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stuckwith-harry · 3 years

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cried out to you alone

“It becomes a part of who you are”, Harry says, some sort of clarity coming to him. “Death, I mean. Grief. It doesn’t have to swallow you whole, but there is a little bit of it in every part of you.”

Impossible, is the only thing Harry can stand to think. That there is still sunlight in the world after everything.

Still, it pours out over the Burrow’s kitchen table in bright, luminous yellow, warming the veined wood. Harry and the Weasleys watch it creep over the tabletop, sitting elbow-to-elbow. Molly and Arthur are touching shoulders and brushing through hair as they pass around steaming mugs of tea, as they pour milk and stir in spoonfuls of sugar, the bags under their eyes swollen and purple like figs.

When Harry tries to open his mouth, to offer help, Molly quickly shakes her head at him; pleading. Like she wouldn’t know what else to do with herself.

So Harry stays, cramped between George and Ginny, and lets her place her palm on his back as she places his tea in front of him. Through the open window, a sweet-smelling breeze comes pouring in, the smell of warm soil and flowers and summer rapidly approaching, which seems impossible, too.

Tomorrow morning, they’re going to get out of bed and make breakfast. They’re going to feed the chicken in the yard, do the dishes and read the newspaper. Still, the sun is going to come up.

For a moment, he catches Ron’s gaze; Ron, whose face is oddly contorted and whose eyes are glassy and bright red. Harry can’t bear the sight of it: he stares at the old mug in his hands, examining the faded red dots, hand-painted. Anything that soothes.

Poppies, he realises. On the inside, near a chip at the rim, he can make out the small letters spelling out Ottery St. Catchpole, and below that, half-drowning in sweet tea: Flea Market, 1988.

A memory, then. One he wasn’t a part of, but one he can envision, anyway, the bright red summer day, the bustling and shuffling of the little village, the shrieking of children, strawberry ice cream rapidly melting and dripping on bare knees; a younger, happier Ron –

The scraping of a chair yanks him back, as Ginny abruptly gets to her feet and walks out without a word. No one tries to stop her, and the small, pathetic sound of her bedroom door closing from atop the stairs sounds down to them as though she slammed it.

After that, only silence. No pots stir in the kitchen sink, no footsteps thunder from several floors above, and no chatter, no yelling, no laughter holds the walls of the house together. No explosions sound from the twins’ room.

Death is an awfully quiet affair.

One by one, as the stripes on the tabletop grow long and orange, the Weasleys crawl into their hiding places. Harry knows he’s intruding, so he wanders outside, following the soft clucking of the chicken pecking away at the dirt behind their wooden fence, the only things alive and making a sound.

The solitude is a relief: he has never wished to flee the walls of the Burrow so desperately, only stayed long enough to change out of the black funeral robes and into an old Quidditch jumper. Then he pushed Ron’s bedroom door open far enough to slip out and disappear, and mercifully, Ron didn’t try to stop him, either.

The jumper is Ron’s, technically. It feels like being held, Gryffindor red and worn and entirely too large for Harry. Somehow that only makes him feel worse.

The Weasleys did not hesitate to take him home with them after the battle, because that was their way. They put up the old camp bed in Ron’s violently orange bedroom like they always had, and Ron silently handed him a pile of hand-me-downs so Harry would have something to wear other than the clothes that still reeked of the tent, of sweat and of blood.

Harry props his elbows up on the weathered fence and buries his face in the soft sleeves, breathing deeply. For a while, he simply listens as the hens, who do not know or care about anything, cluck away happily, as the urge to slip under the invisibility cloak, to disappear and never make a sound again, keeps on rushing over him.

“Hi.”

His heart jumps painfully into his throat at the quiet greeting and the sound of footsteps on dry grass that preceded it, and when he turns around to face it, he’s looking at Ginny. She’s changed out of her black dress robes, too, back into worn-out denim dungarees and a striped t-shirt. Scarlet and yellow. Her hair has come out of the braid from earlier and falls wildly to her collarbones again, no longer to her belly button, like it used to.

“I couldn’t stand the silence anymore”, she says, voice oddly throaty.

Harry wants to say, you don’t have to explain, but before he can, she pushes out: “And then I was in my room and it was just as fucking quiet, and I just – I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

She looks older, Harry thinks wildly. He hasn’t let himself look at her, not really, doesn’t even know why, just that he’s been avoiding her most of all. Ever since May 2nd, the quiet between them has stretched and stretched over miles and oceans and continents of wasteland. Harry knows it’s his fault, that he should say something, but he has no words, no words at all.

The first morning after the battle, when he came stumbling into the common room and found her there, they just held each other, and he had no words then, either. There was sunlight there, too, he remembers suddenly, poking through the shattered windows and lighting up every particle of dust floating around the empty room.

“Can we go somewhere else?”, she asks, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Anywhere else?”

Harry nods, mouth dry. For a moment, her eyes seem to linger on him, but then she turns away without another word, and he follows her lead without question or objection. They don’t speak again until they reach the old broomshed, and Ginny suddenly turns to look at him again, face unreadable.

“Any chance you wanna go for a fly?”

“Wh-What?”

She shrugs. “Do you?”

It’s a strange time capsule, the shed. Ginny pushes the wooden door open and sends flurries of dust into the air, catching sunlight; Harry, who is standing behind her, catches a glimpse of Arthur’s old Muggle trinkets and the old brooms lined up against the wall. Ron and Ginny’s are closest to the door; the twins’ brooms are up on a shelf opposite the square window.

For a moment, Ginny is perfectly still, and Harry knows she is looking at them, too. Then she reaches for her broom and silently pushes past him. Harry grabs Ron’s and closes the door of the shed behind him, and together they wander away from the Burrow, over the hills that surround it, where wild poppies are peeking through the unkempt grass and weeds.

Harry thinks he knows where she’s going: their makeshift Quidditch pitch hidden between gnarly old trees from summers long lost, where they used to chuck apples and tennis balls at each other, during all those afternoons spent playing Quidditch two against two.

Tall, sweet-smelling yarrow brushes along their bare shins as they walk, and pink clover, the soft heads bending back to the earth under the weight of bumblebees passing by, thick dandelion leaves spread all across the ground amidst the weeds; and everywhere poppies, peeking through the tall grass, the paper-thin petals fluttering in the breeze.

Tucked behind another hill, Harry remembers, a few minutes on foot further north, is the lake where they whiled away happier summer afternoons than this. The image comes to his mind in bright, sunny colours, Ginny’s wide, toothy grin as she sneaks up on Ron, the thundering splash and Hermione’s piercing shriek, and Ron, emerging, spluttering and yelling, his sopping hair plastered to his face.

But that was centuries ago, and their full-bellied laughter seems miles and countries away already. Here, only silence. Harry wants to ask, are you okay?, or say, it’s going to be alright, but what good would it do?

The poppies are early: they’re not supposed to bloom for another month. There’s no end to them, no matter how far they walk, a sea of red stretching out all over the soft hills. Harry can’t tear his eyes away until the first beech trees they used to climb, black pines and yews throw cool shadows over their heads.

Strange, that it looks the same. The leaves up above their heads rustle softly as they mount their brooms, and Ginny shoots into the air, a quiet cannon. For the better part of an hour, they zoom in circles through the rapidly cooling air, chucking an old Quaffle back and forth at each other. Ginny’s throws are hard and unrelenting: they’re not keeping score, but she’s playing like it’s the last game of the season, like the House Cup depends on it, so Harry lets her exhaust herself. By the time they sink back to the ground, the sky over the meadow is dotted in shades of pink and red.

Ginny hits the ground with such force her knees buckle under the impact and hit the dry grass. Harry gasps, but she is already getting up again, brushing off the dirt without comment.

They find a spot at the outer edge of the pitch and slump into the tall grass with their backs leaning against an oak tree, where they can see the sunset falling on the soft hills and the Burrow in the distance, bright red like poppies. Ginny’s hands are uselessly holding her ribs, her warm eyes staring off into nothing.

“Feel any better?”, Harry asks after a while.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

She shifts next to him, tucking her scraped knees to her chest. They look like she’s spent all summer climbing trees and rolling down the grassy hills around the Burrow and crashing her broomstick into her brothers in a spectacular grab for the Quaffle.

“At least I feel a little less like I was buried with him”, she mutters.

I’m sorry, Harry wants to say, but that seems useless, too.

“I wanted to leave, too”, he says finally. “It was so quiet in there.”

“I hate it”, Ginny says softly. “It doesn’t feel anything like home when it’s like this.”

“I’m sorry”, he says despite himself, for what feels like the thousandth time since everything. “I shouldn’t be here.”

Ginny's brows furrow slightly, as if to say, yes, you should. “If you weren’t, I’d still be shut up in my room right now. Going mad, probably.”

After a short pause, she adds: “I wouldn’t know who to talk to.”

It strikes Harry like lightning: she was looking for him.

She looks over at him as though searching for something. Her brown eyes glow golden in the warm light, like honey, her whole face painted in reds and oranges and pinks.

“How do you do it?”, she asks finally, voice quiet, but steady, as the soft breeze continues to rush through the trees. “How do you lose everyone you’ve lost – and go on living? How do you live with the dead?”

Harry looks at her, the way she sits cross-legged and hunched over in the grass next to him, arms hugged to herself, and it sinks in, what she’s searching for, what she’s asking of him.

“It’s not the same”, he says softly.

She scoffs quietly. “How is that not the same?”

Harry looks around their hiding place. Maybe it’s the creaking of old branches around them, almost a murmur, the smell of the trees, that brings them back: his parents in the Forbidden Forest, walking towards him, Sirius’ bright grin, Dumbledore at King’s Cross Station.

The thought of them cuts through him, every beat of his heart sharp and stinging as they remain dead and he does not.

“Your speech”, he says finally, and watches her jaw clench. “I couldn’t have said anything like that about my parents – or Sirius …”

“I can’t believe I wrote him a fucking eulogy”, Ginny mutters, staring at the weeds to her feet, the patches of moss creeping across the earth under the wild, entangled grass. “It makes it feel so fucking final.”

“You did really well”, Harry says. “It was beautiful.”

She merely shrugs, and he doesn’t blame her.

“I’m glad I got to say something, I think”, she says after another stretch of silence. “But, Merlin, he was walking and talking and making jokes just a week ago, and now he’s six feet underground and I’ve written a double-sided page on how sorely he’ll be missed.”

She wipes her nose on the back of her sleeve.

“Up until today, I really thought he might jump up and laugh it off and make fun of us for falling for it.”

You made it feel like that today, he wants to say, but doesn’t.

“I’m so sorry, Ginny.”

She read it out with a completely steady voice, both fists clutching the slip of paper in her hand. She did not bother to find a silver lining this time, or to look for meaning at all; but every word seemed to bring Fred back to life a little, even earning a few teary chuckles from the other Weasleys. Every anecdote and every prank she recounted was a testament to the fact that Fred Weasley had been alive, that he had mattered, that he had left an impact on her, on all of them.

“You know my Mum had brothers”, Ginny says suddenly, looking over at Harry’s hands. “Fabian and Gideon Prewett.”

She points, and Harry realises what she’s really looking at: Fabian Prewett’s battered old watch on his arm.

“They died in the first war. Bill, Charlie and Percy say they remember them a little, but the rest of us just grew up hearing stories.”

She picks at the shallow wound on her knee, where droplets of bright red blood have pushed to the surface through the cracks in her freckled skin. “It’s why Fred and George are named after them. A little bit, anyway – you know, Fred and George … Fabian and Gideon … Mum was pregnant when they died.”

Harry swallows. “I didn’t know.”

Ginny smiles sadly. “I liked the idea that they got to live on in the twins a little. I never thought to ask Fred and George how they felt about it, actually. I can’t imagine … how Mum feels.”

Harry watches her wrap her arms around her legs, watches the strawberry blond hairs on her shins stand on end as the air cools around them. She looks tired, but her eyes are dry.

“I never made that connection”, he says softly.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you”, she says. “It seemed important.”

Even over the rustling of the trees, the chirping and creaking all around them, he can hear her clearly, her voice steady, unwavering.

“Do you miss him?”

“Yes.”

She looks around at him. “Do you not miss your parents?”

“I don’t know how”, Harry mutters. “Your speech … it was full of memories.”

She doesn’t respond, understanding silently. Then: “What about Sirius?”

Harry shrugs. “He never really got to be my godfather, did he? Not the way he was supposed to, anyway … there wasn’t time. And I don’t remember when my parents were alive – I’ve never known anything else.”

He looks at her, the way she’s quietly watching. “I’m sorry. I know that’s not what you were hoping to hear.”

Ginny dismisses it with a half-hearted gesture, lost in thoughts somewhere else.

“Do you think grieving someone is the same thing as missing them, then?”

“No … do you?”

She seems to consider it for a moment, then shakes her head.

“I just – I just want to talk to him and tell him what’s going on, and I think about how long it’s been since I’ve talked to him and how much I wish he were here and how I’m not gonna get to talk to him –”

She pauses mid-sentence, as though looking for words, and doesn’t find any.

“And then I think about the fact that he’s dead. That his life is over. And that I helped bury him today. And they’re both – awful, but it’s different, I guess.”

Harry nods, more to himself than to Ginny this time.

“And now, I just – I need to know what to do. So it doesn’t swallow me whole.”

Harry is still watching them walk towards him before his inner eye, his parents in the Forbidden Forest, his mother’s hungry face.

“I forget, sometimes”, he says. “For a moment, I think I forget they’re gone. Or I’m – I don’t know, distracted, and I’m not thinking about it – it slips away, and then it hits me again.”

Ginny’s teeth dig into her bottom lip. “I … honestly can’t fathom it right now.”

Harry looks over at her, the way she sits next to him, curled into herself, her hands still uselessly holding her ribs. Like it is physically hurting her.

“I dunno. Maybe forgetting is the wrong word. But when it happens, it always feels like it’s happening to someone else, like I am someone else.”

Ginny watches him intently as he stumbles to the end of his sentence: it feels pathetic already, having said it out loud like that.

“Like you are who you would’ve been if they hadn’t died?”, she asks, in that quietly remarkable way of hers, where she doesn’t treat him like something delicate, but she doesn’t ask for more than he can give, either.

“Yeah, I reckon. But I don’t recognise him at all.”

Ginny hums in understanding. She leans back against the bark of the tree and pulls her knees to herself again. “You would’ve been happier, anyway.”

Harry turns away at that, suddenly not trusting himself to speak.

“I know it doesn’t make sense or anything –”

“No, it does, Harry.”

“I mean, I know they couldn’t have lived. Everything would have to be different. We probably wouldn’t be here.”

Ginny sits in silence for a while.

“Do you ever wonder?”, she asks finally. “What you would’ve been like?”

“I guess … more like them. In ways I can recognise, anyway.”

He gestures helplessly at nothing, and Ginny takes that as a sign to push no further.

“I don’t recognise Ginny a week ago, either”, he hears her say, and the muffled sound of her voice tells him she’s wiping her nose on her sleeve again. “Every time something terrible happened, I guess I didn’t. It’s like remembering an old friend. One whose address you lost or something.”

“Cheery”, Ginny says in a hollow voice.

“It gets less all-consuming”, he says softly.

“Good”, she mutters. “Right now it’s pretty fucking all-consuming. It’s there when I wake up in the morning, and it’s – in my tea, and on all my clothes, and it’s in everyone I talk to and everything I say.”

Harry stares at the sky overhead, the red rapidly paling. Still, there is that whispering in the treetops, the feeling of being transported back into the Forbidden Forest. Still, his parents, reaching out for him.

“I’m sorry”, he says truthfully. “That’s all I’ve got.”

Ginny shakes her head. “It’s all I needed.”

He watches her tug at a poppy near her feet, struck by how long he’s managed to stay away from her, when her company is so comforting. The resolution comes to him all on its own, that he’s going to tell her everything. The Forbidden Forest. King’s Cross Station.

“Do you want to head back yet?”

Ginny looks at him, and she seems calmer somehow. For the first time since they got here, she doesn’t seem to be searching for anything – just looking.

“In a little while”, she says.

Harry looks back at her, really looks at her, and for a long time, neither of them speak, having arrived at some quiet understanding. Still, there’s a murmur in the trees around them, but they pay it no mind, and they don’t turn to look.

#i never posted it in obnoxious long text post form so :-)#here we are.#hinny #hp #fanfiction #cried out

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mmvalentine · 3 years

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The Bargain Pt 7 | Feysand

Modern AU. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 8

Rhys and Feyre sat on the sidewalk passing a tray of chips between them.

Rhys had woken up in a good mood. The two of them were meeting at the mural site, and on the way Rhys passed a cart selling hot chips and slices of sausage with a curry sauce. Not a conventional breakfast, but delicious.

Today, he was spending the day alone with Feyre, making a giant painting, and he that sounded like the best offer he'd had in a long time. In fact, they would be doing this for the next five days. He had whistled on the way there.

Feyre had turned up in these adorable little paint splattered overalls, with her hair piled up in a bun. Part of Rhys wished he was painting her today.

They were staring up at the wall where their mural was going to go, armed with an array of paint tins and aerosol cans and discussing how to start. On the one hand, when designing the piece they had taken turns and that had worked really well. On the other, it didn't make sense for only one of them to be working at a time. In the end, they decided they would lay down the base structure, and work from either end until they met in the middle.

When they finished their chips, Feyre got up and started pulling out reams of string and weights from her pocket to make a grid, the same way she always started. Then the wind picked up, blowing the string out of her hands and Feyre cursed.

"What are you doing?" Rhys asked her, the corner of his mouth lifting.

"Making the reference grid." Feyre looked at him. "Don't tell me you were just going to freehand the whole thing. Don't be a hero, Rhys."

Rhys laughed. "I was going to use a lazy grid. Use a gibberish reference instead of a grid, so you don't have to get the lines perfect."

"I don't know what a lazy grid is, but if it cuts out the straight lines, then be my guest."

Feyre put the string back in her pocket, while Rhys picked up a can of pink spray paint and gave it a shake. Then he walked up and down the wall, making big sweeping letters all over the white base.

Rhysand is a spectacular person. Rhysand is the most handsome mural artist.

"Hey," Feyre said. "What about me?"

Rhys didn't turn, just filled in the last section of the wall.

Feyre you look absolutely delicious today.

The wall now filled with pink squiggles, Rhys back down next to Feyre. Where she smacked him across the arm.

"Since when are you such an outrageous flirt?" she asked him. "I don't know," Rhys answered honestly. "I'm just in a really good mood today." He smiled broadly, and Feyre rolled her eyes at him. But he caught her grin before she turned her head away, and his day just kept getting better.

Rhys completed his lazy grid: took a photo of the wall, uploaded it onto his laptop and then overlaid their design onto the photo. Instead of having a square grid as a reference point, they could now see what parts of the design matched up to what curly letter on the wall, and plot the painting scaled up.

And then they started painting.

By the end of the first day, they got the outline and main structure filled in. Feyre used a broad brush for her half, but Rhys used a lot of spray paints to cover large sections. At one stage, he got so lost in the process, unused to having someone painting by his side, that he nearly forgot Feyre was there. Until he took a step back to check the image from a far, and realised that Feyre had painted Feyre is the most delightful mural artist along the bottom of the wall where his pink script hadn't reached.

On day two, it was Feyre who showed up with breakfast. Fresh pretzels and pastries filled with cherries, and more hot coffee. Rhys traded his aerosols for brushes and they began painting in broad sweeps of rainbow colours, in Feyre's style. He painted blues across the bottom, yellows in the top, and a stripe of green across Feyre's left ear. She shrieked and flicked purple right across his chest before she had realised what she had done, and then looked mortified.

"Rhys, your shirt, I'm so sorry," she had said. Rhys pretended to be outraged for a minute, and then swiped orange across her nose before running away from her and letting her chase him down the street before calling a truce. And leaving a handprint on her back for her to find later.

On the third day, Feyre brought a speaker and they had music to work to. They added shadows and depth, and the image started to come alive before them. A wave of summer rolling from left to right. And everyday Feyre and Rhys worked closer and closer until they met in the middle. They had been swapping which side they worked on, too, so that they could make sure it was nice and cohesive. Rhys started leaving tiny messages in the spaces he knew Feyre was going to paint over.

I like the colour you put here, he wrote in one section.

In another: This bit reminds me of picnics.

And then especially well-hidden: I never thought I'd see you again.

When Feyre found the last one, she said out loud, "Rhys you big baby you have me on Instagram, you can talk to me whenever you like."

"I couldn't," he said, "you were a client." "I'm not now," she retorted, "so you can."

And then she returned to her painting, leaving Rhys to wonder what he might text her if he did.

Day four was the day of details. They picked up smaller brushes, and picked out careful patterns, finer outlines, points of solid black and white. Highlights, dot work, and the points on curls and tendrils. When they reached the centre, and then crossed the road to see the full effect, neither Rhys not Feyre could tell which parts were theirs and which parts were the other's.

Rhys whistled, and flung his arm over Feyre's shoulders.

"I think we might be done, what do you reckon?" he asked her. "I think we might be done, too," Feyre agreed. "A day early. We should call Tarquin."

Suddenly, it hit home that if they were done, he'd have to go home and Feyre would a continent away.

"No," he said. "Tarquin's not expecting us to be finished until tomorrow afternoon. Let's just have fun tomorrow, take the day off and tell him it's done at the end of the day."

Feyre looked up at him from under his arm, squinting through one eye.

"Rhysand you diabolical thing," she said. Then she stuck her hand out. "You've got yourself a deal." They shook on it, and Rhys breathed a sigh of relief. He was sure he could make one day last a lifetime.

"Come on," she said. "We'll just sign our names on the bottom."

She picked up the brush and put her signature in the corner, and then handed the brush to Rhys. He squatted down where she had been, pushed up his sleeves, and scrawled his name in next to hers. Then looked up and grinned at her.

But she was staring at his hands with her jaw hanging open. His smiled faded, as he followed her eyes and saw what she was looking at. Not his hands. His arm.

And the coloured tattoos that he had inked there after she drew them on in sharpie at their last booking a year ago.

****

Okay but lazy grid, or doodle grid method is so genius. I'm trying to write but my brain is mushy today so if you happen to be interested here's a great explanation video. Anyway I know I've slowed down a bit and I wandered off to make some Jurdan there, so thank you all for your patience.

Also! There seem to have been a flurry of new followers lately so if you are new here welcome and thank you so much for being here ❤️

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @inejsarrow @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose @darling-archeron @rapunzel1523 @fairchildjace @philosophorumaurum02 @story-scribbler @allthecolorsneverseen

#feysand #feysand fic #acotar #fluff #mine

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volantium · 3 years

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your doorstep calls my name aka soft boys painting each others nails

for @venomondenim 🖤

also available on ao3

The thing is, Peter’s noticed, is that Harley’s always got chipped nail polish.

It begins out as a fresh coat, clean and without a single mark marring the shiny surface. But it doesn’t take long—usually only a couple of hours—before it starts flaking off. Harley never seems to notice, or mind. It chips because Harley’s so hands on, no matter what he’s doing. The likely cause is the fact that he’s always in the lab, and both of them know you aren’t meant to be wearing nail polish with all the state-of-the-art tech Tony lets them play with.

But Peter’s noticed when Harley’s tapping his fingers against the kitchen bench, and it chips off in small terrazzo pieces. Or how Harley will pick at his fingers when he’s nervous, and it peels back underneath the curve of his nail. Peter doesn’t know what any of this means, that he has this knowledge lurking in the back of his head. It’s just another Harley-ism he’s taken stock of, analysed and put into the drawer of everything else he knows about his best friend, and thusly resolutely and absolutely not thought about again.

He almost always wears black nail polish. Peter can count on one hand the amount of times Harley’s had bright yellow or red fingernails. It follows, logically, that this only occurs whenever Harley’s looking after Morgan.

The thing is, Peter thinks, as he watches one such time, Morgan painting careful lines of bright purple half on Harley’s thumb nail and half on his skin, is that he wouldn’t mind if that was him instead.

Peter’s never had nail polish on before.

He wonders what it’s like.

This thought sits with him for the next few weeks, as he watches Harley chip his black nail polish without a care in the world. Would it be okay if he asked Harley? Would it be okay if he asked why it’s always black? Would it be okay if he asked Harley to paint his nails, maybe, just once, so he knows what it’s like?

They’re hanging out after class one day, supposedly studying for their upcoming midterms, but Harley’s sat at his desk with a bottle of black nail polish and is slowly rubbing off the remnants of his last paintjob with a cotton pad. Peter’s leaning with his back to the wall on Harley’s bed, watching him from across the room, his biology exam notes spread around him.

He watches Harley carefully tip the bottle of acetone upside down so it soaks the cotton pad and presses it to his nail. Peter knows he’ll leave it for a little while, so the chemicals break down the polish, he’s watched Harley do this often enough that he knows black’s hard to get off.

Peter takes a breath, steeling himself for reasons he doesn’t even know.

“Harl?” He calls, just slightly louder than the music playing from Harley’s computer.

Harley doesn’t look back when he replies. “Yeah, darlin’?”

It’s been years of Harley calling him darling in that honeyed accent of his, Peter’s used to it, but like everything else that Peter resolutely and absolutely doesn’t think about, this time it makes something swoop low in his stomach and butterfly settle high amongst his rib cage.

“Can I ask a question?”

“You just did,” Harley says, and even from across the room Peter can see a hint of a smirk flirt across his face. “But you can ask another.”

Peter isn’t in the mood to deal with smarmy Harley James Keener attitude right now. Too focused on the fact that this is finally his chance to figure out Harley just a little bit more.

“Why do you wear nail polish?”

He can tell Harley wasn’t expecting that particular question in the way his shoulders tense and he goes still.

But this is Harley—Harley should know why he’s asking.

“I don’t mean it in a bad way,” he rambles anyways, because Harley still hasn’t said anything. “I just wanted to know, you don’t have to tell me, like you’ve done it the entire time we’ve known each other, I think it’s cool—”

“Peter, darlin’,” Harley interjects, fond amusement colouring his voice. “Calm down.”

Peter takes a breath, lets it out. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to apologise for, I just wasn’t expecting you to ask.”

Peter’s shoulders slump when Harley remains quiet for the following minute, only for Harley to get up from his desk and make his way over towards the bed, settling in amongst Peter’s textbooks and worksheets and the green bedsheets.

“Because my dad always hated it,” is what Harley eventually says.

“Oh.”

It’s kind of half the answer Peter was expecting. He knows enough, between Tony and what Harley’s told him, to connect the dots.

“I’m sorry.”

“Darlin’,” Harley says, looking at him with those sea-blue eyes. “You gotta stop apologising for stuff that ain’t your fault.”

Peter flushes. “Do you think you could paint mine? I’ve never done it before.”

“I’m guessin’ you wouldn’t want black though, right?”

“Do you have any pastels?” Peter asks, in a smaller voice than he means to.

Harley nods. “I’m sure I’ve got some somewhere, I usually save ‘em for Morgan or Abby.”

Harley stands up to go find them, and Peter starts nervously playing with the fraying hem of his hoodie. It’s a faded red and too large and has Rose Hill High scrawled across it in big block letters and not his hoodie at all.

This is when it clicks—the oh moment in his head, that maybe he likes Harley just a bit more than friends should.

Harley returns in the midst of this revelation, setting the handful of coloured polishes down on his bedside table, clinking as the glass bottles knock against each other.

Peter wonders how his world hasn’t been tipped upside down and come to a grinding halt, too.

“This was all I could find,” Harley says, sitting across from him on the bed. “Gonna look like you dipped your hand in a bag of Easter eggs.”

He’s right—there’s pale pinks and blues and yellows like right out of a candy store, but Peter loves them.

“No, it’s fine. They’re nice colours.”

Harley smiles at him, bright and beautiful, and Peter has to marvel, just a bit how he didn’t realise before the depth of his feelings.

“Give me your hand.”

Peter holds his hand out for Harley to take. They’ve held hands before—Peter’s a tactile person—but there’s something new about this, the way Harley gently twists his fingers around so he can paint them comfortably and correctly.

“What colour do you want me to start with?” Harley asks, quiet, his voice barely a rumble in his chest.

Peter looks up at him. Harley’s looking down at his hand and back at the colours on the table every now and again, like he’s thinking of the perfect pattern for Peter’s nails. It’s late afternoon, and the sun is starting to set; it floods the room in a wash of orange-gold, and in the sunlight Harley glows. The freckles across his nose, the faint blonde in his hair gilded and shining, and the clear crystal of his eyes, hidden ever so slightly beneath gold eyelashes. It makes Peter a little breathless, just looking at him.

“You chose,” Peter finally says, maybe a little but too long after Harley asked. “You know more than me.”

Harley sweeps the pad of his thumb over Peter’s fingernail, just enough that it catches amongst the groves of his fingerprint.

“Yeah, okay,” Harley says, and reaches for the yellow.

They sit in silence as Peter watches Harley paint his nails. Yellow on his thumb, then egg-blue on his forefinger. The pale millennial pink goes on his middle finger, then blue, then yellow again.

Harley’s moved onto Peter’s other hand by the time Peter figures out how to say it.

“Harley?”

Harley hums in acknowledgement, too busy concentrating on painting his nail blue without leaving streaks.

“I really like you,” Peter confesses.

Harley gives a short laugh, still doesn’t look up. “I’d hope so, we are best friends, right, Parker?”

“No,” he says, and waits until Harley stops painting and lifts his head. “I like you like you.”

“Oh, okay,” Harley gives a simple shake of his shaggy blonde head, and goes back to painting Peter’s nails with careful concentration. “I like you like you, too.”

Peter blinks. “Don’t just say that.”

“I’m not.”

“Harley.” “Peter,” Harley parrots, finally looking up at him. “Have you met you? Of course, I like you, dumbass.”

“You’re the worst, Keener.”

Harley smirks once more. “No, I’m not. You like me like me.”

“I—” Peter starts, cutting himself off, because Harley’s leaning closer.

“Peter,” Harley says, his voice soft and low. “Can I kiss you?”

Peter nods, unable to speak, and then—

Harley kisses him.

It’s soft and it’s sweet and it’s not at all how Peter imagined his first kiss with a boy would be. But it’s Harley and that counts for something. Harley’s hand comes up to cup his jaw, light and tender, and Peter has to remind himself he currently has wet pastel paint on his nails and can’t sink his hands into Harley’s hair without tragedy occurring.

Harley tilts his head, thumb sweeping across Peter’s cheekbone, deepening the kiss just enough that those butterflies in Peter’s stomach all fly off at once.

“So,” Harley says, after they pull back and the both of them smile like fools. “Do you wanna paint my nails?”

“They’ll look bad.”

“No they won’t,” Harley disagrees, and, because he knows that Peter likes him likes him, says, “They’ll be perfect, ‘cause it’s you.”

Peter leans forward to brush a shy kiss to Harley’s cheek, and reaches for the black nail polish.

#parkner #parley #harleypeter #harley keener #peter parker #i've written like 6k in the past week for fics and NOT my thesis someone make it make sense #drabble #u: mcu #p: parkner #f: fire escape verse

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perseusjackson-jasongrace · 3 years

Text

Dumbass got stabbed III

I really thought I had finished with this two shot but after a request from @/booksrlife300 on ao3 asking for the aftermath I really couldn't resist making it a three shot. And my writing demon certainly agreed because it really went wild during my plane ride.

Anyway here is part three (and i think the final part) to dumbass got stabbed.

Recap (since it's been over a year):

Percy gets stabbed by a monster after coming back from the movies with his friends and the first place he goes to is Jason's house. Jason nearly has a heart attack after Percy collapses on his door and then he pulls him inside and stitches him all up.

This fic starts with Percy waking up the next morning.

[image has alt text]

Percy wakes up to searing pain. It spills across his skin like an upturned sowing box. He doesn't know where it's coming from because it feels like it's coming from everywhere. He can't even take stock of his body because he feels like one big pincushion. He supposes being stabbed makes him a pincushion.

He doesn't want to open his eyes. He can feel the light behind them. Too bright. Too loud. Too not how he feels.

He feels like deep darkness. Like the darkness just before a star explodes. The darkness before the sky erupts. The kind that blankets all of his senses except the one that pings danger. That's red and wailing at him. But then pain so untamed it turns his vision orange lances across his side and his eyes snap open with a low howl.

He can see white ceiling. He can see black dots. He hears scrambling, clothes rustling and something falling over. And then he can see blue eyes. And then he can see skies and oceans and glass bottles and concern like mothering hens staring down at him.

"Percy," His name is a growled gasp. Sleep still clinging to the strings of his friends voice box, scratching it's way down his throat.

"Hello, I'm in immense pain." Vaguely he notes that he sounds like an automated machine relaying it's faulty inner workings. That's half how he feels now that the burning-orange pain has lessened to a caution-yellow.

"Here," A golden hand, fingers wrapped in individual bandages, long and racing with green veins, holds out a square to him. It is small and unassuming. Nobody would guess it holds the food of gods. Then again nobody would guess those gods existed.

His mouth feels as though he's been eating his clothes for sustenance the last week. All heavy tongue, dry saliva glands, and teeth too smudgy to be healthy. He considers turning the square away for some toothpaste and a glass of water. But neither of those are going to magically cure the wound marking his side. So he opens his mouth, his jaw, and let's Jason drop the square onto his tongue. Warm fingers brush his lips as they pull back and he wants to chase the lightning-blue zing that they leave behind against his sarcastic mouth.

Instead he snaps himself shut and chews slowly. Only half interested in the cookies, then brownies, then soda— which he somehow knows is blue— disappears down his throat. He feels the magic working through his veins, skin stitching itself together. A headache he didn't know he had disappates.

With a long exhale he relaxes back against cotton cushions and finally takes a good look around the room. He has every detail of it already memorised, having spent many a day and night in this position bothering his friend endlessly. There's the singular shelf that houses old trinkets tattered and bruised from years of moving; the single arrow from Thalia's set— given in protection and as a reminder that she would always be there, for real this time; there's the gaudy new York taxi keyring he had given the blonde, now without the ring part, so of no real use; and the snow globe from Piper when she visited Paris. The soft yellow wall— lemon drizzle if you want to get specific— sits in perfect contrast to the charcoal grey of the rest of the room. It sort of embodies Jason's whole presence. The desk, well used and scattered with books and paper and Chinese takeout containers, sits in the corner opposite the bedroom, right near the window. He says if he can see the city he can breathe a little easier. He knows what he's working towards. Percy thinks it's so he can see the sky and know there's always a way to escape.

Him and Jason are good at that. Escaping. From bad situations, from big feelings, from each other. There's always something left unsaid between them. It drives their friends mad, but it's all they can do to stop from becoming hurricanes and devouring the entire universe.

"How are you feeling?" The blonde is sitting in his swivelly squeaky desk chair, leaning over him with all sense of care and concern. It makes him feel like duck egg blue.

"Much better thank you." He attempts a grin. He hopes it's not a grimace. "No matter how many times I get stabbed it doesn't seem to hrut any less."

Jason narrows his eyes, "I wonder why."

See that's what Percy likes. Everyone else is always giving him disapproving looks and worried scoldings when he says things like that but Jason? Jason indulges him, makes it feel not so suffocating to always be injured and bruised and relying on little squares of God-food to get him through the month.

"How do I look?" This time it's definitely a grin. He can feel the green of his eyes go emerald with amusement.

"Very pretty as always." The reply is solemn, but there's a twitch of pink lips and it's all he can do to not reach over and touch it.

"Want to tell me what happened?" A frown replaces the amusement and he wants to rewind the last few seconds again and again. "You were a little...out of it when you showed up."

"Yes I suppose getting attacked by a monster makes all the smart chemicals in my brain go a little foamy."

"You don't know what attacked you?"

And he is pinned to the bed, to the room, to the world. Because nobody can read the words behind his words the way Jason can. Can read the emotion behind his pauses and the expressions behind his masks. He is neon purple.

"It was dark." He resigns himself to the story. When he's done, laid all the boring details bare, he studies the floors.

The silence stretches around them, cocooning them into something too delicate to touch. It feels almost awkward, or it would if he knew anything about that when he was here. Instead it's just quiet.

"Can you stand? You need a shower."

"Oof Jase," He puts a hand to his chest, hurt painted like clown's make up falling across his face. "I can't look that bad."

There's a precious smirk, full of quick whips kicking up in his friend. "It's the way you smell actually."

He takes an exaggerated whiff and nearly gags. "I smell like I'm decaying." He shudders.

A laugh bursts from the blonde and Percy doesn't want to move in case the music ends. He feels candy floss pink in that moment.

"Right up you get. I'll sort out breakfast and then you can entertain me for the day."

"You don't have to take care of me." He rolls his eyes, sitting up with a hidden wince. His feet settle on the floor. He's grateful neither of them acknowledge that he came here in a haze. That Jason did take care of him. That when his mind was nothing but blinding pain this was the first place his legs took him.

"I'm not taking care of you. I'm using you for entertainment."

What his friend doesn't realise is that Percy can read all his hidden scripture just as well. How "entertain me" means I'm keeping an eye on you. How "mind helping me with this" means I can do it just fine by myself but I want company. How winks mean "it's a joke between us" but smirks mean "it's honesty but gently". It warms his heart to know he can do this. It's a sunshine yellow thing to know someone the way they know each other.

"You good?" Jason stops at the door when he still hasn't moved from the bed.

"Yes just preparing to haul my very large body into your very small shower." He feels the eye roll more than see it. It tugs a smile onto his face.

"I'll remind you that I'm an even larger body and I make it work."

"How on earth do you ever have shower—"

"Percy Jackson!" He is snapped into a laugh.

And then he's in the bathroom and his mouth is full of mint bubbles and although there are circles as deep purple as squished plums under his eyes they shine with contentness. He doesn't fear or worry. Not here. At home, in his mother's house, he's the protector from monsters only he can decimate. At camp he is the protector from monsters that are determined to destroy. But here. He is just Percy. And his protector is cooking pancakes in the kitchen. He is just Percy. And he is sage green as he steps into the steam of the shower.

He looks down, catching the fading wound on his abdomen. His brown skin let's droplets of water rest briefly before rippling and they go racing down to the tiled floor. He stands there for a good minute just staring blankly. But then he hears the sound of a kettle whistling and it jolts him into action as he scrubs the grime and gross of yet another something trying to kill him, off his body.

By the time he's done— sweats and a loose tee rummaged from Jason's closet draping over his too hot skin— the pancakes are neatly stacked on two plates and fresh steaming coffee sits to the right of their food. He feels honey brown.

"Looks delicious."

"I know the way to your heart." The blonde shrugs.

"It's more of a journey than most bargain for." He laughs quietly.

"Dont worry I've brought my hacksaw and my hiking boots I'm willing to run through Amazonian forests."

"Well that's relieving," He grins around his mug. "I was beginning to think I'd be stranded in my stone tower forever."

"All alone?"

He snorts, "No I've made friends with all manner of being. I can't be alone, you know that." He bites into his pancake, blueberry slipping off his fork with a thudding splash into the syrup.

"I do know." The blonde's voice is all buttery and melting. And the truth that comes with it knocks a new vein into Percy's heart.

They're quiet for a few minutes as they devour their breakfast. When there's mere sips of coffee left he settles back in his chair and regards his friend.

"What manner of entertainment am I providing today?"

"Whatever you want but I'm not leaving the house."

"Oh good I don't know if I can make it ten steps out your door without half crumbling to dust these days."

"You wouldn't."

"Mhmm," He hums distractedly, gaging the weather to decide if they're going to huddle up with movies and far too many blankets or throw playing cards at each other while drowning in lemonade. It's a movie sort of day, he decides.

"You wouldn't turn to dust." Jason is saying. "You're too much god and too much good to die like monsters." There is that silent reading again.

"Maybe I was." Percy shrugs, "Before you know..."

And he doesn't need to add anymore because the big space the catches onto that sentence no matter how much time separates those events from the now still means the same thing. Before Tartarus. Before he made a ventriloquist puppet out of a goddess. Before he became unhinged.

"You are not a monster for protecting yourself. Or others." Golden voice is firm. Solid.

"You may be the only one who knows and thinks that."

"Doesn't matter it's still true."

"Okay enough seriousness." He doesn't have the energy for their circling conversation. "Shall we binge Pirates of the Caribbean?" For a stormy grey second he thinks his friend is going to keep their talk going but then he sees the surrender behind the blue eyes and a part of him unwinds.

"We can." There's a raised eyebrow accompanying the agreement and he knows there's conditions attached. Like a damn insurance plan. "If your promise to let me walk you home this evening."

"My big bad wolf." He teases.

The blonde responds with a low growl that makes his whole body turn a violent azure blue. "Fine. We shall stare at Captain Jack Sparrow and then you can valiantly walk me to my front door and shake hands with my mother."

"Wonderful. Now let's get some blankets down."

Jason smiles as he stretches on his tiptoes to reach the fluffy ones. He feels the soft material under his palm but the there's a hand over his brown one and it's tugging the blanket down. He sticks his tongue out at his friend.

Percy is ocean blue.

#Dumbass got stabbed #Part 3 #PJJG fanfic #PJJG series #Percy jackson #Jason grace #Jercy

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llamagoddessofficial · 4 years

Text

Happy belated birthday @aka-indulgence! I initially intended to get this out two days ago but I lost the flow a little. Luckily, it came back... hope you had a good day!

Nightmare!Sans/Reader

... It was so quiet. Dark... but you could hear something. It sounded like...

...

... Waves. Gentle ocean waves.

Something warm washed over your toes, and it made you open your eyes in surprise, looking down at your feet- water. Crystal clear water, streaming over perfect white sand... bubbles of foam popping in sparkles of light.

You looked up, confused... and found yourself looking out onto a gorgeous sea under a clear glowing lavender and orange sunset sky. You gasped, quietly, without even realising- it was so beautiful. The ocean, mild and clean, faded from sandy yellow where you were standing to green to a brilliant turquoise, and the deeper waters were a warm pink as they reflected the sky that seemed to stretch for infinity... your lips parted, awe overtaking everything. You could see little silhouettes of seabirds wheeling in the distance... Directly above you, where the sky was lilac and purples and deep blues, a few lone faint stars were beginning to make themselves known.

... It was so beautiful.

You inhaled through your nose and sighed, happily; fresh, salty sea air. The sound of calling gulls and water... the glow of the sunset on your skin, the lapping ocean at your feet... you closed your eyes, happy, calm...

You could just stay here forever... you should stay here forever...

...

Something was wrong.

You opened your eyes again, confused, turning around to look behind you. Some trees, tropical-looking, palms... nothing out of the ordinary. But why did you feel... wrong? It wasn’t a feeling you could put your finger on. Something was off. You stepped away from the water’s edge and began to walk up the beach, the sand pleasantly warm and soft underfoot, not loose enough to stick between your toes and not clumpy enough to feel damp and gross...

...

Something was wrong.

You had a terrible feeling in your chest, your eyes kept darting around to look at the scenery as if expecting to catch something. You couldn’t stop here, your heart was pounding- like something was out there, something awful would happen if you gave in here and rested. Maybe you were just being stupid... maybe you were just panicking... something’s wrong, something’s wrong-

... A noise.

... It was a sigh. A deep, breathy sigh; it sounded frustrated, but amused. And it wasn’t coming from behind you, or next to you, or in front of you... it was inside your head.

Someone else was inside your own mind- someone else was speaking to you, echoing in your head.

“every time.” It said, in a long-suffering tone. The voice was dark, silky... almost too soft. Like he was patronising you. “i’m getting tired of this, darling.”

... You froze.

Not willingly. Your feet sank into the sand the moment you stopped, and suddenly it was as hard as concrete- you let out a little frightened sound and tried to pull your legs, with no luck whatsoever. What the hell is going on!? You couldn’t think straight, your head was fuzzy, like someone had thrown a woollen blanket over your mind- over your ability to process what was going on. You were confused, nonplussed, things that should be making sense just weren’t connecting.

“nothing’s ever enough...” It whispered.

The landscape began to cycle, warp, stretch around where your feet were locked in place. You desperately wanted to stagger back... An empty roof restaurant overlooking a glowing city, you barely had a moment to appreciate it because after a second’s wait it changed again, a mirror-flat lake at sunrise speckled with pink petals from a flowering tree, giant misty emerald-topped mountains that seemed to defy the laws of physics, a waterfall as wide as the grand canyon that roared with power, your head was spinning, it hurt...

... It stopped on what seemed to be a salt flat after rain; a perfectly blue sky peppered with cotton candy clouds, everything reflected below you in the world’s largest mirror. Nobody around for miles.

“i can control this world down to each molecule.” The voice continued. It seemed almost gleeful... showing off, enjoying boasting about all he could do. “i can give you anything you want. i could take you anywhere, show you anything... there’s nothing we can’t do together, here.”

... You felt something on your stomach.

The scenery changed again; a flower field, at night. An endless galaxy overhead, purple and blue and pink blooms shifting in the gentlest of breezes.

But you couldn’t concentrate. The fear that had suddenly gripped you was icy; and it wasn’t just the fear that had a hold of you. Something wrapped around your middle, your waist, something thick and long, you looked down...

... You had no idea what it was. A tentacle of some kind? It was as if someone had coated the body of a giant snake in a viscous, gooey, tar-like substance. Thick, black, slimy, it was cold where it touched the skin that wasn’t covered by your riding-up shirt, so cold... you wanted to shove it off you but you didn’t want to touch it, you were scared you’d put your hands on it and they’d just sink straight in and stick.

“... i could give you anything...” The voice wasn’t inside your mind anymore. It was behind you, like it’d escaped from your head, whispering into your ear so close you could feel hot breath against the skin. Another thing, appendage, tentacle, curled around your neck; it was so cold you sharply inhaled, a harsh contrast from the warmth of his breath. And when you tried to reach your hands up to it to grasp at it, to pull it off in a blind panic, no longer caring about the consistency... more curled around your wrists, snatching them back and holding them tight by your shoulders.

“and yet...” ... It shifted from playfully teasing... to something else. Something... angry.

A growl.

“you just keep on defying me.”

The tentacles around you squeezed- your neck, your stomach, your wrists- you cried out, but you weren’t sure whether it was in pain or in terror as a squeak-like sound was forced out of you when your breath escaped. You didn’t understand what was going on, you could barely focus on not losing yourself in pure, unadulterated terror.

“i could be doing anything right now.” He continued. The landscape started to change again; but not into something beautiful. The stars started to flicker out and die one by one, flowers began to brown and rot and wilt, sinking into the grassless slick dirt and triggering a foul smell that invaded your nostrils and made you cringe. The gentle breeze vanished, replaced with a thick, uncomfortable heat that only worsened the smell.

“i could be destroying whole universes- amusing myself by making them all bend to my will...” He squeezed tighter, you were starting to struggle for breath, wheezing and tearing up, you could feel more wet slimy tentacles curling around you... your legs, over your hips, across your chest... he was going to choke you, squeeze you to death. “billions of lives begging for mercy at my feet.”

You expelled a precious breath in a weak sob.

...

... The tentacles loosened. But they didn’t let go. You gasped in air and gagged, the awful smell making your eyes water and stinging the back of your throat... You didn’t understand, nothing made sense, your mind felt fuzzy and confused and lost. As you sucked in breath after breath, you didn’t notice the smell fading... the air becoming clean again, the mud and rot fading away like...

... like a bad dream.

Instead, it was pitch black. The kind of darkness that pressed in on all sides, that made you somehow feel both hopelessly lonely and like something was watching you.

He moved, the voice moved. In front of you, in the darkness... a ring appeared. A ring of blue light; cold light, unfeeling, unfriendly... a single eye, partnered with a smile of giant ice-white teeth.

“but instead of all that...” The face came closer. And as it did, you could see more... you could see the ooze-covered skeletal face, the slick black substance all over him, even his clothes... you could see the way the tentacles restraining you came from his back. He didn’t stop approaching until he was inches away from your face again... smile looming over you, close enough to kiss your forehead... cold, cold hands pressed against your ribs and slid around to your back. Like he was holding you. “instead of ruling universes, i’m here again. playing with you. making intricate worlds for an ungrateful little human who won’t just give in to me... every night, something new. every night, something beautiful. and every night, you resist...”

One icy hand stayed on your back, the other... drifted up, cupping your head, weaving his giant phalanges through your hair at the scalp.

“it’s infuriating.”

You felt terror clench your chest again, harder than before. What was he going to do? Was he going to tear it out? Snap your neck, dig those slimy claws into the back of your head and kill you? You felt your lip trembling, your eyes welling up with hot tears...

He was so close to you, pressed so flush, that when he shuddered you felt it. His grin only spread wider, inhumanly wide, that bright blue eye contracting like a snake squeezing a kill...

“that’s right, pet...” He said, voice a purr that barely hid his glee, tentacles beginning to squeeze again like the claws of an excited cat. “that’s it, fear me... i could squeeze you until you snap, i could tear you into bloody ribbons...”

His hand tilted your head upward, toward the face that took up your whole vision. In a strange way, it was a good thing he was holding your legs... you were certain that your feet wouldn’t hold you up any longer.

Whatever patience was holding him back seemed to snap when you pressed your lips together- the moment his glowing eye moved to your mouth, it twitched, and he closed the precious distance you had from him. A predator striking, a monster moving to eat you whole...

... He kissed you.

...

You startled awake, heaving in breaths and slick with cold sweat, staring up at your ceiling while gripping your mattress with white knuckles.

...

Oh fuck...

The sigh you breathed in relief racked your entire body from head to toe. Shaking, close to tears... Like you were expelling the tainted, fearful air from your lungs.

Just a dream. Just a nightmare.

The tentacles were just your bedsheets twisted around you, as you’d turned in a panic. The cold and ice was just your bare, sweat-dotted skin meeting air... even as you laid there, bathing in your own relief, you began to forget the terrible dream.

Just a nightmare. Just a nightmare. Just a nightmare.

... You sorted out your sheets, turning your pillow over to the cold side to nestle back into it, calm once again. You still had a few hours before your alarm would set off... now the bad dream was out of the way, you’d surely sleep peacefully.

It didn’t take very long for you to drift back into unconsciousness.

...

The shadows by your bed started to thicken, gathering into a form sitting by you on the bed. He stroked your hair behind your ear... icy blue eye watching silently. Adoringly.

He... had planned to make that encounter a little bit... softer. He’d gone into your dreams intending to keep you calm, keep you open to influence; and then he’d make himself known to you gently, acclimating you to his presence in your mind. Maybe strike up some nice conversation... He had it all planned so neatly...

... But your fear was just so... delicious. Your terror when he held you, those wide, doe-like eyes staring up at him with you totally under his control, at his mercy... what was supposed to be one of the lighter encounters quickly spiralled as he lost himself in your skin and breath and warmth and life, feeding like a parasite on the negativity pouring out of your Soul.

... He sighed. He’d let you sleep, for tonight... he had to think of a new place to take you to. A new world to make for you... hopefully, this time, it would be enough to keep you under his spell.

“... sleep tight, doll.” He purred, leaning down to press a toothy kiss to your forehead... before his form melted into the shadows of your room, like a ghost.

#llama writes #happy birthday!#hope you like it uwu

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writingsbychlo · 4 years

Text

heart under construction (02)

word count; 4842

summary; sam can’t handle how you make him feel, and so he takes the easy way out.

notes; this gets angstyyyyy, I’m sorry in advance.

warnings; none, nada, zilch.

Sam was finding it harder and harder to deny just how much he looked forward to your visits. They were well into month two of construction now, and seeing you bringing them coffee and smiles in the morning had become a vital part of his day. He knew when you would arrive, how long you would stay for and when you’d go back past in the afternoons upon finishing at the school.

If asked, he would deny that you were the reason he started taking is lunch breaks later, and he would deny that he was definitely packing extra food each morning before Jake was picking him up, just on the off-chance that it might be one of the days you would join him for his lunch break. On an occasional day, you did choose to sit with him, and he’d listen to you talk happily about the school, the nursery kids and how much each one meant to you.

He knew about Zach, who was a pain in the arse, but still somehow one of your favourites. He was fond of Lexi, who reminded him of his own niece, and he hated Connor with a burning passion, because the kid often came up in the stories that ruined your day, and so he naturally chose not to like him, whether he was four or forty.

You were becoming more and more ingrained in his life, and he was doing nothing to stop it.

He didn’t want to do anything to stop it.

You knew more about him than almost anyone, when he spoke to you, he couldn’t help the words that would just start pouring from his mouth, the questions following. He didn’t just want you to know about him, he wanted to know about you. He wanted to know everything, from your favourite colour to your deepest fears, he wanted to hear your most embarrassing stories and he wanted to know what your thoughts were on every topic he could think of. He wanted to know if you believed in aliens, and which conspiracy theories you thought were true, and which vines were your favourite. He wanted to know you, through and through.

It was as though the more he learned, the more he needed.

You knew about his niece, Jake had proudly shod you pictures of his husband Roger and his daughter Alice only a few days after meeting you. He’s boasted about his daughter’s accomplishments, and he’d told you the story of his proposal to the man he loved. Sam had watched with pure joy the day you had dished out advice to his brother when he was panicked about Alice, just to see you put him at ease with only a few words.

He could no longer picture a day without you in it, without you passing through in a whirlwind of cute smiles and stupid jokes for him.

The day Sam had realised just how much he needed you was the day you’d made the same stupid ‘Uncle Sam’ joke he made on every date he went on, his eyes wide and jaw dropped as you teased him about being Uncle Sam and asked him if he would do his best impression of the propaganda posters, only to giggle incessantly as he pulled off a very poor attempt at a recreation, unable to hold his face in the same stern look.

Since that day, he hadn't been able to bring himself to make the usual joke on his dates, because he knew he wouldn’t get the same joy from seeing them laugh as he did when you had.

As the weeks went on, he was finding it harder and harder to deny that you might be exactly what he wanted. You might be perfect for him, and he had to consciously stop himself from thinking about you, as you started to take up a permanent residence to linger in the back of his mind. He couldn't stop, he would be shopping and be reminded of you in something he thought you’d like to try, and he’d definitely put it in his basket before moving on. He’d be on a date and a girl would remind him of something you would say and he knew the joy filling his system wasn’t from the girl before him but from the idea of you being with him instead.

As they neared the summer, you had started wearing lighter dresses, and fewer coats, and Sam couldn’t forget the day you’d come by to see them on the weekends, a light summer dress swishing around your midthighs, a stark contrast to the work-appropriate trousers he’d seen you in before that point. You had eaten lunch with him that day too, and he had struggled not to let his eyes trace over the skin revealed to him when your dress rode up as you sat down, or the way your leg felt pressed up against his.

He had spent hours resisting the urge to reach out and discover just how soft your thighs would be under his fingertips, and how they might feel trembling under his grasp, or scratched up and red from his beard.

You were off-limits. You were too nice for him to ruin it, because he didn’t settle down.

He didn’t do relationships. He doesn’t. He won’t change for one chick, not with all that could go wrong, not with every hope he could build-up, only for one person to bring everything around him crashing down. Not again. Now, the only person he relied on was himself.

He wasn’t snapped out of his thoughts until your voice was calling out to him, not from inside his own mind but from the street below, his eyes scanning over the area until he saw you, hands cupped around your mouth as you called out to him, waving happily and the smile he sent you back was instinctual, he was unable to hold it back, stop it from breaking free.

He was waving you up the ladder before he could think about it, and you were quickly completing the climb. Taking a seat beside him, you huffed out happily, nudging him with your shoulder and giving him a laugh, his eyes rolled fondly, your feet carrying you quickly across the now stable floorboards to greet his brother, and he trailed behind you slowly, the work he had been doing now completely forgotten as he followed after you.

You were complimenting them on the house, telling them just how much you admired the amazing work they were doing and his cheeks flushed, an idea suddenly coming to mind for him, his hand taking yours absentmindedly as he lit up with all new kinds of excitement.

“We finished the balcony!”

Before he could stop himself, he was tugging you along, guiding you up the mended staircase to the top floor as he swiftly undid the catch on the ceiling to floor doors, pushing them open as the low sun flooded the room, and you awed at the space, your hand gripping his tightly as you stepped out cautiously onto the small patio space. The fences had yet to be put up, the bolts and supports put in place, but the old-fashioned style railings were still sitting in a stack in the corner, and you turned to face Sam with a lazy on your face.

“Classic style railings to match your oldies theme, yeah?”

His eyes widened, nodding slightly as you crouched, running the fingers of your free hand over the warm metal, tracing the swirling patterns. The rays of the lowering sun cast a golden glow over your skin, making you seem almost otherworldly as you admired the sights around you, your breath practically knocked from you each time you looked out over the beautiful scenery.

The sun was dipping, not quite hitting the edge of the horizon yet, but it was getting close, the distance seeming to dance lowly as the heat died down, the pale yellows and oranges of the lower sky fading away into barely present pastel pinks and purples, soon to fade to royal blues and ebony blacks as the night was ushered in.

“I bet the sunset would look amazing from here.”

Sam wasn’t even sure if you were aware that you had spoken the sentence, the dreamy way you had sighed out your words made him question whether it was just a thought you had accidentally let slip as you stared longingly at the distant sky. He squeezed your hand, tugging you closer to him a little as you turned your head, eyes soft and a small smile gracing your features as he looked at you, the urge to lean in and bump his nose against yours almost overtaking him, and he cleared his throat, giving you a shy smile as he spoke up; “You should stay and watch it. I’ll stay behind, and lock up after.”

“Wait, really?”

Your excitement was already leaking through, your fingers gripping his, your other hand coming up to hold his between both of yours as you practically bounced in your place, your body now facing him fully and he laughed gently at your enthusiasm, his chest filling with warmth and his heart racing as he studied the joyous look on your face. “Yeah, ‘course. It’s going to be a great sunset tonight, it’s been warm all day, and it’s a clear sky. I think-”

“Sam, your phone is ringing an- oh, shit, sorry. You want me to just send it to voicemail?” Jake gave him a knowing look as he reached the top of the stairs, waving the buzzing device to him, a knowing smirk on his face as he looked over the two of you, your hands clasped together between you, almost chest to chest in the rays of the setting sun.

It was far too romantic for Sam. Nope, not at all.

“No, no it’s fine. I’ll answer.” He took his hand from yours, pressing his thumb down on the green answer button and stepping away from the two of you as he heard you begin to tell his brother all about the sunset he was planning to show you, a small smile twisted on his face as he greeted whoever has called him.

“Ye’llo? This is Sam.” He jogged down to the bottom of the steps, glancing back to see you beaming, your arms spread wide as you joked with Jake, the sight of you getting along so well with his brother just warming his heart.

“Hey, Sam? It’s Jess, from the other week?”

His eyes widened and he spun away from the scene, remembering the fiery red-head he had been out with the week prior, a smirk tugging on his lips. “Hey, Jess. What’s up?”

“I was wondering if you’re free tonight? I have no work tomorrow, and my roommates out for the weekend, so I am just all alone over here with takeout food and vodka?”

Her tone was teasing, and Sam knew exactly what she was offering. Licking over his lower lip, he rubbed a hand over his jaw and scratched at the scruffy beard that had built up, glancing back at you once more, something he wasn’t used to feeling twisting in his gut as he made his decision.

The sun did set every night, there was always more opportunities to watch the sunset, right?

“I can be there at seven, text me the address, beautiful. I’ll see you soon.” With a cheeky grin, he ended the call, taking the steps two at a time back up to the top floor and tucking his phone into his pocket, feeling it buzz only a second later with what he assumed to be the address from ‘Jess’. “Sorry, new plan. Can I raincheck on that sunset? I have a date.”

Sam had not anticipated how much it would hurt to watch the smile fall from your face, even just momentarily, and no matter how hard you tried to fake a new smile, he’d seen the sadness flicker across your features, his heart feeling as though it had frozen over and turned to stone in that split second, plummetting to his stomach.

He offered you a few more dates, more dates in the upcoming week, the sudden regret of the choice he’d made coming back to bite him in the ass as he pulled his phone out, offering to search to find which day would be best, checking for the best temperatures, but your enthusiasm seemed to have seeped away as you dismissed him, telling him it was ‘no big deal’, despite the fact he could clearly hear from your tone that it had saddened you.

The chance to spend time with you was quickly slipping through his fingers, his heart shattering as he watched you fasten your coat more firmly around yourself, building yourself up to excusing yourself and he grasped at straws, trying to work out how to backpedal from the situation he had gotten himself into, how t-

“I’ll stay. I love watching the sunsets, I’d love to watch it with you.” His eyes hardened, gaze narrowing as he looked over at his brother, trying to ask him what the fuck he was doing, but the happy squeal you released in response only caused his heart to sink further, your face lighting up once again as you turned your back on him, to face his brother.

“Really? You would?”

“Yeah, I can tell you more about my daughter. I have some stories you’ll love.” Jake glanced over his shoulder as you wandered further toward the edge, the sun getting lower and duller in the sky, and Jake fixed him with a harsh and judging look, shaking his head as if to dismiss him, and Sam felt his jaw drop, no chance to respond as his brother turned for him, beginning a story about Alice as you sat on the edge, your legs swinging over the edge of the balcony.

He considered saying goodbye, he considered just texting ‘Jess’ and calling it off, so he could sit on your other side. He could get the blanket from his truck and wrap it around your shoulders to keep you warm, and if you wanted, he would stay with you until night set in, the moon shining brightly so you could watch the stars without the light pollution of the city or the blockade of clouds, thanks to the clear night.

And then, Sam caught himself.

Snapping back from the sappy thoughts, he shook his head, turning on his heel and focusing on making sure he was looking good in the front camera of his phone as he made his way toward the street, pulling up the app to book a taxi as your voice faded away behind him, the front door slamming shut as he stormed from the property.

Instead, he was going to drink and fuck his troubles away with a hot redhead.

The cab pulled up for him, and Sam was quick to dish out a handful of notes to the driver, checking his hair in the reflection of the mirror before he was hopping out, striding into the lobby of the apartment building with confidence. Scrolling his finger down the list of numbers, he found the one he was searching for, pushing his finger against the buzzer for a second. Instead of getting a verbal response, the grated gate across from him humming as it opened for him, slamming shut behind him as he jogged to the elevator.

The second the doors shut and he had pushed the button, he studied the flicking of the lights above his head signalling the floors climbing, and he pushed the thought of your smiling face from his mind, quickly chasing the disappointed look on your face from his thoughts as well.

He was in the elevator, on the way up to the apartment of a very hot girl who wanted to spend the night with him, so why was he thinking about you?

The second the ding of the elevator sounded, the doors sliding open, his mind blanked as he looked at the sight before him. Popped in the doorway, a wicked grin on her face as the red curls framed her face, a pale blue lacy nightgown falling to her mid-thighs, he was dashing the distance of the corridor and the open door across from him, his hands finding her hips and giggles filling the apartment as she swung the door shut behind them.

She took one of his hands in both of hers, a wide smile on her face and he tried to ignore the feeling of wrongness creeping along his spine, tried to ignore how much he preferred the feeling when it had been you. Instead, he leaned down, bumping his nose with hers before pressing their lips together carefully and cautiously, the way he had wished to do with you as he tried to replace the ideas of you in his heart.

Hold on, heart?

Swallowing thickly, he broke away from the girl before it could go too far, choosing instead to comment on the smell of the food in the house, and she guided him through to sit on the couch. The conversation between them flowed, but it was strained. It was small talk, and he hated small talk. It was nothing like the conversation he had with you when funny and easy-going chat would flow between you so fluidly and comfortably you’d think you had known each other for years.

He chose instead to distract himself with his food, letting the girl slide closer to him at their meals finished, the layers of clothing slipping from his body as he let himself get comfortable. His shoes were toed off, kicked away across the room, and his jacket slipped from his shoulders. The overshirt he wore was stripped away, and so was the belt around his waist, the buckle having been digging into him.

Jess had inched her way across the couch, she had started on the other side of the couch, and now, her legs were slung across his lap, his hand stroking the skin of her upper thigh gently as she giggled, pouring a new set of drinks for them as he kissed and nipped at her jawline teasingly.

Taking a deep swig of the poorly mixed and very strong drink he’d been served by the girl before him, he downed the entire thing, a wide grin on his face as the warm haze from this one, and the previous ones, already taking effect in his veins. Gripping her leg tightly, he plucked the glass from her hand, adding it to his own empty one on the coffee table before him, to lie with the discarded boxes and plates.

Pulling the girl over his lap, she squealed in joy as he leaned back into the couch cushions, her eyes boring into his as her hands wove into his hair and his hands slipped around to palm at her ass, her lips slanting over his wetly, their touch not nearly as intoxicating as they had been the weeks prior, but he was willing to try. Instead, he focused on the feel of her body pressed to his, the way she moaned above him as he groped at her and the way her hips were starting to roll down into his.

Finally, the image of your beautiful smile burned into his mind each time he closed his eyes faded away.

Sam was royally fucked.

His head was pounding, his muscles were aching, and he was late.

He was so late that all the missed calls from Jake, all the texts that had asked him where he was and how long he was going to be had all be replaced with one passive-aggressive ‘nevermind’ and then it had gone silent. He had barely mumbled a goodbye to Jess when she had dropped him off as he dashed up the steps of his own home, bursting in through the front door and straight up the stairs to the second floor as his eyes landed on his brother.

The man was painting possible colour samples onto the patches of walls that were leftover, the fill-ins still having to be completed. “I missed going to get carpet samples! I know! I am so sorry, but-”

“Oh, hey!” Sam was panting as he reached the top of the stairs, his hands coming to rest on his knees as he tried to regain his breath, his hungover body not thanking him for the sudden exertion, and his brain was muddled, the lecture he had expected to receive from his older sibling having never been sounded out. “Don’t worry about it, it’s all good.”

“Uh.. right.”

“How was your night?” Jake’s question only confused him further, and Sam stood up straight, scratching the back of his neck as he looked or his brother, who had turned back to painting his sample patches. Jake never asked him about his ‘dates’.

“Yeah, it was fine. She was fine.. I guess..” The man only hummed in response, and Sam couldn’t help but feel like his brother was just a ticking time bomb waiting to explode, no matter how calm he was being right now, and he just couldn't take it anymore. “I am sorry, Jake. I know you wanted an opinion on the samples, and I should have been there, so, it's not okay.”

“Dude, it’s fine, really. I’m glad you had fun.” Wiping his hands down on a rag, he finally turned to face Sam and he took a step toward his brother, Jake’s hand clapping down on his shoulder as he smiled at him, widely. “I, er, I didn’t go alone, actually. (Y/N) came with me.”

Sam had spent the night trying to push you out of his mind, and he had succeeded. In fact, up until this point, he had yet to think about you today, and suddenly, it’s like the weight of your presence had come crashing down over him once again. “What?”

“Yeah, I was texting her this morning.” Jake shrugged, as though it was no big deal, and Sam felt rage flood his system. Not at his brother, but at himself. The same feelings of guilt from last night came clawing back at him once again, and the regret of how he’d spent the night curled up with another woman in an attempt to forget you. His head was still pounding, his stomach was twisting with nausea and he was confused about how he was feeling. “When you weren’t around, she offered to come with me. She actually chose some really great samples, they-”

“Woah, texting? Since when did you have her number?”

He could physically see the way his brother recoiled from his harsh tone, his jaw dropping and Sam almost felt bad, but the puzzling mix of emotions swirling within his mind and heart were masking it out entirely. “Uh.. well, since she told me that her nursery group is having an event to welcome possible new parents and kids to the class in September, and that she thinks I should go.”

They must have been talking about it the night before, and Sam was kicking himself knowing the fact that she had such a good time she had deemed them close enough to have her number, and that he’d been too busy fucking another girl to have been here to get her number. “Right, fantastic..”

“Dude, what is your problem today? It’s no big deal, it was just carpet samples, stop beating yourself up! I took (Y/N), and it went f-”

“We’re just letting strangers make decisions about our house now, then? About my house?” He knew it was unfair, but his mind was buzzing, and he wasn’t himself, and once the anger that was festering within him at his confusion had found a way to start leaking out just couldn't stop it. “Good to know! Great idea, Jake! Maybe, I’ll start bringing all my dates over here to pass their opinion, too! At least I had a fun night with them, so their opinion must be important, too!”

He took a break, pacing up and down as his brother stared at him, slack-jawed and brows furrowed, and Sam was so caught up in his own world and thoughts that everything around him felt like it was beginning to slip away, like it was of nothing important or worth taking in.

“I mean, if we’re going to let one total stranger give their opinion on my house, might as well be all of them! Let’s just invite the entirety of this random neighbourhood to pass their opinion, may as well make it city fucking hall while we’re at it!”

The silence around him was overwhelming, his breath panted out as he dropped his hands to his sides from where they had been held out in exasperation, and his shoulders sagged, face relaxing as he felt all the irrational anger he’d built up bubble over and escape, calmness and tranquillity seeping back into his body.

“I am so sorry. I totally invaded, didn’t I?” Sam felt like he had turned to stone with how fast his body tensed. He had never heard the footsteps, never even knew she had been here, but how could he have when he’d been so caught up in a screaming match with himself. He practically gave himself whiplash with how fast he turned around, his eyes wide as he took you in. Comfy and casual wear, a devastated look on your sweet face as you avoided looking at him entirely, and cold pangs of sadness moved through his chest more and more prominently with each beat of his heart as he watched you back away. “You’re right, it really wasn’t my place.. I mean, I just came all up in here, I’m not sure what I was thinking. I’m going to go, this is your house, I’m not welcome. Got it. I.. I’ll see you around, I guess?”

Placing down the handful of small carpet trimmings you had been holding, each word you spoke felt like a stabbing wound added to his conscience, and he gaped like a fish, panicking on what to do as he watched you make your way down the stairs. He whipped his head back and forth between where you had been stood, and his brother, the sound of the front door slamming shut upon your exit snapping him from his reverie as he scrambled to get tot he stairs and follow you.

When he finally made it out onto the street, tumbling down the driveway and onto the street, he found it empty, no movement or even a hint of your presence to show him which way you might have gone. He knew which way you always walked to and from, but when he reached the street corner, he had no idea which way you may have gone and how he would find you.

Trudging back to his house, he could barely lift his feet as the severity of what had transpired dragged him down, his toes catching on the step as he dragged himself back up to face his brother. A tense silence sat between the two men, thick ad palpable in the air, and he distracted himself by picking up the collection of thick fabric samples you had left behind, a small smile flicking on his features.

Shuffling through them, he ran his thumb over each one, evaluation the colours and textures as he thought deeply about each one. He loved each and every one, he couldn’t fight that they were all truly terrific samples, and he probably wouldn’t have chosen any of them any differently if he had been there himself, and the thought only made him feel worse.

“I like the dark grey and speckled one.. for the stairs and the middle floor.” His words were mumbled out, and Jake let out a sigh, the first real sign of disappointment his brother had shown since he’d returned and it sent chills shooting along Sam’s spine at the thought.

“Yeah, that’s what she said.” With a shake of the head, Jake sealed up the paint pots he had been using, dropping paintbrushes into a pot of water to soak. “Said she thought they would look best. Something about thinking that they would give us maximum opportunities on the furniture we chose, because that carpet was a pretty neutral colour, but also made a statement.”

“Yeah..”

“That doesn’t matter, though.” Jake’s voice had hardened, the disapproving older-brother tone only adding to the sombre mood in the building. “I mean, it was just a complete strangers opinion. Not like she’s a friend. We don’t really know her.”

“I fucked up, I know that.” With a heavy sigh, Sam palmed at stinging eyes, choking down his emotions. “Don’t make it any worse.”

#sam taylor #sam taylor amazing stories #dylan obrien sam taylor #sam taylor x reader #sam taylor/reader #amazing stories #dylan obrien amazing stories #dylan o'brien amazing stories #dylan obrien #dylan obrien fic #dylan obrien/reader #dylan obrien x reader #HUC #heart under construction

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lanamemories2 · 4 years

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Startled by the sound of his door opening, Lana turned after making her last adjustments. She’d been hanging his birthday gift by his window, a prime spot for the breeze to stir if the latch was undone. Strung up on a homemade mobile, one she’d recruited the help of various minions to make, dangled twelve separate origami animals, each a different colour. All had a personalised message from one of Dom’s friends, if you spread the paper flat to read them.

Ducky’s said ‘cool guy :)’ and was folded into a bear. Navy white pinstripe.

Philly’s only had a little goblin doodled on holding a fistful of socks. The paper was an expensive kind, white with mint and lilac glitter. Folded into a caterpillar. Lana liked this one because caterpillar’s have butterflies inside them and she feels the magic in Philly is sourly overlooked by the general population -- she’s the most likely person Lana knows to sprout wings and fly away.

Viktor’s was far too explicit with a recurring mention of cock. It could not be included in the gift.

Maggie’s was a wolf. Lana drew a little smiley face below the snout that wasn’t quite fitting, but it felt friendlier, that way, more Maggie -- paired with a dainty floral paper, too. It had a quote written on from Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. “She rested her head against his and felt, for the first time, what she would often feel with him: a self-affection. He made her like herself.” It finished with “love you, Maggie x”.

Marlowe’s was a tiger. Flame orange, eye catching. On it, it said: ‘anyone who's put up with my shit for almost four years deserves a medal of some kind... like pinned to their lapel and personally engraved and everything. i got outbid on ebay so I don't have a fancy medal to give you...so instead i'll just say, you're a good guy dom evans! and I hope you have a fucking awesome birthday man. if anyone deserves only good things its you :)‘.

Rosa’s was folded into a monkey. Pink paper, in the end, because Rosa makes Lana think of love and blushing and sunsets. ‘dom i can't believe you're 23 today, you're an old man now!!! when i was just an embarrassing 12 year old and made those happy 15th bday shirts for you i was so obsessed with you because a small part of you thought you were an angel on earth and you'd come to protect me but it's nice to know now that we can protect each other. i'm still going to wear those 15th bday shirts for the rest of the week so everyone knows, i think your life is the most celebration worthy thing in existence. and if you want to know i am, in fact, hoping that i never marry so that by the time i'm 35 we can just run off together, preferably with franklin in tow, and have a worry free life, it's what you deserve. i love you forever dominic james evans!!!‘

Kasey’s was a fish in a pastel shade, sweet like a ripe peach. ‘Happy birthday Dom, you're the best of the best!!‘

Jude’s was a sloth. Deeper blue. Lana hassled him to write Dom one despite the fact they aren’t even particularly close. On it, he wrote: ‘Dunno you that well but you seem alright. Lana’s pacing as I write, clearly riled her up enough. Saw your ass in full view, high definition. Was decent. Good work soldier. Back to the trenches. Happy birth and shit.’.

Gunner’s was a dog. She did her best to capture the essence of a golden retriever with yellow paper, given that this was his family pet’s breed. Notably, she drew a very large dick onto the origami between it’s legs -- assuring Gunner Paxton’s legacy wasn’t overlooked. ‘in first year i had a hard time making friends and you saw me struggling in the caf when i sprained my wrist so you offered to help me cut up my food and i thought it was weird but it was the first time a stranger showed me care in such a specific way now i always feel cared for with you and it's nice so thanks for being you and happy bday‘.

Jack’s was a lion. Below the paper mane Lana wrote ‘NOT UGLY’ in small, block font, almost fashioned like a collar. The paper was faded black and white, referee striped -- tribute to his time coaching little league. Unfolded, it says: ‘dearest cousin Dominic, you are my favorite cousin even when you peed on me that one time at the beach because you said it would keep the jellyfish away. thank you for always throwing the football around with me and even being okay with it if i threw it too hard and it hit your nose and made it bleed and we had to tell my dad you tripped over a rock. happy birthday let’s get fucked! Love Your Best Friend, Jack Hall :P’.

Will’s was a shark, folded from paper slicked to look like an oil spill, gleaming in the light -- dark and technicolour, all at once. Lana drew sunglasses over the eyes. ‘sorry i tried to dye your hair purple that one time. you're kind of great even if statistically you shouldn't be since you're an RA. that's fucking bizarre of you, by the way. you seem to be one of those people that's genuinely good which is also fucking bizarre but i figure if anyone around here deserves a good year, it's you. happy fucking birthday don't die xoxo‘

Marla’s was a pigeon. Oxblood red. She wanted a vicious city-dwelling creature that feasted on the flesh of abandoned McDonald’s fries. ‘you are more worthy than a thousand plates of ikea meatballs. you can seize life by the balls. the meatballs. extended meatball metaphor. you are a leaf floating on an amber river. you are a cherry blossom caught in a ceiling fan. if auras existed yours would be INCREDIBLY fucking sexy. you will live a long life and father approximately 333.3 children.’

Noah’s was a sky blue dog with a doodled strand of wheat from it’s mouth. ‘hey man happy birthday :) not to get all sappy but im really grateful to know you. don't know if luck is real but if it is, hope this brings you some of the best of it there is’. A drawing of a little four leaf clover after the message.

There was a thirteenth string without anything attached and Lana almost took it as an omen of how unlucky it was, her opening up in this way, how much she’d come to see it as a curse. But she held it in her hands, anyway. A swan as white as the Betta fish she’d pointed out as him at the aquarium. Wishing star white. Whiter than an angel. The most Dom paper she could think to fold it from, when she woke up and realised she’d been dreaming about him.

“Hey,” she breathed with a laugh, cat burglar caught with the ruby in gloved hands. By all practical accounts, she’d broken and entered. “Charmed my way in. Wanted to, um... Was meant to be a surprise, like, an in and out job, and... I told some other RA Gunner left his inhaler here and he went all crazed, like, Action Man, whipping out a master key. Totally Oscar worthy. Should probably... let him know Gunner isn’t dead, later, but. Wanted to give you your present. It’s, um... I mean, it’s everyone,” came as she sifted gently at Philly’s caterpillar, smile bubbling to the surface. “I got them all to write you stuff. It isn’t, like, crazy, or anything, but.” Lana wet her lips, excitement overflowing -- she couldn’t seem to smother her smile. “This... is mine.” That did it. It faded as her eyes dropped. She pinched the swan delicately in both hands, then, blood rushing in her ears -- it provided amusing contrast, the coy blush in her cheeks with the devil horns she’d slid into her hair, a costume nobody had asked for. “Kinda wrote it... a while ago. It’s -- I don’t know,” she second guessed, laughing again at how dumb she was sure she sounded. Gestures like this always scared her, when she really meant them, felt like far too much. “You can read it, if you wanna.” @domfm

#c: dom #ok. disclaimed 2 all on the dash bc i already privately told ella this. this starter is insanely long bt its gna shrink in size sm this isnt #the actual thread length. i jst cldnt avoid writing a lot w the nature of. the gift...n desc......#ok.... thank u... apologies........to all #long post tw

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jng-animation · 3 years

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This post contains the research and extra content that goes alongside the production of my Film Language essay.

3.Film Language - 16/11/2020

My initial analysis of each scene from both films consisted of watching through them individually and bullet pointing each film language technique that appeared. Here is the rough list of all the points I had gathered:

Up= Ellie’s Death Scene

*An extremely common use of the colour yellow signifies the emotion of happiness between Carl and Ellie, a common theme in Disney’s movies. The lighting becomes a prominent shade of yellow giving an extremely intense yellow glow to most things in the scene. This yellow builds-up to a point where they are set on having children, to which the room they paint is completely yellow.

*Carl and Ellie both wear yellow on multiple occasions matching the glow and hue of the scenes.

*The opposite to this yellow theme is settings of grey, like the hospital, which mostly occurs when sadness is fed into the scene. Even the colour of Ellie and Carl, their clothes, their hair, etc are set to less saturated darker colours. As the build-up to the death scene comes the colour within the scenes become much less saturated, and these last through the duration of the film.

*On the reoccurring hill Carl and Ellie both visits, the last time they visit has the intense yellow glow to represent happiness, however this is diverted by Ellie’s difficulty to climb the hill, till she collapses.

In the hospital scene Ellie is lit with a cold hue, whereas Carl is lit with a warm tone.

After Ellie realised, she can’t have children, the next shot of the two characters is set between a wall, as the characters are losing each other over the difficulties of life...

The music for the build-up starts intensely upbeat and cheerful, full of different instruments. fitting the happiness between the two characters, however as troubles each pass the music fades slightly and slowly till it just becomes a sombre background noise. Picking back up and lowering a few times. This eventually becomes one piano playing away the sadness of the scene.

There are two differing and contrasting shots of the church where Carl and Ellie got married, and Ellie’s funeral... the funeral being lit and coloured much darker and with deep purples and pinks.

*Throughout the entire build up Carl’s character when looking towards Ellie is always looking up towards her, she always is above him for him to look up to her, however as age gets to the pair, Carl now looks down on Ellie as she looks up on him.

Inception = Mal Death Scene

*Yellow happy colours, rooms completely yellow, but the pair climb out to the dark cold outside

*The yellow of the walls in the initial room Cob walks into could be taken in as a lie in happiness.

*The colour yellow in films also exhibits some psychological states of mind, such as: Madness, sickness, insecurity, obsessive, idyllic and naivety. Mal possesses all these states of mind when believing that her only way back to the real reality is death, even when she is in fact in her real reality. (https://www.studiobinder.com/blog/how-to-use-color-in-film-50-examples-of-movie-color-palettes/)

*Angelic romantic room settings which when interpreted in terms of mise-en-scene can show the state of each characters state of mind: Cob’s room – broken, shattered, destroyed – much like his state of mind due to his wife wanting to commit suicide to escape a fake reality. Mal’s room – intact, calm, clean – much like expression of her state of mind as she calmly and contently tries to persuade her husband to commit with her.

*Cob’s room is trashed, a slight call forward to how his life is going to be broken by his wife, by her death, and her calling him out as the cause for her death.

*Mal’s room is perfect to represent that she will finally gain bliss from her restless mind, how she can’t cope with life being an illusion.

The camera is always close to Cob but always far away from Mal making her look small and out of touch with reality. This distancing from Cob shows she doesn’t want to believe him, and as Cob can’t get to her head Mal’s camera angle shows he is far away and out of touch with her.

The camera gets closer and closer to Mal with each shot that passes, to sway the viewers thoughts so they believe that they are coming to an agreement or a little bit closer to reaching Mal.

The camera is held by hand shaking constantly throughout this scene to give an “in-the-moment” feeling, or even a recall of memories, a recollection. This opposed to the rest of the film which has steady smooth cameras. Maybe to represent the panic in cobs head

A lot of high angle shots, that switch to eye-line angled shots.

In my essay I talk about the points revolving around the colour language, specifically yellow; the mise-en-scene and state of mind with inception; and the semiotic sign of car looking up to Ellie throughout the Up scene. (all these points I have marked with a “*”) So within this post I shall give some more background and research into the other points which I haven’t been able to condense within the word count of my Film Language essay.

“In the hospital scene Ellie is lit with a cold hue, whereas Carl is lit with a warm tone.”

This point was going to be added to my talk into colour language, along with the points made into yellow and its transitional property throughout the film.

Within the shot of Ellie laid in a hospital bed, immediately after her collapsing on the hill, the bright yellows and warm oranges settle into a cold deepened grey-blue and a contrasting red light shining in from the window. Once Carl enters the room her stops in place of the red light, making him illuminated red, and Ellie illuminated blue. These two opposite and contrasting colours can say a lot about the events foreshadowing and even their characters within this scene. The filmmakers may have wanted to convey a subtle way of the separation of the two characters, and how this is where their journey together ends, as this is the last shot, we see our two characters together. Or they might have wanted to convey the exact opposite, on how Ellie and Carl were always the ones for each other, as you can’t have one without the other, cold without hot. Or even this could be the way to represent the life within each of our characters, and how Ellie’s light is finally dying out, but Carl must watch as his light still has long left to burn.

There are many ways to interpret the message or sign behind this lighting and use of colour, that it is almost just individual and respective to each viewer on how they treat this use of film language.

“After Ellie realised, she can’t have children, the next shot of the two characters is set between a wall, as the characters are losing each other over the difficulties of life...”

I really wanted to express this point in my essay as I found it to be interesting and subtle to the eye, as it took me a few re-watches of this scene to truly notice.

After the scene where Ellie is explained to not be able to have the children the couple so desired, the first shots of the couple is two point-of-view shots. These shots show that both characters are separated from one another by the wall of their house, Ellie in the garden facing out into the void, as Carl look on at her from the inside of the window in upset. This use of composition or mise-en-scene can be interpreted to be a loss in connection of the pair and how they deal with the troubling times of their relationship. Or even a foreshadowing of the future events of each of the characters. As a side note this point links into my point of “Carl always looking up to Ellie”, as this is one of the times Carl must look down to Ellie as she must now look up to him. This can be interpreted as a way of showing mutual dependency and care for one another, Carl has always been the one to fall in love with Ellie from the start, however we’ve seen limited supply of Ellie’s dependency on Carl as she is extremely independent and confident in her actions.

“The music for the build-up starts intensely upbeat and cheerful, full of different instruments. fitting the happiness between the two characters, however as troubles each pass the music fades slightly and slowly till it just becomes a sombre background noise. Picking back up and lowering a few times. This eventually becomes one piano playing away the sadness of the scene.”

As a point in difference compare to Inception, Up contains a coherent soundtrack to this build-up scene, whereas Inception contains no music to its scene.

As explained in the point, the music seems to mimic that of the narrative, coherently changing with each step – as the story gets sadder, the music fades or loses an instrument, as the story gets happier, it gains an instrument and gets more lively. This subtle but very much subconsciously noticeable change in music allows for an overall emphasis on each of the film language techniques used at each of the varying points across this montage build-up.

“There are two differing and contrasting shots of the church where Carl and Ellie got married, and Ellie’s funeral... the funeral being lit and coloured much darker and with deep purples and pinks.”

This point also links in within the rest of the colour language and also ties in some lighting techniques as well.

The church can be determined as the same church for both the Wedding between Ellie and Carl, and the funeral place for Ellie as the glass window in the centre of the arch at the back is the same. However, as mentioned above, the lighting and colour is what largely differs between these two shots. In the wedding shot, the lighting is much like the rest of the montage and follows the same golden yellow hue, the same can be seen with the candles. However, there are slight faded rays of pink, which much the same as the pink flowers and pink carpet can represent romance and innocence. This compared with the funeral shot shows a drastic change in lighting and colour. The lighting is slight a slight pink, but also with more hints of purple, the same can be said about the flowers, both pink and purple. Purple can represent illusion, which might comment on Carl’s state of mind, as for the rest of the movie he still talks to Ellie as if she is still alive, both an illusion in itself as well as an illusion in the denial that she has passed on. (There is also bundles of multicoloured balloons which can be representative of a foreshadowing to Carl’s house and the balloons used to get to Paradise Falls.)

https://www.studiobinder.com/blog/how-to-use-color-in-film-50-examples-of-movie-color-palettes/

Inception

“The camera is always close to Cob but always far away from Mal making her look small and out of touch with reality. This distancing from Cob shows she doesn’t want to believe him, and as Cob can’t get to her head Mal’s camera angle shows he is far away and out of touch with her.”

The distance between Cob and Mal and the camera itself can be interpreted to be a suggestion of their current relationship and thoughts about one another’s thinking and opinions. Mal doesn’t believe Cob in his idea that this reality is the true reality, which is shown as her distancing from the opinions of Cob. The same can be said about Cob not being able to get close enough to save Mal, as he doesn’t believe the reality is a dream but in fact knows it is real.

“The camera gets closer and closer to Mal with each shot that passes, to sway the viewers thoughts so they believe that they are coming to an agreement or a little bit closer to reaching Mal.”

The filmmakers use this method of moving the camera closer to Mal to create a feeling of a metaphorical settling/disarming of the situation, getting a little closer to save her each time. Or this can be interpreted exactly the opposite way by looking at the idea that the camera gets closer and closer to her thoughts as she goes deeper and deeper into her own rabbit hole of delusion.

“The camera is held by hand shaking constantly throughout this scene to give an “in-the-moment” feeling, or even a recollection of memories. This opposed to the rest of the film which has steady handled cameras - maybe to represent the panic in Cob’s head.”

The camera in this scene had switched from that of a still and smooth moving camera, to a handheld camera. The shakiness of the camera fills the atmosphere with uncertainty and unknowing-ness, which is exactly the state of mind Cob takes on as soon as he walks through the doors of the hotel suite to find it destroyed. The same could also be interpreted on Mal’s madness which can be intensified by this shaking.

“In contrast to the smooth moving-camera shots […], the inherent shakiness of the handheld camera can be exploited when a loss of control, whether in the situation or in the character’s state of mind, is something the filmmaker wants to convey to the viewer.” (Barsam, 2009)

“A lot of high angle shots, that switch to eye-line angled shots.”

High camera angle shots can be looked at in a way to indicate a sense of being in the head of the subject the camera is focusing on. This can be used to express to the viewer the exact though process of the character in focus, or dependent on the closeness of the subject to show a level of madness. However, these camera angle start going back to more eye level, which represents a more conversational and grounded setting or atmosphere. The filmmakers might have wanted to use this to accentuate the panic going through Cob’s mind as he realises as soon as he sees Mal on the window ledge.

References + Links:

https://www.studiobinder.com/blog/how-to-use-color-in-film-50-examples-of-movie-color-palettes/

https://www.stclair-film.com/uploads/4/9/3/7/49376005/gfx-looking-at-movies-3rd-edition.pdf

#Film Langauage #animation #BA2a

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the-quiet-winds · 5 years

Text

Things are Shaping Up to be Pretty Odd (part two)

[A bit of modern fun and fluff with @ichlugebulletsandcornnuts. Ironically finished a few days before Olivier nominations came out.]

[part one]

[Part 2: We Won’t Tiptoe About]

Jane scours the racks, searching for things that met Katherine’s foggy criteria.

“Can I help you find something, miss?”

A young attendant is standing near her with curious eyes. Jane straightens up and nods slightly. “I'm looking for something for my daughter. She wants to be a little more...conservative in her style.”

The salesgirl narrows her eyes slightly and Jane is prepared to defend Katherine no matter what, but then the woman smiles. “Follow me, I think we have a few that are just what she’s looking for.”

The attendant leads Jane to a section in the corner of the shop. Even from a glance it was clear the dresses were made to cover more skin than the others, but they were still beautiful.

“Your daughter, is that the girl who was talking to you before?” The assistant asks. Jane nods, and the assistant flicks through the dress rack. “She’s very lucky to have such long legs, so she can wear perhaps something that reaches to the knee and not look cut off by it, if that’s the style she’s going for.” The assistant glances at Jane with a dress in her hand. It was plain white, an almost blouse-like high neckline with short capped sleeves and a skirt that went out in an a-line to around the knee. “I know it’s not particularly exciting to look at, but see if she likes this style,” the assistant offers the dress to Jane. “If she does, then we have plenty of more interesting patterns and colours in this cut. If not, then we can keep looking.”

Jane smiles brightly. “I'll see how she likes it.”

The attendant grins, then offers another option. “If she wants a more of a modern look...” she trails of as she flicks through some choices. “This is very popular amongst girls her age.”

She holds up a long, black jumpsuit. It, too, had capped sleeves, but the neckline scooped slightly lower to show off what Jane would assume to be one’s collarbones. She hands it to Jane.

“Take both of these and see what she likes,” she instructs kindly. “We’ll choose where to go from there.”

Jane makes her way to the dressing room, where Katherine is sitting on the small bench, back in her shirt and jeans, looking rather glum.

“I have a few more choices, love.” She holds them up with a hopeful smile. “I have a feeling they’ll have something here you’ll like.”

Katherine looks at the options, gaze lingering on the skirt of the dress and the neckline of the jumpsuit. She doesn’t seem particularly convinced but she shrugs and reaches out to take them anyway.

“I'll wait just outside,” Jane reassures her, stepping out of the dressing room and closing the door behind her. She waits patiently, hoping that Katherine would like at least one of the options, or if not that she’d at least have a better idea of what she wanted to wear. After several minutes Katherine emerges from the dressing room in the black jumpsuit, face slightly nervous.

“...What do you think?” Jane asks her.

“I like the pants,” Katherine admits with a tiny smile. then it fades. “But not so much the top.”

Jane nods. “That’s a start, love,” she assures. “Go on and try the dress.”

Katherine emerges a few minutes later in the dress, a similar nervous look about her.

“How about this one?” Jane asks.

Katherine shrugs, still vaguely distant. “I don’t like it that much,” she says quietly.

The attendant stops by a moment later. “No good?” she asks. Katherine shakes her head shamefully. The woman tsks lightly. “There’s no shame in that, lass.” She pauses to think, then a light smirk appears on her lips. “You know, we do tailor women’s suits.”

Katherine glances as Jane almost questioningly and Jane gives her a reassuring smile. “What do you think of that, love?”

“I don’t know,” Katherine says slowly. “I... I’ve never worn a suit before. Do you think I'd look good?”

“I hope you don’t mind me interrupting,” the assistant smiles, “but personally I think you’d look lovely. And if you’re worried about boring fabric then you don’t need to; we make a wide variety with all kinds of materials, and we can add a little bit of sparkle if you’d like.”

Katherine lights up a bit at that and nods her head.

“I'll go grab a few samples,” the salesgirl says with a light laugh, bustling off towards the backroom. Jane hustles Katherine back inside the dressing room to change again.

The woman returns, arms laden with jackets and pants and shirts. “I think most of these should fit her well,” she says, handing a set to Jane. The pants and jacket were a matching steel grey, the shirt a light blue. “Just for size, lass,” she calls to Katherine as Jane hands them through the curtain.

As Jane waits, she’s slightly confused to hear a quiet giggling coming from inside the dressing room. She almost calls out to ask what Katherine’s laughing at, but soon Katherine emerges, a slightly giddy smile on her face.

“It’s not what I'm used to,” she says, adjusting the jacket, “but, I dunno, I think it looks quite cool.” Her eyes immediately go to Jane for validation.

Jane smiles brightly. “I think it’s ‘quite cool’ too, love. You look great.”

Katherine blushes pink as her hair. “The colors are weird though,” she says with a slight goofy laugh.

“Leave that to me,” the attendant says. she steps back and scans Katherine quickly, then speaks again, “I have an idea.” she retreats back to the backroom then returns with new material. She hands Katherine a dark cream shirt to hold up. “Perfect.” The attendant pulls out her fabric, black with pink, orange, yellow, and green flowers in bold patterns. “What do you think of that?”

The fabric is vibrant and eye catching, and Katherine finds herself staring at it for several moments before remembering to reply.

“I- I like it a lot,” she says, slightly shyly. “It’s like, impressive, but not something that, y’know,” her voice drops slightly, “men will stare at for the wrong reasons.” She directs the last part away from the attendant, although judging from the woman’s kind smile she heard it anyway.

Jane puts a reassuring hand on her upper back, stroking lightly with her thumb.

Another attendant comes up behind the first, a garment bag in her hands. “I think I found the only one in that size, but,” she pulls the bag away, revealing the patterned suit in all its glory.

Katherine can only stare at it. Jane laughs and nudges her lightly. “Go on now, love, let’s try it on.”

Katherine takes the suit almost reverently and Jane laughs slightly at the adorable way her wide eyes stare at the fabric. She disappears into the dressing room in a rush and Jane notices one of the attendants, an older woman, stifle a laugh. The attendant sees her looking and smiles. “Her enthusiasm is so cute.” Jane smiles back, realising the woman was being sincere and not making fun of Katherine.

When Katherine exits the dressing room she has a beaming smile on her face.

“Give us a twirl!” one of the attendants says, and Katherine obliges, her ponytail swishing after her. The attendants give her a little round of applause which makes her laugh, but then she turns to look at Jane. “So, mum,” she says with a half-giggle, “what do you think?”

Jane is speechless for a moment, tears in her eyes.

Katherine feels her esteem crumbling, afraid that she had upset Jane. Of course she shouldn’t wear a suit, she reasons, she should wear a dress like all the other girls will. Jane was a traditionalist. She would like Katherine to wear-

“Kat,” Jane breathes. “You look amazing.” She looks her up and down, a radiant smile on her lips, and brings up a hand to rest on Katherine’s cheek. “My gorgeous girl.”

“You- you really think so?” Katherine’s smile grows again, relieved. Jane nods, pride welling in her chest.

“I do, love.” She takes another moment to marvel at the suit, then reaching up to gently pull Katherine’s hair free of its hairband. She arranges it over her shoulders and then smiles at Kat, the tears back in her eyes. “Goodness, look at you! You’ll be the belle of the ball.”

The three attendants all nod in agreement. “You do look lovely, lass. I think it’s just what you needed,” the first one says.

Katherine blushes, but it’s Jane’s opinion that really matters. Hearing her say those things makes her feel like butter inside, sending the genuine affection and pride in her words. Before she knows it, she throws her arms around Jane. “Thanks mum,” she whispers.

Jane returns the hug immediately, hand rubbing gentle circles on Katherine’s upper back.

“I'm only telling the truth, love,” she chuckles. When Katherine pulls back she grins at Jane.

“And you know who else is gonna look amazing?” She grabs the dress Jane had tried on earlier from the chair where it had been placed and presses it into Jane’s hands. “C’mon, put it back on! We’ve got to take some selfies.”

Jane laughs at Katherine’s enthusiasm, but relents and puts the dark purple gown on again. She smooths it out gently, a smile on her lips as she joins her daughter in the main room.

All the attendants start fanning themselves. “You both look so beautiful!” They fawn.

Jane throws an arm around Katherine’s shoulder, pulling her close. “You really do look lovely, Kat, absolutely perfect,” she murmurs, low enough so the attendants don’t hear.

Katherine’s smile is radiant and she mumbles another thanks. “You do too, mum. And... thanks for helping me find something. I know I'm difficult sometimes but-”

“You’re not difficult, Kat,” Jane says firmly. “You just needed to find something you were comfortable with, and we found something in no time at all, didn’t we?” She presses a kiss to the side of Katherine’s head. “And it’s perfect for you, love.”

Katherine blushes slightly and curls further into Jane for just a moment before she pulls her phone out of her pocket. The attendants see what she’s doing and reach out to retrieve it.

They take one normal picture, one posed, and then one more, where the two other attendants are holding black screens with the boutiques name on it in front of the pair, only their heads visible.

“Placement, you know?” One laughs. “Plus you can’t show off your looks before the red carpet. Gotta knock them dead.”

So Katherine ultimately posts the one with the screens. “Ready to hit the Kholer carpet with my always #1,” the caption reads. “Love you so much @janeyseymour,” it continues.

As soon as they get home Jane makes sure both outfits are neatly put away, ready for the ceremony. The time flies by, and with each passing day the atmosphere amongst the queens gets more and more excited. Both Katherine and the cast album were up against some steep competition and nobody wanted to jinx it, but the idea that they might actually win was getting more and more real by the second. On the morning of the Kholer Awards, all the queens were practically buzzing. Even Parr’s normally calm demeanour had shifted.

Of course it wasn’t that easy, because they still had a show that afternoon.

It was an energetic performance, full of buzz and light about the awards that evening, something Parr and Aragon both were sure to mention at the shows conclusion.

The queens reconvened in the theater lobby an hour and a half later, ready to go. Jane wore her gown, hair pulled up into an elaborate bun.

Katherine enters a moment later, and Jane can barely keep herself from bursting into tears again. The suit looks just as perfect as it did two weeks ago, Katherine’s hair curled and pulled into soft ringlets over her shoulders.

“Kat,” Jane whispers. “You look...amazing, love.”

Katherine gives her a beaming smile. “Thanks, mum. You look beautiful too.”

“What the hell, Kitty?” Boleyn’s voice yells from behind them, signalling the arrival of the other queens. “Who gave you the right to look that amazing?” Jane stifles a laugh as Boleyn wraps an arm around Katherine’s shoulder and pretends to ruffle her hair (although without actually touching it). “Aw, my little baby cousin is all grown up!”

Aragon ignores both Boleyn’s teasing and Katherine’s yelp of mock-annoyance as she approaches the group. “Come on queens, one photo before we go,” she instructs in a business-like fashion, despite the fact she looks about as giddy as everyone else.

Jane and Katherine occupy the right side of the picture, Jane’s arm looped tightly around Katherine’s waist. They hold still for the picture, then didn’t let go until they got to the car.

Except the car wasn’t there.

A limo had apparently been rented for the evening, courtesy of the Kholer Awards.

It was a smooth and fun 45 minute ride to the awards show, but as soon as they arrive and Katherine sees the paparazzi and the people waiting for them, the color drains from her face.

Jane notices almost immediately and takes Katherine’s hand. “I'm here, Kat,” she says softly with a gentle squeeze of her hand. Katherine gives her a weak smile, looking slightly nauseous.

“We don’t have to stay long on the red carpet if you don’t want to,” Jane reassures her. “and I'll be with you every step of the way.”

Parr notices the conversation and leans across. “If you’d like the rest of us to handle the press, then you two can go on ahead. It’s up to you, kid.”

Katherine swallows and clutches Jane’s hand tightly, not intending to let go. She takes a few breaths, then reopens her eyes, a fresh determination and renewed excitement in her expression.

The six of them exit the limo and are immediately swallowed by the press and the paparazzi.

“Katherine Howard!” one interviewer calls out. “How does it feel to be nominated for such a prestigious award?”

She feels Jane squeeze her hand. “It really is an honor. That song means a lot to me,” she answers honestly.

The interviewer nods enthusiastically. He looks at his phone quickly then back to Katherine. “Our viewers are loving your look, Katherine! What inspired the suit look for you?”

Katherine grips Jane’s hand just a bit tighter and for a moment Jane wonders if she should usher Katherine away, but then Katherine speaks.

“It just felt right. My mum actually helped me pick it out.” The adoption was common knowledge at this point and the interviewer looks over at Jane with a smile.

“Would you like to add anything to that, Jane?” He asks.

“Just that I'm so proud of Katherine,” Jane says, “and that I'm so happy to be here with her today.”

The interviewer looks pacified, but there are still a dozen more to fight through before they enter the gala, all asking similar questions about Katherine’s bold suit, how Katherine was feeling being nominated against West End legends, and even one or two asking about how Jane and Katherine were getting on together. They answer as many as they could, then manage find the others and make their way to their seats, eagerly awaiting the beginning of the show.

The awards start with the smaller categories. The girls were disheartened when they didn’t win orchestrations or choreography, but the other two were the big ones they were waiting for.

“And the Kholer Award for Best Original Cast Album goes to…,” the announcer pauses and Jane and Katherine hold each other’s hands tightly. “The Light on the 23rd Floor: A New West End Musical!”

The atmosphere amongst the entire group deflated slightly, even as they clapped along to congratulate the winners. Katherine hears Aragon muttering something in Spanish under her breath but she’s focused on Jane, who gives her a half-smile.

“It’s okay, love. being nominated was honour enough,” she whispers. “And we’ve still got your category to be announced.”

Katherine, on the other hand, already knows the outcome, or at least she thinks she does. There would be no way she’d win if the cast album didn’t, not when the queens sounded so amazing on it.

The announcers carry on with the awards: best lights, best supporting actor and actress, best musical direction, innovation in music, best live performance by an actor in a musical.

Then, after ‘The Light on the 23rd Floor’ had their performance, Best Live Performance by ann Actress in a Musical was to be presented.

“This year, theater critics travelled to the seven new shows that opened on the West End and evaluated every performer, narrowing the list down to just four actresses. The nominees are: Rebecka Smalton, Basketcase; Loelle Jackson, Icecaps; Tabitha O’Connors, Light on the 23rd Floor, and Katherine Howard, Six the Musical.”

Katherine feels Jane take her hand and grip it when her name is called, but she is so nervous she can barely react.

“And the award goes to…,” the silence seems to last forever. “Katherine Howard, Six the Musical!”

It doesn’t quite hit Katherine that she’s won until Jane turns to her, beaming with pride, and whispers, “you did it!”

She gets up, legs slightly shaking from adrenaline, and she’s ushered to the stage as the crowd applauds and cheers- for her, she realises. They heard her story and they like her. A giddy grin grows on Katherine’s face as she ascends the stairs to the stage and the presenters hand her a glass trophy, engraved with ‘Best Live Performance by an Actress in a Musical.’

They step back and gesture towards the microphone, expecting her to speak. Katherine then realizes she doesn't have anything prepared, she was so sure she wouldn't win. She steps towards the mic and clears her throat nervously. She catches Jane, about twenty rows back, and she gives her a little thumbs-up.

Katherine looks down at the trophy then back to the crowd. "I never expected this to happen tonight," she speaks honestly, a lightness in her voice. "Or ever for that matter. I'd like to thank the critics association, the Kholer judges, our fans, and my amazing co stars. Aragon, you keep my head on straight where I know I would lose it, Anna, I know I can count on you for back up when I need it. You’re the best friend I could ever ask for. Boleyn, you infuriate me, but I still love you with my whole heart, and Parr...you're one of the sweetest souls I've ever met. I love you all so much."

Then she sees Jane, smiling and teary-eyed and her throat constricts slightly.

“And finally, to Jane,” Katherine tries her best to keep it together. “For, um, for those of you who don’t know, a few months ago Jane formally adopted me, and so this is for my mum. I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you.” She tears up slightly, choking on her words, but powers through. “You’ve helped me more than you’ll possibly ever realise, and I wouldn’t be standing here if it wasn’t for you.” Even over rows and rows of seats, Jane meets her eyes and Katherine feels her heart burst with love, giving her enough confidence to finish her speech. “Lastly, I just wanted to say... this award is for everyone who has a story like mine. Thank you to everyone who’s let me tell my story, and to everyone who’s listened to it.” She raises the trophy once in the air as the audience applauds, and she thinks she can hear a group of distinct familiar voices cheering for her in the twentieth row.

She leaves the stage and walks up the aisle, a spotlight trailing her as she goes. She doesn’t even make it to her seat before Jane pulls her into the tightest hug.

Unbeknownst to them both, a camera had followed, and their heartfelt moment was broadcast for the who audience to see, but neither really cared.

“I'm so proud of you, love,” Jane whispers tearily. “So, so proud.”

Katherine can’t find the words to respond so she just hugs Jane tighter, hoping that Jane realises just how much Katherine loves her and that this award was just as much hers as it was Katherine’s. They only break apart when a kindly-looking usher apologetically interrupts asking them to return to their seats. When they sit down, Jane wraps an arm around Katherine’s shoulders and Katherine gently leans against her, resting her head on Jane’s shoulder as she clutches the trophy in her lap. Neither of them pay much attention through the rest of the awards, as much as they try to, far too overwhelmed by pride and happiness and most of all, love.

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tag list: @percabeth15 @kats-seymour @qualquercoisa945 @jane-fucking-seymour @a-slightly-cracked-egg @justqueentingz @annabanana2401 @wolfies-chew-toy @broad-way-13 @tvandmusicals @lailaliquorice @aimieallenatkinson @sweet-child-why03 @gaylinda-of-the-upper-uplands @funky-lesbians @thinkaboutitmaybe @haniawritesthings @messanaa @rigatoni-ravioli @prick-up-ur-ears @theartoflazy @justqueentwo @brother-orion @paleshadowofadragon @lafemmestars @beautifulashes17 @jarneiarichardnxel @idkimbadwithusernamesandstuff @ladiez-in-waiting @mixer1323 @boleynssixthfinger @aimieallen @elphiesdance @boleynthebunny @krystalhuntress @lupin-loves-chocolate @bellacardoza16 @bluify @katherines-choker @why-only-have-one-fandom @missmarvelmixer @le-mlp-nerd @0-hufflepuffle-0 @drawinglinesinarbitraryplaces @lesbabe6 @wicked-books-101 @insertmusicaltheatrepunhere @toomanyfamdom @zoalis @rainbowmoose01 @broadwayqueer

#six the musical #katherine howard #jane seymour #anne boleyn #catherine parr #catherine of aragon #anne of cleves #julie and jess write #things are shaping up to be pretty odd

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wwounu · 5 years

Text

l.jh | why don’t you tell me why you really came here tonight?

✧˚ * . pairing: jihoon x reader

✧.⊹ * prompt: “why don’t you tell me why you really came here tonight?”

✧· . ˚ word count:

[ from: you make my day | you made my dream m.list ]

“You never told me what brought you here,” Jihoon questions, “other than it being a pretty day, tell me how you ended up lost in this town?”

“This is my friend’s hometown. We planned that we would stay at their parent’s house for the week so that we could catch up, and she was supposed to come today, but unfortunately the train was delayed and now I’ll have to see them tomorrow...” Slowly fading your voice at the end, Jihoon somewhat frowns at your saddened tone.

“Really sucks to hear that. Where does the getting lost bit come in?”

“Gosh, you’re so desperate to know how I got lost,” your quote on quote tour guide smiles, pointing to a view of hills with open green grass, lambs running around, “so I figured that if I was alone today, then I might as well take a walk around the small town by myself.”

“And how did that go?”

“Oh shush, I’m sorry that this is my first time here.” Sarcastically, you comment. “Then one thing or another, you notice that I’ve been walking in circles around town square for ages and finally introduce yourself as Jihoon while I say help, I’m lost! Hence becoming my tour guide for today. Sound right?”

“I think tour guide should be changed to a different term,”

“What, my knight in shining armour?”

“Only if you want it to be.” Jihoon playfully grins and you sigh loudly, head falling into your hands. “I kid, now come with me, there’s a nearby bakery I think you’d like.”

The bakery was full of assortments of breads and desserts, the interior decorated in a cosy sunset yellow, both you and Jihoon careless as to how long you were drooling over the cakes, stealing almost all of the free samples on top on the glass cover.

Hey, they were tasty. And free.

Your next location was a popular tourist site for the town — a long, cream-coloured wall with pastel paintings that fill the space and make it perfect for photos — which Jihoon kindly took for you, leading up to a silly photoshoot where the two of you try to jump on time, all the attempts recorded on the photos.

Jihoon brings you to the marketplace next, strolling though eye-catching items and tempting food, the busy place being an eye-catcher itself, with sky blue and baby pink flags hanging and strings of mint green and lilac.

“Woah, look at this,” you pick up a sun hat, a thick dark ribbon wrapped around the head and tired prettily at the back, “how nice...” You whimper, wanting the item. Alas, you accept the fact you can’t buy it and move along—

“Hi, how much is that?”

You turn back to where you originally went, seeing Jihoon by the stand and talking to the owner. “Jihoon? He didn’t- Jihoon!”

Running to him, you see it’s already late through the exchange of the lovely old lady handing the hat as Jihoon lends the change in both of her hands, thanking her warmly. Once he notices you he presents the woven hat with a smile.

“Listen here young man—“ You abruptly stop as the male adjusts the hat on your head, tilting it up so that you can see each other’s faces.

“Just take the hat,” he beams, “I got a lot more to show you, off to the bridge!”

The bridge was by far the location that made you speechless — the wide river, secret view of the mountains at the right spot, a couple of baby ducks swimming in a v-formation — everything was so spotless.

Jihoon even taught you how to skip stones. “It’s all in the wrist,” he says, angling his rock and making seven perfect skips, “want me to help?”

“Yes,” you hopelessly say and Jihoon makes his way behind you, holding the rock between your hands and tilting it up and down.

“Throw when I say so.” He brings back your hand, soon moving it forward, giving the signal with, “Throw!” You let go of the stone and manage to successfully get two skips.

With cheers, you and Jihoon hug over the small achievement. “I did it! I really did it!”

“Yeah, yeah you did!” Jihoon replies with the same energy, realising that he’s holding you and moves away quickly, cheeks heated. “Well done,” he finishes with a smile.

Checking the position of the sun, Jihoon gasps and points to a hill.

“I got one more thing to show you, and we’re gonna miss it if we don’t make it up that hill.”

“What are we waiting for? To the hill!”

The sun is at its golden hour when you two arrive, showing the whole town marvellously standing with a faint glow. All the pastel colours have turned warmer — oranges and purples — and you can see the sparkle in the river as it rushes past.

“Wow. This is beautiful.”

“I was hoping you’d say that. It’s the best view of them all,” chuckles Jihoon, picking flowers from the ground, “take a picture. It’ll last longer.”

Without a word, you take out your phone, angling it at the perfect view.

But something felt missing.

“Jihoon,” you pause, a breeze hitting you, “be in my picture.”

“Me? Um... Sure,” Jihoon agrees with ease, his stiff voice melting into honey as he chuckles and stands in front of you, “should I smile?”

“Smiling makes you look pretty, I’d like that.” And with that, Jihoon’s lips and eyes spread into a smile, every shadow, dimple, curve capturing him, the sunlight’s glow making his brown hair strands turn creamy, his lips and cheeks rosy.

You couldn’t just capture one photo.

“Thanks a lot for today Jihoon,” you thank him on the way back, the sky now a washed out pink and blue, “you really made this tour seem worth it.”

“It’s nothing, I had lots of fun with you too, going back to places I haven’t been in a long time...”

Reality hits when you point to your friend’s home, standing in front of the stairs as Jihoon watches you from the bottom of it.

In the end, you two were just strangers with memories.

“Take care, tell your friend how much fun you had today, and apologies in advance if I took you to most places they wanted to go with you.”

“Noted,” you giggle, slightly missing the fact that Jihoon was going to be gone, “I guess... Goodbye, Jihoon.”

“Goodnight, you made my day.” He says with the same heaviness even though the wide smile would tell you other wise. He slowly walks away, back now facing you, and you wait until he’s near the end of the street before it’s time for you to go in.

Entering with the spare keys, you were in the middle of taking off your shoes when the door began to bang loudly. Scared, you turn and swing the door open, revealing a heavily-panting Jihoon with his hands on his knees.

“Jihoon? You ran here? Why?”

“Because,” croaks he, suddenly stiff when he’s eye to eye with your eyes, ears blushing pink, “you forgot your sunhat!”

Staring up, you were pretty sure the accessory was on your head. “It’s right on my head—”

“Did I say hat? I mean jacket, I could’ve sworn you brought one with you...” Jihoon runs over some of his words, his heart feeling like it’ll explode any moment.

“Alright.” You get to the point, grinning. “Why don’t you tell me why you really came here tonight?”

Taking a deep breath, Jihoon still looks as bashful as ever, but with the last burst of confidence, he says, “I’d like you to make my day everyday. I wanna see you everyday,” he shyly confesses, eyes directing to his toes.

With a beat of silence, you get closer and leave a peck on his flushed cheekbone.

“I’ll be your morning, day, and night if you want me to.”

“Be mine, it’s all I ask.”

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jaehyeonsgf · 5 years

Note

Hello can I request a scenario with Jaehyun # 37 & 13 with angst and fluff thank you 😊

13 : “i’ve been flirting with you for three years, it’s about time that you catch on.”

37 : “why do you hate me so much?”

a/n : i’ll do you one up and give you fboy!jaehyun with a lowkey enemies-to-lovers!au. needless to say, i went a little overboard with it. i hope you’d enjoy it.

Yellow is the colour of caution, perhaps that’s the reason that bells went off in your head when you first laid eyes on Jaehyun.

He rakes his fingers through his wet blonde hair, laughing as he points at the other boy, “Another match.”

In a group of sweaty boys, your eyes naturally gravitate to him. His blonde hair catches your eyes first, then his wide shoulders, and then his angelic smile. He had an air of confidence as he dribbles the ball towards the hoop, leaping and dunking the ball in it. Watching him, all you could think of was that he really looked like a prince.

But since you first saw him, with the help of the gossips flying around your university campus, you quickly learn of his reputation at school. You learn his name is Jung Jaehyun and that he is the same age as you. You learn that apparently, he likes to leads girls on, with empty promises of love, only to leave when he gets bored. You learn to avoid him at all costs.

So, you curse your luck when you land in the same lecture hall as him. You never thought that someone like him would actually be interested in literature. To make matters worse, he decides to plop himself right next to you, immediately striking a conversation with you.

That moment, you believe, is the beginning of your downfall.

Since then, three years slip by silently, and somehow, you become Jaehyun’s favourite target. In a room full of people, he will choose to yell your name out loud, causing everyone to stare at you – because that’s totally not embarrassing at all. He loves to casually flirt with you, as if the other girls aren’t sending enough dirty glares in your direction – because it’s not like it made you uncomfortable.

Simply put, it seems like he just can’t just leave you alone. Even if you’ve told him many times to do so.

Hatred is a strong word and, growing up, you were taught to reserve it only for the worst of the worst. But now, you think you’ve finally found someone deserving of such a word. You bestowed the word to Jaehyun for the years of annoyance that he has put you through.

“Dude- Just… Just leave me alone okay,” you walk faster, hoping to put some distance between you and Jaehyun.

His persistence is only served to further annoy you. “Come on, it’s my birthday party. Surely, you like me enough to celebrate my birthday, right?”

You stop dead in your track and toss him a fierce glare. “You’re the only person in this whole world that I hate.”

Guilt eats you up the moment the words fly out of your mouth because, you swear, you catch a glimpse of hurt flashing through Jaehyun’s eyes just for a moment. It’s quick, and you doubt that it ever happened, but the guilt forces you to give him the benefit of doubt.

“…But okay. Just this once.” Your words quickly tumble out of your mouth, trying to make up for your harsh words.

The way his eyes brightens at your answer is enough to ease the guilt.

By the time you get to the party, the sun has already set and the sky is streaked with pink and purple hues. The thump of muffled music coupled with voices shouting and chanting loudly but incoherently are enough to make you regret your decision. Although you’re 21 now, you feel that the drunken messes of parties have already lost its appeal to you. A few years back and you might have considered the fun it entails. Now, you already know that it’ll end with some drunk throwing a punch at another guy or someone knocking over an expensive vase – a boring end, that is.

But you’ve given him your word and it would be rude to suddenly not show up. You decide that you are just going to go in, say hi, and go home.

You hop on to the porch, opening the door for yourself and immediately, the stench of beer fills your nose. You scrunch your nose in disgust and push yourself into the house. You’re quickly swallowed by the crowd, the heavy shove from behind you pushes you deeper into the house.

It’s suffocating and you have never felt more disgusted at the amount of (drunk) people pressed up against you.

You find refuge in the kitchen which you notice is unusually empty, with the exception of a couple making out passionately on the counter-top and you’re quick to shoot them a dirty glare. You start wondering why you even agreed to come in the first place because Birthday Boy is nowhere to be seen. Maybe he had already found his girl-of-the-night. Maybe he’s busy entertaining his many other friends. Maybe-

“(Y/N)?”

You spin your head towards the direction of the sound and oddly enough, relief washes over your body when you see Jaehyun standing at the doorway of the kitchen. The voice hadn’t been loud, it was barely audible against the faded loud blaring music. It isn’t until then that you realise you had been straining your ears to hear his voice above everything else.

“I didn’t think that you would actually come,” he walks towards the fridge. “Beer?” he hands you a can.

You stare at the can and quickly realise that if you had to stay any longer in the house, you’re going need the help of it, so you reach out and take it.

“I said that I would, didn’t I?” You crack open the drink. “I like to keep my words.”

It isn’t until the alcohol burns down your throat that you realised it’s been awhile since you last had a drink. You bite down on your lower lip to supress the hiss that is threatening to spill.

But it seems like Jaehyun notices it.

“Not a drinker?” his voice is laced with false concern, it’s almost mocking you, “We have other drinks like orange j-“

“This is the reason why I didn’t want to come.” You cut him off.

“It’s not like you’re going to do anything else anyways,” he replies calmly, with an irritatingly innocent smile.

As much as you hated to admit it, his words are true. If you weren’t at his party, you would probably be forcing yourself to read and memorise notes. Maybe you’d spend the next 12 hours cramming information into your head, staring at your stained celling. Maybe you’d spend it sleeping. Either ways, it isn’t very productive or fun.

But you’d never say it to his face, so you take another gulp of beer. You feel like you’re really going to need a lot of it to get through the night.

The night progresses, both of you get more drunk and you find yourself actually enjoying the party.

You have forgotten that you came with the intention of just showing your face when you follow him around, even introducing yourself to several of his friends. You have forgotten that Jaehyun is an asshole when you find yourself laughing, as the both of you point out random party-goers, giving them the weirdest backstories. You have forgotten that you actually hate Jaehyun when he convinces you into smearing cheap UV paints across your face. You have forgotten all of the rumours that you’ve heard about Jaehyun when he suggests to go out on the empty balcony. You have certainly forgotten about his reputation when you nod and allow yourself to be alone with him.

You didn’t expect the night to funnel into such a comfortable moment. For the first time in three years, you actually feel comfortable around Jaehyun. You blame it on the buzz of the alcohol, telling yourself that this moment will be forgotten when the sun rises and when tomorrow comes. It takes everything in you to try and not enjoy the moment.

But it’s hard to suppress a giggle when he tells you about his first heartbreak, an online girlfriend he had when he was 8 that broke up with him because he couldn’t send her money. So, you don’t. You giggle and tell him that he was probably ‘dating’ a thirty-year-old Nigerian scammer. And when he tells you about that time that he poured cereal before milk, you don’t suprpess the laughter that comes out of your mouth, as you called him a total dumbass. You talk and talk and talk. Warmth blossoms in your heart as you watch his lips spread into an endearing smile and as he tells the tales of his past. It means nothing.

The night comes to a point where the party’s ending and the blaring music softens. The night air is filled with silence.

“Why… Why did you come tonight?” he mumbles quietly, his speech muffled slightly by the can pressed against his lips.

“Afraid that you’ll grow lonely without me.” Not entirely true, but not lying.

He gulps. “I thought… you didn’t like me?”

“True,” your nonchalance stops you from hearing the crack in Jaehyun’s chest.

He shifts, turning towards you slightly. “Why do you hate me so much, anyways?”

The question quickly sobers you up and you remember. The rumours, his reputation, your desire to be left alone. There’s a growing anger, not at him but at yourself, for letting the whims of the night cloud your judgement.

You gulp visibly. “T-the rumours…” You begin softly, “The things you do to those poor girls.”

He fires back, “It’s not like they weren’t pushing themselves on me.”

You roll your eyes and wonder what spell you were under that you actually believed for a moment that Jaehyun could have been a decent person. “See, that is why I hate you. Y-you simply don’t care.” You see the regret flash in his eyes and know that you should stop but you continue. “You choose your selfish desires – your lust or whatever – over their emotions.”

“Stop,” his voice low – a warning sign.

But the words continue to carelessly tumble out of you, “And let’s be honest, the only reason you hang out with me is because I’m the only girl who has yet to be rejected by you. All you want is for me to be begging on my knees for you but by then you’ll grow bored and go for the other girls, right? Cause that’s what it all come down to, body count.”

His hands are trembling and for once, he doesn’t have the perfect comeback, or any at all.

“H-have you ever loved any one of your girlfriends?” You ask, even though you had your suspicion. “Any.”

He stays quiet, eyes on the ground and that is an answer enough for you.

“No…” You whisper.

“But none of them concerns you! Why are you so-“

“Because I’m afraid that I’ll be another one of them!” You yell and tears are threatening to spill. You take a deep breath and stills your voice. “Because, if they, with what they have, can’t please you, how can I ever compare to them?”

The ugly suppressed truth comes out: you are in love with Jaehyun, have been since the day that you’ve laid eyes on him. As you stand so vulnerably in front of him, each unsatisfactory answer cracks your heart. But it isn’t until this moment that you hear it, the clean split of your heart in to two.

“All these years, watching you kiss other girls, watching you buy them gifts, watching you whisper sweet nothings to them, only for you to drop them the very next day. I’m so afraid that that’s going to be me. That I’ll be your next victim. That I’ll be lured by your charms and fall hopelessly in love with you, only to have it all gone.”

You see his eyes, wide with shock. The way that they say I’ve screwed up. It almost makes up for the ache in your heart, the way it has been broken into two, then four, then sixteen. Almost.

(Though it’s not like anything can make up for the lies you’ve buried your feelings under. Each time jealously crept up, you told yourself ‘I’m not in love with him’. The idea is that if you repeated it enough, one day perhaps you’ll really stop loving him. It hasn’t happened yet. And every time you wished he’d look your way, you’ll tell yourself that you don’t.)

“I’ve always thought that if you could even feel something other than lust for those other girls, then maybe I had a chance,” You mumble out.

“I don’t care about them,” he finally says something.

And you don’t care about me, either. You want to say it but decides to choke it back down as a sharp pain shoots through your heart.

“Be-because… I…” he struggles to find the right words. His eyes are shaky and avoids your piercing gaze. “I’m in love with you.” He finally breathes out.

It catches you off-guard and you feel woozy, unsure if it’s the alcohol or the shock.

You gulp as you try to process what he had just said. Then your tears come out drop by drop, without your control. Three years of suppressed feelings, it all overwhelms you into tears. The thought that finally, finally, you can be in love with him.

His arms pull you into a comforting hug and hear it for yourself, the way his heart drums against his ribcage. It causes more tears to spill out.

“I’ve been flirting with you for three years, it’s about time you caught on,” he chuckles, his fingers gently wiping away the tears spilling out and, when they don’t work, he resorts the gently pecking them away.

The light touches are enough to garner a giggle out of you. “It’s ticklish.”

You look up into his eyes meet his soft gaze. His fingers gently caress the sides of your now-swollen eyes. I want to kiss him. You wonder if it’s too quick so you lean in, just the slightest, and when you see him leaning in too, you close the gap between the both of you.

Your lips meet his as if to say finally and his meets yours in a way that said I’m here.

A simple kiss. When you pull apart, you can’t help but giggle.

“What?” he murmurs.

“…Nothing.”

You didn’t want him to get the satisfaction of hearing the joy in your heart at the realisation that you’re his and he is finally, finally yours. Instead you just lay your head on his chest, letting his steady heartbeats calm you. And he doesn’t object to it, he holds your tight. Secure.

#nct #nct u #nct 127 #jung jaehyun #mine #requested

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readyplayerhobi · 5 years

Text

The Colour of Life

; Jimin x Reader

; Genre: Angst

; Word Count: 1.7k

; Warnings: Character Death, accident

It had taken you 23 years before you had finally seen colour in your life. Months upon months upon months of monochrome blending together with shades of grey until one day, you had locked eyes with the cute guy who was working on your car at the garage.

The yellow blonde of his hair had been the first thing you’d noticed, the honey tinge just different enough to be noticeable to eyes that had become so used to a world where nothing stood out. His golden skin had been the next thing to slowly seep into your vision, so different to the grey it had been only minutes before and if you’d looked closely then you would have seen the luscious brown of his eyes as they widened, taking in the beauty of colour for the first time as well.

At the time of course, you hadn’t known the name of these colours. You knew them objectively, much in the same way that you knew the name for a yuzu orange but you’d never seen one in person to identify it properly. It was only later, after looking up colours on your phone that you’d been able to put a name to the vividness that inhabited your sight now.

Once you had both finished gawping at each other, the colour no longer as overwhelming as the desire to get closer and meet each other properly for the first time, you had shyly walked over to where he stood. A white sleeveless shirt had let muscled biceps be visible, the fabric stained and dirty with oil and grease while black jeans wrapped around his equally impressive legs.

He’d ducked his head bashfully as the prettiest pink had spread across the smooth apples of his cheeks. You’d learn later the perfect colour for them, rose pink. Delicate and gentle yet hiding a core that was strong and protective.

A hand had come up to run through the soft fluff of his hair, sending it in wild directions before it rested lazily once more. The grease on his gloves, forgotten in his haste, had stained the strands dark while the oil has slicked it back. At that very moment, he’d looked more of a prince in disguise than a mechanic.

“I’m Jimin...Park Jimin. I’m working on your car and...I think you’re my soul mate?” He had stuttered out, those plush lips of his shining as his tongue flicked across them nervously. You’d smiled in response, grasping at your fingers as you’d ducked your head in response and told him your name.

He’d grinned brightly then, clean white teeth standing out as he’d repeated your name slowly and carefully, savouring the syllables as they’d fallen from his lips.

The following conversation had been stilted and awkward, as to be expected between two soulmates who had only just met yet had realised that their world’s had been rocked forever more. You’d asked him to dinner at the weekend and he’d blurted out that he was free tonight.

His cheeks had burnt once more while his hand had rubbed the back of his neck, a mumbled apology being pushed away by you as you’d laughed at his antics. You’d agreed with him, and had exchanged numbers before setting a time.

Jimin had picked you up from your apartment at 5pm, looking far more smart than he had in his workplace. Clean, skin tight dark denim clung to his legs while a plain white shirt was paired with a delightfully attractive black leather jacket. You’d sworn to yourself that you’d never seen a more beautiful man in your life at the time, admiring how he managed to make the dull colours you’d become so used to in your life seem vibrant even when you had a whole world of exquisite colour to enjoy.

The date had been sweet, filled with exploration of each other and colour as you’d pointed at random objects with the prettiest colour you’d seen yet and looking up what it was. You’d discovered more about Jimin; that he enjoyed dancing as a hobby and had done since he was young, that he’d actually gotten a degree in engineering but had enjoyed working on cars too much to not take it up full time, that he was from a little town on the east coast and so much more.

In turn, he’d learnt about you and your life. Your degree in astrophysics and how you hoped to help map out some of the mysteries that the universe had to offer, your love of horse-riding whenever you went back home to the ranch your family lived on or the fact that you had never seen Breaking Bad before.

It had been the perfect first date between soulmates and you had gotten back into the car with him harbouring the tiny flame of hope that was burning a little brighter with the happiness and excitement you were feeling towards him and the idea of a life together already. Before meeting him, you’d always thought the fervour of love that soulmate’s experienced when they found each other was a little over the top.

How could you imagine something so big with someone you barely knew after all?

And yet there you were, already planning more dates with him eagerly without a second thought. Every look he gave you made your breath stutter, every touch of his fingers on you made your heart jump and the very idea of having to leave him had filled you with an overwhelming sadness.

A life without Jimin had been colourless and grey, and the thought of a life without him again had made your stomach twist and turn in sharp protests. You had no doubt that your life with him would have been beautiful, with joy and love blooming together to produce a warm home and a happy family.

The colour he’d brought into your life that afternoon had arrived slowly...and it would seem that it disappeared slowly too. As you blinked blearily, your hands resting on your lap, you noticed with interest that blood was indeed red.

A vibrant red that was all you could see at that very moment. And as you watched, the colour seeped out of it just as slowly as the life giving liquid seeped out of you.

Groaning quietly, you lift your head up and wince as overwhelming pain shoots down your neck and back. They fill stiff and unhappy, your body protesting every moment you make but the panic in your gut has filled your mind until all you can think is static.

The windscreen is an elegant spiderweb, cracks distorting the view of the street outside and yet you can still see the dazzling array of colours from the lighting in the shop fronts. Sound comes back to you then as you stare out, concerned yells and shouts of innocent bystanders as they surround the car and a distant part of your mind recognises that they are trying to get inside to you.

But you don’t notice, as the colour slowly fades away from those pretty stores. The purple in the shop name vanishing slowly until all that’s left is an off white, taking your breath with it as the panic spreads further and numbs any pain you may have.

Ignoring the invisible dagger to your neck, you turn to look at your soulmate. The steering wheel is bent in a funny position, and you can’t see his legs properly. A horrible, metallic smell is combining with the smoke from the ticking engine and you swallow thickly, a small voice in your brain telling you what that smell is.

But you don’t want to acknowledge, because Jimin is beside you looking beautiful. His eyes are closed as his head rests against the chair and a fleeting thought runs through your mind that this is what he’d look like sleeping. Innocent and youthful, without a care in the world.

You won’t get to see that. You won’t get to see anything of him. You know that, but you don’t want to acknowledge it. The blood trailing down his face is black, while his skin is white now in your monochrome vision. It’s not the golden you’d seen earlier in the day, and dark circles are already present under his eyes as his injuries ravage him internally.

“Jimin,” His name falls from your lips in a croak, your voice not working properly as you reach out to him slowly. Fingers shake violently before they rest on his arm, the skin warm and smooth against your finger pads as his jacket is around your own shoulders. “Jimin baby, wake up. Please.”

It’s a futile request from a mind who refuses to acknowledge what’s happening. Because injustices like this are rarely found in the world.

Only this afternoon, you had been given the gift of colour and a man who would love you through thick and thin for the rest of your life. No one told you that you’d have such a short time to love him in his life though.

If only you’d known, then you would have kissed him for the first and last time if only to know the feel of him as he smiles against your love. You would have hugged him tightly and held onto his hand and never let go. You would have packed decades of affection into each gesture, each touch and filled every word that you spoke with love so that he got to experience it all.

Because as you watch through the tears that keep falling, through the desperate pleas that crack from your throat and through the frantic touch of your quivering hands, your soulmate is taken from you far too soon.

The first colour that had entered your vision when you’d met Park Jimin had been the yellow blonde of his hair. The last colour that you saw as your soulmate died in the car next to you, only hours after meeting, was the yellow blonde of his hair.

#networkbangtan #armiesnet #btssunshinenet #kkreationsnet #jimin angst #jimin drabble #bts angst #bts drabble #soulmate au #jimin soulmate

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isidar-mithrim · 5 years

Text

What parents would want

Summary: Teddy is about to leave for his first year at Hogwarts, but he can’t clear his mind from an uncomfortable thought.

[Read on Ao3]

__________________________________

Note: I began to write this story (in Italian) more than a year ago, with the intention of posting it on September the First for a contest. I didn’t finished it in time, and it had been laying on my PC for months, until few days ago I realised this year I could give it another try ;) It’s probably not worth the wait, but I hope you’ll enjoy it anyway ^^

This story has a companion piece, ‘Features of the past’ [on Ao3]. It’s actually a sort of prequel, so I’d suggest to read it first, even if it’s not necessary ^^

___________________________________

What parents would want

When he got out from Grimmauld Place mantlepiece, Teddy couldn’t even brush the ash from his robes before Al clung to his legs and James jumped on his back, putting his arms so tightly around his neck he almost chocked.

“Teddy!”

“You’re here, finally!”

The way they welcomed him, you’d almost think they hadn’t seen each others in months rather than half a day. At this rate, when he’d come back for Christmas they’d follow him even to the loo.

In truth, Teddy was really pleased by their overwhelming greeting. He was feeling a bit down that morning – the last few days, actually – because he kept dwelling on a certain, uncomfortable thought, and the kids’ enthusiasm helped him to clear his mind.

Yes, from time to time they could be a bit much – especially James – but Teddy knew how to deal with their excitement: he’d found out their greatest weakness since a long while, and he wasn’t scare to use it when the situation required it, like in that precise moment.

Teddy grabbed the two little, adorable brats and tickled them without mercy – he knocked two chairs while wrestling them, but beside that his move proved to be as effective as always, because Al e James finally let him free, begging him to stop between the laughs.

“I reckon it was well deserved” said Ginny with a warm smile, pulling him in a hug. When Teddy let go, she sighed, looking at him in the eyes. “I’m not sure I’m ready to let go the best tickler of the house.”

Teddy felt a lump in his throat at these words, knowing she meant way more than that. “You’re a good tickler too” he said sheepishly.

“But a way better Bat-Bogey Hexer” said Ginny with a wink, making him chuckle.

“Oh, I can definitely vouch for that.”

Teddy whirled when he heard Harry’s amused voice behind his back. His Godfather was holding Lily on his hip, an arm under her bum and a grin upon his face.

“Edì!” said Lily with her little happy voice, squirming in Harry’s grip to lean toward him, her stubby hands stretched in the air. “Hair!”

“Well, good morning to you too” said Teddy with glee, taking her tiny hands. “Let see, which color would you like today?”

“All!”

“All the colors?!” he asked, widening his eyes in pretended awe.

“Yes!” exclaimed Lily, her eyes shining with excitement.

“I wanna see too!” yelled James, rushing forward with Al in tow.

“What a surprise” chuckled Harry, ruffling Teddy’s hair with his free hand. “Seems like you’ll have an audience.”

“Make them green!” said Al.

“But green is for Slytherins!”

“James!” scolded Harry, while Ginny glared at her son. “Do we really need to remind you that Andromeda is a Slytherin?” she asked coolly.

James searched Teddy’s gaze immediately, his eyes widened in worry. “I… I didn’t mean it like that…”

“I know you didn’t” he smiled. “But –“

“Edì, hair!”

He chuckled. “Someone is a little impatient, today.”

“Try always” grinned Ginny.

“You’ll make green?” insisted Al, and this time James only dared to roll his eyes.

“Yes, I’ll make green too” said Teddy, theatrically laying his fingers on his temples. “Be quite, now… I need to concentrate.”

The three kids looked at him with widened eyes and gaping mouths when he began uttering inexistent words with a dramatic voice. He kept speaking for a little, then he squeezed his eyes shut and colored his hair green, yellow, purple, red, pink, orange and blue again, in rapid sequence.

Al and James cheered, Harry and Ginny clapped, but as always it was Lily who had his favorite reaction: she was laughing with mirth, and Teddy felt a surge of affection toward her. She’d learned to say his name just a little while ago, and he hoped with all his might she wouldn’t forget it during their months apart.

He was tying Lily on the baby chair beside the table when his granny arrived with the trunk. Teddy knew she’d pretended she had to finish some chores just to give him a bit of time alone with the Potters, and he’d really appreciated the thought. Nonetheless, he was glad she arrived, partially because he wanted to stay with all of them during breakfast, partially because they’d waited for her to eat, and he was starving.

It wasn’t the first time the Potters used the empty house as starting point for errands in London, and Teddy had been very glad when Ginny had asked to his gran if they could meet there to have breakfast together and walk him to the station.

Despite the happy chats and Kreacher’s delicacies, though, after a while the cheerful lightheartedness he’d felt upon his arrival at Grimmauld Place faded away. He’d looked forward to that morning for weeks, sure he’d be over the moon, and for a while he felt like it, but not anymore.

He tried to keep up the facade, but he didn’t miss Harry’s mildly worried expression, nor the way he exchanged glances with his granny and Ginny.

Teddy had solemnly sworn that he’d only go to look at the photo with Harry, but for the first time he was regretting that promise.

He knew he should be grateful that Harry took a free morning for him – as if throwing him a surprise party with all the Weasley the afternoon before wasn’t already more than Teddy had expected – but he also knew that the visit to Sirius’s room often became an occasion for some deeper conversations, and he wasn’t sure he had the strength nor the words to explain what was troubling him.

As such, it was with a heavy heart that Teddy left the kitchen when Harry caught his gaze and nodded towards the ceiling.

Sirius’s room was exactly as he remembered, with its walls plastered by those weirdly motionless posters that gave it a scruffy vibe. Despite that, it’d always been clean, because Kreacher insisted to spend his free days tidying up Grimmauld Place, and he was always happy to come by to help if the Potters used the house.

The bed creaked when Harry took a sit in his usual spot, patting the space beside him. “Come and join me, will you?”

Teddy nodded and sat down, and when Harry smiled at him Teddy smiled back, hoping against hope that his godfather wouldn’t see through his pretense.

“So… ready for the great day?”

Teddy let his gaze wander on the motorcycles posters, carefully avoiding those with bikini-clad girls. He wasn’t a good liar, especially when it came to Harry.

“Yeah” he said with a shrug, trying to sound casual. He heard his godfather sighing, and he knew Harry wasn’t buying it even before he spoke.

“Are you sure? Because, well… I hope you don’t mind me saying it, but… you seem a bit down, you know?”

Teddy stayed silent, moving his eyes on a Gryffindor banners. Who knows, may be it was going to be a Gryffindor as well, as his father and his friends… or as his godfather.

Harry put a hand on his knee, squeezing it gently. “You know you can tell me if there’s something wrong, right?”

Finally, Teddy gathered the courage to nod. He felt his eyes prickling, and blinked back the tears.

“I know it’s gonna be tough to be far from home for such a long time” said Harry. “But… well, I thought you were eager to go to Hogwarts…”

“It’s not that” clarified Teddy hastily. “I mean… of course I’m going to miss you all, but…”

It was a stupid thought, the one that kept popping in his mind uninvited, and he despised himself a bit for realising it just before he had to leave, making everything harder.

“But?” prompted Harry.

Teddy looked at him chewing his lower lip, unsure of what to say. Rationally he knew Harry was going to understand – he always did – but… what if this time was different? What if he’d think it was stupid?

“Have you… have you ever thought about living in Godric’s Hollow?” he asked, wishing it’d be enough to make him understand.

Any hope that Harry might got to the heart of the problem by his own vanished when he widened his eyes, taken aback. “Well… I actually lived there for a bit, after Hogwarts, in the little house Sirius bought with his uncle Alphard’s money… I thought you remembered… You came by many times with you gran…”

Teddy swallowed, and his gaze fell upon the Marauders’ picture he cherished so much. He wondered if Sirius was already living alone, when the photo had been taken. “Yeah… yeah, I remember, but… What I meant was… have you ever thought of leaving at your parents’ house? You know, the one where… where Voldemort…”

“Oh” murmured Harry, finally getting the matter. Teddy was relieved seeing he was still serious: he’d been stupid fearing Harry was going to laugh at him when it was obvious he wasn’t ever going to, not for something like this. Now sure Harry was going to make an effort to give him a true answer, Teddy threw him a questioning glance.

“Well, I did thought about that, at the beginning” said Harry. “But… do you remember what the house looks like, right?”

Teddy nodded. It wasn’t an image so easy to forget, but he’d been glad that Harry had chose to took him there the year before, after the memorial for the tenth anniversary of the Battle. It’d been nice knowing that Harry was willing to share something like that with him as well.

“Why you didn’t fix it?”

Teddy had already wondered about it when he’d seen the state of the cottage, but he hadn’t dare to ask, fearing Harry would regret bringing him there.

“Because… well, I don’t know for sure, but it’s like… it’s like that house is the symbol of my parents’ sacrifice, somehow. Like… some sort of memorial, in a way. It didn’t feel tight to fix it, as nothing ever happened. But… may be I was wrong. May be they would have liked if I’d lived there, where I was born. After all, it’s the only place where we lived together, to my knowledge.”

He liked that too, about Harry – that when they spoke about this stuff he didn’t act like he knew everything and Teddy knew nothing.

Silence fell, and Teddy let his gaze lay upon his father’s young features. He seemed very happy at his friends’ side.

After a while Teddy threw a glance at Harry, and saw that he was staring at the picture as well.

“How do you know?” he asked him in a low voice.

Harry turned his head toward him, perplexed. “Know what?”

“What your parents would want.”

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. “I know that… that sometimes, when we have to make a choice, we wonder what would make them the proudest and what would please them the most, and that’s ok, but the truth is… we can only imagine the answer. And anyway, the answer doesn’t really matter, you know? We have to make the choices we feel rights, not the choices we think they might feel right.”

Teddy wasn’t sure he fully got that concept, but it was true that from time to time – like that morning – he did things to make his parents happy, because he wanted to believe they kept an eye on him, and he didn’t want to disappoint them.

“You don’t think they wouldn’t like if… if I’m happy were… you know…”

Teddy lowered his gaze, incapable to say it aloud, and only when Harry laid a gentle hand on his shoulder he found the will to raise his head again, looking his godfather in the eyes.

“What I know for certain,” said Harry, “is that our parents died so we could live. Nothing would make them more glad than to see us happy, even at Hogwarts or Godric’s Hollow. Especially at Hogwarts or Godric’s Hollow.”

There was truth in those words, Teddy was aware of it. And yet…

“I… I’m not sure I can do it.”

“Well… you can’t be sure until you try” said Harry with a kind smile. “And… may be at the beginning it will be a bit harder for you, I won’t lie about that, but I believe everything’s going to be fine, eventually.”

Teddy would have loved to be infected by his smile, but his lips didn’t cooperate. “What if it won’t?” he murmured.

Harry sighed. “Then you could write to me or your gran or Ginny, or you could speak to Neville, and we’ll do the best to help you.”

“You think they’d understand too?”

“Yes, I really think they would” said Harry with no hesitation. “Your gran… well, she’s your grandmother, and I’m sure she misses your mum as much as you do. And Ginny went back to Hogwarts for her last year, even if just a couple of months before she’d lost her brother Fred in the Battle.”

“Oh… I forgot.”

To his surprise, Harry grinned. “You should be really glad she can’t hear you right now, you know? The last time I told her that I forgot something as important, she glared at me and coolly said lucky you” mimicked Harry with an annoyed tone.

Teddy chuckled, and Harry playfully nudged him in the belly. “Don’t worry, my lips are sealed. But I bet that now that you remembered it, you regret talking to me rather than her” he joked, and Teddy couldn’t help but smile.

“Nah” he said, nudging him back. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

When Harry pulled him in a hug, Teddy held him tight as well.

Harry let go first, throwing a glance at his old watch.

“It’s almost time to go” he said, taking Teddy by the shoulders and looking him right into the eyes. “I’d like to give you something before we leave, but if you prefer to talk a bit with Ginny I can ask her to join you here.”

Teddy was taken aback by Harry’s word. On one hand, he’d really like to hear Ginny’s advice, but on the other he was eager to know what Harry wanted to give him, and if he had to pick between those two…

“May be… may be I could talk to her while we go to the station, or… or I could write…”

Harry chuckled, amused. “Yeah, I’m sure she’ll be happy to hear from you” he said, ruffling his hair. He then put a hand in his pocket and pulled out a folded parchment that looked pretty old.

“Is it a letter?” Teddy asked hopeful. May be his parents had written him something for the occasion?

“No, it’s not a letter.”

“Oh.”

Teddy was a bit disappointed, but tried not to show it. It’d been a silly thought, because he knew that his parents had heard about the battle at the very last minute… of course they hadn’t had time to write him something.

“What is it, then?”

“Do you remember when I told you about the Marauders?”

“Of course!” said Teddy with renewed enthusiasm, looking at the parchment with even more curiosity. He’d never forget the day Harry brought him in the very same room to show him that picture and to share the Marauders’ story, nor he’d forget when they went in the Shrieking Shack the year before.

May be there where other pictures inside the parchment? Harry had always told him the only photograph of the four Marauders he knew of was the one in front of them, and not even Hermione managed to detach it from the wall, but may be he’d found more?

“Well… actually, there’s a thing about them I haven’t told you yet” said Harry with a warm smile. “But you must promise me it’s going to be a secret between us, at least until James will be at Hogwarts too” he added with a wink.

“I promise!” said Teddy immediately.

“See, this parchment is way more than it seems… something very useful and valuable”

Teddy watched eagerly while Harry unfolded it and tapped it with his wand.

“I solemnly swear that I’m up to no good.”

******

End notes: I know JKR said James probably stolen the Maps from Harry’s desk, but I can’t help thinking Teddy deserved to use it too ;) Please indulge me on that :P

Beside ‘Features of the past’, I also have another prequel in mind plus a sequel, so if you are interested you may keep an eye on the serie ;)

Last note: I swear I wrote the bit about Ginny with the first draft a year ago (even if I added the bit about ‘I forgot’ – ‘Lucky you’ later on), but if you’d like to read how the conversation might have went if Teddy had chosen to speak to Ginny rather than to Harry, you should definitely check Teddy speaks to Ginny about his parents by Floreat Castellum ^^

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imightbeapotatobutihavestandards · 6 years

Text

He’s Hurting Me pt 6

Summary: Patton meets up with Virgil in a park

Warnings: Mentions of death, probably swearing

Virgil sat, alone, on a swing, in a pretty much abandoned park. The sun was beginning to dip below the skyline, painting everything in a burnt orange hue, and touching it with a pale shade of yellow. It wasn’t very late, but darkness was already approaching.

He let my feet lightly scrape against the floor as he swung gently, letting himself be weightless for a moment. He tried to let the thoughts go, tried to stop thinking, but it was so difficult. At this point Virgil wasn't even sure what the thoughts were, why he was anxious, or why he was shaking, he just felt like there was so much going on. He tilted his head back, letting his bright purple bangs fall lightly over his eyes, being washed in the final dying rays of the sun. He liked sunsets. He thinks how in books it symbolised an end, a death, foreshadows hope dying or danger approaching, everything negative. But they were so beautiful. The deep reds, glittering ambers and faded pinks mixing with powdery blue, seeing that much colour at once captured him, and he wasn’t sure why, but it’s what made reality just that little bit more bearable. A beautiful goodbye.

Virgil was jerked out of his mind by a text message. He hesitantly pulled his phone out of his oversized black hoody, to see a message on it. The message was from his only friend; Patton. They’d practically grown up together, living on the same street since they were kids, coming to this very park to play, they even went to school together, though Virgil didn’t see Patton much there. They had different lessons (Virgil was in the lower year) and during free time Virgil tended to sit by himself in the library, Patton would sometimes sit with him, which was nice, though recently he’d been getting pretty close with another kid. Virgil would meet him… eventually. He just tended not to be very good with people… unless they were Patton. It was difficult not to be good with Patton though, Virgil had never known a kinder, more caring or more genuine person, he’d helped him through so much, and was always understanding and patient with him. He was practically his older brother, though they did have a long-standing joke that he was more of a dad. Hence his contact name

Dad: Is that you sat on the swings?

Me: Yeah

Dad: May I join?

Me: Go ahead

Virgil was quite thankful for that as he looked down at his shaking hands, before stuffing them in his hoody. Talking to Patton always helped him calm down.

It wasn’t long before Patton was approaching him wordlessly, wrapping a large scarf over himself.

“How was your day?” He chirped brightly, taking a seat on the swing next to the other.

“Same old, same old. James didn’t notice me which was pretty good, just got a couple odd looks.” Virgil replied, his voice a bit lower and far more solemn.

“Y’know to come get me if he tries anything, right?”

Virgil chuckled. “You’ve already saved one person from James and his gang, you can stop there.”

“I can stop when James and his gang stop being bullies.” Patton replied, his voice brimming with determination.

“That’s never going to happen.”

“Then I will never stop.” Patton smiled brightly causing the other to laugh.

“Well, for now you don’t need to worry, he’s not interested in me.”

“No, but I think I know who he has focused on.” Patton’s voice changed dramatically, it was sad, and protective.

“Oh?”

“A boy came running into the bathroom just as I was leaving.” He looked down, his words laced with hurt and empathy. “I could hear him have a panic attack, it was really, really bad. I couldn’t just leave him, so I talked to him through the door. It took a while but he managed to calm himself down, we talked a bit afterwards. I think we’re friends now, I’m gonna ask him to sit with me and Lo at lunch.” Patton started smiled a bit at the last sentence.

“Wow… That sounds, intense.” Was all Virgil could manage, he thought this mystery kid in the bathroom must have been at least slightly lucky that Patton was the one there. He knew from multiple first-hand experiences, that Patton was amazing when it came to helping people with that sort of stuff.

“It was, the sort of stuff they were saying to him.” Patton’s voice had switched again. “Stuff about his sexuality, stuff about the play-“

“Oh! The play!” Virgil suddenly remembered he’d neglected to tell Patton about that. “Sorry continue, I just remembered something.”

“No no, I was pretty much just rambling, what’ve you remembered about the play?” The older boy’s voice seemed very excited, it wasn’t often Virgil had something that seemed so important.

“Well, it’s just…” He sighed for a moment, preparing himself. “I might be part of the play?” Virgil wasn’t sure why it came out as a question but it didn’t matter, Patton had gotten the message.

“Oh my-“ Patton was practically squealing, covering the bottom half of his face with his fists, he was practically buzzing. “I’m so proud of you! Oh my goodness! This is massive Virge!”

“Chill Patton,” The younger chuckled, pushing his bangs to the side. “It’s just helping backstage and stuff, it was kinda an emergency, they needed more people, and I was in a good place. I thought… it may be good for me, y’know. It’s pretty fun actually, though some of the drama kids are so far up their own ass th-“

Virgil was cut off by Patton throwing his arms over him, he chuckled, relaxing instantly into the bear hug.

“I’m so so so proud of you Virge! This is amazing!” The elder beamed, “Wait is this why you’ve been so late out recently? And is this where you’ve been disappearing off to at lunch? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Virgil thought for a moment. He hadn’t meant to keep it a secret, he had meant to tell Patton. But things seemed to get in the way. He thought back to a month ago, the day he signed up.

He remembered getting home, genuinely happy, with himself, and he hadn’t been sure how long it had been since he felt like that. He had been so excited to tell everyone, prove that his anxiety didn’t control him. His mother often called him the personification of anxiety, not in a horrible way, she’d say it calmly and kindly as she brushed his hair behind his ears, her tired, worn eyes staring into his own worried filled ones, she’d be so happy to know he did something, something that required stepping out of his comfort zone, and facing his fears. Even if only a little bit, it was still progress. He knew his grandma would be proud of him too, she said she was always proud of him, for surviving and persevering, but he couldn’t wait to tell her this. Virgil’s grandmother also struggled with anxiety and depression, especially when she was his age, it allowed them to connect a lot. His grandma was a role model for him, she had fought her way through so much; losing her husband, watching her daughter’s life crumble as her asshole of a husband left her, trying to look after her daughter and grandson, fighting through her depression and her anxiety and her grieving to be there for her family. Setting aside her generation’s upbringing and mindset to be entirely understanding when her grandson came out as something that should be frowned upon. All through this, she had days where she couldn’t find it in her to get out of bed, she had days when she just wanted to curl up in a ball and cry, she had days when she felt empty. The battle was never-ending, but she never gave up, and Virgil could only look in admiration at her. That was his grandmother.

His mother had dealt with her father dying at a young age, her husband leaving her, dealt with trying to support their family with several jobs, and through all that remained kind, and understanding, and accepting. That was his mom.

Some may see it as broken, but Virgil couldn’t ask for a better family. As unfortunately Disney as that sounded, he loved them both so much, and he wanted to make them proud.

He’d smiled, chucking his bag to the side as he walked into the living room, his heart stopped beating as he looked up.

“Mom?” The smile died and made way for a look of deep concern, his voice instantly changing, he once again became that small, lost kid, asking where his dad went.

His mom’s face was red and blotchy, her desperately tired eyes glossy and puffy. Virgil’s mind began racing, what happened? What could have happened? What was the worst possible explanation? His eyes darted around the room, he noticed the empty chair. His brain stumbled upon the worst possible explanation.

“Where’s grandma?”

Silence.

There was a choked sobbing sound, and his mom hid her face in her hands for a moment, before quickly jerking her head up to face her son, pointing at the chair.

“Sit down Virgil… Please?”

Virgil snapped back to reality with Patton gently brushing his cheeks with his thumbs.

“Hey, you alright kiddo?” He asked softly.

“Yeah, yeah, I-I’m good.” He realised he was crying. He swiftly stood, taking a quick stride away from his friend, rubbing his eyes into his jacket sleeve and managing to recover himself. “I-I didn’t tell you because… stuff… y’know… kinda came up…”

Patton understood, Virgil had texted him that night, as he was sobbing into a pillow that he’d hugged close to his body. Patton was practically family at this point, he considered Virgil’s grandma his own, she was truly a wonderful woman. She helped Virgil, and Patton, so much, her loss hit him hard too.

Virgil had taken the week off, knowing he couldn’t focus on his studies, or anything, not in that state. But, come the following week, he was determined to return, despite the bullies and the teachers, despite everything the world would throw at him. His grandma would have wanted that, would have wanted him to fight. It required a lot of time crying in school bathrooms, and a couple early days, but he did it. He fought like she did. He could still feel her loss with him, it made getting up in the mornings so much harder, but he was coping.

Patton took a step forward, clasping his friend reassuringly on his shoulder. “I’m so freakin proud of you kiddo, for everything.”

“Thanks Pat.” Virgil smiled, pulling the other in for a long, warm hug.

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