t rise to it,” Liz headily murmurs in your ear, sending pleasant, calming vibrations throughout your whole body.

You gulp down as much air as you can, curling tighter into Liz, before saying what you thought all those years ago, “I’d rather be ‘punching’ and married to a woman I love rather than be a Goddamn trophy wife going nowhere, leeching off daddy’s money. People like you will never change. I’m happy, and I have a good feeling that’s more than the likes of you and your sad old minions can say.”

“Sweetheart, come on.” Liz whispers, and her hold on you increases until it begins to pinch, not that you mind, and then she’s thankfully tugging you away.

You barely make it out the door, Liz leaning down to kiss you heartily, passionately, before people are clamouring over you, what’s-her-faces friends, people you used to be in fair acquaintance with, all speaking together, their voices overlapping in what you can only believe to be expressions of acceptance.

“Um, thank you, I’ll just be back in a moment.” you say to those who bother to listen. Next thing, you’re darting out the way you came, tugging Liz down the great stone steps in front of the behemoth building, and then are leaning against the old wall, almost crumbling with rubble on the exterior at least, not as well preserved as the inside.

She joins you not a moment later, ferreting around the pockets in her skirt for the spare cigarette and lighter she slipped in earlier. Liz doesn’t condone your smoking in any way whatsoever, and in fact she’s the main reason that you quit, but she knows that when your anxiety is high during times like these, one can’t hurt. She always comes prepared.

She is definitely the most consistent, reliable thing in your life by a long shot. Naturally, you two have your fair share of ups and downs, and on the occasion you get your periods at the same time, you’re a complete dichotomy of furious fights and condoling cuddles, while the rest of the time you find yourselves in sheer throes of passion. You may be a dependable couple bound to stay together forever, but that doesn’t mean that the flame of lust once born there has even momentarily flickered: it’s why you work so well. Men are awful in bed, from both of your experiences. Only a woman truly knows how to please another woman. And in the many ways that Liz is a home-body and sticks to the safe side of things, sex is not one of those areas, and you frequently wind up in another one of her barmy—though blissfully pleasurable—experiments. Her daring never goes amiss, and you can’t help but pray that she has something up her sleeve (besides the cigarette) to dull the ache of the day, and also the growing desire pooling between your legs upon seeing have such a naturally demanding power, and looking so Goddamn stunning in her maxi dress. And the lip nibble, God—

“Before you ask, I’m not shagging you out here.” she says, lighting your cigarette with steady hands.

You inhale the smoke, allowing it to form dark halos around your head once you puff it out through pursed lips, hoping it obscures your sheepish smile and averted eyes from Liz’s view.

“I wasn't thinking about that.”

“Yes you were. You forget how well I know you.”

You shoot her a sardonic smile and take another deep drag, the bitter taste pouring into your senses, filling your lungs, calming your mind before you let it go with one long, shaky breath. The smoke has a way of revealing the air, making an artistry of its swirls and flow, something you’ve always been able to appreciate. Ever the wise one, Liz just sees the poison it’s creating within your body, and will do anything to make you stop.

The sick, intrusive thought that you might be disappointing her by this simple act alone rises a cough to your throat with the next puff, but in reality she looks so nonchalant, her eyes closed, a simple smile playing on her perfect lips as she revels in the moment, in your presence, her pinky finger looped just over yours against the crumbling brick wall. Nonetheless, the uneasiness is enough for you to stub the cigarette out under your shoe before it’s even half-way smoked.

“Baby, you okay?” she asks sympathetically, turning to face you so that her shoulder is pressed to the wall, her spare arm flying around to brush against your upper arm, thumb caressing the flesh there through your clothes.

“Yeah, course. Can we stay out here a bit, though?”

You expect her to wholeheartedly agree, because you could tell by the subtle sensing of her limber body and the sudden snap attitude she had that she was just as uncomfortable in there as you were, perhaps more so. Her reflexes may as well be yours with how used you are to them. That’s exactly how you know that she’s going to refuse your request by the almost imperceptible crest of her nails into your supple skin.

“Your brother texted, he asked you to come back in: people won’t stop badgering him about you.” She pauses, but upon hearing you huff, hurriedly leaps back in. “I mean of course we don’t have to if you’re not comfortable, this is about you, not your brother…”

But it is about your brother. You agreed to come here today to be of help to him. And besides, Elizabeth has almost as much loyalty to your brother as she does to you, the two of them having been friends before he introduced you to her. That certainly didn’t have the outcome he was expecting, but you’ve all remained close nonetheless. Mentally, you give yourself a shakedown. How could you be so selfish? Today isn’t about you, not really. Sure you’d like to make peace with your past and your old tormentors one last time before leaving and never seeing them again, but the main reason is support.

“No, you’re right,” you say after a long moment of lamentation.

“That’s a first,” Liz snorts.

You smack her playfully, “Watch it, you.”

“Hey, who’s the pillow princess around here?”

Your cheeks instantly flush. “That was one time.”

“More like five,” she umms and ahhs, but grasps your hand a little tighter regardless.

It’s a fair comment on her part: Liz does wield the majority of the power in the relationship, and is definitely more of a top that you are, but you ensure that you pleasure her just as much as she does you, it’s only fair. Apart from those few times you decided to try something new… you got tired of that pretty quickly, though, since you couldn’t go too long without tasting her while you were in bed. No matter how many times you’ve had sex, no matter how many mind-blowing orgasms you receive, your desire for her is never quite quelled. Frankly, you hope it never is.

“Stop thinking about fucking me, babe,” she scolds, and pulls you up fully standing from your temporary reprieve against the wall. “Later, I promise. Not here.”

Embarrassment heats your cheeks at the fact she so easily deciphers your filthy thoughts, but then again, she always has. She leads you back inside, and all but hands you over to your brother, practically jumping with impatience at the door to the hall.

“Thank God you’re b—” he cuts himself off, moving closer to you, imperiously sniffing your clothes. “Did you smoke again?” You nod. “Fucking hell, well, there’s another conversation topic, we’ll talk about this later. Can you believe this lot didn’t know you were gay? What morons…”

“Hey, I’m not that obviously gay, am I?”

The dead silence that envelops you gives you the answer you weren’t too keen on receiving in the first place.

“But!” Liz helpfully adds in her most cheery tone. “If you hadn’t been so obviously gay, I probably never would’ve asked you out.”

She beams even as you roll our eyes, “So endearing, babe.”

“Hurry up, this lot are arseholes.”

“I know.” you deadpan. He sends you a snarky smile.

Following him through the small clans of people meandering and congregating amongst themselves, all with some sort of beverage in their hands, you feel your hand grow clammy in Liz’s. Your mind doesn’t get the chance to run away with itself or whirr on for too long, though, before you’re pulled into a group of people—all three of you—and are all welcomed with enthused hugs and professions of well wishes.

“Oh how are you? You look so well, I hope you’ve been doing good!”

Well, you think, if they cared enough they’d have contacted you. Half of them are your brothers Facebook friends and he’s often posting pictures of you hanging out, or childhood throwbacks, and tagging you in them in plain view. Thankfully, your page is private, and Elizabeth doesn’t even have social media. She’s smart.

You engage in conversation—well, they do, you just listen and hum when you’re supposed to, making surprised faces at the right parts—about one classmate who couldn’t be here because she married a mobster and isn’t allowed to discuss her lifestyle. She isn't. She got pregnant straight out of school and is going through her second divorce: your brother saw her recently. Who are you to deny them gossip when you really couldn’t care less?

In minutes they seem to have exhausted all possible fascinating subject matters, or at least make it appear that way as they turn all eyes on you.

“So, y/n, we hear you have a girlfriend!”

Not again.

“Wife; this is Liz.”

“How are you.” she says, more by way of greeting than having any regard for them.

“Oh my God,” one woman clamours, “are you Australian? My boyfriend is Australian! Maybe you know him?”

Liz’s face breaks into a wide smile, the first one of the event. Who cares that it’s at the expense of another person's intelligence, or lack thereof? You and your brother struggle to stifle your own laughter as you loll your head against his broad shoulder, too.

“Australia is more than seven and a half million square kilometres. In context, the UK is only two-forty-two thousand. We have a population of 25 million. I’d be more likely to meet the queen and the president.” she quips. Ever the fount of useless knowledge; as are you both.

“Oh,” says the woman, casting a sheepish gaze away.

“But, um, yeah, I am Australian.”

“You’re tall,” another blatantly observes, “you look Dutch.”

“Polish-Irish. Not far off.” she says again, fixing a smile of nonchalance.

People turn to you for something to say. You have nothing: nothing to say to these awful sycophants, so you’re half relieved and half angered further when your name is called from somewhere behind you.

“y/n y/l/n!”

Great, another bellend. Star of the football team. You settle yourself after a sudden wave of dizziness from spinning on your heel to see just who was calling you, and you’re not particularly surprised, but not glad either, when he’s excited to join the dull circle.

“Actually,” you correct, “it’s y/n Debicki.”

Silence cools around the circle. What, have these people been living under rocks for the past God knows how many years?

“Oh, why?” he asks.

“I got married and took my wife’s name.” you grit out just barely, balancing from foot to foot, the wooden floor creaking around you. Some more wine would be really good right about now, but instead you just settle for an intoxicating peck from Liz’s lips, the chiffon of her skirt shifting again to reveal your held hands and glistening wedding rings.

“Oh!”

The silence is agony. Why can’t the ground just swallow you up already? Your brother's getting angry, his fist clenching, picking at his nails, while everyone else in the group is exchanging anxious eye contact. Liz and her insanely long legs could probably give you a leg-up to one of the immensely tall windows as a quicker, though slightly more problematic escape route…

“By the way, that’s totally fine.”

“Yeah,” someone adds, you can’t be bothered to look who. “We totally accept it.”

“It’s like you’re not even gay, but straight, and normal. N—not that being gay isn’t normal, just that we don’t see you any differently.”

“You’re the same y/n you always were.” one smiles at last.

Your brother is going to lose it in three… two… one…

“Oh yeah? The y/n that you all relentlessly picked on and victimised for years? The same y/n who was forced to hide her identity and everything she wanted to be for years just because you back-thinking bastards didn’t want a lesbian in the class?” he shouts, flailing his arms madly about, hissing one of the broad, tree trunk pillars in the process. He doesn’t flinch. Turning to you, he starts in a softer voice, “I never should’ve asked you to come here, I’m so sorry y/n, I was so selfish to bring you back to this hellhole. It’s no wonder you didn’t want to come with these dipshits tossing around! And Liz, you don’t deserve this either. Please, do us all a favour, and take y/n home, never bringing her back here. You were right all these years, sweet, it’s the place nightmares are born. And you scummy lot should all be ashamed of yourselves!”

His breath is ragged once he’s done with his rant, his forehead glistening with sweat, his knuckles white with tension.

“Liz, could you get him some water, please?” you whisper into her ear.

She nods affirmatively, and breaks from your grasp, steering your hunched, tense, seething brother in the direction of the drinks table.

“Thanks, I guess,” you begin, kicking your heels into the splintering oak floor, your wine long forgotten, “like, for the acceptance and stuff. But I’ve always been this way, he’s right. It’s not some earth shattering revelation, I was just too shy to come out because you all tossed slurs around like it was okay.” You take a deep breath, and in that time, Liz has returned and stuck herself to your side, your brother happily alone in the corner with a cold glass of water as you cast a glance over your shoulder. You comb your fingers through Elizabeth’s coiffed blonde hair to relieve some anxiety, and are further reassured when she presses her lips to your earlobe, glistening with the diamonds she gifted you. “Besides, this shouldn’t be a thing you have to zealously profess to accept, it should be just as normal as one of you walking in with your heterosexual partner.” As some of them have done, and no one’s batted an eyelid.

A din of agreement sounds out from them, but you know they’re all more than a little meek after being scolded like schoolchildren by your big scary brother. He’s a teddy bear, really, but when he flips, he flips.

When you arise no cohesive response from anyone, you rest your head on Liz’s shoulder, and ask, “Did you see that article on the BBC yesterday morning?”

You have no idea what article you’re on about, but one leaps in with something about climate change, and one about a rise in violent crime in the area. Thank God you don’t live there anymore.

“I forgot about that one!” you gasp with feigned surprise.

Liz looks down on you warmly, chuckling at the mischievous glint in your eye. She knows exactly what you’re up to. But after today, you can walk away from this place, despite the stunning old architecture of the gorgeous building, the beautiful panelling on the walls and the window you spent so many hours gazing at while daydreaming wistfully through assemblies and exams, never to return. Frankly, after this shit show, you’d have it no other way. The teachers will be arriving soon, and in the hopes you see your favourite old teacher, Mrs Alleman, you decide it can’t hurt just to stick around a little bit longer, even if you don’t listen to anyone's conversation. It’s not like they want to involve you.

Before you know it, ten dreary minutes have passed, and as each second slips by, you’re losing the will to live. Even these people are bored to death by the sound of their own voices, unsurprisingly. You’ve just busied yourself the whole time by playing with Liz’s long, slender fingers and her glistening silver ring. She’s becoming more and more antsy, though, so you’re unsurprised when she moves to stand away, speaking only when there’s a brief intermission of silence.

“I’m heading to the loo, honey. Which way is it?” she asks politely.

“Out the door we came, but on the other side of the corridor is a closed door, down that corridor it’s the fourth on the right, up a couple of stairs.”

Her eyes widen, “This place is a maze.”

“I know,” you chuckle, and lean up to peck her lips. “They’re the staff ones, down a cohorted route in a forbidden corridor so we wouldn’t use them.”

“You,” she shakes her head, bending down to kiss you again from her standing position, though she does practically double down, and has to press a hand to her chest to prevent her dress from falling, “are so randomly knowledgeable.” It’s really more of an awkward stowed away memory, but you take it anyway. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

As she draws away, she catches your lip in her teeth. Again. If it wouldn’t arouse suspicion, you’d be after her like a bullet, but, well… So you just sit there, counting the minutes, the seconds until she returns and you’re able to make a quick exit, barely making an agreeable sound or two when someone deigns to involve you in the deathly boring conversation they’re having about the FTSE or something, but she doesn’t return. It’s only after five minutes—you meticulously checked your watch—that you realise she’s probably gotten lost, your heart fluttering into your throat.

“I think Liz is lost, I’m gonna go find her,” you say, not that anyone exactly notes your absence or offers you as much as a nod, so you stand and stroll away, not caring about your knocked over glass as you stalk out of the great hall, breaking into a slight jog as soon as the doors are closed behind you.

You could swear you catch your brother winking across the room as they close, but you can’t be sure, not with how crazy you are after Liz did that thing she does every single time she instigates sex. You’ve been together for more than four marvellous years, and yet it still brings fire into your veins, butterflies into your stomach, and lust into your mind.

She’s not in the foyer, or down the ostentatious portrait corridor, so you burst into the pristine white and purple bathroom, only to find Liz leant against the wall, a slight bulge in her dress.

“God, I was wondering if you’d ever get the message, I’ve been waiting for ages.” she huffs, slamming her mouth onto yours impatiently.

You gasp, winding your arms around her neck, not complaining in the slightest when you hear the door lock and you’re lifted high against the wall. Your hand flies down on instinct, and you’re not disappointed when your hand wraps around something long, hard and thick.

The squeak of surprise that leaves your lips only spurs Liz on more. “You wore the strap.”

“I went and fetched it from the car, thought we could have some fun, make this worth your while.”

“I love you so much.” you breathe, no time for courtesy.

Crashing your lips down onto hers, you lick filthily into her mouth, your tongue skimming her teeth, but your control barely lasts a moment before she’s overpowering you, nipping at your lip as she busies herself otherwise with gaining access to your throbbing, drenched core.

“Liz…” you moan. When she skims her fingers over the lace edge of your panties.

“So wet already baby,” she taunts, her breath hot on your ear, “have I done all this? Such a dirty girl…”

Her voice holds a gravelly quality, down to lust you’d wager. Her accent becomes so much more pronounced during times of passion, too. Her voice alone sends another wave of wetness gushing through you, soaking Liz’s fingertips as she slides them under your panties and into your folds.

“Oh poor helpless baby,” she croons, biting down on your neck harshly. “I don’t even need to use lube today, do I?”

You can’t respond, can’t even try to. She’s so intoxicating you could cry. All that’d come out is senseless babble. You can barely muster a breath with her gaze of such intensity burning into your fucked-out face. In all fairness, she doesn’t usually have to, since she makes you gush with a single glance, but the sensual jibe does make you a little embarrassed.

You can’t think straight when she plunges a single, long digit deep within your velvety walls, stroking at a torturous pace.

“F— fuck, faster, please.” you stammer.

“Only because my baby asked so nicely.”

Her hand begins to move faster against you, the rustle of clothes nothing compared to the sounds of your wetness. She adds another digit daringly, and pumps within you faster, her technique impeccable. If she’s not careful, you’ll be falling apart around her fingers in little more than a moment. Over the years she’s learnt how to bring you to mind-shattering climax embarrassingly quickly.

“Lizzie…” you moan when she hits that special spongy spot that makes you see stars behind your eyes.

Quick thinking as ever, she clamps one elegant hand over your mouth, her pale fingers digging into your cheeks, the metal of her rings cool against your lips. You can’t help yourself, your tongue darting out to lick the band of her wedding ring, skilfully wrapping your wet muscle around her. She can never resist when you do that, and her own knees begin to buckle, but her pace speeds up.

“Baby, I’m close,” you hiss against her hand, words muffled.

Your shoulder presses painfully into a ridge of the wall, but you can’t care, not when her wrist is flicking so quickly, yet somehow each thrust is deeper and more pleasurable than the last, the pads of her fingers catching all the right places within our quivering walls, continually hitting that spot. The heel of her palm keeps hitting your clit with a voracious intensity, needing to bring you toppling over the edge.

You come unravelled with a cry of her name, your legs unable to even partially hold yourself up as she settles you down gently on the floor, forcing you to lean heavily against the countertop. Stars and fireworks erupt to create images of Liz behind your eyelids, in the front of your brain. And the noise you made… After that, you wouldn’t be surprised if everyone in the hall knows what you’re up to, and somehow, that only fuels your need for Liz further.

“How do you get hotter every time you do that?” she husks.

Purple glittery potpourri on the window-sill prickles at your upper arm as you shuffle backwards, reaching out to Elizabeth with grabby hands. Her petite chest heaves with heavy breaths, her hair sticking up a little in cute blonde spikes.

“You wanna sit, babe?” you ask breathlessly.

Your own vision is a bit blurred from riding on cloud nine just moments ago, your juices running down your legs, glistening in the harsh bathroom light.

“You’ve always got a seat with me.” You wink, and wet your lips with your tongue. “Come sit.”

She chuckles at you, instead moving to kneel between your open legs on the edge of the counter, hovering over you

“Wait until we get home,” she teases, pressing the cold rings on her hand to your inner thigh, “I don’t trust myself, I’ll never leave if I sit now.”

Her lips lace with yours filthily, and you find yourself unable to stop your legs reflexively bolting out to wrap around her hips again, hand coming up to cup her cheek and neck with a bruising hold. Her hips rock against yours, and with your core already opened and revealed to her, all it takes is a slight fidget and a particularly harsh rut of her pelvis, and the priapic extension of Elizabeth—attached, thankfully, by a harness—is buried to the hilt within you. Your gasp is silent, your mouth opening in an inaudible ‘o’, a soundless plea for more. She’s prepped you well as always, and sought to open you up fully, which means that only a moment later you’re tapping her shoulder to signal for her to move.

The bulbous tip of the toy gains your attention rather swiftly as it grazes that heartily stimulated spot that Liz was so focussed on just minutes earlier. Her hips move with such grace even in such an ungainly act, her years of dance training aiding her elegance. God, she’s just so perfect in every way.

“Fuck, baby, I think I’m close—” she murmurs in your ear.

She begins to suck hickeys into your jawline, rendering you utterly speechless at the onslaught of pleasure you’re receiving all at once. Your boobs are bouncing as she pounds into you harder on the counter, the base of the strap now hitting your clit.

“Me too,” you eventually garner to choke out.

Your own pleasure can wait, take a damn backseat, because sweat is beading on Liz’s forehead as she wrecks her knees to fuck you more furiously, delivering you all of the pleasure you could ever want. But Elizabeth? She deserves it far more than you do after everything she’s done for you today.

She bites her lip, probably to keep a moan down the same way you are by biting your tongue, and she proceeds to hook her willowy arms around the crooks of your knees, thus tugging your legs up onto her shoulder, allowing her to hit an even deeper angle than before.

You can’t help the obscene whimper that escapes you, shrill and so pleasured, “Baby, keep— ohmygod please!”

Your head falls back against the hard porcelain rim of the sink, knocking some sense into you. This is your chance, while her eyes are still closed and the veins and ridges of the fake plastic cock are driving deep inside you, squeezed by your clenching walls. Slipping your own arm down her body and between the two of you, you find your way beneath the strap and onto her throbbing pearl.

“Shit!” she squeaks upon the first spark of contact, her body temporarily seizing, but she falls back into her previous pace within moments.

You rub circles on her voraciously, suddenly darting up to capture her lips in a sloppy kiss as a cry threatens to spill from her lips. But then you feel it coming, and your entire body tenses in anticipation, your eyes flying wide open to watch heaven crash right before your eyes.

First, her shoulders tense, followed by her eyelashes fluttering against her sharp cheekbone without her even being aware, then her legs try to involuntarily clench around your hand, her clit throbbing with anticipation as you speed up your movements. Her knees go next, then her arms, and she’s unable to hold herself up, but her hips don’t stop once. That’s when it happens.

“y/n, y/n, y/n.” she repeats like it’s her prayer of salvation.

Every muscle in her body quivers, her lips parting, her nose scrunching. Her teeth then catch your lip in the kiss you’re mixed up in, and her hips still. It doesn’t matter, since you’ve reached your own climax just from watching her fall apart at your very own mercy, your own legs falling from her shoulders, open wide on the counter as you chant her name in as quiet a whisper as you can muster.

Heavy breathing resonates through the small room, the stifling air now reeking of sex.

“C’mere,” you coax.

The counter is cold beneath you, the sink uncomfortable as you lie down flat, but when Liz crawls feebly into your arms, it matters a whole lot less. The comfort she provides is, and always has been, incomparable. Ethereal is the only way to describe her this way, too, blonde hair ruffled as she curls into your side, burying her nose into your shoulder, her arm slung over your waist.

“Do you think you got your revenge, babe?” she asks in a quiet voice, husky, laced with sex.

“Definitely. There’s no way they didn’t hear that.”

“Probably more than what most of those has-beens have got in years.”

You meet her twinkling eyes, and dissolve into a fit of giggles together, gripping her even tighter. It always was a secret fantasy of yours to do something like this, but you never imagined you’d be here nearly a decade later, fucking your wife in the staff bathroom. That’s just… beyond, but so hot.

“Ready to blow this place?”

“More than,” you answer, “but safety first.”

She gazes up at you, pouts and grumbles, but slips off you and into the left hand stall anyway, while you take the right. Once she emerges, the strap is safely stowed away in a discreet bag—one you purchased specifically should a chance like this ever arise since you’re not fans of handbags—and she turns the tap on. You wash your hands in a contented silence, and fix each other's clothes and hair the same way, until you’re at least half way presentable (though still more than mildly dishevelled) in order to just escape to the car and then hope at long merciful last.

“Should we text your brother?”

“I’ll do it when we reach the car,” you tell her, taking her hand as you unfasten the lock and pelt out into the corridor. “Wait, one minute.”

She watches you peculiarly as you pull out perfume from your pocket, spritzing it around the room, before re-entering fully and cranking the window open. At least this way the scent of sex is partially masked.

“Ever the resourceful one,” she chuckles, following your lead down the corridor, her long legs bounding beside you.

Your giggles carry around the high ceilinged building, bumping and bouncing off every wall so it seems, and once you're out into the foyer, she ensures to kiss you loudly, bending down to meet your height, just to test if your kisses have the same effect.

You don’t get to test that, however, before an all too familiar voice snaps you out of your trance, and suddenly, you’re fifteen and being told off for late homework again.

“y/n!”

You scurry to hide Liz behind you, as if that’s of any use whatsoever, and almost melt into tears when you see Mrs Alleman.

“Oh dear, how good to see you.” she professes, and before you quite know what to do with yourself, she’s standing right in front of you, wearing the same stylishly sensible shoes she always did.

“And you, Miss.”

“Who’s this?”

Glee forces a wide smile onto your face, standing aside to allow Elizabeth’s full beauty to be appreciated.

“This is my wife, Elizabeth,” you say, the proudest thing you’ve said all evening. “This is Mrs Alleman, my language teacher. She taught me everything I know.”

“Oh stop it,” she plays coy, but is gasping and gawking joyously beneath it. “Mr Smith owes me a tenner now. I predicted you’d come here with a female partner of some sort, he said you’d just come as an out and proud lesbian but single.”

Your jaw drops, and you can see Elizabeth’s chest rattling a little with swallowed laughter.

“I’m sorry, what? You had a bet on me being gay?”

“Oh yes, it first started when you were in year eleven and so helplessly queer, we couldn’t help but keep placing bets on how long you’d stay in the closet.” She places a gentle hand on your upper arm, noting the evident flush about you, and turns towards Liz. “Anyway, hi Elizabeth. You treat our girl well, she was a great student.”

“Always, Ma’am.” Liz answers dutifully, squeezing your hand even tighter in a silent promise. “She’s the most wonderful thing to have ever happened to me, and I’m glad she had an influence like you among all that lot of bogans.”

Mrs Alleman is impressed, you can tell since she’s wearing that same delighted expression she did when you told her you got into your top choice university with the results you aimed for, thanks to her teaching. “Tall, out, and Aussie? She really does have it all. And as much as I’d like to argue, you’re totally right, that year was a damn nuisance.”

“Somehow, no one has matured since we left?” you comment with feigned shock.

“That doesn’t surprise me.” It didn’t surprise you either. They were a fat lot of use, the whole lot of them. At least you and your brother were able to do good on your promise to get away from them all. “What are you doing now?”

“Oh, I work in translation for the home office and cabinet ministers.” Though your statement doesn’t hold as much pride as the one about Elizabeth being your wife did.

Her eyes grow wide, “That’s brilliant! I know you always wanted to do something like that.”

“I did, and I actually enjoy it.”

Mrs Alleman’s face softens, “I hoped you would. But promise me you’ll never become a teacher.”

You loose a chuckle, saying, “Never,” before stilling to a beat of easy silence.

“I love those earrings, by the way.”

“Oh!” You twist them subconsciously. “Anniversary present.”

“Y’know, I’d love to stay and chat, but I have to get inside and make a speech,” she grumbles. “Drop me an email, I’d love to catch up and properly see how you’re doing. Bring this tall drink of water if you’d like,” she adds with a wink.

“I’d really like that Miss, thank you.” you say, flushing a little.

Mrs Alleman was always one for affection, so you’re not entirely surprised when she approaches you with wide arms, her court shoes muffled on the foyer carpet. You accept the hug, and you’re surprised when Liz does the same. You say your goodbyes, agree to meet again, and let Elizabeth lead you back to the car, your fingers woven together.

“Was that worth being dragged out of the house for?” Liz asks.

“Hmm, I’m not sure. Perhaps shoving that strap down my throat will make it a little more worthwhile,” you say with a smirk.

“I heard that!” Mrs Alleman shouts from the top of the stone steps, gazing at you disapprovingly despite the laughs tumbling from her.

You cling to Liz, pressing your lips into a thin line when you feel your phone buzz, your brother's name popping up on the screen.

‘Everyone knows what you were doing. Don’t come back.’

‘We weren’t planning on it,’ you type back. Not now you’ve reaped your revenge, at least. You shut your phone after adding to the message, ‘Drinks at ours tonight.’

These people from your past are insignificant, Liz is your future and your forever.

#night manager jed #elizabeth debicki #liz debicki #elizabeth debicki avatars #vita & virginia #elizabeth debicki imagine #elizabeth debicki fanfic #elizabeth debicki x reader #elizabeth debicki smut #elizabeth debicki fluff #elizabeth debicki angst #elizabeth debicki x you #elizabeth debicki tom hiddleston #wlw imagine

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mantra4ia · 3 years

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Debris: speculation and what we know so far about...

Bryan

The character is from Texas, has no siblings, and his parents are both alive.

He served in MARSOC (Marine Special Forces) in Afghanistan, where he was in a military prison in some capacity (officer or detainee unclear, but an alternate reality he's called a war criminal, so he's likely detained).

FWIW, I'm a little surprised that in an alternative reality Bryan wasn't a part of Influx. He shares a similar kind of backstory with Anson Ash.

He carries a baseball on the plane like a momento stress ball (1x03).

He eats...a lot, literally thinks with his stomach, seemingly indiscriminately (#you could just pull up a chair to the buffet). Stale Peeps, weeks old sandwiches, rewarmed burritos, anything from the minibar, etc. Maybe he was a smoker in the time before and it killed his sense of taste. Or he just has an iron stomach from his time on active duty. In any case, food seems to be his unconditional OTP. I request a GIF supercut.

He seems to know a bunch of field operatives (Lester, Sharon, John the ME, Muntz, Beck from containment) from various Orbital teams, perhaps even worked cases with a few, along with everyone in Maddox's office. He's very cordial so presumably he likes them, but in stark contrast at least half seem to decidedly dislike him with baiting antagonism, some openly hostile. Sharon: "why are you smirking at me Bryan?" Muntz, the Laghari lab tech: "I've come across plenty like you...men who play by their own rules." Beck: "They only send in the A-team when they want the agents to survive...easy for you to say, I'm the one who had to tell his wife". No wonder he feels a bit ostracized. Perhaps his reputation (impulsive?) proceeds him or perhaps he's been labeled an "unlucky" partner that misfortune follows so he gets kept at a distance?

The exception to the above seems to be Gary Garcia, the former scientist that helps hide George. May be former partners if the audio during credit rolls is any indication, and knows about Bryan's health / injections. They appear close. Perhaps because they share a mentality: both presumably injured in their line of work at Orbital, and they know what it means to have to rely on yourself.

When we meet Finola and Bryan, it seems like they've been working together for a few weeks, stateside at least (Finola's quote 1x02: Been here 3 weeks, feels like 3 years) and that he's had at least two Orbital partners prior, one (Julian / Jules) that died on duty, and the other creepy Dutch guy still living, Niels. How many more partners has he been through? Is it protocol that they get reassigned/shuffled so often to follow the debris, or so as not to form attachments "This job is about being alone, it's supposed to be...we're a blip in other people's lives", or does his personality not play well with others, like from the pilot when he tells Finola "it's been a long time since I've worked with somebody who's looked at me like another human being."

Also in 1x01 when Bryan says, "So are we now saying the debris pulled [Kieran] from the ground and added meat to his bones" and Finola says no, he was cremated, Bryan looks almost disappointed like he was momentarily more hopeful than pragmatic. At first I thought this was just a lead up to introducing the fact that George Jones was alive, but maybe another plot point is that Bryan has lost someone in duty he wants back.

He carries a picture in his front pocket of a woman with some Persian/ Farsi(?) or Urdu(?) written on the back. It's hard to tell by the script, it could be neither. When confronted by that, his clone says "I can't let it go." Old flame that was lost? Or a partner of a fallen service member killed in action —I've lost brothers— that he couldn't save (is that part of Bryan's dark guilt / grief)? Civilian casualty of a Marine mission? In the pilot when he tells Isla "you have to tell her how much you need her, I know from experience...You will not be able to forgive yourself if you don't" is Bryan thinking of this woman?

EDIT: considering the next episode is called "Asalah," which could be a woman's name, maybe that's part of the text on the back of the photo. Pure speculation.

He counts on himself to be level and composed when it comes to his emotions and apologizes when he isn't. He loses that composure in the pilot when Isla talks about family therapy and fighting with her mother after Kieran's death: "I knew someone like her once." Was Bryan referring to himself, has he been through post-service therapy? Perhaps he developed a rift with his family or left home at an early age like she did?

Bryan would be great at pub trivia night. He always seems to have an odd fact ready about NASA tech, native legends, an article about a historical building that he read, Fleetwood PA, etc. He doesn't seem the type to keep facts on standby to impress, so perhaps he's a secret bibliophile even though Finola hassles him for not reading case files.

"Fin: Maybe we should run some more tests before we continue/ Bryan: I will cut bait if you want to / Fin; let's just look out for each other" 1x02 Bryan seems more cautious than impulsive, he does a good job of listening to Finola's concerns. Is that from experience? Did he get overconfident, mishandle debris, and get permanently injured, hence the frequent blood work and injections?

"This man saved my life." Why does Bryan trust Maddox implicitly? And when Maddox says in 1x07 "Investigate quietly. I want to keep the lights off. I don't want to lose anymore lives, Bryan, okay?" is that a word of warning specially for him? Does he have a body count? (see afforementioned question of frequent work partners turnover and having an unlucky reputation)

Bryan in protective of Finola when the CIA taps her apartment. It's the straw that turns his allegiance from his agency to his partner.

I still can't place why Bryan carries a baseball — it seems like it could be a red herring, but I can't get over the visual of Maddox playing catch with Dario and reading into it as some sort of surrogate bond — or why he has a chain around his neck (1x05). It's not service tags and probably not a ring, it's some kind of pendant: a large loop encircling a dull, perhaps tarnished, gray metallic disc. A patron saint? A piece of shrapnel? A piece of debris? Unclear, but it definitely has texture or an etching.

Top Bryan Quotes

"That's the job. Impossible." 1x01 Pilot

"We are supposed to be blips in these people's lives, not memories." 1x04 In Universe

"It's been a long time since I've worked with somebody who's looked at me like another human being." 1x01

"Zippo lighters, Pyrex glassware, Crayola crayons, and of course Peeps. Insane for peeps, cracklike...we owe the people of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania a great deal of gratitude and I am not afraid to say it." 1x02 You Are Not Alone

"I've been thinking, [about] Finola.. if MI6 knew her father was still alive they would take her out of here. We need to get home before this becomes an issue...this is going to affect her." 1x03 Solar Winds, when he's not sure how her father will affect her empathetic-based decision-making

Craig: "You hated the creepy Dutch guy." / Bryan: "He was adorable."

"Well, one of my tips for survival, Muntz, is always let the other guy touch the debris first." 1x03 So is that what happened to Garcia?

To Finola "I realize I tend to forget that there's still magic to discover in the world. But not you." 1x03

"There are things that you understand about life that I don't, and I respect that. But there are things that I know that you will not find very palatable...I am going to focus on the people that we're saving and not the ones that we can't." 1x04

"If we don't act, we might not be able to stop the terraforming. There's no way we're going to be able to win all these, and I know that every cell in your body right now is screaming for you to do what you think is right. I need you to go against that. I need you to trust me." 1x04

"Finola's capable. I trust her instincts." 1x08 Spaceman

"I'm running on sugar and coffee for the rest of the day" 1x07 You Can Call Her Caroline, but really isn't that Bryan everyday?

"When I tell you that I understand, it's not empty...I lost brothers. It destroys families. There are people who can help you with what you're going through right now...There is a way to get back from this pain. I was where you were, and the darkness almost ended me. And somebody put out his hand... I want to be there for you." 1x07

"I'm trying to get back to someone. It's very important to me." 1x09 Do You Know Icarus?

#nbc debris #bryan beneventi #character study #finola jones #craig maddox #sci fi #also shout-out to his Jay Kulina Elvis glasses in 1x04 #can somebody read that photo?#renew Debris

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keykeylocke · 2 years

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Hometown Cha Cha Cha

Warning Spoilers

Rating: 2 / 3

I liked this drama. It had many good moments. However, it is not my favorite drama.

Summary

After Hye-Jin is fired and her reputation is tarnished, the dentist decides to take a trip to Gongjin, the sleepy seaside town that holds precious memories of her mother who died when she was 8 years old.

In Gongjin, Hye-Jin is inspired to start over, with a dental clinic of her own. However, winning over the townspeople’s hearts will not be so easy, especially because she does not get along with Gongjin’s most popular citizen Hong Du-Sik.

Likes

*Has a variety of characters with interesting stories

*Was set primarily in a rural area as opposed to Seoul. This offered an opportunity for a different type of story

*Discussed several women’s issues

sexual assault

being pregnant in a rural area and having limited resources

also being pregnant and having to work until practically the moment you give birth

husbands taking their wive’s contributions to the household for granted

*The children characters had their own unique personalities

*I liked that Hye-jin had limited dating experience (I found it relatable)

*The theme song was very happy and upbeat. It put me in a good mood when I heard it.

*Sikhye is the best ship name ever.

Dislikes

*I didn’t like Hye-jin at first. She just was so stuck up. She was just too fascinated with appearances. I hated how Du-sik was second-rate to her until she found out he went to Seoul University. (However, I do understand that many people in South Korea have this mindset about social status, so she does represent something real. I just don’t like it.)

*I hate the K-drama , “they met up in the past so their relationship is meant to be” trope.

*Kim Seon Ho’s character being blamed for another character committing suicide. This happened to his character in Start-Up. Why again?

*Although I liked Director Ji as the second lead, I did not enjoy the storyline of his striking a romance with his editor. I found it very boring.

*Although I do not like superficial people like Hye-jin, I think the drama tried to convey the message that rural life and people are good and people that live in large cities are naturally greedy and selfish. I think this is the wrong message to promote.

*I did not like that Gam-ri died, mostly because this actress’ character died in Squid Game too. However, I will admit that it was good for the plot. Du-sik had to finally grieve for someone in his life instead of bottling up his pain and guilt.

Favorite Characters

Oh Yoon

*He honestly seemed like a loser when he was first introduced in the show. However, as the series goes on we see a widower and dedicated father who is just trying his best to raise his daughter by himself.

Hwa-jung

*She is a strong woman and a business owner. I liked that she was kind of tough and not very feminine. You don’t have to be soft and girly to be a good wife and mother.

Gam-ri

*She was so kind. She offered so much wisdom to the rest of the characters. Although her son was a bit neglectful (the scene where he cries “Eomma, Eomma,” at her funeral is so sad.) she offered motherly advice to characters like Hye-jin and Du-sik who needed it because their mothers had passed. She was also willing to cook for and help her neighbors.

Favorite Episodes

*My favorite episode was the singing competition episode. The performances were nice. It was probably the funniest episode of the series.

Favorite Scenes

*When Young-guk and Hwa-jung’s son runs away after he finds out they're getting back together. In the entire series he acted like a tiny adult. It was good to see his real feelings. He tried to act like he was okay with his parents’ divorce, because he didn’t want to upset them. He studied hard to get good grades and make them happy. However, on the inside he was very upset about it. All those feelings he stored up, came out when his parents found him in the park.

*The scene where we found out why Hwa-jung and Young-guk got divorced. She overheard Young-guk telling Oh Yoon that he regretted marrying her. I thought this scene was so honest about how some men feel about marriage. You can’t help but feel for Hwa-jung standing in the rain.

#homecha #netflix drama #kdrama #netflix review #kim seon ho #shin min ah #hometown cha cha cha

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megashadowdragon · 3 years

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Love is the bane of honor

I think Aegon's role narratively is "don't put all your faith in perfect kings", especially not a kid. It's all about the pressure of being a hereditary ruler, the pressure of duty, of others' expectations being placed on a child solely due to his birthright, and of a life sacrificed to duty.

"He is here. Aegon has been shaped for rule since before he could walk. He has been trained in arms, as befits a knight to be, but that was not the end of his education. He reads and writes, he speaks several tongues, he has studied history and law and poetry. A septa has instructed him in the mysteries of the Faith since he was old enough to understand them. He has lived with fisherfolk, worked with his hands, swum in rivers and mended nets and learned to wash his own clothes at need. He can fish and cook and bind up a wound, he knows what it is like to be hungry, to be hunted, to be afraid. Tommen has been taught that kingship is his right. Aegon knows that kingship is his duty, that a king must put his people first, and live and rule for them."

What Varys has said is all about Aegon ruling for others. That implies serious self-sacrifice. But is Aegon truly fit for this? Note how Varys never speaks of love, it's all about Aegon being raised to fulfill his duty, and one that has been placed on him based on his supposed birthright by others, which to us readers is uncertain to begin with and could even become uncertain to Aegon himself at some point.

"Jon, did you ever wonder why the men of the Night's Watch take no wives and father no children?" Maester Aemon asked.

Jon shrugged. "No." He scattered more meat. The fingers of his left hand were slimy with blood, and his right throbbed from the weight of the bucket.

"So they will not love," the old man answered, "for love is the bane of honor, the death of duty."

We have here the literal kryptonite to Varys' expectations.

Aegon is still young and we have no indication he has any experience with women other than being raised by a septa, which considering the faith's tenants has served the opposite interest.

Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man's nature

Arianne, a very intimidating woman, is coming to push herself onto Aegon, yet Aegon's entourage believed the support of Dorne was expected due to their existing blood ties to Aegon, not thanks to a new union between Aegon and a Dornish princess, a union which would also alter Doran's current plans which did not factor in Aegon at all.

A union to Aegon, from Doran's perspective, might also cast uncertainty into the master-strategist's mind; what will Dorne do when the real dragons come? And what if Dany's entourage sends a letter to Dorne along with Quentyn's body, telling them the prince was burned by the dragons he tried to steal? Would Arianne and the Sand Snakes believe it at all, especially if Arianne is trying to put herself between Aegon and Daenerys?

Daenerys on the other hand is preferred by Connington, who says the prince must hold off on any marriage as she may yet come, and he holds no found memories of Elia Martell, which might tarnish his view of Arianne no matter how "healthy" she might appear:

A bride for our bright prince. Jon Connington remembered Prince Rhaegar's wedding all too well. Elia was never worthy of him. She was frail and sickly from the first, and childbirth only left her weaker. After the birth of Princess Rhaenys, her mother had been bedridden for half a year, and Prince Aegon's birth had almost been the death of her. She would bear no more children, the maesters told Prince Rhaegar afterward.

"Daenerys Targaryen may yet come home one day," Connington told the Halfmaester. "Aegon must be free to marry her."

"My lord knows best," said Haldon. "In that case, we might consider offering potential friends a lesser prize."

Pushing lesser prizes onto Dorne is unlikely to be well received, chiefly by Arianne herself.

Connington is trying to shield the prince from doubt:

"I like the sound of that. My army." A smile flashed across his face, then vanished. "Are they, though? They're sellswords. Yollo warned me to trust no one."

"There is wisdom in that," Griff admitted. It might have been different if Blackheart still commanded, but Myles Toyne was four years dead, and Homeless Harry Strickland was a different sort of man. He would not say that to the boy, however. That dwarf had already planted enough doubts in his young head. "Not every man is what he seems, and a prince especially has good cause to be wary … but go too far down that road, and the mistrust can poison you, make you sour and fearful."

Yet Connington is joined by Tyrion's proposal, even if unknowingly, to wait for Daenerys:

"You do not need to win," Tyrion told him. "All you need to do is raise your banners, rally your supporters, and hold, until Daenerys arrives to join her strength to yours."

Tyrion sold the idea to Aegon as follows:

"I told you, I know our little queen. Let her hear that her brother Rhaegar's murdered son is still alive, that this brave boy has raised the dragon standard of her forebears in Westeros once more, that he is fighting a desperate war to avenge his father and reclaim the Iron Throne for House Targaryen, hard-pressed on every side … and she will fly to your side as fast as wind and water can carry her. You are the last of her line, and this Mother of Dragons, this Breaker of Chains, is above all a rescuer. The girl who drowned the slaver cities in blood rather than leave strangers to their chains can scarcely abandon her own brother's son in his hour of peril. And when she reaches Westeros, and meets you for the first time, you will meet as equals, man and woman, not queen and supplicant. How can she help but love you then, I ask you?"

The temptation is that of a mother figure and a rescuer who would fly to him like the wind, her brother's son, a boy becoming a man. Similarly, agreeing to this would place trust in his father-figure's plan. There is reassurance in taking this road, the one of parents he never had.

One way or another, Aegon must chose, at a time when war rages. But there is much room for doubt to keep him undecided, and if word reaches them that Daenerys has hurriedly flown away on her Dragon, could it be that Tyrion and Connington were right? Is the Mother of Dragons flying to the prince as fast as wind can carry her?

Aegon might hear the echo of Tyrion's words:

"Your father knew the dangers of being overbold."

The prince stared at the playing board. "My dragon—"

"—is too far away to save you. You should have moved her to the center of the battle."

Wait, and wait, and wait, but the war does not.

The death of duty

As the pressure mounts on Aegon to either keep on waiting for Daenerys or secure an alliance with Dorne, will Aegon break? And more importantly, if he does, how?

What if this is exactly what happened with Rhaegar? What if Rhaegar buckled under all the pressure that was on him? From prophecies to the duty of kingship.

"Lingering here will never bring it any closer. The sooner we take our leave of this place—"

"I know. I do." Dany did not know how to make him see. She wanted Westeros as much as he did, but first she must heal Meereen. "Ninety days is a long time. Hizdahr may fail. And if he does, the trying buys me time. Time to make alliances, to strengthen my defenses, to—"

"And if he does not fail? What will Your Grace do then?"

"Her duty." The word felt cold upon her tongue. "You saw my brother Rhaegar wed. Tell me, did he wed for love or duty?"

The old knight hesitated. "Princess Elia was a good woman, Your Grace. She was kind and clever, with a gentle heart and a sweet wit. I know the prince was very fond of her."

That answer from Jorah is fairly clear; Rhaegar married Elia out of duty, and maybe a hint of prophecy for all we know. He did not do so out of love.

Remember, Rhaegar thought he was expected to become a warrior. So we have another self-sacrifice for duty's sake:

"As a young boy, the Prince of Dragonstone was bookish to a fault. He was reading so early that men said Queen Rhaella must have swallowed some books and a candle whilst he was in her womb. Rhaegar took no interest in the play of other children. The maesters were awed by his wits, but his father's knights would jest sourly that Baelor the Blessed had been born again. Until one day Prince Rhaegar found something in his scrolls that changed him. No one knows what it might have been, only that the boy suddenly appeared early one morning in the yard as the knights were donning their steel. He walked up to Ser Willem Darry, the master-at-arms, and said, 'I will require sword and armor. It seems I must be a warrior.'"

And there is another hint that Rhaegar may have wanted to move away from the pressure of ruling, although a subtle one that remains to be cleared up:

Prince Rhaegar shook his head. "My royal sire fears your father more than he does our cousin Robert. He wants you close, so Lord Tywin cannot harm him. I dare not take that crutch away from him at such an hour."

Jaime's anger had risen up in his throat. "I am not a crutch. I am a knight of the Kingsguard."

"Then guard the king," Ser Jon Darry snapped at him. "When you donned that cloak, you promised to obey."

Rhaegar had put his hand on Jaime's shoulder. "When this battle's done I mean to call a council. Changes will be made. I meant to do it long ago, but . . . well, it does no good to speak of roads not taken. We shall talk when I return."

But love is the bane of honor, the death of duty:

"Swords win battles," Ser Jorah said bluntly. "And Prince Rhaegar knew how to use one."

"He did, ser, but . . . I have seen a hundred tournaments and more wars than I would wish, and however strong or fast or skilled a knight may be, there are others who can match him. A man will win one tourney, and fall quickly in the next. A slick spot in the grass may mean defeat, or what you ate for supper the night before. A change in the wind may bring the gift of victory." He glanced at Ser Jorah. "Or a lady's favor knotted round an arm."

So I posit that the fear of it all frightened Rhaegar into the arms of Lyanna, who similarly ran from a duty imposed on her in marrying Robert, and as the war began to rage on both escaped away from it all to the Tower of Joy.

Kill the boy and let the man be born

Many wonder what Arys Oakheart's narrative point was. He is a good example of a man who struggled between love and duty.

You know I have no other woman. Only... duty.

Which led him to his death:

Arys, my sweet knight, why did you do it? You should have yielded. I tried to tell you, but the words caught in my mouth. You gallant fool, I never meant for you to die, or for Myrcella...

I believe that as history seems to so often repeat itself in the world of Ice and Fire, Aegon will flee into the arms of love. But whose' love?

Come break of day, they were off again. Elia Sand led the way, her black braid flying behind her as she raced across the dry, cracked plains and up into the hills. The girl was mad for horses, which might be why she often smelled like one, to the despair of her mother. Sometimes Arianne felt sorry for Ellaria. Four girls, and every one of them her father's daughter.

Elia Sand, who bears the name of Aegon's mother, is similar in more ways than one to Lyanna Stark.

"We will see about that." Valena wheeled her big red around and put her heels into him, and the race was on, through the dusty lanes of the village at the bottom of the hill, as chickens and villagers alike scrambled out of their path. Arianne was three horse lengths behind by the time she got her mare up to a gallop, but had closed to one halfway up the slope. The two of them were side-by-side as they thundered towards the gatehouse, but five yards from the gates Elia Sand came flying from the cloud of dust behind them to rush past both of them on her black filly.

"Are you half horse, child?" Valena asked, laughing, in the yard. "Princess, did you bring a stable girl?"

"I'm Elia," the girl announced. "Lady Lance."

Lyanna was also a horse-rider:

Arya was breathing hard herself then. She knew the fight was done. "You ride like a northman, milady," Harwin said when he'd drawn them to a halt. "Your aunt was the same. Lady Lyanna."

And she was literally said to be "half a horse"

Horses … the boy was mad for horses, Lady Dustin will tell you. Not even Lord Rickard's daughter could outrace him, and that one was half a horse herself.

And similarly to Elia, Lyanna could fight:

"Lyanna might have carried a sword, if my lord father had allowed it.

And we have this in Bran's vision:

Now two children danced across the godswood, hooting at one another as they dueled with broken branches. The girl was the older and taller of the two. Arya! Bran thought eagerly, as he watched her leap up onto a rock and cut at the boy. But that couldn't be right. If the girl was Arya, the boy was Bran himself, and he had never worn his hair so long. And Arya never beat me playing swords, the way that girl is beating him. She slashed the boy across his thigh, so hard that his leg went out from under him and he fell into the pool and began to splash and shout.

Elia can joust, and we all know that the Knight of the Laughing Tree is believed by many to have been Lyanna:

"I am almost a woman grown, ser," she responded haughtily. "I'll let you spank me, though... but first you'll need to tilt with me, and knock me off my horse."

"We are on a ship, and without horses," Joss replied.

"And ladies do not joust," insisted Ser Garibald Shells, a far more serious and proper young man than his companion.

"I do. I'm Lady Lance."

Arianne had heard enough. "You may be a lance, but you are no lady. Go below and stay there till we reach land."

Note the point earlier where Elia surprises Arianne by racing ahead of her? It is a very tempting hint that Elia will steal Arianne's place and become Aegon's love interest, one no one is pushing on him. Her playful and courageous nature might attract him, comfort him at a time of incredible pressure, just as Lyanna may have with Rhaegar before.

But Rhaegar in the end found his courage, and went into battle. He killed the boy to let the man be born. And died.

"Can a man still be brave if he's afraid?"

"That is the only time a man can be brave," his father told him.

But the question, what bravery will Aegon be pushed into?

"Your father knew the dangers of being overbold."

I won't theorize on what Aegon might throw his courage at here, as the above might bring enough down-votes on its own. I'll just say that Elia, the lance-wielder, has a strong connection to Aegon already:

"Vengeance for Oberyn and Elia."

"Prince Aegon was Rhaegar's heir by Elia of Dorne"

"You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children."

TLDR: Aegon's and Elia Sands' story parallels Rhaegar and Lyanna's, and will end tragically. “

#asoiaf #A Song of Ice and Fire

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randomoranges · 3 years

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the other day i lost the friendly wagerino and @allbeendonebefore was like hey i want 70s stuff but maybe also make it not shitty?

idk if i delivered. i had this idea after she herself made an art and showed it to me revolving around the 70s. i figured id use it. it has a point of hope at the end? maybe it’s the origin story we all needed lamao

also please enjoy the repeated pattern of ed and ét forever saving the other a seat/making room for the other.

also the running gag is how vague can i keep things about the 70s when also writing a fic about the 70s lewl

vague references to many things being made here

Empire of Ash Somewhere between 1971 and 1975

He doesn’t know why he bothers – doesn’t know why he’s here. There’s no longer a point to any of this anymore. He feels the shift – feels it in the way the others look at him – the way they don’t look at him and it makes his blood boil.

He used to run this show. Would walk in, grace the others with his presence, and they would fawn over him – trip themselves trying to be him. That or they would seethe behind their jealousy. They either wanted to be him or be with him and Étienne had always been willing to oblige. He understood their envy. Understood their want. He couldn’t really blame them. The proverbial world seemed to revolve around him and he’d reigned it with such ease and grace.

It wasn’t always peaches and cream, naturally. He’d struggled – his people had struggled – they still struggled, but – overall, he’d been the example to follow – the one people wanted to emulate. Innovating. Exciting. The place to go – the one to be. An icon. He’d loved it. Loved the attention and the praise. The ease of it.

It had only amplified when he’d been awarded the world exposition. It’d been a last minute decision, sure, but he’d thrived. He’d given them all a show they would never forget. Had put himself on the map for good. For years and decades to come, they would talk about Expo 67. This, would be a Moment never to forget. People would exchange anecdotes about what they had seen – what they had done. About how great and innovative it had been. How wonderful and spectacular. It was, after all, the type of work he loved – bettering his image and his city – thinking ahead. Planning. Putting on a show. Entertaining.

He was very good at entertaining.

He could entertain in so many different ways.

Everyone had looked at him during Expo. Everyone had wanted him then. The stroke to his ego had been enormous. Had been satisfying. So satisfying. It had never been a dull moment. One giant party that had never ended for days and weeks and months. The afterglow had lasted – had pushed him through one winter and then the next. He’d drifted on his high – on his cloud, basking in it for days after, already a fond nostalgia settling in for the long run. The rose tinted glasses and such.

And then it had skittered to a halt. Had come to an abrupt end. The proverbial rug had been pulled from under his feet without warning, leaving him with whiplash that had left a bitter taste in his mouth – that still lingered and rippled. Crept into his body and settled in; poisoned every last remaining good memory. Destroyed and shattered all his hard work.

His empire had crumbled before his very eyes, leaving him with nothing but a pile of ash. Everything he had carefully built, everything he had worked for, gone, in a blink. Because, apparently, they could no longer trust him and there was now too much instability over some political variation of ideology. Because the people in a province that never felt like it cared for him wanted more. Because people dared to want to be recognised and had – taken – action.

Years of loyal service discarded.

It wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t called the shots. He was a victim. A victim of the system. Yet, he bore the lasting consequences of them all.

It was ironic, in a sense, that after years of feeling the oppression of religion, after fighting to break from it – after starting to find his true voice in this world, it was all being taken away and he was being pushed back – returning to a nobody.

However, now he has a chance – another one, to prove to them that he’s still relevant – that they’re all wrong – have been wrong to cast him aside. This will be his redeeming arc. This has to be his redemption. He has no choice. No cards left to play, his deck long ago discarded.

On a good day, he pours every ounce of energy and time into the plans for the Olympics. It’s touch and go; not as flawless and easy as Expo was. He tries to find that same magic, but it seems as though it’s one problem after the next. If it’s not some delay in construction, there’s a strike. If it’s not a strike, there’s a delay. As the calendar ticks on, his anxiety builds and his passion for the project dissipates.

And then of course, everyone is kind enough to remind him that he’s nothing but a has-been – that there’s nothing left to him. His light has shined and now dulled, time be shelved and replaced.

So he decides to stick to what he’s good at. Stick to what everyone wants. What everyone expects him to do. Put his moniker to good use. He knows how to play up his part, after all. He’s never even liked his obligatory job. Never saw the point to the meetings he’s obliged to attend. In his opinion, they run too long. He’s always found them boring, but at least, before, he was able to go and have a good time. Everyone had wanted his opinion. Everyone had wanted him. Because he was the best. He was somebody.

Was.

He is no one now.

In any event. There’s no point to it anymore. He’s found better and more lucrative ways to spend his time. Better ways to chase the thrill of before – to feel alive where there is nothing but decay and rot. He’s found a way to feel wanted, even if for a little while. He knows where to put his skills to good use and make some cash while doing it as well. It’s more than could be said about these sorry meetings.

The best part about his side hustle is that it makes his mayor mad. Makes the tiny bald man seethe and rage. But it makes Étienne grin. He loves that it enrages his mayor. Loves that he can keep finding ways to tarnish his plans of “cleaning up the city.” Étienne no longer is the wide-eyed-bushy-tailed naïve man who had blindly followed him. He’s grown since Expo. (It is a shame though; they’d mostly gotten along then – he’d enjoyed chatting up the man about his vision for the city. He misses the camaraderie, if anything. They may have not always gotten along, but – the man had vision – had helped him make a name of himself. This, however, he disagreed on.)

With Expo, he’d – broadened his repertoire, so to say. Gotten a taste for the more delightful sinful pleasures of life – the full range and experience – had really let loose. It had been thrilling, what with everything else going on from the change in fashion to the freedoms the rest of his people were finally allowing themselves to experience without the fear of God breathing down their necks. His little personal discoveries had proven to be useful now that he needed an extra escapism and a different way to earn his living. The face his mayor had made had been worth it.

Étienne wouldn’t have bothered showing his face to this meeting; would have flipped everyone off and returned to his new life, but his sister had insisted. Had reminded him that with the Olympics looming forward, he had to get his act together. Look presentable. Make an appearance. Remind everyone of what they were. It was all bullshit. He was tired of the hypocrites – the ones who’d died to have his opinion who’d now turned their backs on him. Tired of the fake airs everyone gave themselves at these meetings. The redundancy of them and the lack of anything ever getting done. He could be spending his time in so many other better ways.

But. Élyse had begged and insisted. So he’d gone.

Except now, he itches to get out of the place and get some air. The cigarettes he’s been smoking nearly nonstop since he’s gotten here have done nothing to calm his nerves and even though he knows he could go for something a little stronger to help, he also knows that with these stuck-ups they would have a conniption and keep passing their snide remarks. He tells himself he’s doing it for Élyse. She’s been through enough and – he doesn’t want to make it harder on her. Yet, he feels like he’s either vibrating out of his skin or that suddenly his body is too big, or too small for the ricochet of thoughts in his head. He needs air, a distraction, a hit of something, before he causes a scene, and luckily – miraculously – a break is called just as he’s about to bolt out.

He lights up another cigarette as he looks for somewhere to wait out the break and scowls when all the benches are taken. There are spots left, but the last thing he’s in the mood for is polite small talk. It may have been his forte once, but the idea of it now makes him want to hurl. Étienne considers taking a walk and maybe finding something better to do for the afternoon, but the sight of a familiar sulking figure draws him close.

He recognises Edward after a beat and only feels slightly relieved. Edward is his friend, sure, but they’ve sort of lost touch over the past few years. There’d been a frenzy of letter exchange after Expo and even before that, but – he can’t be bothered to remember whose turn it had been to write back. Then again, Étienne’s got a lot going on in his life at the moment and Edward feels as though he’s part of his old life.

Still, he supposes that Edward hasn’t been unkind to him even if they haven’t sat down to have a heart to heart and at the moment, it’s better than the sneering and jeering. However, the idea of sitting down with someone he knows and having an actual conversation makes him want to set the world on fire. He considers getting out of here again, but just as he’s about to turn on his heels, Edward seems to notice him as well and moves his bag over so that Étienne can sit if he so desires.

He’s ever so thankful when Edward leaves him to his moody thoughts and Étienne is able to breathe a little easier for the first time all day. It might almost seem like companionable silence, but he knows better and takes it for what it’s worth.

Étienne smokes quietly as he lets his thoughts wander for a bit. He reflects on his strange friendship with Edward and how unlikely they came to be. He’d honestly never thought that his own ennui back home would have pushed him to set off exploring the Great West only to stumble upon another lost soul who would turn to be a friend – a confidant really.

He’d – never expected Edward to take him up on it, back then – when he’d told him to keep in touch and write to him. He’d jotted down the address, given it to his friend and then had headed off, not thinking of the hassles Edward might have with finding an actual post office. Yet, eventually, when he’d nearly forgotten about it, a letter had appeared from Edward and Étienne had been more than surprised, even if he’d been delighted.

He’d taken to writing to Edward frequently – or as frequently as was possible at the time. Sometimes, he would run back to the post office to add more to his already long letter, always having more to say to his friend and over the years and decades, he and Edward had built a steady if bizarre friendship through their writing.

It’d been – easy to write to Edward. Easier than it’d ever been to say things out loud, anyways and he’d opened up about many aspects of his life he’d kept close to his heart with the years. In his opinion, Edward knew a lot more about him than Emma and even Élyse – not that he’d let them know. Yet, despite being able to write to his friend about everything that had ever bothered him, this time, he wants to keep his new secret to himself. He’s rather proud of this one anyways and he’s – not sure Edward would understand. Not entirely, anyways.

He sighs and takes another drag of his cigarette. It’s a complicated mess and he’s lost so much already – doesn’t want to chance this at the moment. In case.

It’s strange to think that even though he feels as though he’s found some sort of kinship with the new people he hangs around with, he feels even more alone than before. He’s – different from them. It comes with his status and the fact that despite his appearances, he is not like them – not really human in the full sense and there are certain hurdles he’s gone through that he cannot simply open up about to them.

His musings are brought to a halt when he hears exasperated grumbling from his side. He’s about to scoff and tell Edward to quit it, but then turns to find the other man patting his pockets looking for something. Étienne overhears the words “cigarette” and “forgot” and figures out that Edward must have left his pack inside. He watches the little tantrum unfold for a moment, taking pleasure in seeing someone else frustrated for a while, before it gets on his nerves.

He has enough to deal with as it is. He doesn’t need Edward’s complaining on top of it. With another sigh, Étienne fishes out his own pack and takes a cigarette out before he can reconsider and before Edward can get into a real fit.

He wordlessly hands it over and waits for his friend to realise that there’s an offering being made.

It takes Edward a moment and Étienne gets to the point where he’s afraid he’s going to have to jab the other man’s arm to get his attention, but before that has a chance to happen, Edward sees the cigarette and accepts it with a grumbled thanks. Étienne is about to take out his lighter, in case, but Edward already has it in his hand and lights up his cigarette without much trouble.

It’s the extent of their conversation for the time being and for that, Étienne is grateful. He’s in no mood for talking and he appreciates that Edward keeps to himself. For the first time since the start of the day, Étienne feels slightly less alone and even though they don’t do much, he appreciated the presence of Edward. It’s – familiar, in a sense, even though they haven’t spent all that much time together.

He can probably count on one or two hands the number of times they’ve legitimately hung out together – or even seen each other in the last century, but despite that, Étienne has considered Edward to be one of his closest friends for years now. Yet, somehow or other, even though the live miles apart, they’ve – clicked and bonded and somehow or other stuck around each other.

He supposes, not for the first time, that it must count for something. Maybe.

He’s not sure he wants it to, but as he finishes his own cigarette, Étienne finds himself with the same sense of ennui from before. The idea of sitting though another few hours of meetings still makes him want to hurl and the appeal of getting the hell out whispers soothingly in his ear.

He spares Edward another glance and takes in his friend’s own sour look and discontented face. He figures that maybe – just maybe, Edward might not want to be here too and might want an excuse to get out.

“Hey,” He says, finally breaking the silence between them. “Wanna get out of here? I think I saw a diner worth the detour on my way over.” It’s as good as an offers as he’s ready to make, but Edward, after a moment’s hesitation, carefully nods and stands up.

They walk towards the street and fall into step together, as Étienne thinks that maybe there’s an analogy to be made about misery loving company, but he’d rather hope that instead, maybe he and Edward have more in common than he thought they originally did.

FIN

#pc: montreal #pc: edmonton #edward murphy #étienne maisonneuve #fic #projocanondoko

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blessedxblight · 3 years

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𝐡𝐚𝐧 & @quiltedflames & gentlemxnthief // 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃: EIGHT YEARS LATER…

— “Look, she’s trying to force out some tears,” he whispered. A three year-old plunked onto the grass and lifted her arms overhead. She heaved loud, attention-seeking sobs and scrunched her face like a squeezed lemon. Noelle seemed to believe that if she kept puckering and squinting, she’d eventually juice out some convincing tears. His friends said that he coddled her too much, that he was too quick to place band-aids on invisible scrapes and sit with her until she felt better. Sometimes, he thought they were right. But he could never, ever say no to his little girl when she wanted to be held.

“Come here, my young con artist,” he said. “Let’s assess the damage.” Gil scooped her up like she weighed nothing. He deciphered her blubbering, something about a bump on her kneecap from when she’d tried running past Han and tripped over his shoes. “You’re fine,” he said. “Do you want to help daddy cook the burgers?” (Tofu burgers, of course, since his wife couldn’t bare to think about any suffering critters.)

Noelle buried her face against him. He felt her sharp nose – so unbelievably tiny, like the ridge of a precious button – dig into his fleshy shoulder. She smelled like sunblock, and the crown of her reddish-brown hair radiated heat from a summer sun. Gil thought she was the spitting image of her mother and had inherited all of her stubborn spirit, though her curiosity and mischief-making rivaled that of her father.

“What was I telling you about again, Simon? Was it something about work?” he asked. Gilbert had always had an auditory memory short as his bladder. That part of him hadn’t changed since the anklet had come off, at least. It was mind-boggling how the same, restless individual who’d once spent workdays building Rube Goldberg machines out of office supplies was a respected professional. He’d filled the awkward silence between him and his former handler with work-related small talk: presentations, contracts, some silly story about an eternally missing paper clip tray. Apparently, the former forger’s signature held enough weight to run an entire security consultation firm.

“Anyway, I can’t believe you still look the same – well, minus some fingers,” he said. He shot a pointed look at Simon’s shoes. “And probably toes.” His brown eyes still had their mischievous energy, even if surrounded by a few, newly spurred fine lines.

Much had changed throughout the time it took him, a man who used to insist he would never have kids, to have three of them. It was the little things: the sport of silver at his temples, the beachside tan, the faded glow of last week’s sunburn across his cheeks. His face was fuller underneath the new beard; he’d gained a touch of weight since leaving New England. For once in his life, he looked relaxed, well-rested, finally at peace with himself. He took well to a life of domestic bliss, having stayed out of trouble since his last workday at the FBI. In fact, he hadn’t seen Simon in person since the day he got his anklet cut.

It was like his life flourished the moment Agent Mulder was no longer in it.

“Han looks way older than me,” he teased, loud enough for the psychologist to hear. “Breathing in all that house mold causes premature aging.” Gil flipped the burgers over. His stomach growled; unlike anything Han would’ve prepared, these were actually appetizing. Just thinking about Han’s questionable, meat-related experiments was enough to make anyone sick. Gilbert and Jessica had been smart enough to supply their own meat (read: tofu) around Hanjae Song, that’s for sure.

“Jess, they’re almost ready!”

Han squeezed Simon’s hand a bit harder, trying to already pull out of this cook-out he hardly agreed to. he wanted to go home, their home, the home Simon had to take over while Han was busy paying his debt to society. the tables were completely turned after the long 8 years of meddling & gaslighting. now, for once, Han couldn’t enjoy Gilbert’s straight edge demeanor. he missed and wished for his old felon friend back, not the dad-bod, sunburnt, awkward fellow before him. families always ruin everything– Han’s family with Simon and Johanna, obviously aside.

“I’m allergic to tofu,” he lies. though the amount of questionable meats he had consumed and cooked for the past, nearing on decade, would likely cause a rebellion in his stomach. the flesh its used to would eat tofu for it’s own sustenance. his mouth is dry and parched from thinking of spongey burgers made from a propane tank. “I’ll break out in hives. It’s worse than my lemon allergy– I may combust, if I put that in my mouth.” again, he’s lying.

while Gilbert speaks to Honey, Han doesn’t offer anything of use to the conversation. Simon can and does speak for himself, and in all honesty, Han does owe it to the relationship of the two previous partners he single-handedly ruined. still, with his hand in Simon’s, Han must look like an overprotective puppy with his tail between his legs.

contrary to Gilbert’s words, mold hadn’t aged him, but two years without direct sunlight had poisoned the pores of Han Jae Song. the once flawless face of the ex-professor was now tarnished with not only age, but poor lighting in general. of the sixteen correctional facilities in Massachusetts, his home for the past couple of years was the Middlesex Jail and House of Correction. he’d served two grueling years, and almost in complete solitary for violating a restraining order the Mrs, had put on him. and despite him plainly stating the classes and work Han had put into his anger management, he could still feel her burning gaze upon him. it likely wasn’t helping any– the look on his face as he watched the young con-artist known by Gilbert as Peanut try and fool her father into attention. “Speaking of fingers– are Peanut’s clean? If she’s helping, it’d be unsanitary of her to touch Simon’s fake burgers without washing. He won’t be able to eat either. In fact, none of us would.” he doesn’t find her acts of duplicity charming. he finds the fact that Gilbert’s face had merged with Jessica’s abhorrent and still something hard to get used to…

𝐣𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐞 & 𝐡𝐚𝐧 & quiltedflames & @gentlemxnthief // 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃: EIGHT YEARS LATER…

It’s both strange and unsurprising to see Gilbert as a father. Simon hadn’t heard of Gil ever mention wanting to have children of his own. Then again, it isn’t a common topic he cares to bring up. When coworkers in the office care to show off their own newborns with large heads and wrinkled fingers, Simon offers them an obligatory smile and a brief ‘Cute’ and takes the next opportunity to return to work. No, he never pictured Gil as a father, but even as Simon stands there, he can see how the life suits him.

Better men might revel in the fact that their partners - especially a partner like Gilbert, a convicted felon, a con-man, a prisoner - had turned their life around, had settled down and started a family and made themselves happy. But the image doesn’t sit well for Simon. He watches Gilbert’s offspring press her little nose into his shoulder. Another baby is swaddled away.

The truth of the matter is that Gilbert’s life is far, far better without Simon. And for all of Gil’s…nuances, his lip-popping, sticky-fingers, his constantly-moving lips, and his knack for finding trouble regardless of where they were…Simon misses him.

He absently flexes his left hand which is most noticeably missing his ring finger. Willingly given. But it’s just among the list of things that Simon doesn’t speak of. Not in front of Gilbert. “Just a small accident,” Is the explanation he gives.

“Don’t listen to Han –” With his remaining fingers interlocked with Han’s, Simon scowls at him to at least behave. “He…isn’t one for plant-based alternatives. But we’ll both try something new,” When Simon squeezes Han’s hand, his own knuckles whiten against his forced smile. “Isn’t that right?”

Unaware of how to help…and unsure if his help is even wanted regarding the cooking and the food, he stands feeling awkward. What is there for him to say when he can see what Gilbert’s life without him looks like? Simon clears his throat. “You did mention work…what is it exactly you’re doing again? Security…something or other?” He asks as if he hasn’t tried to keep his own tabs on Gilbert. “Is that…cyber security? Home security systems? Locksmithing?” He leaves the obvious question of museum security out of it. “Whatever it is, it…seems to suit you.”

she deviled some eggs that are on the tray in her hands– though she’s bringing them out for the two new arrivals, her eyes are on Noelle, the little rascal she’d produced with Mr. Big Shot Tofu Burger flipper over there. she shakes her head at the fuss– she couldn’t really blame Gilbert for coddling the little girl in matching tiny pigtails– the five year old, nicknamed Noodle was at her side still insisting on carrying the tray. “Nicholas Gladestone, if you don’t settle down, you won’t be having any cookies for dessert.” she casts a warning mama gaze at her son as a coo emits from the swaddle carrier on her back. Holly, was, of sorts, mocking her brother– for his scowling. Nicholas pouts, though, Jessie offers a wink as if to say of course her little boy would always get cookies. she offers an alternative, “Now, go give Uncle Simon a nice tackle.”

she sets her tray of deviled eggs before the three men, and slowly eyeballs the two new ones. “Glad you finally showed up.” there isn’t much friendliness in her voice– but she’s trying. she knows how much this reunion means to Gilbert, especially after his and Simon’s brief falling out. she hardly casts a gaze to the recently free from incarceration, but she does supply the alternative, “He can load up on eggs, then.” there is no sympathy for the whining man.

she nods her head toward Simon, places her hands on her hips as she feels the movement in Holly’s carrier squirm once more. she was going to be the handful, regardless of Nick and Noelle’s hijinks “And you missy,” she’s talking to Peanut, “Mama didn’t raise a crybaby did she?” she knows it’s a moot point, but she tries putting her foot down, “You stop that fussin’ you hear?”

but to the grown up conversation, “It suits him just as much as that new apron I got him, don’t you agree?” she chuckles to herself as she casts a look down at the tofu burgers– they did look just about done, and despite the complaints and anti-vegetarians present, they looked crispy and juicy. “I figure we could eat at the picnic table–“ she points towards the end of the custom-built red outdoor furnishing ( it was as big as a sleigh for Santa to travel in ) where a pitcher of lemonade glistens in the sunlight next to some home brewed iced tea. “We got a couple of drinks over yonder– help yourselves.”

𝐡𝐚𝐧 & 𝐣𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐞 & @quiltedflames & gentlemxnthief:// 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃: EIGHT YEARS LATER…

— “Let me see if your hands are clean,” he said, speaking to the toddler in his arms. Noelle held out the tiny, chunky digits of a three year-old with a wide-eyed look. The little girl’s head tilted in confusion. Even a child that young thought that surely, she was nowhere near as dirty as the stinky man she’d tripped over earlier. He planted a swift kiss to his daughter’s hand. Noelle shrieked with a delighted giggle, pulling her hand away fast because her father’s beard always tickled. “Seems perfectly clean to me!” he concluded.

Gil may have become a father – something he truly hadn’t seen coming almost a decade ago – but, his mischief-seeking nature hadn’t changed a bit. There was still the look of a troublemaker in his brown eyes as he smirked at Han. To be honest, he wasn’t sure if he would call Han a friend anymore. But, he knew that the psychologist still needed at least one person willing to try and so he hadn’t completely given up on him.

(Yet.)

“Security consultation,” he said. Across his face, an already proud smile broadened. He’d come a long way, and it wouldn’t have been possible without both Jessica and Simon’s support. (So why, why hadn’t Simon even showed up to his wedding? They had been friends, hadn’t they? You didn’t try to capture someone for four years, worked with them for four more, and then felt nothing when they exited your life in the blink of an eye.) Either way, at least Simon agreed that it suited him well.

“I advise banks, galleries, museums, private companies – all the things that make the FBI breakout into a cold sweat when I’m around. It’s my full-time job when I’m not wearing a Kiss The Cook apron,” he teased, grinning at his wife. His chest puffed out with pride; he’d truly come a long way into carving out the life he never once believed that people like him deserved. He would’ve gladly prattled on, but he was interrupted by his son’s excitement.

“I HAVE AN UNCLE!” cheered Nicholas. The five year-old excitedly passed the tray to his mother, his duty as their family’s “head chef” paling in comparison to meeting a real uncle. He sprinted across the lawn, his light-up sneakers pounding against the grass until he flung himself at Simon’s leg in a giggly tackle. One hand was sticky with marshmallow from the Rice Krispy treats he’d “helped” his mother bake. The other was neon orange – thus, matching the crumbs all around his mouth – from sneaking into a bag of Cheetos that Gil had absentmindedly left within his reach. He latched onto Simon’s leg so tight, he may as well have been stuck there with Velcro.

Gil began loading up the tofu patties onto one of Jessica’s kitschy, reusable platters. He’d already loaded up lettuce, tomatoes, sautéed onions – all the little ingredients into platters, since he’d learned that the “serve yourself” model of burger building worked best for fussy toddlers. They were already laid out on the picnic table and judging by the lopsided tomatoes threatening to fall off the plate, Nick must’ve insisted on helping. “Wow, when did you have the time to squeeze all that lemonade?” he asked his wife. “I could probably drink a gallon of that.” Sometimes, it was like you could blink and she’d pull the buffet out of the oven like a magician of the kitchen. “Alright, everyone to the picnic table,” he said, mostly speaking to his two eldest children. “There’s plenty of food for everyone to eat.”

He shot Han a pointed look.

“Or starve, if the picky eaters would prefer.”

the sound of the kitschy woman’s voice was grating on his ears. the smell ( or lack of smell ) from the tofu burgers was making his stomach whine with even less hunger than he arrived with. the deviled eggs looked like gelatinous goo inside even gooier husks and perhaps if they were salted more or spiced more with chili flakes he may have taken the tray for himself to swallow in his own corner– sharing in the penitentiary was frowned upon even among the smallest of acquaintances. Han was not enjoying the time, as Simon suggested. still he tried for his partner. the squeeze in his hand attempts to curb his poor behavior, a grimace pulls his mouth into a grin as he comments, “Thank you, Mrs. Gladstone–” yes, he refuses to call her by her first name, and the title does make his skin itch speaking it. he would forever resent Yoko for breaking up the band.

the barreling five year old aiming for Simon’s kneecaps is what finally breaks Han’s grasp from that overt PDA they were showing. that was one problem Simon would be encountering alone. his nose crinkled and lip curled at the sight, Simon with a child attached to him. he was certain he couldn’t hate anything more in that damned world. even if their own Johanna were to bring a child of her own in the world ( she was smart enough not to ) Han wouldn’t ever feel comfortable with the sight. “Yes, Peanut’s hands are clean, but I should have asked about... Noodles’...” there is an ounce of vomit, Han feels trailing up his esophagus which is forced down by a gulp.

the mold uncle– the monstrous being could handle smoking indoors, mold spores growing on walls, natural fertilizer composted in splendorous flowers, and the ripe smell of piss transforming to ammonia, but Gil in turn kissing the unclean hands of his three year old were his breaking point, as well as the sticky marshmallow residue of the other child’s hands, and especially now that they were latched onto his Simon’s legs. he mutters, “I think I’ve lost my appetite.”

there is a wince in his face as he sways back, trying to avoid the threats of running tackles for himself, yet he’s ushered to the picnic table– joy. he, like a useless sailor leaves Simon with little to no lifejacket in a sea of five year old Nick Gladstone.

though he finds it important to shatter the hopes and dreams of the child, “Simon isn’t your uncle. Not by blood, which is what really matters. He’s technically only your godfather, which means, he’d become your real father if something happens to your parents....”

he chortles at his own dark sense of humor as he looks between Gilbert and Jessie. “Let’s hope nothing happens to them, unless you decide you like your–” he feels the nausea rise once more, “Uncle Simon.” a grin flashes to his partner, as if he is asking if this behavior was better than his made up allergies, speaking of which, “I’m allergic to lemonade. Can I have a bottle of water instead?”

𝐣𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐞 & 𝐡𝐚𝐧 & quiltedflames & @gentlemxnthief // 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃: EIGHT YEARS LATER…

Simon is unsurprised with the coldness in Jessie’s voice, but surprises himself with just how much it stings. A time did exist, not so long ago, where she had called him out of desperation, bleeding for Simon to miraculously save the man she loved. He’d asked Gilbert once, if Jessie was worth risking everything for, and earned a shiny black eye because of it. Evidently, Simon had been wrong. At least that is how he feels watching Gilbert and their wife dote on one another, coo at their children, and work in sync together.

“The picnic table is just fine. And so is lemonade,” He scowls back at Han with the hopes of reminding him to play nice. At least as nice as it is possible for him to.

For the briefest of moments, Simon wishes they could all go away. Jessie, Han, the food, the kids. He prefers to sit and pick Gilbert’s brain - what it is like advising for the security systems he once fought his way into. Did he still live for the thrill of being caught? Or had he, truthfully, decided to leave all that behind for the domestic bliss Simon sees unfolding in front of him? Does he miss the days it was just the two of them, with Gilbert sneaking out of bathroom windows and Simon following behind just a step too late? Or were the memories tainted with Simon’s own betrayal?

Maybe it’s for the best they’re all bound together by social obligations, at least for the time being. Simon’s not sure he wants an answer to that last question. And neither does he want the small boy, Nicholas, to remain attached to his leg. He can see the lines of Gilbert’s face in him, namely the signature elongated forehead. “Now, now…lets…er…go sit with your mother…Don’t listen to Han…” He pats the boy’s hair. Unsure if he should pry little Nicholas from his leg, or if that would earn him a scolding from Jessie, Simon waddles to the picnic table with the boy still attached to him.

He eyes the pitcher of lemonade with distrust, knowing what the drink would do to Gilbert and his infamously small bladder. “I hope there’s a bathroom nearby,” Although it’s muttered under his breath, Simon has a silent hope that it’s loud enough for both Gilbert and his offspring to hear. He clears his throat and continues on. “I’m…glad to hear that you’re enjoying what you do,” Which is a joke for Simon alone, for he is certainly lying through his teeth with the statement, as evident by the words laced with both jealousy and frustration over Gilbert’s improvements in life. “Though I may recommend looking into a better sunscreen…it looks like that hurts.”

the young sprout of Gilbert and Jessie Gladstone still at Simon’s legs turned to look at the mold uncle. an arm was still wrapped around one of the pant legs of Simon Maurice Mulder, clinging to his new favorite specimen. Nicholas just LOVED having an uncle. a dribble of a runny nose hung from his face, and with squinted eyes, Nick Gladstone held up his hand to show them both, “I’M FIVE.” it was very important information to tell them both. even more so was the importance of leaving an imprint of Doritos dust upon Simon’s pant legs to indicate his age– before sprinting back over to the lemonade corner.

Jessie doesn’t have to speak on Han’s words, nor how threatening they were. a raised eyebrow, instead counters the idea that neither her nor Gilbert were going anywhere, “Good thing one of us knows how to shoot a couple of knee caps should anything happen to the other.” she was speaking on experience, of course– with a hint of warning to Han Jae Song. Gilbert was to be left alone and intact, OR ELSE. but that was neither here nor there.

she knows, however, that this cook-out is most important for both Gilbert and Simon and chooses to ignore the attitude of Simon’s plus one. a gut in her stomach tells her that she should be a better host and accommodate for the plus one, but on the other hand she does take Simon’s words at their core. if anyone could curb the insane demeanor of the ex-con, it was Simon. it was a devotion between the two she still couldn’t understand– nor would she ever try to...

she speaks, Noelle, the other clinger is still in helping her daddy flip tofu burgers– “Come on peanut, let’s get you washed up before it’s time to eat, huh?” she doesn’t holds her arms out right away. not with Holly dangling– the cute socks upon her feet kicking and sprawling in their own tiny excitements. Jessie is expecting a fuss, given the fact Noelle’s favorite arms were far more thicker in muscle and warmth. ( it was something Jessie was biased towards and would never hold against the little tot ). Nick, the five year old is already trying to open the cooler of capri-suns, he hadn’t asked his mama’s permission for… yet everything seems as if it’s in his place, Han, excluded.

though she giggles at Simon’s astute observation– “It’s a miracle he puts any on at all. Always forgetting his sunblock and such–“ a playful roll of her eyes does remember she’s got some sunscreen inside– something to bring out once they’ve all settled in. “You know I couldn’t trick him into the ritual if I tried....”

#;; the snake: threads.#;; braids of action: threads.#;; Han & Simon & Jessie & Gil.#//idr the order of this thread or if i got all of it but it's most

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marshmallow-phd · 4 years

Text

Midnight Hours

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Wolf!AU

Pairing: Sehun x Reader

Summary: For you, being a good witch was easier said than done. Something dark was lurking inside of you and the others knew it. When you’re forced to tag along with Soomi and help a local wolfpack face a coming evil, you’re sent on a path that breaks into a crossroads. While you struggle with your inner demons, could the wolf Sehun be the key to your ultimate fate?

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I 14 I 15 I 16 I 17 I Final

The woman who stood in front of you was beautiful. Hauntingly so with her thick, baby blonde hair, translucent skin, and soft features. She was small. Not just in height, but everything about her. It’s almost as if there were a dozen signs around declaring her harmless and to come closer. But there was one thing that stopped you from doing so. One thing about this woman that whispered danger.

A pair of red eyes.

They put an edge to her sweet smile, taking the innocence away and replacing it with cunning intent. In a way, they reminded you of a cat, refracting the light in a way no regular human’s could.

“Who are you?” you finally found your voice to ask.

“My name is Molia.” She took a step towards you which you immediately retreated from. All it did was make her laugh. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’ve been waiting for you.”

Your heart was pounding in your ears. It was a miracle that you were able to hear anything she was saying at all. “It’s you, isn’t it? The one I’ve been seeing in my visions?”

“Yes,” she replied with a high pitched giggle as if the notion of it being anyone else was absurd. Once again, she moved closer to you and once again, you recreated the distance. Her smile faded. “(y/n), I’m not going to harm you.”

You shook your head. Being here, alone, it didn’t feel right. “I don’t know how you expect me to believe that.”

“Did you ever see me do anything harmful?”

Thinking back on the visions, you frowned. There weren’t enough to the scenes you’d witnessed to truly say either way. “No… but the feeling–”

“There is always fear in the unknown.” Before you could blink, Molia was behind you, her hands resting on your shoulders as she whispered in your ear. “I’m just like you, (y/n). The two of us need to join together.”

You spun around to face her. “What do you mean you’re just like me?”

Instead of answering, Molia took your hands and pressed your palms together. When she pried them apart, a small flame no bigger than a coin sparked to life. She scooped up the fire into her own cupped hands where it grew to twice its size. Then she snuffed it out, barely a puff of smoke to prove its existence.

“That’s impossible,” you whispered in disbelief. “How did you- how could you-” For some reason, you could not connect what you’d witnessed to the logical part of your brain. Not even Mother Willow could do such a thing.

“I was telling the truth.” Delicately, she lifted your face with a finger under your chin so the two of you were looking eye to eye. “What do you know the other witch like you?”

“The other one?” you said. You’d been told the story of the witch centuries ago who lost control. It was told to you like a warning every time your own usage went a little too wild for the elders’ comfort. By now, you knew almost every word by heart. But it was no fairytale. “She was a witch who used her power for selfish reasons. Eventually, they drove her insane and she nearly took out an entire village before she passed herself.”

Molia scoffed. “They would record it that way, wouldn’t they? Take the blame from themselves.”

“Are you saying that’s not what happened to her?” As much as you wanted to believe that mothers of old wouldn’t manipulate historic records, you couldn’t quite put that much faith in them. They believed themselves to be the epitome of goodness and they wouldn’t want anything to tarnish that good name.

“No,” Molia stated firmly. “That’s not what happened to me.”

You stumbled back.

No. That wasn’t possible. Magical or not, witches didn’t live that long. Not even wolves lived that long. “You can’t be….” But then you looked into her eyes again.

Her red, inhuman eyes.

“Are you–”

“A vampire?” she giggled, her previous charm coming back to the surface. “Yes. One took pity on me when the elders’ turned against me. We faked my death since they never would have let me live if they’d known the truth. For the past four hundred years, I’ve been in hiding, wondering if I could ever be truly free. Then I found out about you.” With a pale hand, she reached out to you, cupping your cheek in a palm so cold it might as well had been an ice pack fresh from the freezer. “I don’t want you to feel the loneliness that I have. I want you to feel like there is someone on your side. You deserve that.”

As pretty as her words were, you couldn’t say they were correct. Sehun’s face flashed in your mind. “But I do have someone.”

Molia scoffed as she dropped her hand. “That wolf? He didn’t even take the time to listen to you when it mattered the most.”

“But he was right,” you defended. “It wasn’t Mina.”

“No, not entirely.” A sly grin stretched across her pale pink lips. “Mina may have not been the one you saw in your visions, but she isn’t entirely innocent. Or she could be. Depending on your point of view.”

“I’m not really in the mood for riddles.”

Molia laughed softly. “I’m sorry. Old habit. I simply mean that when I saw poor Dana’s friend come into town, I thought she could be useful.”

“Useful?” Yeah, if you wanted to experience something shallow, maybe.

“Unfortunately, you haven’t met the real Mina,” Molia went on. “Each time you’ve seen her, she’s been under my control.”

You gaped at her. “Control? Why?”

“I needed to see you alone,” she said. “But with the way things were going with that wolf, I wasn’t going to be able to.”

“So you made us fight?” It was bizarre to hear that she went to such lengths. Almost laughable at the absurdity. Why didn’t she simply approach you the few times you were alone in the forest?

“I didn’t make you do anything. All I did was adjust Mina’s character a bit. Think about it. What did Mina do, hm? Flirt a little? Make you feel a little jealous?” The space between you and Molia disappeared again as she came in close, tapping your cheek with her index finger. “That’s all. The words said by the wolf were all his own doing. As were your own words. Mating isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, is it?”

“You’ve got that right,” you murmured. His words echoed in your ears, but you shook them away. “Look, I know you said that you wanted to make sure that I wasn’t lonely like you were, but else do you want from me? This giant scheme can’t be just about meeting me and sisterhood.”

“You’re right,” Molia agreed. “It’s about unlocking your true potential.” She leaned in and grasped your hands tightly. The pressure made you flinch. She was holding on so firmly, as if you’d float away if she didn’t keep you down on the ground. “You are so special, (y/n). Fire, water, earth, air? That’s just the beginning of what you can do. Those cute little tricks you show the child and mongrels? It’s barely the tip of your powers.”

Just a tip? There was already so much that you could, what else could there be? The mothers thought you were dangerous now, they’d always cautioned you on getting out of control. Mother Willow said time and time again that these powers could be all consuming, that they could take over and make you lose yourself.

“Don’t think about them,” Molia said as if she could hear your thoughts. “I know what they’ve told you because they told me the same thing. But it’s not true. These powers are a part of who you are. They aren’t meant to be suppressed. The more you let them out, the more you know them, the better off you are.”

Like a period emphasizing her words, a raindrop fell from the heavy clouds above you, landing on your shoulder. With a giant wave of her hand, Molia swirled the air around to create a dome over the clearing. You watched as the rain stopped several feet above your head and rolled to the side, keeping you dry.

“How did you do that?” you asked in amazement. The rain came down harder, lightning flashing in the air and the wind picking up to the point that the trees were bending to its will. But you felt none of the storm’s strength in your safe little bubble.

“Oh, this is nothing a little practice can’t create. You’d be amazed at what you’ll be able to do in time.” A flash of rebellion swept through her eyes. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. The important thing to do now is start your training.”

“Training?” A feeling – giddiness or maybe excitement – swept through you. But you quickly pushed it down and away from you. ��I don’t think- I mean, I should probably head back. Sehun will be worried.”

“Why do you even still worry about him!” Molia shouted. Her outburst made you jump. It was terrifying how quickly she’d gone from sweet and encouraging to enraged and fiery. But as swiftly as the anger had come, it dissipated just as fast. The harsh expression smoothed out to one of gentleness. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I just don’t want you to be hurt by him anymore.”

You weren’t sure of the right way to respond. You couldn’t say that he didn’t hurt you because he did. His hot and cold actions in the beginning hurt, what he had said only a few hours ago had hurt more. That didn’t take away from the times he was kind to you, however, or the way you felt when he held you. The softest pillow couldn’t give you the same reassurance or sense of security that your head against his chest could.

“Come,” Molia grabbed your hand, effectively taking you out of the sweet memories that nearly had you running back to the farmhouse. She led you further into the clearing until you came across very familiar stacks of wood. “Let me show you what you can do and then you can decide if you still want to leave. Alright?”

No. Not alright. You should go. No matter what she was offering, the right thing for you to do would be to go back. You’d discovered the answer. Molia was the culprit, not Mina. But her offer was too tempting, too enticing. Besides, you had a feeling as to what she was going to teach you… and you wanted to see it in person.

Molia led you over to the stacks of branches and fallen trees. You were curious as to whether or not she was the one who had moved them, but you never go the chance to ask as she took her stance behind you.

“I know fire is your strength,” she said. “Just as water is mine.” Her hand fell on your shoulder, exactly as you remembered. “Your power is fueled by your emotions. But you can’t rely on soft feelings. You have to dig deep. The stronger the emotion, the more control you’ll have. Focus on the wood and imagine creating the fire.”

You nodded, taking in her words. She was right. Your powers always surged when your emotions were driving. Would it be possible to let your emotions connect to the power inside of you while still keeping grasp of them?

Slowly, you lifted a hand, reaching out in front of you to channel the energy building up inside.

“Think of hate,” she whispered behind your ear. “Think of your pain.”

It was too easy to obey. The ache that simmered in your chest grew in strength as the memories of every wrong that had ever been committed against you replayed in your head. Your eyes swelled with tears as you remembered all the times that you were ostracized, judged, ridiculed beyond mercy. All of it continued to rise, feeding your powers. It collected in your hand. It pushed and shoved just wanting to be released.

“Good. Now let it go. You are so full of potential. Don’t hold back and see what you can do.”

Whoosh!

Flames burst forth from the dried wood. As if calling up to the rain that still poured down from above, they danced and waved. They gave off the extreme heat that you remembered from your dream. Sweat started excreting from your pores and rolling down your face. It made you feel like a roast in the oven on the highest temperature.

Behind you, Molia burst into laughter. You turned to see her jumping and clapping with delight. Not quite the madwoman that had haunted you that night.

“Now,” she said with eager eyes. “Kill it.”

Spinning on the balls of your feet, you faced the fire head on. It was easy to tap into that source once again and in one swift motion of your arm, you extinguished the flames as if they never existed.

Molia squealed with delight. Now it was you who wore the large grin. Each breath came in shallow and heavy but fast. Adrenaline rushed through your veins. Never had you felt like this when you’d practiced before. It was freeing. You wanted to stay in that euphoria.

“Show me more.”

Sehun stared out the kitchen window. He counted the drops that hit the glass, each one feeling like a bullet to the heart.

Somewhere out in this storm was you. Almost every worst possible scenario was playing his head, tormenting him as invisible demons laughed at him. You could be lost, passed out under a tree while being soaked by the rain. Or maybe you’d been caught by the threat, who had you chained up and was torturing you for its own pleasure. He could almost hear your screams echoing around him. Had you fallen down and been swept away by the river? Had you come across a dangerous animal that chased you down? With each thought, the scenes became more and more terrifying.

“Sehun, are you listening?”

Sehun snapped his head around. “What?”

Junmyeon sighed. “I know you’re worried. We all are, but I need you-”

“Do you really think your worry is as great as mine?” Sehun growled. Junmyeon didn’t answer. No one did. Sehun’s shoulders heaved up and down, slowing in rhythm as he was able to reign in his frustration. Staring down at the hardwood floor, he mumbled, “Sorry.”

“It’s understandable,” Soomi said with her typical amount of gentleness and compassion. Not even this could break her character. “And it's scary, thinking that she’s out there, alone in this. But she’s a survivor. She’ll be okay.”

Sehun shook his head. “I can’t just leave her out there while I’m here safe from the storm.”

All throughout the night, the wind and rain only began to grow stronger. The sun was certainly gone from the sky even if he couldn't see it. What a perfect metaphor for how he felt now. His light was gone, hidden from him behind what seemed impenetrable.

“There’s no way to find her,” Chanyeol argued. His mate took hold of his hand, squeezing it comfortingly. Did they really have to do that here? Right now?

“Would you leave Lanie out there by herself even if you couldn’t follow her scent?”

“Leave me out of this,” Lanie begged. She let go of Chanyeol’s hand and leaned forward, massaging her temples.

Harper huffed. She’d been pacing back and forth since Kris had explained to the pack about your disappearance. Sehun was thankful to have someone on his side, who was just as eager to find you as he was. “I agree with Sehun that we should go look for her, weather be damned.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Luhan barked in a tone that was unusual for the more mellow wolf. He was scowling, irritated. It was so unlike him, but Sehun couldn’t think about the reason behind it now.

“Is there any sort of shelter she might be able to find in the woods?” Lottie asked desperately.

“No,” Minseok answered. “In these trees, there’s nothing but this house and the city.”

Sehun straightened up as soon as those words left the older member’s mouth. An idea of where you might have gone struck him. He didn’t even think. He just ran. Out the back door and through the rain. The ground slopped beneath his feet, whimpering at the weight of his feet as the mud squished between his shoes.

His clothes suctioned to him, restricting his movements, but it didn’t slow him down. Not even the yells of his name or the shouts for him to stop. He pushed through the wind and didn’t flinch when the lightning cracked across the sky.

Finally, the construction site came into view.

“(y/n)! (y/n)!”

This was your place. The place the two of you came to be alone, to get away from the loud and rowdy house. Some of the roof had now been constructed and the house and garage were starting to look more like structures that could shelter someone from this weather.

“Sehun! What the hell are you thinking?”

Huddled under the tree line, several of the pack members – Junmyeon among them – look at him in confusion.

“I thought she might be here,” Sehun yelled over the sound of the rain pelting down on the wood around him. “It could keep her safe from all this.”

“And is she here?” Jongin asked hopefully. But Sehun shook his head, disappointed. The former visibly deflated.

“Then come back with us,” Junmyeon ordered. “This is crazy, Sehun. I know she’s your mate, but if you’re sick or hurt, you’re no use to her.”

Sehun kicked at the ground, frustrated. “I can’t just go back. It’s wrong. All wrong.”

“We’ll find her,” Junmyeon promised. “One way or another.”

But how could Sehun put faith in that? Junmyeon was smart, resourceful, strong, but he wasn’t all knowing, he wasn’t magically, some old wizard who solve all problems with a few wise words. He couldn’t just point to a map and say that’s where you were. Not even Soomi had been able to do that. Going back felt wrong. It felt like giving up. And he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t give up on you. He had so much to apologize for, so much to say to you.

As if to give him one single act of mercy, the rain began to let up. The clouds started to break apart, letting the darkened sky behind them peek through, tiny stars dotting the black backdrop. In one such cloud, part of the moon shined through.

Two days.

He had two days until the blood moon.

I won’t give up, he declared to you silently. I’ll keep searching and I’ll bring you home. Just, please, be safe until then.

Then he fell to his knees, splashing the water around him. Junmyeon approached slowly and squeezed his shoulder. A small comfort, but one he would take this time around. Starting tomorrow, he was going to run the entire length of this forest, covering every inch until he caught some sort of sign of you. He wouldn’t stop until he found you. That he was sure of.

#exo #exo wolf au #exo wolf!au #sehun x reader #oh sehun #exo werewolf!au #exo werewolf au #exo supernatural au #exo series #exo fanfic #exo fanfiction #Midnight Hours #untamed wolf universe

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thepastelyakuza · 5 years

Text

Magic ways (Taiga Saejima x reader)

Chapter 1 : A kind gesture

With the help of your friend moving back into your “new” apartment, y’all went out to celebrate. Resting at your favorite izakaya. Luckily it’s not crowded at this time of night. While talking about old times with your friends, you can’t help but notice the lone patron at the end of the bar.

Y/f: your friends name

Warning: knives, cursing, and sexual harassment

Intro / Next

UPDATE:spellcheck,saejima not giving out his name, reader doesn't know the relation between saejima and majima, third person pov, adding and removing things

“That should be the last of it.” y/f huffed. Exhausted from walking up and down the stairs all morning. Carefully placing the brown box next to the others that covered the floor of the tiny apartment. For being a small apartment, it has enough room for a bedroom and a tiny kitchen. Sure, it needs a little bit of TLC here and there. But it’s good enough against Champion District standards. Good enough for y/n, since she moved back from her home country. ”Five years.” she thought while putting away the dishes in the cupboard. Five years since she left Kamurocho. Five years of running away from her problems. Y/n would’ve stayed longer if she confront it head-on. Just the mere thought of it leave a bitter taste in her mouth. Shaking away the anxiety that crawled against her skin. Clouded her every thought. Beginning to suffocate. ”Deep breaths, y/n. Deep breaths.” Calming down before moving on to the next box. While away, she made it her personal goal to start over. A fresh start. Learning from her mistakes and grow from them.

Y/f and y/n spend half of the evening unpacking and organizing. Tossing the remaining pile of collapse boxes to the side.

”Thank you for coming all this way and helping me move.” turning towards her friend.

She really meant that. Without their help, y/n would still struggle on finding a place to live. They’ve been by your side every step of the way. Encourage y/n during your process of”rebirth”.

”No problem. Consider this as a housewarming gift.” giving y/n an over exaggerated curtsy.

Softly punch y/f arm while walking back to her room. ” I hope you have something cute to wear because we’re celebrating.”

”You know I always come prepared.” y/f smirked

Club after club. Drinks after drinks. Y/f and y/n staggered through the neon lights of Kamurocho. Their laughter and the clacking of their heels blended within the bustling street. Walking through memory lane in their wavy state. Hoping to find the closest restaurant to soak up their alcohol. Resting under the nearest conbini.

” I’m going inside, need anything?” y/f placing their hand on y/n shoulder.

Looking up at the night sky, lost in her own thought” No, I’m good.” y/n hummed.

Y/f nods and walks inside with the chime from the door following behind them. Y/m smile as she continuing looking up at the beautiful night sky. The cool night breeze brush against her face. Even though she just came back to Kamurocho, she feel like everything going back to place. It’s not much but it’s a head start to reclaiming things that she once loved. Having her best friend by her side helped replace old memories with new ones. This could be a beautiful start of a long journey. Her deep thought was invaded by the chime of the door and voice of her friend. Looking back to see them with a bag in hand.

”what you get?”

”Oh, nothing. Just some water.” pulling the contents out of the bag.”At least it could help us sober up a little bit.”

she nod in agreement. Looking back at the neon night sky. Until y/n gasp loudly.”I know the perfect Izakaya that we should stop at!” turning back to y/f in excitement.”It’s not that far from here, I promise.” gleefully taking y/f hand. Dragging them along. Through twist and turns to streets to alleyways, all she could think about is praying that it’s still there.

They stopped in front of a small, hidden, traditional izakaya. A small row of red paper lanterns dangled from the ceiling. Cascading the white curtains with red hues. Y/f looks at y/n confused. Seeing the anticipation in her eyes. ”It still looks the same.” she thought.

”So…this the place?” with a concerned look on her face.

”Yup!!”y/n said cheerfully.

Both looking at each other. Filling the space with awkward silence.

”what!?”

”Nothing. Nothing.” y/f lifting their hands up in defense. ”I just didn’t think it would look like….this…”

Rolling her eyes. ”Come on. It’s fine. Trust me.” before dragging y/f inside.

The savory aroma and the heat of the building washes over y/n. Y/n could swear that she can feel her mouth watering. One of the many things she missed while away from Kamurocho. Its large interior makes up for its small exterior. With the traditional decoration paired with the homey atmosphere, made y/n fall in love with it. Something that she can’t really put her finger on but still adore. Luckily, it’s not crowded at this time of night. Mostly old men, salaryman, or curious people that explore the allies would know about this place. Tonight, only a somber, built man at the bar and an unfamiliar cook. They walked at the far end of the bar.The young female cook walks over to the group.

”what can I get ya.”

Looking at the menu above her. ”I want the tempura udon and sh-” y/f was suddenly cut off by her friend.

”yakisoba!” (Y/F) chirped

” and she gets the yakisoba.” she chuckle.

With a nod, she started cooking. Y/f and y/n started small talk to pass the time. Commenting on how y/f almost got a date but the free drinks was totally worth it. As y/f retells her experience with the”hookup”, y/n went back to absorbing her surroundings. She can’t help but notice the man at the other end of the bar. His bear-like statue. His long black hair that used a veil to hide his melancholy expression. She can’t help but be enticed by him. Only to get cut by the sound of bowls clack against the countertop. Thanking the cook. Y/f already has their first bite. Moaning of enjoyment on how good the food taste.

Shaking her head.” Told you it was good.” she smirked. All y/n got from them was y/f furiously nodding their head in agreement and back to eating.” I wonder...” she thought.

”Excuse me, Miss.” raising your hand to catch her attention. She peeked over her shoulder to look at y/n. ”Does Hisao still work here?” she asked. Hoping she got the answer y/n was looking for.

”Hisao...” the young girl hummed. Before she could answer, a bearded man with a blue bandanna wrapped around his head peaked out from the main kitchen. Search for who called his name. Seeing y/n face cause him to race around the counter.

”y/n-san!!” swooping Y/n in for a bear hug.He apologizes after letting her go. Introducing himself. He explained how they met years ago. Joking how y/n only know a smidget of Japanese when they first met. Not enough to save her own life.

”But you helped me out though!” she yelled in protest.

Crossing his arms,” I did. I did. How about this.” Searching through the cabinet to find the perfect alcohol for this occasion. Pulling out his best bottle of sake. Setting the glass cups on the bar.

“ A round of drinks to celebrate?” Gesturing his cup towards y/n.

Y/n smiled. Taking the cup from Hisao hands. “Why not!”

“Hey Namiko, you joining in?” Hisao asked while pouring sake in each cup. Namiko declines while attending for the lone patron.

Raising his glass,” To y/n!!” The group raises their glass in return.

”Kanpai!!” they cheered. Clanking their cups together. Causing y/n to spilled her drink a litlle bit.

Even though y/n try to focus on Hisao story, she can’t help but take small glances at the somber man. The more she look, the deeper her heart sank.

” I hope he’s okay.” she thought.

”Hey, I’m going to go to the restroom.”y/f slurred. Y/f been hammering drinks back to back.From the previous drinks from the club to now.

”Okay. We’re heading back home when you come out.” swirling her cup.

Watching y/f staggered into the bathroom. With one last look at the lone patron, y/n called Hisao over. Whispering in his ear while taking quick looks at the other end of the bar. Grinning ear to ear, Hisao nod at y/n and rush back into the kitchen.

“How long will it takes before I get caught? What I’m gonna do now? I can’t just lay low forever. They gonna find me eventually.” Been away for so long, how can he adjust to normal society. Everything that he learn from the outside life have been tarnished and transformed into the prison way of life. So many troublesome thoughts swirled around inside his mind. Making him fall deeper into the void. Hearing the phantom screams and gunshot in his head. For 25 years, it never went. No matter how hard he tries. It turned into an invisible tattoo on his soul just like the tiger on his back. Only he can really see it. His only way to numb the pain by soaking in cheap liquor. There was a light at the end of his mental tunnel.

The smell and the warmth of the chicken cutlet curry caress his face beneath him. Looking up confused. Wondering who bought this for him. He clearly remembers he didn’t order it or maybe his memory was so jaded enough to forget. Looking at the other end of the bar, a young lady catches his eye. She smiles and raised her glass towards him before looking back to her friend camimg out of the restroom. He nods before turns back to his meal. Taking his first bite.

” It’s a start.”

”Looks like I’m calling it a night.” passing her bowl and cup back Hisao. ” it’s nice to catch up again.” rummaging through her purse to find her wallet.

”Tell me about it.” he said with his arms crossed. Paired with his signature charismatic smile.

Pulling out her wallet to pay her tab. He waves y/n off. ”Don’t worry about it. It on the house.”

”you sure? I should pay,at least.” Being very persistent. It was always an ongoing battle between the two. With a sigh of defeat, y/n put her wallet back in her purse. Helping y/f off their chair, they bowed and thank him for the drinks. He wished the group a safe walk back home before as they walk outside the door.

On their way back home, y/n noticed that y/f started to get anxious and holding y/n sleeves tight.

”I think we’re being followed.” y/f whispered in her ear. Fearing that whoever behind could hear them. Y/n glanced behind to see two suspicious men in baggy clothes matching their footsteps. Y/n nod and decided to quicken up the pace. Only to suddenly crashed into a man in a suit. His chest was slightly bare. Decorated with fake jewelry. Have his cheap cologne invaded her nose, she recoil away from him. Y/n could’ve sworn that he appeared out of nowhere. Y/n apologize and quickly walk around him. Only to be blocked by him.

”What’s the rush sweetheart. Acting like something is chasing ya heel.” he smirked

Something about him gives y/n bad vibes. something is off. ”I’m just trying to go home.” still trying to avoid him.

He laughs loudly. ”Home!? The night is still young, baby.” he grabs her chin to up at him. ” How about you and your friend can have some fun with me. I can show you a thing or two.” His tongue slithers out. Making y/n flesh crawl. Not wanting to show weakness, she pushed his hands off her face.

”Hell. No.”

Pushing away from him. Holding y/f close to her who is slightly sober but not enough to protect themselves. It seems that he didn’t like no for an answer. Grabbing y/f arm, pulling them back which cause y/n to fall back to him. Surrounded by him and two stalkers from earlier.

Laughing menacing,” Bitch, I’m not gonna let you get a chance.” he growled.

”Fuck I should have known.” she thought. They were working together all along. Stalking on their next prey and we just happen to fall into their trap. Y/f holds y/n closely. Afraid of being snatched away from y/n. They carefully slide pepper spray in y/n hand as the gangman slowly surround them. As the two baggy stalkers got close to y/n, she quickly sprayed them. Punching the other thug in the face while he was distracted. Resulting him to pass out. As the ringleader looks back at his crew in disbelief, y/n grab y/f hand and dashed down the street. All she can here was footsteps and the ringleader calling her a bitch. Dodging through alleys, hoping that she could avoid them that way.

“Just remember what he taught you.” repeating in her head.

Y/n didn’t care if her heels is gonna make her fall against the concrete ground. All she cared about is getting her friend back home safe. Y/n feel a lump in her throat as run into a dead end. Hearing that same menacing, gut-wrenching laugh behind.

”Shit….”

Her gut was right. They caught up with them. Y/n pushed her friend behind to protect them. They continue to stalk towards them.

”You sure are a tough cunt to pull that off. Now.” pulling his knife. ”Let’s try this again.” dragging the knife against her chest and up against her cheeks. The cold blade sending shivers down her spine. Still not wanting to show fear.

“ If you ever get in trouble, NEVER show that you are afraid.They will use it against you and eat you alive.”

One the many lesson he taught y/n before he left. y/n was grateful for that.There where days when she had to defend for herself. But tonight was not one of those days.

Snapping back to reality as the ringleader hovers near y/n ear.

”The boss dog will sure take a liken to you. What’s the harm of having a taste, first? Right?” he hummed. He low voice vibrate against her neck.

”Boss dog?” she thought. Looking down at his suit collar to see a pin that stuck out like a sore thumb. ” It can’t be.” she whispered. Before y/n put two and two together, a wet sensation of a tongue dragged across the side of y/n neck. Closing her eyes in disgust. Holding y/f hands tight for comfort. Wishing this nightmare would end. Feeling his tongue suddenly disappear away from her neck. The sound of shoes scuffing and bodies slamming against the concrete. Y/n carefully open her eyes to see the yakuza’s bruised and passed out of the ground. Above them was the somber man from earlier. Feeling the weight being lifted off her shoulder.

”You guys alright?” he walked carefully toward them.

Y/n let y/f out of her grasp. Comforting them and repeatedly apologizing. Sure they shaken up a bit but they reassured y/n they was fine. With a sigh a relief, she still feel guilty for bringing them to this mess. y/n look at her now swollen fist. Lost a few nails. Luckily they was fake but sure hurts like hell.

”Yeah, we’re alright.” facing his direction. Surprise to see to have not a scratch on him. He must be really that tough she thought.

Completely bowing to him. ”Thank you for helping us out. I wouldn’t know what would happen to us if you hadn’t shown up.”

He nodded”You should be careful out here. Should’ve known that alleyways can be the death of ya.”

Y/n shameful look away,” Tell me about.”

”Hey, how about I walk y'all home. Treat it as payback from the meal from earlier.”

”That’s why you look so familiar!!” y/f shouts.

They both looked at y/f sudden realization. Y/n chuckled, trying to ease the tension in the atmosphere.

”Sure” walking out the alley. Getting a good distance away from the yakuzas. ” Before we continue, I need to know your name.” He raised an eyebrow. “For safety reason.” Seeing him become hesitant, you decide to break the ice.

”I’m y/n and this is y/f.” raising her eyebrow at him.

”Suzuki.”

”Good!!” she chirped” Now let’s get going.”

Saejima falls behind while the duo takes lead. Giving them space but close enough to follow them. Surprised on how cheerful and talkative y/n and her friend are. Despite what happened earlier. Noticing how shes being aware of her surroundings.

”Hey, Suzuki” y/n looked over her shoulder

Suddenly getting dragged into the conversation. ”hmm.”

”How the food taste? Did it taste alright?”

Rubbing the back of his head. “It tastes alright. Thanks for the offer.”

Giving him a tender smile in response. Being taken aback, he quickly looks away.

”Good. That what I usually eat when I feel sad or not feeling well.”

”Well, it looks like you need to cheer up more.” y/f laugh while poking at y/n waist.

” You know what!?” y/n yelled in defense. Try to hide the smile that crept on her face.

Saejima can’t help but sigh and smile a little from the funny interaction between the two friends. Of course, not leaving him from the conversation. As the continued from their walk, a black car with tinted windows slowly stops next to them. As the backseat window rolled down, a voice emerged from the car. The voice belonging to his oath-brother. A voice she all too familiar of. Quickly hide behind Saejima. Having her back pressed against his as she faked a phone call.

”Eyy,need a ride back home?” Majima yelled out of the car window. Basically dangling outside the car.

”I’m good. Have to walk them back home.” gesturing the group behind him.

” How bout this, I drop everyone back home.” Majima looking over Saejima shoulder.

Y/f looks at y/n for a response. Shaking her head and mouthing the word no.

”No, we’re good.” y/f peaked out from behind.

With a nod between the brothers. “Guess I see you later.” saejima shrugged while putting his hands in his pocket.

“Have fun with your new lady friends!!” He cooed before he crawled back inside his car.

Saejima shakes his head in disappointment while y/n try to blend into the darkness. Watching the black car drive away, y/n step out of her makeshift hiding spot. “Only a couple of blocks away.” she thought. Looking over the buildings

“Thank you walking for walking us back home. But I think we got it from here.” Y/n said with a long bow.

First time being out and already been shown respect. Something that he’s not used to. Putting his hands back inside his pockets. ” Don’t sweat it. Just get home safe. No alleys this time.”

she laughed softly. Making his heart skipped a beat.

” I promise.” she smiled. With a quick bow from y/n and her friend, she continue to walk. Only to look back to wave him goodbye. Watching the duo disappeared into the darkness, he hopes that they make it back home safely. All he could think about was that girl smile. Shaking away his thoughts. Walking back to the opposite direction.

“It’s a start.”

#taiga saejima x reader #yakuza fanfiction #self inserts #taiga saejima #sorry for being so long #even though hes there for a little bit #making it up for the next chapter #ryu ga gotoku fanfiction

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stillhvrny · 4 years

Photo

´ ･ . ✶ ⧼ phoebe tonkin, cis female, she & her / the angel of small death and the codeine scene by hozier + oversized t-shirt containing the entirety of the 'cool girl' monologue over a lacy black thong, sheer black tights that have been pulled at all the seams with the shadow of ouroboros inked high on pallid thigh, chipped nail polish and fingers covered in dirty bandaids and stubbed out cigarettes in an overflowing ashtray & the best faked orgasm a man could hope for ⧽ ━━ don’t look now, but that’s MONICA LAUREL "NIKKI" BARTON. the TWENTY SIX year old NEWBORN VAMPIRE has been here in seattle for no time at all, and is considered a member of VICTORIA'S ARMY / MENACE TO SOCIETY. they’ve always been SELF RELIANT & RELENTLESS, but i guess this town just brings out the worst in people ; apparently, they’ve been way more SARDONIC & REACTIVE than usual. it wouldn’t surprise me if they knew what was going on. redirect to her stat page HERE & her pinterest board HERE.

isn’t all that rage so ugly? and isn’t it mine, still? good god, isn’t it MINE?

SECTION ONE OF TWO: BULLET POINT HISTORY trigger warnings: talk of alcoholism, drug abuse & dealing, death, murder, jail, physical assault / abuse and attempted rape

only daughter of bernard barton ( a barely functioning alcoholic ) ad jacqueline taylor ( a barely functioning addict of whatever she could get her hands on quickest ), MONICA LAUREL BARTON was born on the fifth of october, 1993, in forks, washington.

up until she was three years and two months old, monica lived with both her mother and her father in a rundown farmhouse that sat on the edge of town, inherited by bernie following his parents death, and that had certainly seen better days. it was never perfect - but in those first few years that flew by all too quickly, there was a sort of balance. it worked. bernie had his issues ; an abusive father and a negligent mother had brought a boy destined to seek answers at the bottom of a bottle into this world, and not even their death when he was in his early twenties could help curb the damage already done. jackie had HERS ; she ran away at sixteen from a homelife that left something to be desired. but they were trying their best to create a family, and they got props for their efforts. jackie had been clean for six months. bernie had been more on the wagon than he had been in twenty years. and then - like so many addicts before him, and so many more that would come after - he fell off of it again in a spectacular fashion, going on a weekend bender that didn’t come to an end until he stumbled in on a tuesday morning right before monica was meant to be dropped to preschool. he toppled into and knocked the rickety kitchen table and proclaimed, loudly, that the baby could have a day off to spend with her pops - and as jackie tried to hold her out of his each ( and the range of his alcohol soaked breath ), she had an epiphany. she couldn’t do this anymore. monica deserved better.

she had two bags packed with essentials just a handful of hours later, and after loading up their shared car, left with monica in tow - never stopping to look back or reconsider the decision that she was making. they settled in port angeles.

she’s four, five, six, and her memory of her dad is DIM, if not completely gone. she’s growing up, fast, and jackie can barely keep up - and sometimes, barely keep it together. a prescription pill here and there takes the edge off enough to get by, and she knows that it isn’t monica’s fault ; kids are difficult, and she just didn’t realize how HARD it would be, alone. monica is walking and talking and conversing, now, and she asks sometimes where her dad is and why he’s never come to anything important - she imagines, like every little kid in her situation would, all the things that he would do and all the things that she would show him, and yet when he turns up out of the blue in a wrinkled old suit, a court order in hand that says he now gets supervised visitation... she’s suddenly struck shy.

it takes a lot of those supervised visits for her to open up to him. he’s not exactly what she had imagined her dad would be like - he doesn’t always know how to respond and he never has any ideas for the games that they can play in their few hours together - but she makes do. she realizes he doesn’t know the rules of MONOPOLY or the life game, so she asks him to read to her instead, and over the next few years they get through a lot of books that way, together. it was nice.

she was eleven when her mom died. she came home from school early, and she didn’t get a reply when she shouted her greeting. she searched all of their tiny house, jackie nowhere to be found, and when she came to the bathroom door that wouldn’t budge, she knew she had to call someone. the first person to come to mind was her dad. she remembers sitting on the steps out front while he broke down the door that was locked from the inside. she remembers his shout, and then his cries, and then, a little while later, the ambulance sirens as they pulled up at the house - but it was too late. when she thinks back now, she understands the word ‘OVERDOSE’. at the time, it didn’t really click.

a lot of things had to be smoothed over, following that. she couldn’t just go home with her dad - no matter how much she cried and begged as the cops had led her to their car, kicking and screaming and biting, to wait for social services. over the months that followed, she was shuffled from foster home to foster home while bernie fought the courts. she wasn’t a prime adoptee, so he had that in his favor, but there was a lot of hesitancy in allowing him full custody when he hadn’t had that sort of access to her since she was three years old. it took them two years, in the end, to decide that he would be a suitable guardian.

they made a triumphant return to the now nearly uninhabitable barton farmhouse in forks, where she hadn’t lived in years, and as they pulled up in their little car, he had turned to her with a BRIGHT EYED smile and said they could fix it up, together. just like he and her mom had, years before. the caravan they moved into two months later when the roof finally collapsed was only supposed to be temporary. spoiler alert: it wasn’t.

in spite of that, they had a few months of perfect serenity. for a while, bernie really did hold it all together, and monica got to just be a KID. then he fell off the wagon again - like clockwork - and things changed. they always had a small amount of peace before a great amount of chaos, and over time, monica learnt to be the grown up in their relationship. she was old enough now to know that it wasn’t right, but young enough, and with just enough experience of how CRUEL the system could be, to know she didn’t want to go back to it. sure, it wasn’t great. but she was with her dad. that counted for something, right?

fast forward again. she was a bratty fifteen year old with a tongue sharp as a knife and a new name, now ; given to her by the first boy she let past her underwear - NIKKI. more out of school, now, than she was in it, she’s a party girl. at first, she drank at them to be a part of the in crowd that never did accept her, and then, she took someone up on the offer of something a little stronger that would ‘help her have a good time’, and THEN... well. it was only a short amount of time before she started taking a lotof something stronger when she realized it would help her get through sleepless nights and monotonous days when she was taking care of her father and making money in the last deadend job she had instead of going to school. she was far too young to be so exhausted, and taking on all these roles that she shouldn’t have had to, just to get through life, and they didn’t really have all that much money, so when a friend of another ex tells her about a job she could do INSTEAD of waitressing or delivering papers, she was all for it.

the first time she meets callum maarx, it’s in a denny’s parking lot. he’s more than ten years her senior, and she’s flattered by the attention that this overly charismatic man offers her. they shake hands and his touch lingers, and she’s honored, really, when he calls her PRETTY. touched when he says that he knows she’s a smart girl. she was. but not smart enough to say no to the man who would eventually ruin her life.

she assured herself with thoughts like ‘at least i’m not dealing’. it wasn’t so bad when she wasn’t the one working on a street corner and waiting for people to drop by. she was just moving gear place to place - delivering to port angeles, mostly, sometimes catching a bus to seattle depending on who was buying. she would skip school for days in a row to get the job done, and she never knew for sure where she was going or what she was doing until she got a text to say where she was needed, but she didn’t really want to know, either. something told her, even then, that the less she knew about what she was doing, the better. she was sixteen and three months old when she decided that she was dropping out of school to work with callum full time.

it didn’t really take long for her to realize he got paid a whole lot more than what she originally thought, based on her ‘wage’. she had been grateful, of course... at least at first. but she got greedy. she was trusted, by then, enough that she thought she could get away with skimming a little powder off the top in lieu of paying for her own growing habit - and she got a black eye for her efforts, and a tarnished reputation that would come back to bite, later.

she was a mule and an addict. she was trailer trash, too, something she had always been bullied for - but there were worse things, she realized. back then, though, she still had HOPE. she believed the best of people. when her high school invited her back for prom, nikki knew it was a mistake to go, but she had never been to a DANCE - and she really, truly, thought that it would all be OKAY. she goes in a dress that probably cost a lot when it was new but was a hand me down, and when she gets there, she flies under the radar - keeping to herself, and really attempting to ENJOY the night. she gets voted prom queen. she protests, but the crowd is impossible to push against, all the fellow students she had left behind making her head towards the stage where the head cheerleader, the SHOE IN, declares her WHITE TRASH QUEEN and shoves a scepter made of beer cans into her hands while her friends place a crown made of crushed up same atop the curls she had spent too long putting in place. she had always been quick to RAGE. always had trouble, keeping herself in line. her first instinct was to throw both back at the girls who had given them and exit for the nearest bathroom, to cry. her second, as discovered an hour later, when the would have been prom queen went looking for her boyfriend, was to bang the prom king in the backseat of his car. her third, ejected from the prom once and for all, was to head to CALLUM’S PLACE and ask for something STRONGER. something she had never TAKEN before. that night is the first night she tried coke. it’s not the last.

she turned nineteen. it felt like every weekend, she was bailing bernie out of the local jail. she was still running drugs and during the days when she WASN’T being a MULE she was working as a chef in a shitty two star restaurant that hadn’t seemed to care she had no qualifications to be working around food. she was working on her GED, and she was taking online courses because a part of her was hoping she could still make something of herself, but she was acutely aware, now, of the fact that she was living a life no one would have been proud of.

now she was of the legal age, her dad would disappear a lot with his friends for days - sometimes weeks at a time. he would BLOW through their savings quick as could be, and she resented him for it. the jobs she was doing for callum were more often, now, and when she came home, she hated being confronted with her dad and his “friends” ( she learned the airquotes around that word the first time one of them put his hand on her ass ) but she can’t leave the town. her reputation has been built, and she knows she could never really leave behind her own “friends” ( she’s always known the airquotes that are there, ever since that first time callum was suspicious of her - every so often he would get it in his head that she must have stolen from him, and she had broken ribs and fingers, bruised eyes and chipped teeth aplenty to show for what had happened each and every time ) - and something... something had to give. she was nearing her twentieth birthday, and she was tempting fate. she really should have known that, but it was hard to think of a life she had gotten so embroiled in as even being that much of a danger to her, anymore. that was her mistake.

here is the truth: a guy from seattle, a loyal customer of nearly eight years, had finally hit the bottom of what had seemed like an endless supply of money to waste. he had 2,000 of a 3,000 bill - meaning he was 1,000 short. nikki didn’t realize. it wasn’t her job to count all the money she was being given - she just had to get it from a to b.

here’s the truth that callum convinced himself of as he drove to her farmhouse at 3:40 am that same night, FURIOUS: she had obviously been given the full amount by his loyal customer, and she’d taken a grand and hoped he wouldn’t notice.

her dad was out, drinking somewhere in town, or maybe already safe in a jail cell for the night. she didn’t know. a part of her didn’t care, either. she was asleep on the couch when he pulled up outside. when the furious banging had started on the door she had assumed that it was her dad, after forgetting his keys again. him, or the cops, hauling his ass home.

sleepily, she had gotten up and went to open the front door - but as soon as the lock was undone, it was pushed VIOLENTLY into her, and she couldn’t regain her balance in the time that it took for callum to launch himself at her. they fell, him on top, his weight CRUSHING. he had always had a temper. a BAD ONE, like HER. she hadn’t always known - had once thought him CHARMING - but all the injuries she had ever been given at his hands, all the times she had found herself in a&e over the years since she had started working for him, they could all attest to the truth. this was different, though. this was MURDEROUS, a kind of rage that she had NEVER seen before, and it was obvious that before they got to the finale, he had thought of one OTHER way that he could make back the money he thought she had stolen.

nikki wasn’t much of a fighter. she had never been formally trained, sloppily using her fists to solve her problems, but never really knowing how to land her shots PROPERLY. but she was a SURVIVOR. that had shown itself clearly enough throughout the years. she had survived the system for the two years she was in it. she had survived her dad, and her life, and she had pulled together SOMETHING out of nothing for herself. even SHITTY, her life was her own. she struggled beneath him and he hit her, over and over, but between it, he was finding a way to begin tearing at her clothes - making his way THROUGH them - and gods, she wasn’t going to let this happen. she REFUSED. there was an old iron doorstop in the front hall, that had been in the house since her grandparents had owned it. things were happening FAST, he was already at her underwear, she could barely move, but she stretched her arm as much as she could, grimacing through the pain, and she REACHED, and REACHED, and strained her fingers as far as they could go -

she was a SURVIVOR. she wasn’t going to die. she wasn’t going to let him get what he wanted, either. she doesn’t remember actually hitting him with it. she doesn’t remember how she KEPT hitting him with it, tears streaming down her face, until he fell away from her and she was able to move away. he wasn’t moving. a half an hour later, she was sat on the front steps of her house, just like she had when she was eleven. WAITING. except this time, she was drenched in blood and tears and waiting on the cops that she had called, not her dad, and the person that was dead inside wasn’t her mum, but CALLUM.

she didn’t expect a fair trial. no one could blame her that, could they? she had put the book in their hands, and she expected for them to lob it at her, full force - the trailer trash daughter of an alcoholic, who got too caught up in a dangerous world. she was the perfect young offender. shockingly, the evidence spoke in her favor. in the end, she was sentenced fairly quickly, but it was ruled justifiable homicide. she felt numb, in the stand. as they read her sentence - four years max, two with good behaviour - she realized she should have been crying. someone had given her a break. she should have felt good about that, but... really, she just felt empty.

two years passed quickly. nikki kept to herself. she tried to keep herself out of trouble. for the most part, she succeeded - well enough that, soon enough, she was being pushed out the side door clutching what she’d been signed in with, blinking in early morning light and wondering what the hell she was going to do with her life now. her twenty second birthday was only a few months away, and her dad was nowhere to be found when she returned to forks ; dipped out of town before she had even been sentenced. the farmhouse was chilly and unwelcoming, and people didn’t WANT to employ someone like her. she took the first job she could - back in that shitty restaurant, waitressing for the most part and trying to work out what to do with the rest of her life, on the side.

she meets the young upstart when she spills soup on him. the towns youngest detective probably didn’t realize how BAD a restaurant it was when he decided to bring his tinder date there for a meal, and nikki’s sure she only made it worse by ruining his knit jumper and scalding his back. she feels pretty bad about it, too, though she also refuses to take responsibility ; someone left a bag out, and she tripped over the strap. he leaves without compensation but with a grumpy apology. she doesn’t understand why he bothers to come back, but a week later - there he is. and he’s not looking on tinder, anymore. he waits until her shift is done and then offers to buy her dinner. they go somewhere not too far away, and they share a bottle of wine over a considerably better quality meal.

that first night, when they stumble through the door of his apartment and just manage to get it shut behind them, she’s quick to tell him that it’s just SEX. she repeats that sentiment every time after, though she does stick to her guns in REFUSING to put a label on what they become. it’s been so... long, since nikki felt a connection with somebody. she doesn’t even want to acknowledge that she feels one with him - but he makes it so easy. he is newer than she is to town, and at first she thinks that he just... never heard about her, or her family, or what happened. when she finally tells him herself - an act of self sabotage, the belief being that he would surely run in the opposite direction - she finds that, of course he knew all along. he just didn’t care.

they see other people, and that works for a while - but eventually, jealousy wins out. nikki is not the best at monogamy, and he can’t say he’s ever really tried ; but after nearly two years of being what they are, it’s time to face facts. they’re in love, and there isn’t much they can do about it.

it defies understanding - but they work. the convict and the police detective. unlikely pair, for sure, but she makes him smile and he brings peace to who she’s become. they argue, sometimes pettily, but at the end of the day they can usually admit fault or move on - and she’s never wanted to be worthy of someone so GOOD, ever, in her life. callum left a stain on her, she thinks. something that she’ll spend a lifetime trying to erase - it was so hard to trust someone, after, but she trusts him. she LOVES him.

the last time they spoke was an argument. something stupid. she made sure to slam the door of his apartment - hers, too, in all but deed - and spent the night back at the farmhouse, a place that she only visits when necessary, by now. he calls. she ignores. the next day, she gets ready and drives to seattle to get him a gift for his upcoming birthday - figuring that they’d make up later in the night, like always, and things would be FINE. it gets dark earlier than she’s expecting, and she kind of misplaces her car. the city is unfamiliar, and she thinks that she’s taking a shortcut when she heads down one side street.

nikki isn’t sure why she was the one. why those three guys chose to attack HER, out of everyone in the city that night. at first, she thinks it’s a mugging, and she almost wants to laugh ; if they want money from her, they’re not going to find much. but that’s not what they have in mind, and she realizes this as one of them pushes her against a brick wall with all his strength and the others begin.. tearing at her. she’s vicious in defense of herself, her mind filled with the memory of CALLUM, though this time, she doesn’t have a doorstop to grab for. this time, she mightn’t...-

she doesn’t see where he comes from, but all of a sudden, there is a boy, and he shouldn’t be ENOUGH, except he is, and the men hurting her, trying to do more...- they’re not a match to him. nikki’s knees buckle, and she falls to the floor. when he’s finished, he turns red eyes on her - reaching out a hand, after a moment passes, and offering it to her. she doesn’t realize what TAKING it means.

the pain of transition is NOTHING to the thirst when she awakes. riley turns her himself ; seeing something savage, there, something USEFUL. she just wants to go back to the home she’s grown used to, but...- but she realizes, quickly, it isn’t possible.

SECTION TWO OF THREE : HEADCANONS

it’s always the spouse, right? nikki has no idea that her disappearance has caused something horrible to happen, back home, and that her LONG TERM ( ex ) partner is now under investigation for murder. nikki lived like a slob on the best of days, so the apartment seemed to be the sight of something - and the fact he freely admitted to a fight didn’t help. she really is... the amy elliot dunne of equinox.

nikki had been sober for six months and counting when she was turned, and frankly - this is the EXACT sort of thing that would have resulted in a relapse, except... you know. she can no longer get high.

she’s a rly sexual person, and a lot of that rly leads back to her... really not being aware that there’s other ways in which to display that sort of care, for people. it’s always been all or nothing, and nikki only really started to learn that it didn’t have to be in the past few years.

when it came to an argument, nikki was always the child who jumped straight to violence, and never to calm words. she used her FISTS to solve her problems - she pulled hair, she used her teeth, she would do what she had to. again i say, no formal training ; but she has always been a survivor.

she’s all... leather jackets and short skirts / shorts. all of the pairs of tights she owns ( sheer black or fishnets ) are pulled at the seams and have gaping holes in them, and most of her t-shirts and crop tops say something terrible on them ( ranging from ‘make a girl cum for once’ to ‘jesus wouldn’t do coke in the bathroom’ to the cool girl monologue ). she’s never rly lost her sense of #style

nikki has a bunch of tattoos, including but not limited to: a black and white sunflower on her right forearm, ouroboros on her left thigh, ‘i know my rights’ on her side, a cross on her left knee, ‘eat me’ on her pelvis and a rose between her tits. she also has septum and belly button and six piercings in each ear, though she had been in the process of allowing most of those to close up to really begin embracing her new ‘wearing hoop earrings large enough they might just graze her shoulder’ aesthetic

SECTION THREE OF THREE : WANTED CONNECTIONS

so many. since she ( kinda )grew up in forks, the small town world is your oyster !

she could def have some distant relatives ( give me .. cousins ), and i wld love her dad and herself to be classed as the black sheep of the family tbh

i feel like i have so many chars w this specific connect but... foster fams she lived with during the two yrs she was bouncing around a bit !

literally any kind of small town connect u can think of. coworkers, friends, enemies, people who wld buy off her, ppl who knew the guy she killed

the guy she slept with at prom - he was voted prom king, dating the girl who crowned nikki ‘white trash queen’,,, kinda lowkey got used, but it wld be a fun one

hell. also that chick

ppl she was in jail with lmao

flings ! ex especially, but i wld really be down wth one ( 1 ) purely physical vampire heightened emotions fling

#equinox.intro #˚ 　　biography 　 .　　 . ⊹ parts of her died in the house she grew up in.

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hes-writer · 4 years

Text

Trial (4)

Summary: harry and y/n face the truth

Warnings: angst, a tiny bit of fluff

Word Count: 4249 words

A/N: thank you so much for supporting this series !! @devilinbetweenthesheet-s. I will do the taglist later in the day :)

EDIT: idk why the ‘read more’ is not working. I apologize for the scrolling!!

Part 4 of the Tarnish series!

___

Harry was crying.

Admitting his feelings when he was younger was quite a task for him. Now that he was nearly in his thirties, the journey of being vulnerable with himself and with his feelings became easier with each emotion that he permitted himself to submerge in. Harry validated those emotions--he was allowed to experience them because it makes him human. It added texture to the ever-growing mosaic that painted who he was as an individual. Adding to the people that surrounded him, influenced by their kind-nature and the goodness of their heart to become who he was now.

And now, it seemed like his emotions increased tenfold. The clench of his abdomen and the harsh jolt of his chest forced his slouched shoulder to stay deflated. His breathing hitched as sobs threatened to take over, throat sore with the effort to keep it all in because Harry was smart enough to know that these emotions coursing through him right now were ones he wasn’t validated to feel. Paired with the latest information that that little girl being held by another man was his own daughter--and that the woman who was glowing with her caring, motherly-instincts was supposed to be his family; it broke him completely.

Quaking thoughts circled his brain and punctured his muscles as if they were attacking him not only mentally, but physically as well in exchange for his past mistakes that he couldn’t quite place if he deeply regretted or not. Was it a mistake to cheat on Y/N? To leave her alone in the exposure of the public eye while she was carrying his child in her tummy?

Harry should have known the day she fell sick and vomited in their kitchen sink. He was, sadly, too busy throwing a subdued celebration of finally having time alone with Camille. He should have noticed the way her face brightened with radiance. Or the way her cravings for strawberries and pickles either grossed her out or completely compelled her to consume more than she usually would.

But Harry guessed that that was around the time his efforts went out the window because he didn’t have to pretend to care as much anymore. Camille appeared to be his one and only. With their relationship coming so close to being revealed and Y/N having one foot out the door, Harry let fate play out the rest. Don’t get him wrong, Harry still loved Camille; that was why his slashed heart still throbbed at the sight of her watching over her little cousin, yet knowing that the topic of children was still not a card on the table.

The distress that he was feeling right now was core-shredding, heartbreaking grief that left a hole in his heart. The worst part was that Harry didn’t exactly know how to fix it or whether he even could. As he walked to his car with hands jammed into his pockets, he was grateful that the hood of his sweater hid his face and the tears sliding down the slope of his cheeks.

His senses were in overdrive, figuring out how to fix the mess he created. Wanting to run up to Y/N and ask her why she didn’t tell him, needing to feel his little girl in his arms. Pinching his skin to transfer the pain he felt in his heart because of the thought that he missed his baby’s first words, her first steps. Was it ‘dada’ that babbled out of her mouth? Did she reach out for Connor when she stumbled over nothing when she walked on stubby legs? Did Y/N mention his name to her?

“Harry!”

He kept on walking despite the hushed call of his name, assuming that it was a fan that caught sight of him and wanted a picture. Harry adores them, but now is hardly the time to fake a smile or act like his life didn’t just flash right before his eyes--quite literally.

The vehicle beeped as Harry pressed the ‘unlock’ button on his key fob, just about ready to pull the door open and shield himself from prying eyes. He flinched when a hand fell on his shoulder, “Harry,”

He looked up to find Gemma panting, resting her hand on the roof of the car, “Are you. . .alright?” Her drifting eyes inspected his face, tinted a slight pink and moist with the salty liquid dripping from his tear ducts.

Huffing in annoyance, Harry clutched the handle to let himself in. Gemma followed his actions, shutting the door and locking it. The tinted windows of the car provided a semi-private enclosure that was filled with Harry’s sniffling and Gemma’s heavy breathing, trying to catch her breath.

“H-her name is Halo,” Gemma began, gulping when Harry paused his ministrations, straining his ears to listen despite the dull thud occupying his vessels. “She’s almost two years old,”

“You said you didn’t know,” Harry’s gruff tone echoed. Gemma anxiously rubbed the ends of her palms against her jeans. “Why didn’t you tell me? You knew all this time and y’didn’t tell me,”

“I-I was--she didn’t want me--”

“Why would she tell you and not me? I’m the one that dated her,” He raised his voice with every syllable he spoke. The frustration he felt from seeing the woman he once loved living the reality they shared together, except he wasn’t anywhere in the picture and that reality was only a fantasy in his life now. “It doesn’t make sense,” He rested his forearms on the wheel, facing the car’s symbol.

“The baby is yours, Harry,”

His head quipped with speed, grazing his forehead on the rounded leather but that pain didn’t amount to the new wave washing over him. “W-what?”

“It’s really not my place to tell,” Gemma said nervously, making eye contact with Harry’s searing yet teary gaze. “She wanted to tell you but you were so happy with Camille. She was posting these things on her Instagram about your trips and Y/N called me crying because you looked so free and happy without her. Y/N didn’t want to ruin what you guys had by dropping this on you,”

"That's-that's my baby?" Harry stuttered over his words while tugging his head out of his memories. Gemma nodded in confirmation. “Then why in the world was she--Halo?--calling him ‘dada’?

“Look, Harry, you’re not stupid. You know why Halo called Connor her dad,” Gemma spoke slowly, “This is a conversation that you need to have with Y/N if she lets you,”

At the mention of the man’s name, Harry couldn’t help but be filled with anger. He barely knew this man yet he received everything that Harry wanted in life. ‘But she’s my kid. I’m her dad. I’m the one who’s supposed to give her kisses and make her laugh,” He mumbled quietly as if his inner thoughts were far too strong to be kept in his mind

He was staring mindlessly at the numbers on his dashboard, hands gripping the leather steering wheel to try and ground himself. "But if that's my baby, how can she call someone who's not her father, dad?" He whipped his head towards Gemma, searching for validation that would make him feel better but the siblings were aware that he lost that title three years ago.

“I think you know you lost that place in their lives,” She reached a comforting hand to pat his arm, feeling just how tense he was under the fabric.

Harry shrugged her off, pinching his brows and pursing his lips as sadness began to swirl down the drain only to be replaced with resentment, irritation and bitterness. The taste on his tongue was hot with anger and his ears felt warm as he wheezed air instead of opting to yell his dissatisfaction near his sister.

“This isn't fair. She's m’baby too. Connor is not her father,” He spat with venom, “I am,” A pointed finger poked his chest. "She knew she was pregnant when she left me. She’s so fuckin’ selfish. How could she do this to me?

Gemma was quick to remind him of his actions, "You cheated on her, Harry.” Gemma cowered back at Harry’s beady eyes glaring at her with an unreadable emotion, stone-cold. “Maybe you should go home. Calm down a little bit,”

“No!” Harry cut Gemma off, “Need t’a hear her say it myself,”

Harry didn’t know what his plan was when he harshly slammed the car door behind him, practically storming on the patches of grass like a mad man. It wasn’t hard to spot the picture-perfect family sitting on a park bench which brought a scowl to his shielded face. He wanted to give Y/N a piece of his mind and it wasn’t necessarily the nicest thoughts that crossed his brain.

Halo was sitting on Connor’s lap while he was feeding her a peeled cupcake. Red velvet with cream cheese frosting—-Harry felt like he was punched in the gut. The baked good was Y/N’s specialty and it had a lot of sentimental value to both of them. It was what she baked for their first year together. He could vividly see her frosting-dotted nose, aiming to splotch the cream on his cheek while she laughed. Harry wrapped his arms around her, hugging Y/N from behind and proceeding to kiss her sweet cheek, leaving the perfect opportunity to stain his skin with the frosting.

But he didn’t care if he was smashed headfirst into the cake (as long as it wasn’t ice cream cake)—Harry just wanted to see her smile and hear her laugh heartily.

Y/N was snuggled on Connor’s shoulder, fixing Halo’s hair as she made grabby hands at the confection. He cannot lie--Connor was a handsome man. Harry rarely felt intimidated or insecure, but seeing that this man managed to snatch everything Harry could ever want seemingly in a blink of an eye; Harry felt very jealous.

He pouted, eyes rimmed red and lips quivering wishing that Cory or Connor--whatever that little shit’s name was would disappear so that Harry could take his place instead. Actually, it was his spot in the first place. Only if he didn’t mess up, he thought. He missed Y/N so much! Seeing Y/N in her element of niceness and bright-gleaming smiles sent a truck full of sand down his throat as he gulped his emotion below the surface. The closer he got to them, his vision tunnelled towards Halo; brown, flouncy curls and a cute dimple embedded in her cheek as she giggled, accidentally knocking the cupcake on the ground.

If that wasn’t symbolism staring at Harry straight in the face; a sign that their so-called relationship really had no chance of reprieve. Harry chose to ignore it.

Connor clutched Halo tightly against him, crouching down with a napkin to clean up the scattered cake on the ground. Y/N was the first to notice him, her forehead creasing as her eyes bulged at the sight of Harry walking towards them. She subtly poked at Connor’s arm, hurting Harry even more because it meant that Y/N felt uncomfortable with his presence.

He was close enough to read her pink lips, “We should go,” matched with Y/N’s frantic actions of packing the juice boxes and the Tupperware of cupcakes into the tote bag beside her. Connor searched the park until his gaze landed on Harry, protectively shielding Halo from him.

Is he serious? Harry thought. That’s my own daughter.

Speaking of Halo, the two-year-old happily continued munching on her new cupcake, frowning slightly when Connor stood up, “Why we leaving, Daddy? Did I do somethin’ bad?”

Y/N sighed, they promised that Halo could play at the park all day and now it was cut short because of a certain someone.

“No, you didn’t, bub. Let Daddy explain at home, okay baby?” Connor hitched Halo higher on his hip, hoping that she wouldn’t ask any more questions until the trio left.

“Who’s that?” Halo asked, pointing at Harry only metres away from them. Her stubby finger outstretched at the stranger in front of her, eyes bright and sparkling with curiosity. There was no sign of recognition painting her green orbs.

Harry gulped, wanting so badly to scream “I’m your dad!” but he knew that Y/N will add that to the list of his mistakes he had made.

“No one, angel,” Connor planted a kiss on her head, looking over at Y/N who had finished packing everything up. He tilted his chin in an attempt to scare Harry off.

But the thing was, Harry was already scared. He could feel his stomach in his throat but vomiting wasn’t the right word to describe it. His heart drooped deeper than the levels of the Earth. He was scared because his family was right in front of him but he couldn’t touch them or hug them in his arms. He was only allowed to look from the outside because there was a small possibility of being forgiven.

“Y/N. . .” Harry began hesitantly. The surge of confidence he had decreased with each passing second. He kept a close eye.

Y/N shrugged the strap on her shoulder, “Leave us alone, Harry.”

He felt his anger disappearing, a new emotion cascading his tear ducts and the blood in his veins. Harry looked back in retrospect; she really did mean it when Y/N said that she never wanted him around again. “I just want to talk. Please, let’s talk,”

“She doesn’t want to talk to you, Harry,” Connor interrupted, grabbing the bag from Y/N and wrapping an arm over her shoulder, guiding them away from Harry. “She’s happy without you, mate. can’t you see?”

Harry kept his gaze trained on Y/N’s face, actively avoiding eye contact but drifted when Halo’s frown caught his stare. The little girl’s chin was hooked over Connor’s shoulder, squirming in his arms in an attempt to stop him from walking. Halo was smart enough to know that Harry’s expression screamed sadness and her mummy said that “you need to find a way to make them happy” if someone was sad.

“Wait!” Her shrill yell caused both Connor and Y/N to turn around. A piece of Harry’s heart shattered on the floor when Halo pulled Connor down by the nape of his neck, small hand leading his ear next to her lips. Then, she did the same to Y/N, pointing at Harry which caused him to straighten his stance, wanting to impress his daughter even though there was no point.

The couple shared a look before ultimately having Connor walk closer to Harry. Halo gripped her cupcake towards him, “‘ere y’go hawwy,’ She still couldn’t pronounce her ‘r’s’ yet.

Harry began to sob.

It was his daughter and those were the first words she had uttered to him. She didn’t know him yet Halo treated him with kindness and it ripped at his chest because Y/N must’ve taught her that. His palms became wet as tears streamed from his eyes, dampening the sleeves of his hoodie. He didn't care about looking foolish in front of them, not when his daughter saw him as a stranger and called Connor her ‘dada’.

Halo recoiled at the sudden reaction, her lips curving downwards, “Dada, mama, he’s cwyin’,” She tucked her face at the junction of Connor’s shoulder and neck, scared that she made him cry. Halo didn’t mean to make him cry. She felt so guilty that she started spilling tears of her own too, her face contorting into a scrunched expression as her mouth wailed open sobs, matching Harry’s.

Harry’s first instinct was to take a step forward and comfort Halo but he was rendered frozen when Connor shot him a glare, shifting Halo’s body out of reach and he could only see her face over the man’s shoulder. Y/N dimmed her eyes, brows pinching when she couldn’t help but let a smidge of sympathy wash over her. She muttered a few words to Connor, pushing him by the small of his back towards the parking lot.

When they were out of earshot, Y/N faced Harry, “What were you thinking? Are you trying to mess everything up again?” He tried to cut in, “Isn’t it bad enough that we’re talking about this in public? Why must you ruin everything, Harry?” She whisper-shouted, trying her best not to garner them any attention.

“N-no, Gemma told me and I jus’ wanted to see her--and you. Wanted to hear the truth come out of your mouth,” His large hands jammed into his pockets to prevent him from fiddling with them.

“Look, you have no right coming here,”

“I know that b-but I--,”

She held a palm up, “I’m not sadistic like you Harry. If you thought that I wouldn’t let you around her then you’re wrong. As much as I hate to admit it, I do miss you and I wish that you were there for us when we needed you,”

“I had no idea--,”

“Will you let me speak?” Her tone carried irritation. “But we’re alright now and we don’t need you anymore.”

Harry never thought that those statements would ever come out of Y/N’s mouth. “Don’t you think I deserve to get to know her?”

She sighed, “Deserve? Definitely not.” He nodded in agreement. “But I’d live in regret if Halo never got to know her real father. . .”

Harry’s expression lit up, hopeful eyes shooting glances at her, “D-does that mea--? Are you--?”

“You can see her. You can get to know her but only because you’re Halo’s father,” Y/N took a brave step forward, ignoring the way her heart throbbed as if she was being stabbed by a thousand knives. Painful memories drifted in and out of her train of thought until she shook her head to muster them out. It was in the past but she could never forget the feeling of hopelessness taking over her whole body.

With a hand on his shoulder, she continued, “Anyone can be a father and you’re just that. Don’t think that you’re entitled to anything more. You will never be her dad. Connor is. Understood?”

Harry took a deep breath and swallowed a heavy gulp, “I. . .understand. Thank you, Y/N. For letting me back in when I don’t deserve it,” He glanced at the two tiny figures piling in the car. He could just imagine himself plucking little Halo into her booster seat, booping her nose as she asked for the hundredth time why she had to sit at the back and not at the front with them.

“I’m not finished,” She deadpanned, “You are going to be there for her. Not for me, not for us because our relationship is over. You can hurt me as you did before and I can accept it but don’t you dare try to hurt her,”

And it was true. Having endured his painful game once before, Y/N was stronger now. She could take heartbreak as agonizing as that but she wouldn’t dare stand seeing Halo’s teary eyes staring back at her, asking why Harry had left them. She was far too young to experience the feeling when a piece of herself is ripped apart.

“I won’t hurt her. I promise,”

“I heard those words come out from your mouth years ago and look where we are now. Once you hurt her, it’s over.”

“Y/N, t-that’s hardly fair. I am her dad, aren’t I?” Harry cleared his throat at Y/N’s raised brow.

“No, you’re not. We just went through this, Harry.”

“Don’t call me that,” He muttered quietly because she only ever called him ‘baby’ or ‘h’.

“Will you stop? I laid out my cards. If you want to even have a speck of presence in her life, then you have to abide by what I said,” She crossed her arms in defence, “You will never be Halo’s dad, Harry. Connor is her dad. I don’t know how many more times I have to repeat this before it gets through you thick head,”

He opened his mouth to talk, “No wiggle room whatsoever?”

“No. Do I have to write a letter for you to understand that?”

In a moment of hurt and despair, Harry spat out, “Might as well, yeah? Waited over two years to tell me anyway,”

“Are you kidding me?”

His throat ran dry, realizing that he just ticked another box to favour against being a part of his daughter’s life, “I-I’m sorry. I didn't mean to,”

“Whatever. Are you willing to make the sacrifice?”

“This isn’t the place to talk about this,” Harry suggested, wanting to have some sort of foot on the ground so he doesn’t feel like he’s topping over with guilt and sadness. “Maybe you can come over to my house,”

Y/N shook her head, glancing briefly at her phone when it buzzed, “No. I will not step foot in that house again. If you really want to discuss it, you can come over at our place,”

“Your place?” Did they all live together? Well, that was another slap to the face. Not only was Connor playing dad to Halo, but he was also part of the household. Harry’s face must have contorted into a grimace because Y/N sighed softly.

“Yes, our place. Meaning all three of us,” She gestured behind her. “I have to go. You can probably get my number from Gemma; you can text me then.”

“Yes, yes! Of course, I want to talk to you. . . about this, I mean,” Harry lowered his enthusiasm. The small voice in his head reverberating that this was not about him and Y/N; this was about Halo.

“And make sure you don’t bring anyone else,” Y/N said sarcastically, subtly pointing in the direction of the paparazzi hiding behind some bushes. Harry was usually good at spotting them but today was just a puddle of hurt and confusion. “I don’t want her having to read nasty things like I did,”

What Y/N said may have been a side comment, but Harry couldn’t help but take it to heart. Was this a good idea? Sure, he wanted to be a present dad in Halo’s life. However, is it worth it to stir unwanted drama? If only he didn’t cheat on Y/N, all of this could have been avoided.

With his mind in a haze, Harry barely noticed Y/N’s figure moving away from him. He jogged to catch up with her, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. Harry felt numb to the way she shrugged her touch off of her immediately, “Were you ever going to tell me about our daughter?’

Y/N stared at him quizzically, tilting her head a little bit sideways, “I thought I did? Wait!” A look of recognition plastered across her features, “I did try to tell you but you blocked me before the message sent through,”

Harry gulped with realization. He blearily remembered bitterly blocking her number just as she texted “I need to tell you something,”

___

Y/N: Since you’re not picking up my calls

I need to tell you something

Y/N took a deep breath as her thumbs tapped on the letters slowly as if to withhold the news from him. She was not at all ready to reveal that she was pregnant and that he was the father but Y/N knew that it was the right thing to do. Despite the fact that he was currently out of the country on vacation somewhere on an island with sandy beaches with Camille. Y/N was aware that this spike of courage was rare and so, she had to do it now.

Y/N: I’m pregnant

And you’re the father

She locked the device as soon as she pressed the arrow to send the message, clutching the phone close to her chest and shutting her eyes so tightly that it hurt. Minutes passed with no response and Y/N was shouldered by curiosity to check if he had sent anything back or simply left her on ‘seen’.

It was neither. The screaming red exclamation mark surrounded by a circle indicated that she had been blocked.

___

The times when she left missed calls on his phone were for a reason much bigger than the two of them. Y/N didn’t call to beg for him back or to ask Harry to want her again. He was ashamed to admit that he had rolled his eyes upwards every time he clicked on a voicemail she had left, stating, “Hey H, it’s me. Call me back when you hear this. I need to talk to you,” which he deleted without a second thought. She didn’t text him endlessly to politely ask for her things packed and settled for her pick-up because Y/N could not bear to spend another second in a room with him.

It wasn’t that at all.

Y/N was physically moving farther and farther away from him, settling herself into the car before driving off to hers and Connor’s shared house. Halo sat in the backseat, singing along to the radio.

Harry was surrounded amidst the joyful squeals of children and reprimanding voices of their parents.

He stood alone with no one but loneliness by his side and the brisk flash of cameras in his peripherals.

_____

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lifeinahole27 · 5 years

Text

CS ff: “On the Two” (Chapter 1/9) (au)

Summary: He’s one bad trip from ending up in AA, and she’s one performance away from a solid job and moving closer to home. Their paths were unlikely to cross until Camp Hope brought them together. How and why they meet and intertwine is against the odds, and definitely against the rules, but will that really stand in their way? A Dirty Dancing inspired modern au.

Rating: E

Content Warnings: Borderline alcoholism, very brief mentions of past relationships, mentions of the loss of a limb - this fic is primarily tame but I’ll do my best to tag anything that might need tags.

Chapter Specific Warnings: Alcohol use, past injury mentions

A/N: Holy. Shit. I’ve finally found a minute to post chapter 1. Hoping to stick to a Thursday schedule for posting, and I can’t wait for you all to see this unfold.

I have to give shoutouts and love to three very important people to this process. @initiala sent this over a year ago: look i know you're busy and have a lot of fics, but just hear me out: CS Dirty Dancing AU. So. Now you know who to blame/thanks, like I’ve been doing! To @phiralovesloki for the heaps of emotional support and handholding when I needed it. I can’t imagine my life without you in general, let alone my writing process. And of course, my beta, my dancing expert, my sanity: @captainstudmuffin. Thanks for all you do for me, from proofreading to slapping me into action. I’m sure we’re even on boob punches... for now.

Catch it on FFN & Ao3!

Welcome to Camp Hope!

About Us

Years ago, Ruth Nolan operated these camp grounds as a haven for children to explore the fruits of the Earth and come into their own. For fifteen years, she oversaw the summers of thousands of children, all in need of the room to grow and eager to learn the skills of the outdoors.

In honor of Ruth’s hard work, we’ve re-opened the camp to those who still want to learn about the wilderness, explore the rich terrain that this coastal Maine property has to offer, and take the classes you’ve maybe not had time to take in the past. It’s not all outdoors, either! Our staff is composed of very talented individuals that are available to teach you almost anything, from dancing to the arts, yoga and fitness routines, as well as anything you’d expect from the average camp of summers past. You’ll enrich your body and mind and connect in ways you never have before!

A summer camp for adults may seem like an outdated or unconventional thing, but here at Camp Hope, we aim to improve the memories you may have of summer camps long past, or make new ones if this is your first time. Plus, now is your chance to try things like zip-lining without getting a consent form signed! There are plenty of perks to trying new things when you’re old enough to decide for yourself.

Please check our FAQs and pricing packages; your stay can be as short as a week or as long as the whole summer. Our accommodations range from your own private cabin to our brand new, hotel-style lodgings. We welcome you, and hope you’ll enjoy your experiences!

Sincerely,

Snow and David Nolan

Owners, Camp Hope Ltd.

-x-

Sifting through the mail on his table, Killian tosses the pamphlet for some kind of camping place into the stack to be thrown away. It joins the myriad of advertisements and coupons that he doesn’t bother to look at or ever use. Besides, if it’s a camp marketed towards adults, it’s likely something religious or a thinly veiled addiction recovery facility, and while he’s probably edging along the lines of alcoholism, he’s damn well not there yet.

There’s roughly a week’s worth of mail here, as it’s been a couple days since he’s even thought to check his mailbox, but he’s sure Liam will be up his arse any day here to go over his finances. If he makes it look like he’s been keeping things in order, Liam is less likely to give him his Worried Brother speech this month.

He sips at his coffee, pausing just a moment to pop two painkillers before resuming his sorting. When he’s hungover, the phantom pain where his left hand should be is stronger, and today is no exception to that. He hasn’t bothered to put on his prosthetic, content instead to leave it off until he has to go into public.

Days like this, though, he has nothing but time to mindlessly sift through his queue and get day-drunk. It’s been ages since Killian can remember going more than two or three days without a drink. That doesn’t stop him from unscrewing the top of his favorite brand of rum when he pours the second cup before he settles in to watch Netflix. He sprawls across the couch, happy as he ever can be to live off the settlement over the accident that cost him his hand.

There’s a bar down the street that he visits when he needs personal interaction, and if he’s lucky there might even be a woman willing to help with even more personal interactions. That’s what last night had been – him in the bar until closing, a brunette that he can’t remember the name of giggling as she pulled him towards her car. A short while later, a cab brought him home, alone, with a little less dignity than he had before.

The sound of a key in the door announces Liam’s arrival before the man himself calls out a greeting, and Killian is minimally glad for the distraction from the road of self-pity and/or loathing that he was about to embark down. He knew there was a good reason to starting his sorting today. He stashes the bottle of rum beneath the coffee table again, running his fingers through his hair real quick to tame it down.

“Ah, you are awake. Excellent. I thought we’d set your bills straight, and maybe head out for some lunch. Breakfast? What meal are you on?”

“Let’s just call it brunch. Eat first, bills second,” Killian declares, sending his spiked coffee one forlorn look as he realizes he’ll have to go get dressed and act like a responsible adult for a few hours. He takes one more gulp before taking the mug to the kitchen to dump it out.

He’s in his room for just over five minutes, using food as a motivator to get him out the door sooner. The shirt is mostly wrinkle free, and he thinks the jeans he slides on are clean, so he’s at least presentable and won’t have to deal with Liam’s tongue-clicking. He makes sure to snag his sunglasses off the entryway table before ushering his brother out the door. Had he taken much longer, Liam surely would’ve declared that the bills looked quick or manageable, and they’d take ‘just a minute more’ to complete. As it is, he can see his piles have been tampered with, straightened and organized to his brother’s preferences, as he glances back on his way out; he timed it just perfectly.

Halfway through eating, Liam takes a sip from his water before placing it back on the table, steepling his fingers as he rests his hands on the table. “I’ve just had a thought,” he says in a way that really gives away that he’s been sitting on this for a while now. “How would you like to get out of town for a while?”

“When? How long?” Killian asks, preoccupied by the task of trapping all the toppings on his sandwich. He hates using his prosthetic to eat, doing his best instead to wrangle the whole thing with his right hand while his left arm stays beneath the table.

“Over the summer? We could make an adventure of it. Maybe go back home, visit the relatives. It’s not like you’re doing anything here. As my own boss, I can afford to take some time off. We go, we live a little, return in the fall as new men. What do you say?”

The prospect of getting out of the city, away from everything that holds painful memories for him, does sound appealing. Spending the whole time with his brother, however, tarnishes it just a touch. It’s not that he doesn’t love his brother, but Liam has a tendency to be… a little overbearing.

Of course, for a long time after Killian’s accident, Liam probably had every right to be. He’d just lost a hand, for fuck’s sake. Coming just after the loss of his fiancée probably didn’t help, either, but Killian was deep in a hole of depression for so long he wasn’t sure he was ever going to see the surface again. Now, he’s not so much depressed as he is resigned to this life, unemployed due to disability, living off the accident settlement, and drinking away his feelings as often as possible without officially becoming an alcoholic.

The thing is, Liam’s overprotective shadowing of Killian’s life is nothing new. He’s been this way for as long as Killian can remember, and since Killian can only half remember a handful of instances with either their mum or their dad, it’s not entirely out of the realm of possibilities that Liam feels more like Killian’s father than his older brother. Still, every bird has to fly the nest sometime.

And Killian did for a bit. He flew, and was so close to having everything he wanted in his life – a job doing a craft he loved, a woman that he intended to marry and grow a family and home with, and still the taste for adventure on the tip of his tongue if he ever chose. But all good things come to an end, in his experience.

First was Milah’s passing. Her brief but destructive illness soaked up all their life savings, leaving Killian with a broken heart and empty pockets. He didn’t care about the money, and why should he? He lost the reason he was saving it in the first place. He could earn it all again, but he’d never have Milah back. And then, shortly after, as he helped wrap up a custom boat build for a wealthy client, something went wrong. He still doesn’t remember exactly what happened, just that one minute he had a left hand, and the next he didn’t; it really was that simple.

“I’ll think about it,” Killian finally says, abandoning the hand-held option for his food and dropping it back into the basket it came in. He stabs at the pieces of it with his fork and considers the offer. He will think about it, too; he’s not just saying so to change the conversation back to footy and traffic patterns. It’s been a long time since he’s gotten away. He’s set for life on a permanent vacation if he so chooses, but a change of scenery would be welcome at this juncture of his life.

The idea marinates all while they finish their meal, and the whole walk back to Killian’s apartment. He’s so hung up on the possibilities involved that he doesn’t even complain as they sit down with his meager stack of bills. He signs when he’s told to do so, with no remarks about the tedium of the task while they work.

By the time the afternoon is wrapping up, Killian has made up his mind. As Liam stamps the last of the bills and puts Killian’s checkbook back where it resides, Killian speaks up. “I’ve thought about your offer to get away for the summer. Might not be such a bad idea, after all.” He keeps his tone light, nonchalant, hoping that Liam won’t catch on that it’s something he might genuinely be excited about for the first time in longer than he can recall.

“Excellent. Leave all the planning to me,” Liam says as he stands and throws the trash into the bin. “I’ll send you a packing list when I’ve finalized the plans and we can meet up again to get everything squared away for a couple months out of town.”

With a shrug, Killian extracts himself from the couch in order to see his brother out since all their business is complete. In his distracted state, he misses the gleeful look on Liam’s face; it’s an expression his brother was infamous for as they were growing up and meant that Killian was about to be served a life-lesson, and he likely wasn’t going to enjoy it very much. But he’s so lost in his thoughts about all the places they may go – both familiar and new – that he bids his brother goodbye and settles back in for his slightly interrupted day of Netflix.

He doesn’t even slip more rum into his glass until after he’s had his dinner.

-x-

Emma Swan is just as much a part of Camp Hope as the camp is part of her. For the last fourteen years, Emma has been making the journey of varying lengths back to the campgrounds; it’s something a lot like flocking home for the summer, and she’s made the trip from right in Storybrooke – the tiny town closest to the camp – and from as far as Tallahassee, all those years ago.

This year, she’s traveling from just outside Boston along with her roommate, Ruby. While the stories of their upbringings are vastly different, Emma and Ruby have been two peas of a pod since Emma’s first trip.

Back then, she was journeying to Camp Hope as part of a foster kid outreach program. It was two glorious weeks that she and twenty-some other foster kids got to go to someplace new, rather than waste away in a group home or get shipped off to bible camp again. She was fourteen, and while some of the crafts and activities were aimed at kids much younger than her, she still sat at the table and made bracelets, tie-dyed a shirt and bandana, and participated in capture the flag with water balloons like it was her first time, but that’s mostly because it was.

At the campfire that night, Ruby plopped down next to her, showing her the “right” way to toast marshmallows and offering to put red streaks in Emma’s hair so they could match.

Emma passed on the streaks, but the next day when Ruby dragged her to a special meeting for future counselors, it was all history from there. More than just finding a way to spend her summers that didn’t involve wallowing in her own loneliness and isolation, Emma met David Nolan during the counselors program. Upon picking up bits and pieces about her, David decided to introduce Emma to his mother. As soon as Ruth met Emma, she was set on bringing her on as a permanent fixture in their lives.

Having previously thought that she’d never find a place that wanted her, a place that wanted someone old by foster standards and jaded beyond reason, Emma was shocked. Not only was she wanted, she was loved. Despite the three year age difference, and the short time they’d been together, David became her best friend and brother, with Ruby a close second.

There was a shared passion of dancing between Emma and Ruby, and when they weren’t raking in the volunteer hours during the summer, they were saving every penny they earned from their respective guardians to take dance lessons one town over. And that’s the way it went until they graduated.

Remembering what happened after graduation always leaves Emma with a pit of shame in her stomach that feels a lot like indigestion, so when she wanders to the kitchen, she pops two antacids before starting up the coffee maker. It used to be worse, but time heals all, even wounds that don’t feel like they’ll ever scab over.

It’s time for their annual trip back, just two days away, and Emma has too much to do to spend her morning in a guilt trip over things that happened in the past. Instead, she wanders down the hallway to get Ruby up. There’s a whole list for her friend to complete today, and she’s pretty sure she’s also battling with a hangover from being out too late the night before.

She knocks, only twisting the knob and entering the room after hearing the faint groan of invitation. “Hey there, champ. Good morning!”

Ruby groans again, struggling to push her eye mask off her face and groping for the pain killers and water on her nightstand. She’s one of those drinkers that’s always considerate to her morning self – something Emma has always been in awe of. “You’re not the morning person, stop sounding so chipper,” Ruby instructs after drinking down half the water. She hauls herself to sit up, patting the edge of her bed for Emma to sit down. “What’s on your Snow-style agenda for the day?”

“I’m going to clean. You’re going to wrap up the sub-let on the studio space. Graham is supposed to be down there around noon, so you’ve got time, but I need you to grab the costumes we’ll need for performance nights.” She leaves Ruby to get herself out of bed, and calls out that she’ll get breakfast started.

“Don’t break the toaster!” Ruby calls from behind door that Emma closes on her way out, and while Ruby can’t see Emma rolling her eyes, she knows her friend will sense it. It was one time.

Leaving for Camp Hope has always been a little tumultuous for them, but after this many years, Emma thinks they’ve gotten a little better at it. There were a few years where they weren’t going back to work camp, and those are the years that make Emma’s heart ache most – more than the year she refuses to think about.

They closed the camp when Ruth’s health suddenly declined the year after the year-that-shall-not-be-named, and Emma and David only made the journey every week to tend the growing weeds and mend the deteriorating buildings the best they could. With Ruby’s help, they were able to keep the camp from falling apart, but the same couldn’t be said for them. Ruth passed the winter after Emma turned twenty, and she lost the closest thing to a mother she’d ever found.

Luckily, they had one more to hold their family unit together. A year after Emma met him, David met Mary Margaret Blanchard, better known to her friends as Snow, and Emma got to witness fairytale levels of Love at First Punch between them. Down the road, the wedding was a bit rushed, so that Ruth could watch her son get married. Years after the quick engagement and marriage saw them going stronger than ever.

For two years, the camp remained closed, but David and Snow, thanks to an off-hand comment from Emma, decided to reopen the beloved summer camp as an experience for adults. It took a whole other year until they could renovate everything up to standards, but it was worth it. The first year they opened again, it was so profitable and the waitlist was so long that they were easily able to expand and enhance the experiences.

Shaking her head, Emma realizes she’s spending way too much time reflecting and not enough time moving. Down the hall, she hears Ruby’s water start up, and knows she has until the time the taps shut off to get that woman some hangover worthy breakfast. Pouring herself a large mug of coffee, she takes three deep, scalding gulps to get herself going.

She’s just plating up some eggs and bacon, snatching a bagel from the toaster so Ruby can construct her own breakfast sandwich when the roommate in question comes ambling into the kitchen.

This is Emma’s favorite version of Ruby. Stripped of her makeup, without a product in the world in her hair post-shower, wearing an old t-shirt and boxers for her pajamas. Her usual persona is an elaborate mask, with the heavy makeup and killer manicure, flirtation just as exposed as her long, lean legs normally are. The short shorts and low-cut tops are standard everywhere but at home. That’s the Ruby that will likely crawl into her car bright and early in a couple days, but today she’s happy to spend time with average Ruby, and she’s happy when she does not break the toaster again. There are small miracles, after all.

When both of them are settled at the breakfast bar with their food, they start talking strategy, both in prep for leaving and for camp itself.

“Are the costumes for the Waltz demo here or at the studio?” Emma asks as she alternates sips of coffee and bites of her pop-tart.

“The studio, I think. I’ll grab them when I meet with Graham and lock up everything else of ours.”

“Good. Don’t sleep with him this time, okay?”

“No promises,” Ruby says, a wicked grin spreading across her lips even as she tries to hide it behind her coffee mug.

At the very least, they might get a deal on the rent again, which is the only consolation Emma can think of. The rest of their day is a whirlwind, with Ruby taking care of the studio and Emma tidying up their apartment. She packs the bulk of their non-perishable foods to take with them, cleaning as she goes, until the whole kitchen is spotless. She also takes the time to write down the instructions and emergency numbers for Aurora, their downstairs neighbor that’s been kind enough to take care of their plants and fish while they’re gone.

It’ll be weeks until either one of them can make it back to the city, if they do at all, but Emma doesn’t mind. While she loves Ruby and living in the city, she gets her own cabin for the summer. They converted one of the old lodges into a dance/yoga studio, located just a short walk along the west trail from the main lodge. Behind said studio, they relocated one of the cabins and refurnished the whole place to act as the dance director’s housing for the summer. Thankfully, Ruby likes to throw herself into a multitude of activities, so she bunks in the staff cabins up the hill and leaves Emma to have her solitude.

Mostly, all that means is that no one will know that she’s in the studio putting in extra hours. Maybe this will be the year she can quit hunting down bail skippers and be able to focus on nothing but dancing. She can always dream, at least.

Ruby stops in only briefly to drop off a case of their costumes and check in, taking the time to change into a date dress and do her hair and make-up. She gives Emma a wink before she leaves and tells her not to wait up, before disappearing in a flurry of stiletto clicks and perfume. She doesn’t get home until late, when Emma is already tucked in her bed hoping to fall asleep. Her friend is humming and heads straight for the shower.

Emma’s not a bit surprised two days later when Ruby announces that Graham decided to pay more than they originally negotiated, and laughs at the wolfish grin on Ruby’s face as they throw their bags into the backseat and boot of the Volkswagen Bug that Emma’s had for years. They’re actually running on time for once, but Emma doesn’t expect that to last long, especially when, after only an hour, Ruby announces that she’s famished and starts calling out the name of food places they pass.

The trip to Storybrooke, on the coast of Maine, is one of Emma’s favorites. The scenic views from Boston onward are ones she’s familiar with, but that still lift her heart. The trip is only four hours if they don’t stop, but with Ruby’s pea-sized bladder, and her bottomless stomach, it’s more likely they’ll get there in five hours… if they’re lucky.

One year, it took them almost twice as long to make the journey because Ruby was chasing down the International Cryptozoology Museum and her cheap-o GPS meant that the museum (which was on the way) eluded them for hours until Emma screeched that they were done looking and if Ruby really wanted to see it, they’d find it on the way home.

They found it on the first try on their return drive, and Ruby bought her the biggest cone of Rocky Road ice cream they could find at a nearby ice cream stand, to make up for the original disaster.

This job that they do, this ability to go up and demo and teach dances to the souls that will wander through the paths of Camp Hope, is only possible because of the popularity of the camp. The first year, Emma and Ruby would switch off every two weeks, with Ruby piling all her lessons into the two weeks she was home and Emma trying to catch ask many bail skips as possible in between her own lessons and classes. When the popularity of the camp became apparent, they were able to rent out their studio space to a few other dance teachers in the area while they took the whole summer to attend to the camp. It helps that David is able to pay them, and pay them well, for their time and energy.

Along the way, Emma has met the heartbroken and the heartbreakers, she’s met dreamers and lovers, she’s taught cynics and optimists, and she’s danced for every person in between. The two of them together have dealt with perverts and assholes, handsy men and women who don’t take “no” for an answer, and people who have gone on to contact them once the summer ends to continue their lessons in the city. It makes it all worth it, these months away from all the comforts of home, to spend their summers in another version of home.

Plus, thanks to an excellent network of friends in Boston, they never want for anything from home if they forget it. It’s all just a PayPal and overnight shipping away, really.

As Ruby climbs back into the car from their third rest stop, this thought comes in handy. “I left my favorite performance shoes by the door,” Emma groans out as her friend seatbelts in and starts the car.

“Good, because I forgot to grab my sleeping pills off my nightstand,” she says, grinning quickly and dropping the sunglasses back onto her nose.

“I’ll text Aurora now.”

With the promise of a package imminently to be sent their way, Emma relaxes as the last of their journey passes by outside the windows. She zones out to the sights, not perking up again until they hit the Storybrooke town limits. They’ll top off the tank and stop in to see Granny for lunch (second or third lunch by Emma’s count) before heading up to the campgrounds. Her car crawls by each familiar sight, and Emma smiles at the simplicity of it all – the never-changing nature of their sleepy little town. While she only officially lived in Storybrooke for three years, it’s still the only place she’s ever called home.

Granny is already outside by the curb when they pull up, and Emma takes a minute to let Ruby climb out of the car to reunite with her grandmother. It’s only after she sees their hug loosen up that she opens her door, languidly stretching as she unfolds herself from the passenger seat. Then it’s her turn for Granny to gather her up and hug her so hard that Emma’s back cracks. She won’t complain, it definitely eases the travel tension to get a hug from Granny. They’re ushered inside the small diner the elderly (and boy, would be lose her shit if Emma said that term out loud) woman has run for the last billion years.

“When should I expect the first package from your neighbor?” Granny asks after their lunches have been set in front of them.

Ruby laughs, not even ashamed of the fact that they’re so predictable that her grandmother knows they’ve already left something behind.

“We’ll be back in town over the weekend to get it,” Emma answers.

“I already saw one of the trucks of shipment head up to the campgrounds,” Granny remarks as she refills Ruby’s coffee cup. “Your brother has been up there for weeks getting everything ready.”

“Please tell me he’s at least eating.”

“Snow has badgered him back home a couple times now to eat and sleep, and she picks up meals on the days they decide to stay up there. Sounds like you’re gonna have a full camp most of the summer.”

“That’s the plan,” Ruby says, beaming before she takes the last bite of her sandwich.

Emma waves them both off when they move to go into the back for more family time. It’s not that she and Ruby don’t get to visit ever, it’s just that the stretch between Christmas and camp time can sometimes feel like much longer. The same itch resides just below her skin – the need to see her brother and sister-in-law so strong that she almost slips away before she’s done eating and leaving Ruby to hitch a ride out later with one of the counselors that lives in town.

Instead, she idly swirls her onion rings through her ketchup, taking her time with making sure every crumb is gone from the plate while she waits. She glances around, waving to the familiar faces in the booths and at the counter beside her, and she grins at the large board already propped near the entrance that loudly welcomes the campers to town. Since the grounds are two miles north of Storybrooke, many will pass through on their way. Some will stay overnight in the bed and breakfast while others will stop for a bite and a fill-up before continuing on to Camp Hope.

Thankfully, the business that the camp brings to the town will mean that the owners of most, if not all, of the establishments will have their pockets lined for months to come, making the onslaught of guests and visitors worth it when the summer ends and they go back to something less than a speck on the map of Maine.

Ruby and Granny are back a short time later, while Emma is idly catching up with a sweet yoga teacher that goes by Tink. The name is fitting of the cherub-faced woman with the perfect curly bun of blonde hair on top of her head. She’s new to the staff, but not to the town, so Emma is happy to listen to her excitement bubble over as she discusses all the classes she’ll be teaching for the next few months.

“A little help?” Ruby asks, and Emma finally glances up to see her friend’s arms laden down with several bags of what Emma assumes are home-cooked meals, prepared in advance and packaged for the crew that’s already working on getting the grounds ready for the summer. She moves around the counter to take a few of the cloth totes, waving farewell to Tink as they head out.

The rest of the afternoon passes quickly; they use the main entrance to deliver the food to Snow, who’s waiting for them beneath the welcome sign when they pull up. Emma hugs her tight before transferring two of the bags to her. They make the short trek down to the main lodge where Emma gets to give her brother his own hug, tight and bracing and full of the warmth she misses when she’s away from him for so long. With lunch delivered, Ruby and Emma head back up to the car to move it to the staff parking.

The lodges they’ll each be staying in are much closer to their hidden lot than they are the main entrance, which works out well when they’re unloading enough luggage for four months, and maybe a kitchen sink or two. It takes them three trips up and down the steps leading to the lot: one to Ruby’s space in the staff lodges, one to Emma’s private lodge, and one to the studio itself.

Emma wastes no time turning on all the lights and stepping up onto the vast wooden floor. There are mirrors lining one wall, floor to ceiling, and another has all the cabinets where they store their costumes and gear. The wall opposite her reflection has windows spaced evenly apart, which she immediately starts working open even as Ruby brings in the last tote of their stuff. The air is a little stagnant, but flipping on the overhead fans will get it moving again.

Ruby drops the last container with their gear, rushing out to choose her space and start unpacking as soon as she can and promising to come back later to help get the studio in order. Emma waves her off, already itching to have the space to herself. Her muscles are practically begging to be warmed up, to take advantage of the wide open space that calls her name.

She knows she needs to clean first; the mirrors and windows all have that faint tinge of grime that comes from a long winter of neglect. The air conditioning unit needs to be tended to, as well, and tested to make sure it’s in working order before the summer starts in full. Then there’s the cleaning and organizing and stocking and… and Emma doesn’t care. She rips open the first bag she finds and pulls out leggings and a sports bra – they’ll do in a pinch. She changes quickly before skipping along the path back to the studio.

It’s only a matter of time before she’s selected something with an upbeat tempo, thankful again for the auxiliary port that allows her to play her own music from the impressive sound system. She sits on the dusty floors for a moment to slip on a beat up pair of practice shoes and lamenting again how she’ll have to turn her focus to cleaning next.

She takes her time stretching, making sure to work out all the kinks from the drive up and getting her muscles and body all warmed up. As soon as she’s on her feet, she’s running through swing patterns that she can do on her own. Through lines of sailor shuffles and slides, she dances using the whole dance studio, going from one end of the spacious floor to the other. She doesn’t get this much room in Boston. She doesn’t get this solitude. She doesn’t get this freedom. Maybe this is the real reason she loves coming back to camp so often, and there’s probably something in her psyche to deal with in those regards but it’s nothing she’s willing to look too closely into.

By the time the playlist switches to something for cooldown, Emma has worked up an impressive sweat. She grabs a towel from the same bin she found her shoes in, wiping down her face and neck before dropping back to the floor for final stretches. Placing the towel on the floor, she stretches out briefly, staring up at the ceiling and watching the fans whirl peacefully above her. This is it. This is home for the next couple months. And nothing will change how happy she is to be here.

With that thought, and a beatific smile, Emma changes back to her tennis shoes and hauls herself off the floor. There’s hours of cleaning ahead of her, after all.

Chapter 2

#cs ff #cs ff au #captain swan ff #cs multichap #sarah writes ff

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mystisnykoto · 6 years

Text

The Outsiders - Chapter 18

Come Together

The wind was soft. Sand floated on the breeze as soft whimpers echoed behind the gentle howl. Iris sat upon Perraux's chest, her hands and fingers wrapped tightly around their neck.

“Please...” Iris spoke softly, her lip quivering as she looked upon the face of her doppelganger. She tightened her grip, feeling soft pops under her fingers. Gasps and gargles croaked out from Perraux, Iris putting all of her effort into strangling her foe.

“K-ki-ill... m-m...m...” Perraux tried to speak out.

“J-just... die...”

Yesterday...

Iris stirred slightly, her body pulsing with energy as she jolted away. Several error messages popped up in her vision, displaying various pieces of diagnostic information.

'System activation complete, battery level: Twenty-seven percent,' her system spoke directly into her mind.

“Ugh... thanks body...” Iris spoke aloud, her voice slightly mechanical and metallic. Her body felt stiff as she stood to her feet, wobbling slightly as she found her balance. Soft clinks sounded from the floor, as pale shards piled up slowly. Iris rubbed a hand over her jaw, feeling several pieces of her shell peel off on her fingers. She frowned, dusting her hand off on her leg as she looked from something to wear as a mask. “Barely back to the real world, already falling to pieces...” she spoke, finding a small kerchief inside one of her toolboxes. “Better than nothing...”

Iris skipped toward the exit, her foot kicking at the bar that had be used in the attack. She paused a moment to lift the makeshift weapon from the floor, turning it over in her hands to admire the harsh bend in the metal where she had been struck. Her body and optics reacted immediately and scanned over the sold bar in her hands. A quick moment passed, as a list appeared at the side of her vision with a soft chime.

“Spectral analysis? What is... seventy-five percent mythrite, ten percent lumythrite, six percent trace earth...” Iris read aloud as she mumbled the last few elements. “Potential match... h-high mythrite! Was I really hit twice with this thing?” Iris turned the bar over, re-examining the bend in the solid bar. Gods, it's a really good thing I didn't go back to normal...” spoke Iris with a slight grimace, a shiver rippling through her as she dropped the bar to the floor and slipped outside.

The sun was stifling, her eyes adjusting as best they could in the harsh light. Once adjusted, Iris looked over the path leading into her shop, hoping for some clue as to Perraux's intended direction.

“Damn it! How am I supposed to find him!?” Iris shouted, feeling a few more shards fall from her face. She grimaced, trying to not imagine how her face looked at this point. She touched a hand to the wound, her eyes opening wide while turning back to the workshop. “Wait... that bar... I don't keep mythrite in here!” Iris let out, dashing back inside and scooping the metal from the floor. She turned it over several times, noting that the bar looked a bit older, scratched and worn in several areas. “Coming back to the real world, it seems like I have other functions from when I was in The Net. Maybe... something to find where this is from?” Iris focused on the bar, trying to see if anything in her systems triggered any extra functions. “Ugh... maybe not...” she sighed. She looked over the bar and manually inspecting it, noting a knot of weld at one end. “ Looks like... it was part of something, a jail cell? But... where is old enough...” Iris spoke softly, thinking over some of her lessons. “Older sections of Kugane have cells once used by the Sekiseigumi... were they mythrite?” Iris tossed the bar aside, her memory bank having recorded a perfect visual model for her to reference inside of a display within her eyes. She smirked with confidence, grabbing her jacket next to the door and burst outside once more, noticing a few of the neighbors had been peering over into the yard.

“Is that her?” asked one of the older women. “I heard she snapped at her students yesterday, called them all sorts of nasty things.”

“Surprised she wasn't fired on the spot,” spoke the man next to the woman. “But that's not her,” he continued, pointing at Iris. “Look, that's one of her weird machine experiment things.” Iris glanced over to the small crowd, no doubt alerted by her shouting. She huffed quietly, walking up to the crowd and greeting them with a bow.

“Excuse me humans, I am looking for the one that owns this facility,” Iris spoke, flashing the group a smile as she returned to standing upright.

“It's really well spoken too!” spoke the woman.

“I have been deactivated for a time, and I need to speak with this facility's owner immediately,” Iris asked, more commanding in tone that before.

“Sh-she went that way, t-toward the city, a-about ten minutes ago,” the man stammered, pointing to the dock. “This thing has a lot of personality, doesn't it.”

“Thank you for your assistance,” Iris spoke, bowing once more as she took off toward the small dock.

“He is in the old cells...” Iris spoke softly to herself, standing away from the other patrons on the vessel. She watched the city close in, shutting her eyes to allow her diagnostics to appear. “Battery charge is holding steady... Doesn't seem to be any major damage other than to my frame... I'll need to keep my guard up, he has to know I'm coming...”

Iris crawled through a broken sewer grate, sloshing through the water and tunnels until she reached another large grate. A section of the grate was missing, as her system presented the scanned model of the bar in place of the missing section. Iris looked closely over the spot, her system displaying a 'match' message as the model turned red, confirming this to be where the mythrite bar had originated. She touched over the broken section, carefully inspecting the area as she noticed that the bar looked to have been ripped out from the gate, rather than being cut free.

“What tool did he...” Iris thought aloud, going silent as she rubbed her chin. The missing shell on her face put into context the immense strength Perruax had within her old body. “What... has he done to me?” Iris questioned before slipping between the bars and traveling further inside. She trudged through the mud and muck as a faint light came into view in the distance. Iris slowed her pace, sinking silently in the mud until reaching the stone walkway, leading to several abandoned cells. A soft whimpering echoed along the walls, seeming to come from the cell with the light. Iris quickened her pace, jogging forward to find a beaten and battered Trix sitting inside. A single cuff and chain bound her left arm, her right having been eviscerated and wrapped in a crude bandage.

“T-Trix?” Iris spoke softly, causing Trix to instantly wake and scramble to the rear corner of the cell, knocking over the lantern and killing the flame inside.

“NO! NO! STAY AWAY FROM ME!” Trix shouted, her voice hoarse and shrill. Iris held out her hands, doing what she could to try and calm the injured miqo'te.

“N-no, Trix, it's me,” Iris spoke, trying to suppress the mechanical tones to her voice as she moved closer. “It's Iris.”

“Y-you say that! EVERY! TIME! E-every time you come here, a-and do TH-THINGS to me!” Trix screamed again, sinking deep into the corner, baring her teeth. “You stay away! YOU MONSTER!” Iris' hands slowly lowered, the words sinking deep, as she sulked and fell back to her rear, resting upon her power cord.

“B-but... it's me... Trix... It's me...” Iris pleaded, her synthetic voice completely unfiltered as a pressure welled up in her chest, her emotions beginning to run out of control. Her lines flickered and pulsed under her jacket, as several warning messages displayed in her eyes.

'Warning: system processes exceeding emotional parameters. Solution: Inhale slowly to mimic calming routines and initiate system component cooling,' her system spoke into her mind. Iris breathed in slowly, the air filtering into her core, cooling and ventilating her system.

“And you think I'll believe you?” Trix snarled. “You... you drag me here, you beat me, rip my arm off, a-and... you ha-” Trix tried to continue as her voice failed her. She sobbed a few times, as Iris thought over everything that had happened, that Perraux had done. From recruiting Zeffer, to getting her into The Net and stealing her body. Perraux had been going out of his way to ruin the lives of those that had previously crossed him, with both Trix and Iris being the main offenders. “You monster...”

“Y-you're right...” Iris replied, sadness filling her voice. “I... am a monster...” She looked down to her hands, looking over the glowing fibers between the metal plates of her fingers as they pulsed with her emotions. “Not just in what I am... but... by not dealing with Perraux sooner... Gods, I knew he was deranged, I knew he was dangerous... And how I treated him, I laughed at him, chided him at times... He was obsessed with you, then with me... and I just...strung him along,” Iris sobbed, making an exaggerated hand motion as she did so. “He was nice at first... to get in close. I heard rumors he was... doing things to new recruits... and I ran. Didn't tell anyone, not even the Brass Blades. Gods be blessed Noya got out of there when she did. He was always too weak to actually do something; he was just the hapless doctor and mechanic. And now he's gained strength, look at what he's done. He ruined my family, he's tortured and destroyed you, he's tarnishing my reputation at work and...” Iris spoke, her synthetic voice rippling with sadness and frustration, tears overtaking her as small pixels fell from her eyes as she realized the full scope of the disaster affecting her. “...my students. Who knows what else he's done or said to them, using MY body and voice to do so!” Trix watched, calming quickly as she witnessed Iris' breakdown and hearing the mechanical tones in her voice. Iris' lines began to glow almost pure white, lighting through her jacket and illuminating the room clearly enough for Trix to make out her features.

“He... l-look at me!” Iris shouted in anger, tearing away her simple cloth mask to reveal her shattered, synthetic face. The lower panel of her face completely chipped away and showcasing the weave and circuits beneath. “He's taken my LIFE, just so he can ruin EVERYING I've ever worked for!” Iris screamed out before slumping forward and curling into a ball. She cried hard as Trix slowly shifted forward, dragging herself closer to Iris.

“It's... is it really you?” Trix spoke while slowly reaching forward, the sound of her chain clattering loudly behind her. Her hand touched softly to Iris' hair, petting softly through the android's locks, confirming to her that her friend was real. A look of elation overtook her face as she pet more, turning to soft scalp massaging as Iris cried harder. “It... It is you! It's really you! Y-you're alive!” Trix exclaimed happily, tearing up as well, as she curled up next to Iris, her fingers still entwined in her friends hair.

(First Chapter) (Previous Chapter) (Next Chapter)

(Other Tales)

#ffxiv #rp #short story #outsiders #iris #trix #au ra #miqo'te #android #robot #new functions

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carry-on-kissing-snowbaz · 7 years

Text

Falling Asleep

Just a little snowbaz fluff and bed sharing. Hope you enjoy! <3

Word Count: 1795

Simon

When Simon had agreed to help Baz find his mother’s killer, he had expected violent chases through the wavering wood, travels into unexplored areas of the catacombs, and even searching for the nursery she had died in. What he hadn’t expected was hours and hours of reading through old newspapers and books. Somehow, the most mysterious and important quest Simon had ever had handed to him had become the most boring.

“Can’t we check the catacombs?” Simon asked.

Penny scrunched up her nose, expression confused.

“Didn’t you search through all of it during fifth year?” She asked.

Baz glanced at him and smirked.

“Yeah,” Simon responded, cheeks warm, “but I wasn’t looking for clues about Headmistress Pitch, I was looking for, well, Baz.”

Baz threw his hand up over his forehead, fluttering his eyelashes dramatically.

“Oh how you make me swoon Snow.”

Simon glared at him.

“Simon I know this is boring but until winter break, this is all we can do,” Penny said.

“And you? Are you satisfied with just sitting around?” Simon asked, eyes on Baz.

Something flickered in Baz’s eyes. He wanted action as much as Simon did, probably more than Simon did. This was his mother’s killer they were looking for after all; he would be out for blood.

“No,” Baz said reluctantly as if agreeing with Simon was the worse thing possible, “but Bunce is right. For now, this is all we can do.”

“Plus, reading is fun,” Penny said.

“And enriching,” Baz said.

“Nerds,” Simon muttered.

They spent the rest of the night scouring the texts that Baz had stolen for them that week. Eventually, Simon’s vision was blurring on the words and he kept rereading the same sentence. Baz acted like he was unaffected, but Simon noticed the way his eyelids kept shutting briefly between pages. Even Penny looked like she was struggling a bit.

“I’m going to finish this book in my room, if I wait much later then I’ll be spotted leaving,” Penny said.

“Then I’m going to bed,” Simon said.

Penny slapped her hand flat across the pages of the book Simon had open in his lap, preventing him from snapping it shut.

“Oh no you won’t. You need to finish that by tonight.”

Simon felt like growling, or whining.

“I’ll make sure he gets it done,” Baz said.

“You’re not my baby sitter.”

Penny rose and grabbed all of her things. With one last warning glance for the both of them, she threw on her cape and left.

“That was all a ploy right? You just said that to make her leave so we could sleep,” Simon said.

“As much as I want to sleep right now, the books are more important,” Baz said.

Simon groaned.

“This is the one time I was grateful for your plotting skills.”

Baz looked at his own bed, piled with books that Penny had already finished and discarded. Then he glanced over at Simon’s bed and it’s virtually uncluttered duvet cover.

“Yes you can leave the book shelf that used to be your bed and sit with me,” Simon said.

Baz didn’t say thank you but he did walk over and sit as far away from Simon as he could on the bed.

“All right, let’s get this done Snow.”

Simon wasn’t sure when, but at some point his eyes had shut and hadn’t reopened.

Baz

Baz felt warm. In fact, he was not used to waking up feeling so warm. Sleepily, he scooted closer to the source of the warmth. He had the dizzy feeling that he was curled up around the sun. Then, as he started to wake up more clearly, he realized that he was wrapped around clothing. More than that, he was wrapped around someone.

His eyes flew open.

Snow’s moles were up close and personal, his eyes shut in deep sleep. One of his arms was wrapped around Baz and one of Baz’s legs was slung over Snow’s. For one blissful second, Baz felt a surge of happiness. He had dreamt about this very thing, but real life was so much more satisfying than a murky dream.

Then, as he remembered who he and Snow were, Baz felt his stomach drop out of him.

Before he could move Snow’s eyelids opened, sleep fuzzy. The sight tore at something inside of Baz but he didn’t let it show.

“Could you remove your club of an arm from me so I can breath?” Baz hissed.

Snow’s eyes widened. Within seconds his face went deathly pale and then a deep red.

“B-Baz, what…?”

Baz did not want to hear all the things Snow would say. He didn’t want to know how embarrassed or freaked out he was. He wanted to end this experience before it could be tarnished.

“We fell asleep you git! And now we’re behind on all the reading we were supposed to do,” Baz snapped.

Snow sat up and away, eyes bugging out of his head.

“I…how can you even be concerned with that right now?” He asked.

“You mean, why am I not having a meltdown over having woken up in your arms?” Baz asked.

“It was one arm, not both of them,” Snow said, defensively.

Trust Snow to nitpick that detail.

“We’re searching for my mother’s killer. Waking up fully clothed and rested is hardly the most troubling thing on my mind at the moment.”

Snow’s expression softened.

“You’re right. I was being stupid. I just-“

Baz cut him off.

“Oh don’t worry Snow, I plan to retch over the memory later. As soon as my mother’s killer is dead, you’ll have my full attention.”

Snow glared at him.

“I’m going to get breakfast,” He muttered.

“Probably a good idea,” Baz said, tiredly.

Once Snow was dressed and out the door Baz fell back onto the bed. He curled into the duvet and closed his eyes. I slept with Simon Snow he thought. And it really had been just sleeping, but it had been better than anything he could have imagined.

Simon

Two days. It had been two days since the sleeping incident. Simon hadn’t been able to put it out of his mind. Baz seemed to have managed just that. He gave no indication that he cared about or was even thinking of the experience. Penny hadn’t even caught on yet, which was saying something. If Baz didn’t care and Penny didn’t suspect something, then surely Simon could move past it.

But he couldn’t. He kept replaying the moment of waking up in his mind. Before he had opened his eyes, he had felt a cozy body under his arm. He’d wanted to squeeze closer, to press his nose into the hair that had been tickling his collarbone, but he’d opened his eyes instead. Even as he’d seen the look of sheer hostility in Baz’s eyes, for a moment Simon had felt a burst of warmth.

This was his worst enemy. But he was also the guy Simon had spent the night with.

It was late at night and Penny was on her last batch of books. Simon envied her; his stack had grown steadily over the last two days. Baz was only just behind Penny.

“Simon I need you to start reading more, I’ll have to start taking on some of the books in your stack if you don’t get further along soon,” Penny said.

Simon glanced at her.

“Because you would hate that so much,” He said.

Penny’s glare softened.

“Well, it still isn’t an efficient way to get through all of the books.”

Baz smiled at them; a real smile, not the sharp edged smirk he usually wore.

Simon felt his heart thump unevenly.

“Let’s call it a night,” Baz said, “I think Snow’s brain will explode if we don’t.”

Penny shrugged, obviously irritated, but didn’t argue. Simon suspected that even she wanted to go to her room and sleep.

“This would work a lot better if you’d just let me sleep here on research nights,” Penny said.

Baz and Simon both said no at the same time.

Simon froze, eyes locked with Baz’s. He’d seen a look slither across his face, and he could have sworn it was nervousness.

“Okay,” Penny said, eyes darting back and forth between them, “See you two tomorrow, I guess.”

When she was out the door Simon started to speak and was promptly cut off.

“Don’t,” Baz said.

Simon growled.

“Why not? It’s not as if you aren’t thinking about it.”

Baz swung around to face him, grey eyes cold and angry.

“We fell asleep on your bed. Why are you trying to make this weird? Can’t we just move on?” Baz demanded.

“But…”

“But?’

Simon looked away.

“I don’t want to move on,” Simon said.

He looked up and saw that Baz had gone rigid.

“I-I liked it,” Simon whispered.

Baz

He’d liked it. Simon fucking Snow had been thinking about their night spent together and he’d liked it. Baz was sure he was stuck in a dream, or some sort of alternate reality.

“What do you mean Snow? You liked procrastinating on your reading? Because that isn’t very helpful.”

Snow’s jaw hardened.

“I am not talking about books,” He said.

“Then what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about how nice it was waking up with you in my arms!” Simon said.

Baz stared at him.

“Snow…”

Blue eyes were all Baz could see. Snow had liked it. But what did that mean? Baz couldn’t let himself get too caught up.

“Baz can you please say something?”

Baz shook his head.

“I’m not sure what to say Snow.”

Snow took a step towards him.

“Say you liked it too,” Snow whispered.

Baz felt himself caving.

“Say that you enjoyed waking up together,” He continued.

Baz’s knees felt weak.

“Say you like me,” Snow finished.

Baz let Snow snake their hands together.

“Simon I-I don’t know about this.”

Snow’s eyes sparked.

“I like it when you say my name,” He said.

Baz felt like he was under a spell.

“Simon,” Baz repeated.

Simon leaned forward just slightly and pressed his lips against Baz’s. It wasn’t the wild make-outs of his dreams, or the passionate kiss they sometimes shared before they were killed in his nightmares. It was just the softest press of lips to lips, the sweetest pressure Baz had ever felt.

“Let’s go to sleep,” Simon said.

Baz nodded.

They stumbled towards Simon’s bed and awkwardly got under the covers. For a moment, neither one of them moved from their respective edges of the bed; but then Snow was jutting forward, warm hands gathering Baz up against him. Baz relaxed against him and wrapped his arm around Snow’s chest.

They were finally right where they wanted to be.

#carry-on-kissing-snowbaz #my fanfiction #carry on #carry on fanfic #carry on fanfiction #carry on fan fic #simon snow #Simon and Baz #snowbaz #baz pitch #basilton pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #penny bunce #Penelope Bunce #canon divergence #world of mages #Watford

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hurt-spock · 6 years

Text

FanFic: The Deep (Spock/McCoy friendship)

“I told you wife that he would not enjoy the experience,” Sarek said as their infant child shrieked while his mother held him in the shallow water and carefully washed him.

“Hush, dear. It's natural for a baby to be unsettled the first couple of times.”

“He is Vulcan. It is not natural for an infant Vulcan to be exposed to water to frequently and so young.”

“He is also human. That side must be nurtured too.”

The baby continued to cry.

Amanda had wanted to object to the school trip.

The Vulcan's believed that it was good for young male Vulcan's to spend time away from their families and experience nature and survival for themselves. They were supervised by adults, but Amanda feared the usual bias would fall upon her son.

At six years old, he was not a baby to be coddled any longer, yet he was her child and would forever be precious to her in a way that she knew Spock and even Sarek would never understand. But she knew that she had to let him do this too. All Vulcan children had such tasks to complete. Not allowing it would make him more of an outcast.

So she waited patiently for the few days to pass by and tried not to appear too anxious when he came home. Tried not to fuss over him.

It was only a split lip. But the hint of a bruise underneath and she knew it had been inflicted and it wasn't the harsh conditions that Sarek implied. And even at six year old, Spock had stopped confiding in her about these types of incidents.

“Spock, get you landing party together and meet in the transporter room in 20 minutes,” Kirk said.

Spock nodded as he looked over the data on his PADD to access the best team for the task. Spock didn't pay much attention to those in the meeting leaving until he was done and found only himself and McCoy left in the room. McCoy was waiting at the door and a quick glance told Spock that McCoy had locked the door to prevent anyone else entering.

Spock raised an eyebrow in question as he eyed the locked door. “Something you wish to discuss, Doctor?”

“You're going to lead that landing party?”

“Clearly,” Spock replied.

“I thought you had a thing about water?”

Spock frowned. “A 'thing' about water?”

McCoy sighed. “The drowning thing?” The change in Spock's face was minimal and he did well to cover his surprise so quickly. But McCoy had noticed it. “So it's true then?”

Spock kept his gaze averted for a moment or two before meeting McCoy's look. “It is of no concern, to yourself or the task at hand,” Spock said, stepping past the doctor and unlocking the door.

Jim had noticed his hoovering, checking the landing party updates. But he didn't say anything.

Sometimes McCoy did do that. If the danger seemed to be high, but as far as Jim was concerned, this was a straight forward mission, so McCoy's presence made him a little anxious.

When they were ready for beam up, McCoy headed to the transporter room along with Jim. The crew debriefed and all was well. Except now Spock was actively avoiding the doctor. He blatantly ignored his presence there and went about finishing his duties. McCoy mulled over how best to approach Spock and ended up heading to his quarters three hours after Spock had been off duty. He made sure he wasn't with Uhura first, nothing to make matters worse than busting in on their quality time together, though it didn't surprise him Uhura was also not present.

He buzzed and the door opened with a simple command from Spock. The scent of incense hung heavily in the air and the lights were low, sure signs Spock had been meditating.

“I wasn't sure I'd be welcome,” McCoy said, hesitating by the door as it closed behind him.

“You are always welcome, Doctor. Although the memories you choose to bring up are not always so welcome.” Spock replied. He remained seated at his desk. McCoy knew that Spock always mediated on a mat on the floor. He wondered if Spock had been about to meditate or had already completed it.

“Just so you know, I wasn't snooping through your files or anything. Stuff like that, which might be an issue, it's flagged up for medical.”

“But you did look further into it,” Spock replied. It wasn't an accusation.

“A long time ago, but yeah. And just so you know, there's a lot of pressure on me not to let you die,” McCoy said, pointing a finger in Spock's direction.

“There is also a lot of pressure on me not to die. But I grant that your job maybe harder. Besides, if I fail, I do not have to live with the consequences.”

“Stop talking like that. It's depressing as Hell.” McCoy said. He moved away from the door and went over to one of the incense burners, a warming orange glow coming from the flame, with deep red at the top. “So is this genuine?”

“It is a replication of one I had on Earth. Many Vulcan's who survived gave any genuine artifacts in their possession to the Elders of New Vulcan. So those genuine items could be immortalised for future generations.”

“I wanted to just, you know, say I'm sorry if that comment I made before the mission threw you at all. I didn't think it through. I shouldn't have mentioned it.”

“Would you like a tea, Doctor?” Spock replied, getting up from the desk.

“I'm not really a big tea drinker.”

“I am afraid I have nothing else I can offer you,” Spock replied as he made himself a drink.

McCoy let out a sigh. “It's okay. I guess I should get going, let you get back to your.... thing.” He turned to leave but Spock spoke out before the door opened.

“I do not have a dislike for water.”

McCoy stopped and turned to the Vulcan. He was still in the darkness of the room, but the flicking from the candles in the room lit up his face.

“Vulcans do not have much association with water. It is rare almost sacred on our planet. Water sources are scarce and heavy rains so rare. Yet they always bring with them so much life and rage.” Spock took a drink from his tea. “My mother bathed me as an infant any human would bathe their child. It was met with much disapproval, from both my Father and myself. But I grew used to it. On an outing as a child, a storm came upon our group. I did not notice the first drops of rain, even though I was further out that the other children. I did not warn them because it did not frighten me as it frightened them. By the time the rain reached them, it was too late to find any real cover.”

“It was only rain.” McCoy shrugged.

“A fierce storm. Thunder and lightning. It was probably the first that most had experienced. Not like a storm on Earth. And very different if you are out and exposed in the middle of it. The elders in the group did their best to shelter us from it. One of the boys fled. In sheer panic he ran. There were only two elders with us, so one of them went after him. We waited. But they did not come back. So once the storm passed, we headed in the direction they had gone to find them.”

“Surely you should have all been taken home first?” McCoy interjected.

“The experience was about nature and survival. What better example than this?”

McCoy shook his head and Spock continued. “It did not take long to find them. Vulcan was home to many wild animals that prowled the deserts for food. That night, in their fear and panic, they had not been thinking about the dangers from animals, just the storm and rain. We gathered what we could find that remained of them, dug a hole and then burnt what was left so the ground would not be disturbed by creatures that could smell the flesh and blood. And we piled stones on top to mark where their bodies were. Then we headed back.”

“What did your parents say when you got home?”

“It took two days to get home. The following morning, we were gathering berries in the woods for breakfast. Two of the boys played a prank on me. I believed they were in danger and went to help, but they were in no danger.”

Spock's voice had been calm and quiet throughout, but it dropped even quieter. “I still do not know if they were aiming to be so violent in revenge or if it went beyond their expectations, however I recall them tripping me when I got close to them. The official report, the one you read, says that I tripped and fell into a body of water and almost drowned. I know that they tripped me, and struck the back of my head with a rock. I woke as they dragged me by my legs through to the body of water. I did not struggle, I did not believe I was in danger. The ground was still damp from the rain before and I lay there looking up at the sky through the trees above. I could hear birds and the elder calling our names. It did not seem dangerous.”

“And what did they do?” McCoy pressed.

Spock looked at McCoy. “Is it not obvious? One of them pulled me into the water and dropped me into it, he pushed me down so my head was submerged and he did not let go. The other.... “ Spock frowned as he tried to remember clearly. “I believe he kicked, or maybe threw stones at my body. I can not say clearly what it was. But they hurt and they left bruises. My eyes were closed. Tightly, I could not see a thing, just darkness. So I do not know when exactly I passed out but the next thing I remember is the elder striking my back and me coughing up water. The boys said I tripped and fell and he nodded his head and that is what he told the others when we returned and that is what I told my parents. Even though I could remember what they did, I did not tell them differently.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Two people died. If I had made an accusation I would have tarnished the deaths of those that lost their lives. And the families of those boys would have argued their innocence. And they would have been believed.”

“They could have killed you.”

“Yes.”

“Don't you ever think that you have a duty to do something about it now?”

“They both perished on Vulcan.” Spock was back to staring blankly at something only he could see. “Doctor, many tormented me as a child as I was different. And most of them are dead. And I would face all of those tormentors again and suffer through it all if I could have my home back.”

McCoy swallowed down his own emotions. Spock didn't need him to go all soft on him. “Fuck,” he muttered quietly to himself. “Okay so for future reference, how do you feel about water?”

“I am indifferent to it. Water did not try and kill me. It is illogical to fear it.”

McCoy nodded. “I'm removing the note then. It's irrelevant.”

Spock said nothing. He seemed to remember the tea he had made for himself and drank the remainder of it. “Have you got the answers you sought out, Doctor?”

“I wasn't looking for answers. Not really. You didn't have to tell me all that.”

“I believe sometimes your human theories of sharing may be of some value. Thank you, Doctor.”

“Your welcome, Spock.”

“I'll leave to your meditation.”

Spock nodded. “Good night, Doctor.”

“Night.”

#Spock #McCoy #babySpock #Hurt!Spock #Bullies #SupportingMcCoy #Star Trek #fanfic

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