#that trophy list better be a mile long so help me
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hot wheels | natasha romanoff x reader
explicit, 5,2k words, f/f. meet-ugly but still very much wholesome. we love a girlboss. natasha catches some random woman keying her brand new car but decides to be the better person for once and hear the woman out. turns out, being the better person can even get one laid! warnings: singular use of the d-slur, references to an abusive ex, lesbian sex.
[no y/n, no "you", nickname only, no reader description - race/age/body type neutral, she/her pronouns]
Natasha gave the tall, lanky boy an unimpressed look as she side-stepped the arguing couple to avoid colliding with the annoyed, teary-eyed woman the boy was groveling to. It was nearing rush hour and there was shopping to be done before the heavy NYC traffic could steer her already busy schedule down into an unmanageable chaos.
"But, Foxy, you know I didn't mean it! I love you, more than anything!"
The items on the spy's list were checked off methodically, item after item landing in the cart with a quiet thud as the redhead maneuvered through the isles with tactical precision. The usual afternoon crowd began to fill the store, taking up the so-needed breathing space; Natasha's shopping trip wasn't a moment of leisure and with her neverending to-do list full, she hurried to the self-check-out register, flying through the motions mindlessly.
Scan, place, beep, boop, pay, load up the bags, make way to the car, load up and pedal to the metal.
Scratch that. No, scratch - Natasha's eyes bulged as she neared her shiny, brand new Charger, seeing the obvious defects even from a mile away: the paint, previously cherry red and gleaming in the sun, ruined by a series of thin, gray lines, standing out unpleasantly on the otherwise pristine vehicle.
And the culprit, who's tuft of hair peeked over the hood of the car on the other side of the Charger, almost fully hidden between her car and the large Chevrolet in the next parking spot over.
Natasha's fingers clenched around the handle of the cart as she fought the urge to reach for her knife safely holstered under her leather jacket. "Excuse me?" Tone quiet and deadly, the spy prepared herself to fight or at least slightly shake up the hooligan.
The figure froze, vaguely familiar clothing and a puffy, tear-stained face slowly rising from behind Natasha's car. "In my defense, he deserves it," the girl - Foxy - the one that was arguing in front of the store earlier, declared through a stream of angry tears. "Call the cops if you want, I don't care." It was unclear if the girl recognised her, the Black Widow, as she made no move to run for the hills, just pathetically sniffled, pocketing the keys she used to scratch Natasha's car.
"That's my car," The spy responded flatly, a great deal of amusement crawling into her face as Foxy's eyes bulged, jaw fell slack, horror plain and evident overshadowing the waterworks. Natasha quickly pieced two and two together but patiently waited for the initial shock to subside before popping a question. "A word of advice, if I may?"
Foxy nodded, dumbfounded, frantically scrambling for the contents of her pockets, searching for something with the agility of a panicking cat, more than half of the contents spilling out onto the ground.
Natasha unlocked the car, popping the trunk and loading in her bags as she raised her voice to be heard over the noise of a busy parking lot. "Don't mess with the paint, the insurance will cover it. Slash three tires - not four - or take a swing at the front bumper and the headlights," the trunk slid shut with a quiet click as the spy inspected the damages close-up. Her Charger looked like it was attacked by a pack of aggressive, feral cats with nails of steel. "And always check the number plates before committing acts of vandalism to make sure you're enacting revenge on the right person." The last part was said with a smirk.
As the spy stepped closer to Foxy, she noted the excessive puffiness of her cheeks and the shaking fingers that held a checkbook and a pen. The woman looked torn between terrified and apologetic, worrying her lip between her teeth. "I'm so, so sorry. Todd just got his new car, it's identical to yours and I didn't get the chance to memorize the number plate yet," the offending man's name was said with a pitiful growl. "How much?" She weakly motioned to the ruined bodywork.
"What'd he do?" Natasha didn't resist her curiousity, leaning against the driver's side door and sizing up the other woman. She was pretty, well-dressed and reasonably wealthy on the first sight. "Yeah, he looked like a Todd," The quip slipped from the redhead's lips as she remembered the man from earlier. Foxy looked way too good to be wasting her time on someone who looked like an adolescent that hadn't outgrown his skater boy phase.
Foxy chuckled shyly at Natasha's remark, smoothing a hand over her face. "Lord, where do I even begin..." The sigh was loud and long. "He lived in my apartment rent-free, made me give up my cat by lying about his allergies, went through nine low-wage jobs in two years, did nothing but play video games in his free time and developed a pot addiction, thus spending all his money on it," she began steadily but her tone grew in pitch with every added offence as Natasha's eyebrows climbed higher and higher. "My last straw was when he took out a loan he couldn't pay off to buy his brand new cool car," the words were spat out with venom. "I threw him out last Saturday. He's been following me around all the time," Foxy continued, growing dark in the face. "And then I found out he had been cheating on me for I don't know how long. I just... I just lost it," she finished pathetically, all but crumbling into a pile of human misery.
Natasha's face had frozen into mute disbelief somewhere around the first half of the story, repulsion and astonishment mixing into a flurry of quiet rage on the random woman's behalf. Menfolk were bizarre animals, and as much as the spy felt herself annoyed by her roommates at the tower, she couldn't help but feel relieved that the men surrounding her were far from douchebags of the casual variety. This Todd, however, was no amateur, and had done Foxy really, really dirty.
The redhead made up her mind rather quickly. "That's a lot to unpack," she carefully studied the micro-expressions on the other woman's face. "I have a couple of nice bottles of wine at my place and nobody to share them with. Care for a glass?"
Foxy's eyes widened once more. "I don't- I don't want to take up your time, I mean, I'm sure you've got more important shit to do, like save the world and y'know..." The stammering was followed by a shy look to the side.
So, Foxy had recognised her. And she didn't go running the other way like most people that encountered her in disadvantageous situations did. "I actually don't, I was just getting my shopping done for a lack of better things to do," Natasha lied seamlessly, motioning to the other side of the car. "Hop in." Mission reports and Barton's pizza date could wait.
The woman made quick way around, buckling into the seat in seconds, right before Natasha peeled off from the parking lot towards the Avengers tower at breathtaking speeds. The car was a gift from Tony - one of the rare things he managed to get right - and an absolute pleasure to drive.
"What's your name?" The redhead asked, juggling the steering and her smartphone effortlessly.
The woman rattled of her first and last name on between attempts to fix her runny make-up and wipe the dried snot and tears off her face. "Foxy is a nickname my gramps gave me, said I used to excessively play with fox pelts in the attic when I was a kid," the woman added with a snort, totally oblivious to Natasha's eyebrow raise as the spy read the information on her in-between overtaking slower cars.
Good student, good family life, stable income and good career growth in a prospective sector. What did Foxy even find in a guy like Todd? The most important information, however, was also most pleasing. No ties to any kind of intelligence gathering organizations.
As Natasha parked and popped the trunk once more, the other woman offered a hand with her shopping bags. Friday acknowledged the newcomer, startling her, causing Natasha to roll her eyes and mention, loudly, that if Tony decided to pay them a surprise visit, he may end up castrated or shot on sight, much to Foxy's bashful snickering.
Once the shopping was put away and the wine opened, the spy let herself curl up on the couch opposite the woman who studied her Spartan style apartment with curios eyes. The lack of knick knacks must've been a surprise for her: Natasha's apartment looked bare compared to what she'd seen in other's people's homes but the desire to make the environment more cozy had never been strong enough to actually act upon it. She wasn't used to staying in a place for very long.
"Do you still want to get back at the bastard?" The redhead asked once the first bottle was coming to an end. The alcohol was sitting low, pleasantly warm in their bellies and the food that they'd ordered in the middle of a casual chit-chat lulled them into a state of comfortable stupor.
"I want to gouge his eyes out and wear them as a battle trophy," Foxy was slightly slurring her words, much more affected by the wine than the stoic, experienced agent. "But I guess I can settle for petty crime or arson."
"I'm sensing you didn't tell me the whole list of grievances," true to her words, the spy felt as it there was a possibility quite a few things were being left unsaid.
Foxy sighed once again, placing the empty glass on the table and using her palm to prop her flushed face against it, blankly staring off into the far end of the room. "I came out as bisexual last year and he was giving me so much shit for it. Todd kept pushing for a threesome and when I refused, started accusing me of cheating during our fights, called me a whore a couple of times," the more she spoke, the higher Natasha's anger levels rose.
Not only was a Todd a dick, he was an abusive one. Truly, the grand prize of Asshat Lottery. "I have an idea or three," the spy twirled the remaining red liquid in her glass before downing it. "But it'll have to stay between us two."
"I'm listening," Foxy turned to meet Natasha's face, eyes considerably more alert than seconds before.
A few days past their amicable wine-and-revenge get-together, Natasha's doorbell rang as if she wasn't already had been made aware by Friday that a visitor was coming up to see her. Boxes of hair bleach and dye laid stacked on the living room table, surrounded by jewelry and assorted accessories. A pitcher of fresh sangria topped the ensemble, two clean glasses placed neatly on the tray next to it.
"Hi, Nat," Foxy's smile was a mile wide - a far cry from the sniffling sad sack of a woman the spy had first met. The nickname flowed freely from the woman's lips, as calm as Natasha's own answering grin and greeting. "I gots the stuff," waving her purse about, the woman kicked off her shoes by the door, approaching Natasha with the same smile that seemed to be more effective at lightening up the room than Tony's expensive designer lamps.
As Natasha's plan achieved a solid state, the two women had quickly come to a realization that Natasha was far too recognizable with her signature red hair and over a flurry of text messages, the decision to switch to a warm caramel blonde was made unanimously. Foxy had rebuked any and all Natasha's attempts to affirm she'd be able to do it herself and the spy gave into the other's chiding, relenting to have her hair dyed by a person who at least had a possibility of seeing the back of her head without having to perform acrobatic tricks.
Foxy was an easygoing, non-problematic person. She was fun to have around, quiet but witty, with intelligent eyes and a realistic view on the world. It was something Natasha valued, alongside the lack of probing questions regarding her past or her job - her insides clenched uncomfortably at the thought of having to lie about those things, or even worse, having to admit to the wrongdoings in her past, however Foxy carefully steered away from topics that were sensitive and never gave Natasha as much as a side-eye if the spy appeared to lack some minor detail that normal women her age all seemed to be aware of.
The curiosity had her ready to burst. Nat's natural defense mechanisms were quite confused, not sure what to make of the woman who almost too friendly to be true, but the kindness in her eyes and the sometimes shy, awestruck looks she gave Natasha when she thought the redhead wasn't looking made up for it in spades.
"What do you think?" The noise of the hair dryer finally ceased, Foxy's voice echoing in Natasha's luxuriously large bathroom.
The newly-blonde spy studied her reflection with a tilt to her head. The ombre was a nice touch - her own hair was naturally darker than the caramel and honey blonde she had chosen, so the almost-brown shading at her roots took much away from the contrast between her lighter hair and darker brows. It was just another disguise for the spy, but somehow, this one felt more like home than any of the previous faces she had worn.
"I like it, you were right about the ombre," Natasha voiced her thoughts, eyes sliding over to the smiling woman behind her, feeling the corners of her mouth begin to creep upwards in involuntary response.
"You looked good with red hair, don't misunderstand me," Foxy briefly raised her hands. "But you have a light complexion and lighter colors do wonders for bringing out the youthfulness. Even if we don't have much joy these days, a good hair color is an opportunity to showcase the bit," she briefly touched her own hair in an exaggerated attempt at driving her point home.
The fun part was done, the time came to execute the revenge. It wasn't exactly anything special; rather, the plan was quite simple - let Todd make a fool out of himself in front of his friends and perhaps (a slightly, teensy possibility) get himself arrested. The two women took their time to get dolled up, not too much - but rather, adding just that little bit to themselves to easily attract moderate amounts of attention from men.
The bar was busy, noisy and full of people when the two women stepped through the door. Natasha's eyes scanned the room out of habit, easily spotting the tall, lanky Todd in the far end of the bar, laughing and boozing with equally pathetic-looking man-children. The urge to gag was almost irresistible.
The spy let herself to be led to the bar by Foxy who looked mildly uncomfortable. Natasha was sure that if she was to touch the other woman's face, it would be flaming under the circumstances. "Try to relax a little, I won't bite," with a quip to her companion, Nat ordered them a vodka cranberry each, sitting down with her back to the men. "Tell me when he notices us and starts moving this way."
Foxy nodded minutely, clutching her drink for dear life and taking generous sips to calm herself down and relax like the spy had requested. They talked about everything and nothing in between, Natasha's hand on Foxy's knee crawling closer to her hip as minutes passed by without interruption. Loud noises of men playing darts and drunkenly cheering reached the womens earshot every now and then, causing Foxy to throw increasingly infuriated glances towards her ex-boyfriend and the Black Widow's current victim of choice.
Sitting opposite the perfectly composed, smiling woman, it was clear as day she was, indeed, best of the best. Despite knowing Foxy for only a few days, Natasha managed to pull off a very convincing girlfriend: her body language was nothing short of absolutely besotted and the googly eyes the spy was making had Foxy constantly remind herself that it was only for show. There was no way this gorgeous, incredible human would be interested in someone as plain and ordinary as herself.
"Heads up," Foxy's smile suddenly grew a mile wide as she stared directly at Natasha, eyes alight with fury at the scene about to unfold. Natasha's reply was to briefly tighten the grasp on the other's leg in silent support.
"Hey, baby," Todd was drunk enough for the stench of his breath to reach both women. "Oh, I see you're with a friend," his attempt at flirting only made Natasha scrunch up her face like a cat that accidentally smelled a lemon.
"Leave me alone," Foxy stated firmly, knowing the phrase wouldn't do anything to deter her overzealous ex, but this time - she counted on it.
"It's okay, I can share," the slurred words had a couple of people nearby raise their eyebrows at the audacity.
"I'm not interested," Foxy snapped. "In fact, there is absolutely nothing your freeloading, cheating ass can bring to my table."
The woman radiated satisfaction as gasps sounded out around them; Todd was a regular at this bar and most people there knew him in one way or another. The moment of joy, however, was brief.
"Listen, bitch, you have no business talking to me like that," full of drunken bravado, the man spat angrily, taking unsteady steps closer to Foxy. "What you need is a decent man that can handle your outbursts, not some dyke..." before he could even utter another offensive syllable, Natasha had his wildly gesturing arm twisted painfully behind his back, easily forcing the inebriated man to his knees.
"Wanna try that again, champ?" Sarcasm flowed freely from the spy's lips as the patrons in the bar gasped. The civilian clothing and the new hair color might have been an effective short-term disguise but once the crowd had seen her neat little party trick and had taken a good look at her face, nobody was doubting her identity. "Call the cops, will you?" She addressed the shocked bartender who immediately scrambled to obey.
"I didn't do anything!" Todd cried out, eyes drunkenly darting between the Black Widow's quiet rage and Foxy's grim stone face.
"Huh, that's weird. Because I clearly heard and saw an attempted hate crime," Natasha's voice attained a sardonic tint. "And I have a bar full of witnesses," the spy shrugged, letting go of his arm but keeping a boot firmly planted on his back to prevent him from escaping. "I hope you have a lawyer."
Foxy snorted, reaching for her unfinished second drink. "Tough luck."
Out of the corner of her eye, she spied Todd's friends inching closer to the exit door second by second, as if they could stand a chance against a professionally trained secret agent. Luckily for them, Natasha wasn't interested in the remainder of Todd's gang of losers and merely raised an eyebrow when the other men reached the door, a tiny smirk appearing when his pleading eyes didn't cause any reaction in his friends, the spineless worms, hopping out of the door without as much as a goodbye to the man laying face-down on the dirty floor.
As soon as the police arrived, awestruck by one of the NYC's most famous superheroes just casually standing in a bar, they eagerly collected the inebriated offender, briskly escorting Todd to the squad car. The bartender and several other patrons confirmed Natasha's words that an attempted hate crime had taken place. Cops were in and out in less than fifteen minutes and the otherwise-pleasant hole-in-the-wall bar returned to its usual evening bustle.
"Celebratory shots?" Natasha laughed as Foxy exhaled, deep and slow, once her racing heart calmed down.
"My treat," the other woman motioned for the bartender and soon, a line of colorful glasses appeared in front of the women. Each downed a glass easily, slamming it back on the table. "Man, this is everything I never knew I needed," Foxy confessed with a shy smile. "Thanks, Nat. You're the best."
The spy responded with a satisfied smile, picking up another glass and holding it out for a toast. "To revenge well-deserved," the glass clicked, alcohol slid easily down their throats. "So, what now?"
Foxy's eyes shone in the bright lights of the bar, relieved and tipsy. The small empty glass twirled easily between her fingers. "Dunno," the shrug came and went. "Maybe go on vacation. To Florida."
Natasha let out a belly laugh, downing her last shot without as much as a stutter in her movements, Foxy's eyes lingering on the stray drops of alcohol running from the spy's plump lips. "A vacation with the crackheads? Romantic," the quip was received with an eyeroll from the other woman.
"Spoilsport," Foxy, too, finished her booze and placed the money and a hefty tip on the bar, tapping twice to get the bartender's attention. "I meant more like - lay on the beach, sip mimosas, look at sexy people in swimsuits..."
"Florida is for old people," Natasha objected, pulling her leather jacket back on and leading them both outside. The evening air was crisp, bringing a clearer head and re-arranging the thoughts back into a more sensible state.
Foxy easily picked up her pace to match Natasha's precise strides leading them in the direction of the former's building. The warm buzz of vodka coupled with the fresh air and her desire for retribution well-fed, Foxy settled into a comfortable silence next to the spy. They reached the building quickly, their pace brisk and distractions lacking.
"Care for a nightcap?" She didn't know what prompted her to blurt out the words; as soon as the words registered in her brain, they were already out and Foxy's face heated, fingers fumbling for the keys in her pocket, Natasha's touch still warm and lingering on the side of her leg.
The spy seemed amused, studying Foxy's nervous habits with a crooked smirk. "Sure," she agreed amicably, following the woman into the apartment building, not missing both the rigidity of her back and the added spring to her step.
A moderately sized, well-decorated apartment revealed itself behind the open door, scarcely illuminated by the NYC lights coming in from a glass wall in the living room, reflecting the vast living space furnished with a large couch.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Natasha turned around, stepping into the other woman's personal space with the grace of a predator. Two shining eyes stared back at her in the darkness, framed by fluttering lashes. Foxy's bottom lip disappeared behind her teeth, skin gleaming with perspiration.
The recently-turned blonde spy wasted no time caging the other woman between her body and the door, chests almost touching. The air around them was charged, Foxy's heart thudding loudly in her chest as she gulped. Natasha studied her expression, "You want this?" she whispered against her lips, sharing the oxygen between them.
"Ye-yeah," a short nod and a gasp later, the women were devouring each other, grasping at their hands and shoulders like they were drowning. Hot and wet and sharp from the booze, the kisses were as graceless as their fingers haste in removing each other's top layers of clothing.
The sharp corner of the living room archway dug painfully into Foxy's back, bringing an additional sense of awareness: this was real. This was happening. Natasha's blonde locks flowed through Foxy's fingers, soft and silky, a contrast to the teeth pulling on her lip in impatient hunger. Foxy grunted in response, parting from the other woman to send her t-shirt flying somewhere in the direction of the kitchen.
"Bedroom," mere minutes in and she already sounded utterly and throughly ruined.
"Couch," Natasha was equally feverish to get to the good parts. Her belt was unbuckled and the nice button-up she'd worn hung open, a plain white bra iriscendent on her alabaster skin.
Letting herself be led to the couch, Foxy could barely take her eyes off the woman in front of her, making sure she wasn't ogling Natasha outright yet secretly hoping to be caught anyway. The blonde was like a porcelain doll, unreal, firm and soft at the same time.
The moment Foxy gracelessly landed on the couch, Natasha was all up in her space, straddling the other woman with the grace of a savage cat; lips once more attached to her flesh, Natasha left a trail of hot, wet marks starting at the jawline and ending at the cups of Foxy's bra.
Not knowing what to do with her hands, Foxy grasped Natasha's hips, unable to hold back a moan heavy with lust as the spy ground down with her hips. It was exhilarating to see the other woman affected by their heavy make-out session; nothing short of absolutely smitten to see Natasha pull back, panting and disheveled, to shed her shirt and her bra.
Unable to resist the urge, Foxy's hands reached out to cup the spy's round breasts, tugging her closer to pop a rosy nipple into her mouth. Natasha shivered, arching into the caress, holding onto the other woman's hair and tugging it in the direction only she knew.
Natasha wasn't loud, she wasn't wild; her moans were more like muted gasps but her body spoke for her louder than any words: the grinding was getting more impatient, Natasha's hold grew stronger. As Foxy fumbled for the button of Nat's pants, she felt the soft, delicate lace underneath. Natasha had come prepared.
"Hold on," the spy mumbled, hopping off Foxy's lap to quickly push her pants and panties down her legs with practiced ease. The other woman followed suit, leaving herself to be bare besides her underwear, the attempt to remove them intercepted by Natasha. "Let me," quiet words tickled the skin of her throat where Nat had immediately attached her mouth.
Foxy scrambled to intake the oxygen she needed, letting herself feel the hot glide fully, having lost herself in pleasure, missing the exact moment Nat's fingertips breached the waistband of her panties. Soft and nimble, so different to a man's roughened skin, the sensation was as strange as it was sweet. The urge to arch and rock her hips against the nearest surface intensified and Foxy could only keen, quiet and high, causing Natasha to chuckle to herself.
"Enjoying yourself, sweet girl?" The miniscule trace of coyness seeped into the blonde's voice. The engorged, puffy, moist flesh of Foxy's lower lips parted eagerly to Natasha's experimental dip.
"Yeah, yes," the woman slid down, spreading her legs in invitation. "Please, touch me," begging to be filled in all the empty spaces, Foxy threw her head to rest against the back of the couch, watching Nat through unfocused eyes.
"Oh, I will," the spy purred, sliding lower to put her face next to Foxy's dripping cunt. The spy's fingers glistened with arousal and she popped them into her mouth, licking them clean before doing the same to her lover's swollen folds. The response was instantaneous and loud, Foxy shook under Natasha's expert teasing. "Stay still," she ordered quietly, patting Foxy's belly.
Molten, honeyed waves of bliss overtook common sense and awareness, tiny sparks shooting up Foxy's cunt every time Natasha suckled at her clit. The spy read her body like an open book, following the movements of her hips with her mouth, always a step ahead and slightly south. Foxy's peak was imminent, approaching rapidly, as Natasha's sweet merciless assault wrung every single drop of the thick, precious liquid out of her cunt.
It only seemed to gush more, the woman pushing her cunt into Natasha's face as the latter doubled down on her efforts to bring her to ecstasy.
The waves began deep in the pit of Foxy's stomach, making her legs tremble, her toes curl and the flutters of her cunt increase in speed and intensity. Silky soft and typhoon wet, her orgasm crashed her mind into million pieces and Nat dutifully extracted everything until the last drop with the skillful touch of her tongue and fingers.
"Tash," Foxy moaned. Her legs quivered at the slightest touch to her oversensitive cunt.
"Mhm," was the blonde's reply, contented humming getting closer and closer until the womens lips met once more in a fierce, passionate kiss.
Foxy's hands immediately sought purchase on Natasha's hips, searching for the spots that would make the spy's body song in the same way she'd done to Foxy; seemingly much more reserved, quiet but happy sighs broke past Nat's lips in response to gentle hands stroking where she was most sensitive.
"I've got a vibe in my bedroom," clarity finally broke through the orgasm haze, Foxy's brain slowly coming back to reality.
"No, I want your fingers," Natasha's reply was assertive as she moved her hips in tandem with Foxy's hand, dripping the sweetness of her around all over.
The urge to pop the fingers into her mouth was strong, so Foxy did just that, moaning at the tangy taste, Natasha's breath quietly stuttering at the sight in front of her.
"I want to eat you out," the words barely had left Foxy's mouth as Natasha flipped them so she was the one laying on the couch, spread-eagled and open for the other woman's eager mouth to explore. Wet, sloppy and so, so tender, Foxy let herself taste the arousal of her lover.
"Yeah," so soft, one could easily miss it, the approval didn't get lost in the headrush nonetheless. With grace, Foxy sought the spots that would force Natasha to break her silence with slow, broad motions until the blonde had no choice but to arch her hips into the sensations, chasing her pleasure, losing the aura of restraint she'd so carefully cultivated.
No time for self-control. The temperatures were climbing steadily with every single movement, both lost in their imperfect shared rhythm, the soft of Foxy's tongue and fingers like finest silks on Natasha's eager cunt. Two fingers slipped in without resistance, immediately seeking out the soft, spongy spot that made the blonde's toes curl and mouth open in a silent scream.
Foxy's free hand groped around for Natasha's ass hastily, bringing her hips closer to her mouth, tongue never ceasing its assault on the blonde's clit as her body grew more rigid, fingertips going white with the force she was gripping the comforter.
"Gospodi bozhe," came the mumble, the only warning before Natasha's powerful thighs locked Foxy in place as the blonde rode out her orgasm, violently shivering, dousing the other woman's face in her sweet release. Dutifully, Foxy stroked the silk of Natasha's skin everywhere she could reach, her hot breath on the blonde's pussy easing her back to Earth through the aftershocks.
Natasha's eyes opened, feeling her lover's look of adoration, and she cracked a reluctant but genuine smile. There was something about Foxy that was just so-
Natasha taglist (open, see fic hat for info; crossed out nicknames are the ones I couldn't tag, please update your info):
@mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @persephonehemingway @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites @xoxabs88xox @marvelsbanner @sapphicnoodle69
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CREEP 3: You're just like an angel
Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Lexie O’Brien) Book TRR
Synopsis: Drake is a hurt, angry teenager. After being rejected by Lexie, he spends two years bullying her until he discovers the horrible truth behind her rejection.
MASTERLIST HERE
In this chapter: Lexie gets to know more about the boy hiding behind the monster.
A/N: This is Lexie’s POV. We’ll be in Drake’s head in the following chapter.
A/N 2: Thank you to my beautiful prereader @burnsoslow
Your suggestions made all the difference! LOVE YOUU ❤️
A/N 3: Thank you to @mskaneko for the edit that closes this fic. It’s gorgeous! I love youu ❤️
Words: 5,108 🙈
WARNINGS: Parental abuse, domestic violence, toxic love, abuse, bullying.
THIS IS NOT YOUR USUAL MARSHMALLOW DRAKE. He was abandoned as a boy, he’s tortured and he doesn’t know how to express love.
This is a dark love story. If you think this might trigger you, PLEASE do not read it.
ALL MY FICS ARE 18+
TAGS ON THE COMMENTS --As this is darker than usual; I’m only tagging the people who commented in the previous chapters. If you want to get on or off the list for this fic; please do not hesitate to ask!!
LEXIE
Watching Drake put my duffel bag on the back of his motorcycle, my pulse is getting out of control on my neck. This is happening. I’m leaving home. I’m getting out, and I’m never coming back. And Drake Walker, my tormentor, is helping me. He actually defended me. The fact that I’m being helped by the person who called me a future trophy wife this morning makes this moment even more surreal. He’s had this tormented expression on his face for the last half an hour that’s stupidly making me want to hug him or make him feel better. For what, though? I don’t know. I don’t owe him anything, and still, I have this pressing need to wrap my arms around his neck and tell him everything will be okay.
When it comes to Drake, my emotions have never been truly logical. One second I hate him, and the next, I’m whispering his name in the darkness of my room, my fingers sawing against the wet cotton of my panties. My feelings for him are incredibly confusing…but I know asking him to back off was the right move. Even if I secretly miss his presence everywhere I turn. In my unstable world, there was something comforting about knowing he would always be there. Watching me. Hating me. Wanting me. That last part was never in doubt. He’s made that clear many times. That if I wanted, he would “give me a nice long hate-fuck in the back of his trailer.” And he’d always say, “No one has to know, baby,” in that deep, hoarse tone that keeps me up at night. Makes me shove my fingers down the front of my panties and struggle to breathe, sweating through my covers to an orgasm. I’m having those particularly sexual thoughts when he looks over at me, and I don’t quite manage to hide my lust. His movements slow, a dark eyebrow arching as he fixes on my mouth, my breasts. I’m a real hot mess right now. Beaten and bloody, but there’s no denying he’s still attracted. It’s always there in the rise and fall of his chest, the clicking of his jaw. The tenting of his jeans. How many times have I turned in class and—avoiding his gaze—locked eyes with his jeans instead? At least that’s one thing us poor fuckers have going for us. We know how to fuck.
Well, if I thought sympathy was a strange emotion regarding this boy, jealousy is even more confusing. Why should I care that he’s been with other girls? Obviously, he must have been with hundreds of girls to get good at sex. It’s none of my business, is it? I’m almost rid of him. And I don’t want to be jealous. Still, when he holds out his hand to help me onto the bike, I ignore it with a raise of my chin and climb on myself. You’re almost rid of him, Lexie. Get a ride and say goodbye. Unfortunately, I may have been a little overenthusiastic in asking to be taken to a motel. I’ve never been to one, but I know a credit card is required—and I don’t have one of those. Nor do I have enough cash in my wallet for more than one night. I need to figure out an alternative plan fast. Still looking damned tortured, Drake places his helmet on my head and gently buckles the chinstrap. Swallowing loud enough to hear over the passing cars. Helmetless, he brings the engine to life, the vibration so exhilarating; I wrap my arms around his middle on reflex.
I can feel taking a deep breath. “Lexie…” He can’t see me, so I give in to the impulse to press my cheek to his leather jacket, absorbing the warmth and his smell, earthy and so masculine.
“Yes?” Drake clears his throat, his voice even more profound. “My dad left me a cabin a few towns over. Near Portavira lake.” He pauses. “It’s very rustic, but I’ve been fixing it, so it’s clean, and it has a bed and some supplies. I could take you there. You’d be safe.”
It’s dangerous to start accepting more favors from him, but what choice do I have? My father made sure that I’m helpless. He did it with my mother and now me. Isolated us from everyone who might be a friend. I’ll accept his offer, but only because here and now, I promise myself I’ll find a way to help myself in the future. To leave my father and his house of horrors in the past. Maybe it can’t be done entirely alone. Maybe accepting help is the only option. That doesn’t mean I’m forgetting the way he treated me. Yes, I’m attracted to him but I also hate him. He’s made my life miserable for two years and I won’t let him --or myself, forget that. Maybe he’s hiding right now but I know Drake--as my father, has a monster underneath. His monster might not slap me or make me bleed but that doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous. Poisonous words can hurt as much as one well-delivered blow.
“Okay,” I say, feeling him relax. “Thanks.” I’ll accept his help for now and leave as soon as I can.
He responds by turning on the engine of the bike again. That’s when I hear my father yelling my name from the back door of the house. His hands are tied behind his back, and he’s limping, blood coming out his nose.
“Alexis Jade O’Brien! You get your ass back here right now, or you’ll never be allowed back! You’ll be dead to me!”
He has to be joking; he’s been dead to me since the first time he hit me. I look back at the pathetic old man with every ounce of rebellion I have. Baring my teeth, I give him the middle finger and dismiss him. Forever.
“Good girl,” Drake murmurs a second before driving away. I don’t look back a single time. We drive for half an hour. After twenty minutes on the highway, the trees grow denser and denser, the road deserted. We don’t pass a single car on the way to the cabin, which comforts me when I should be worried. Shouldn’t I? I can’t allow the last two years of em2otional battle to mean nothing. To melt away in the face of tonight’s act of kindness. I meant what I said. I need Drake to leave me alone. To release the hold he has on me. I’ve cut one negative force out of my life tonight. The last thing I need is a replacement. But as I grow tired against his strong back, his woody and manly scent lulling me, encouraging the trust he doesn’t deserve, I worry leaving him might be easier said than done. Especially when we arrive at the cabin, and he lifts me off the bike, cradling me to his chest like I’m made of crystal, a moment too long before settling me onto my feet. It’s hard giving up his warmth, but I push off his chest, creating distance between us. He watches me back away like I’m breaking his heart.
“There is a shower inside,” he says quietly. “You can finally get the, uh…” He blows a breath. “…the blood off.” The sun sets as we stand there. It’s nothing like the light of the night we kissed. This time it's brighter, more intense. It must be the higher elevation.
“You’re not hurting anywhere else?”
“I’ll be fine.” Why is he breathing so fast? “What’s wrong, Drake?”
“What’s wrong?” He fights through a humorless laugh, sliding his hand through his hair. “Where do I start? Most urgent is…I know you’re going to want me to leave you here alone, and I don’t think I can. Look, if you want to lock the doors, I’ll sleep outside on the ground, Lexie, but please don’t ask me to go.”
He’s right. I was going to tell him it’s OK to go back to his trailer. There was a convenience store with a payphone a mile down the road. If there is no working phone in the cabin, I can still make calls, if necessary. I’m not sure what my next move will be, now that I’ve run away from home. But I know I’ll never be able to think with a clear head as long as Drake is around, looking at me like that. “Drake…”
“It’s just that once I leave, I know that’s it. You’re going to shut me out again. And this time, it’ll be your choice.” He paces away, still raking his fingers through his hair. “I deserve to be cut off. Fuck, I know that. Believe me when I say I hate myself right now, but if there was something I could do to make up the last two years to you, even just a little—”
I shake my head. Nothing can make up for the two years I spent loving him while he tortured me. There will be nothing between us.
“I understand.” His fingers rake his hair one last time. “You can go in the cabin. I’ll sleep outside; that way, I’ll be sure your—father won’t be back.”
Despite myself and my better judgment, I worry about him. “Outside? It’s cold and dark; I can go to a motel.” At least for one night, I’ll figure out what I’ll do after tomorrow.
“No way. Look, I won’t be able to sleep anyway. Just go inside and try to rest; I’ll be fine. I’m used to it.”
Used to what? Sleeping outside? “Isn’t there a couch or something?”
He shakes his head. “The cabin was in ruins until six months ago when I started working on it. There’s only one bed, but there’s a rug next to the fireplace. Please don’t leave. I—I need to know you’re safe.”
I know Drake would never abuse me physically. I might be naïve, but I just know he would never do it. And as much as it’s difficult for me to understand why I feel safe with him here. Still, I have to be smart, my instincts tell me to trust him, but my instincts have been wrong about him before.
“Does the room lock?”
“It does with a bolt that can’t be opened from outside. But you’re safe with me, Lexie. I swear.”
It’s his miserable look that makes me decide. “Okay, if it locks, I can stay here.”
We go inside, and he leads me to his room. When my bag hits the floor next to his bed, I get even more nervous. I just left everything I know behind me and have no idea what’s coming next. School will be over in a few weeks, but I can graduate earlier, thanks to my credits. I’ll need a job, save some money, get an apartment and apply for college in Cordonia. It’s overwhelming.
I don’t want to cry in front of Drake. I don’t want to show him I feel weak, sad, and pathetic, but something inside of me suddenly breaks, and before I can’t do anything to stop it, I’m sobbing.
Drake is sitting on the bed in a second, and he’s pulling me into his lap, trying to calm me down. “Shh Lexie, it’s okay. Cry all you need to. I’m here. It’s okay,” he repeats in a litany as he rubs my shoulders, kisses my cheek, then my nose. Why do I feel so safe with him? Why, after everything he put me through, do I want to be here with him more than anywhere else?
“Let it all out, Lex. You’re so strong, baby.” He takes a cloth handkerchief from his pocket and uses it to gently clean my tears. The piece of fabric seems so incongruous in his rough hands that I can’t help but smile a little.
“Is this yours?”
He shrugs. “My dad collected them. After he died, my mom gave all his stuff away. This handkerchief is the only thing I have left of him. And this cabin.”
“I’m sorry, Drake. I don’t want to ruin it.”
He smiles. “Ruin it? Impossible. If anything, now it's even more special to me.”
The softness in his eyes looks so sincere it scares the hell out of me. I can’t let myself forget who Drake really is. I stand up from his lap and put my bag on the bed.
“I’m really tired; I’d better go to bed.”
“Okay … can I just look at your wounds?” he asks as he inspects my face. “You have some nasty cuts,” he adds, his fist clenching.
When I nod, he takes my hand and leads me to his bathroom. The room is as simple and modest as expected. Block walls, no tiles on the floor, no curtain on the shower, and an old toilet. A million years away from the white marble bathrooms in my house.
He follows my gaze and blushes. “I’m sorry. This is not what you’re used to. I—uhm, I’m slowly putting it together when I have time and some money. I’m good with my hands.” I look at said hands, and there’s no doubt he’s good with them. They look big and calloused. Capable and rough but so gentle with me. I want them all around my body. As if he had listened to my silent demand, he grabs me by my waist and sits me on the counter next to the sink. My legs part on instinct, and he puts himself between them. We don’t talk for two long minutes until he opens the faucet and wets a towel.
“I just got the water running this week; Come on.” Gently --almost reverently, he washes and cleans every cut, every injury. Softly he brushes his thumbs over my face. He doesn’t speak as he does, but there’s a tension between us. A raw feeling that has always been there.
“Tell me about yourself,” I blurt out, desperate to break the moment.
“There’s not much to say. Sorry, Lexie!” he exclaims when I wince. “Does this hurt?”
“A little. I. need a distraction. Why do you live alone? I know your dad is –uhm, gone, but where’s your mom?”
“Gone too.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Drake.”
“Don’t be. She was a bitch. She died in a car accident two years ago. She was living in Texas back then.”
“I don’t get it. Two years ago, you were here in Cordonia.”
“Yeah, she left me after my dad died. Took my sister and left me here. Reminded her too much of my dad, she said.”
I remember Jackson Walker. Everyone in Portavira does. He was Liam’s dad's bodyguard and died protecting him. But that was five years ago. If his mom left just after his passing, that means Drake has been living by himself since he’s thirteen years old. It can’t be.
Drake turns around and opens a box in the corner of the room. When he turns back, he’s holding a Band-Aid.
“I keep these around. Construction can get nasty sometimes. Come here, Lex.” He cups my chin with one of his big hands while he cleans a cut next to my eyebrow. His touch is leaving goosebumps all over my skin. I hate to be this affected by him.
I clear my throat to avoid the embarrassment of talking in a squeaky voice. “So, who were you living with?”
“No one. My aunt got custody when my mom left, but her husband didn’t want kids. He made her choose between him or me, so I’ve been living on my own since I’m thirteen.” My heart breaks then. Not only at the fact that he had to live by himself when he was still a child, but at the way he says it. Matter-of-factly. As if it was the most normal thing in the world that his mother, his aunt, and his uncle abandoned him. As horrible as my dad is, I’ve never had to fend for myself. And my mom loved me so much. If cancer hadn’t taken her away, she’d be here fighting for me. Drake has no one. I can’t help the tears glistening in my eyes. “Hey! Don’t cry, Lexie,” his thumb moves from my eyebrow to my cheek as he wipes the tears off my face. ”I prefer to live by myself than go to a foster house. And Leona checks on me now and then.”
“If your mom died, where’s your sister?”
He takes a deep breath but doesn’t pronounce a single word for a few minutes. Finally, he clears his throat and speaks. “Savvy was with my mom in the car. She died too.”
I want to say something. Anything. But I can’t. Nothing seems like enough. Sorry is such an empty word—a stupid cliché. I’m horrified at my own muteness, so I do the only thing I can think of. I hug him. At first, he just stands there, his arms hanging at his sides. But soon, I can feel him giving in, his heart beating hard against my chest. He encircles his arms around me, wrapping me in the tightest hug possible. I don’t know who’s comforting whom anymore. I only know that I love being here, and I hope it’s giving him a little solace, this hug.
It doesn’t mean I’ll forgive or even forget what he put me through, but no one deserves to go through that kind of pain alone.
“I’ll be outside, Lexie,” he says when he finally lets me go. “If you need anything, anything at all, just call for me, okay?”
“Wait!’ I yell, so he turns around. “Are you really going to sleep on the floor?”
He shrugs. “I don’t mind. I just want to make sure you’re safe,” he hesitates as if he’s going to add something important. “Good night, Lexie.”
“Wait,” I feel my cheeks redden just thinking about what I’m about to propose. “You can sleep here, I-I know you won’t hurt me.”
“Never,” he says, a determined look on his face. “I would never hurt you that way, and you have no idea how much I regret how I’ve treated you in the past. But I’ll be okay sleeping outside. I know you’ll feel better sleeping here by yourself.”
I can’t deny that. I meant what I said about trusting him not to hurt me, but I can’t forget what he did either. “At least take this pillow and the blanket. I’ll manage with the pillow and the cover left.” He hesitates, so I insist. “Please. I won’t be able to sleep otherwise.”
After taking them and giving me one of the saddest smiles I’ve ever seen, he closes the door behind him and leaves me alone in the room. I lie on his bed, incapable of sleeping. The pain in his eyes when he told me about his little sister haunts me all night long.
The following day I toss around in bed, confused and angry at myself. I can’t have feelings for Drake Walker. I can’t forget the insults or the anger in his eyes, the hurt that his words caused me every -single time. I just can’t. I hate what happened to him. I genuinely do, but iI have to think about myself. Denying that I’m attracted to him would be preposterous. Our chemistry is strong and undeniable, and it doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. Maybe that’s it. Perhaps I just need one night with him, so I can move on with my life. Get him out of my system.
When I finally leave the bed, I find a note under my door: Went to buy some groceries, be back soon. DW
I go to the room where I assume he’s going to build the kitchen. For now, there’s only a more-than-a-few-years-old microwave and a cooler. I open the cabinets, but there’s barely anything there.
Suddenly, there’s a knock on the door. I feel my heart slamming in my chest; if it’s my father, I have no means of defending myself. I’m about to escape through the back door when a woman’s voice starts yelling.
“Open up, Drake. I’m not in the mood today.”
I open the door because the voice sounds familiar. I recognize Leona, the principal’s assistant. And I know she’s related to Drake.
Leona arches an eyebrow when she sees me. “Ms. O’Brien, what on earth are you in my nephew’s cabin? Does your father even know where you are?”
“I’m 18. I don’t have to tell my father where I am.” I answer in a much bolder tone than I feel.
She shrugs, clearly uninterested. “Well, I brought this to my nephew. Tell him I want those signed by next week. We’re not going to lose thousands of euros because of some dumb nostalgia.”
She hands me a big manila folder, I take it, but she doesn’t let go. “Maybe you’re the one who can convince him.”
“Convince him about what?”
“His father Jackson left him this piece of land, but it isn’t worth a dime without cattle or money to invest in it. But, a couple of months ago a big company approached us, they wanted to build a landfill here. Drake refuses to sell. He thinks he’s going to honor his dead father by rebuilding this old piece of crap, but he will never have the money to do it.”
“Never.” The deep voice that comes from the entrance startles us both. “This was my dad’s dream. He wanted a ranch, and one day this place will be one,” Drake says, “I told you already, Leona. I won’t sell; I don’t care how much they’re offering you to convince me.”
“I’ve never denied that they’re offering me a commission for the sale, Drake. But I still think it’s the best move for you.” Leona leaves the papers on the table, turns and leaves the cabin.
“You love this land?” I’m genuinely curious.
He slowly nods. “It’s all I have left of my dad. He’s the only person that ever gave two damns about me.”
“That says more about your family than about you, Drake.”
He looks directly at me. His gaze doesn’t leave mine for a long minute. I want to get closer to him, to touch him. Not only to offer some comfort but because my body reacts to him in the wildest way. Just standing next to him in the kitchen, I feel my heart beating faster, my hands trembling harder, my sex getting wetter. The response he gets from me is maddening. And it’s making me insane. There’s no freaking way in hell; I’m going to have feelings for Drake Walker.
“I- I need to take a shower. I’ll eat later.” Without giving him any time to respond, I run to the bathroom and shut the door. I open the shower and get inside, desperate for some release, anything that’ll take my mind off him. His stupid perfect smirk and deep eyes. That voice of his, intense, soft, and deep at the same time. Those big hands, calloused and capable. Hands that I just know would know precisely how to touch me. Before I realize it, I’m coming as quietly as I can. Sadly, my relief only lasts a few minutes, my body needs him --Drake Walker, and no substitute would do.
When I come out, he’s waiting for me with a hot cup of coffee and a couple of white chocolate-strawberry muffins---my favorite kind.
We eat in silence, but I don’t feel the weight of it as I usually do. Ours is a companionable silence.
After breakfast, we decide to take a hike next to the lake. A bit of exercise and the lake’s breathtaking landscape might be exactly what I need to stop thinking about my father and the confusing feelings I have for Drake.
“I think I need a job. Do you know how I can get one?” I hate that I’m so spoiled, but I’ve never lifted a finger in my life. I have no idea how I can get a job.
“Uhm sure. Here in Portavira?”
“Actually, I was thinking of moving to Cordonia city after graduation. “Drake stops walking for a second. “It’s too late to enroll for next semester, but I can get a job and start college next year.”
He finally starts walking again and nods slowly. “What do you want to do?”
I blush. My dreams don’t include being famous or rich. All I want is a good, quiet life. Falling in love, having a family. Doing a job I’d enjoy and traveling as much as possible -even if it’s on a low budget. “You’ll think it’s dumb.”
Drake looks at me. “I swear I won’t, Lexie. There’s nothing you can say that I’ll find dumb. It’s just not possible.”
“I love books. They offer you new worlds. They allow you to escape and be someone else for a few pages. You can never be alone when you’re reading a book. I’d love to have a job where I would be surrounded by books. Maybe become a librarian and then open a bookstore one day.”
Drake nods but doesn’t reply. I knew he would find my dream stupid.
“I know it’s not much-“
He stands in front of me and tilts my chin until our eyes meet. “It’s amazing, Lexie. I was just thinking how great you’d be at it. Remember the top 5 assignment for Mr. Daniels?”
Of course, I do. Mr. Daniels, our English teacher, asked us to make a list of our five favorite books and recommend them to the class.
I nod. “Yeah”
“Well, I read all the books on your list. I checked them out of the school’s library and fuck, I loved them all. Especially the one from that Krakauer guy.”
“Into the Wild?”
“Yep. I really enjoyed it. The way that guy Christopher reinvented himself spoke to me.” He holds my gaze. “You’d be an awesome librarian, Lex. You would also be an amazing writer. I remember that short story you wrote for Mr. Daniel’s class. The one about the lonely girl and how she traveled through time with her mind. You have no idea how much I loved it.”
I can’t believe he remembers that story. We had that assignment more than a year ago. “I’ve always wanted to write, but my dad thinks my stories aren’t good enough.”
“Your father is a dick. Your stories are amazing.”
He looks at me in a way that makes my knees weak. The intensity in his eyes is overwhelming, so I feel it again. The connection with him. The desire. Maybe the only way this would go away is if I give in to it.
“There is something you can do for me,” I say, surprising myself. As soon as those two words are out of my mouth, though, I know there is something I need from Drake.
And he’s the only one who can give it to me. “Get you out of my system.”
He stands still as a statue. “What?”
“Get yourself out of my system.” It starts to rain, and it makes me speak louder, feel bolder and freer. “For two years, you provoked me, insulted me, stalked me, bullied me…” He makes a frantic sound, his eyes slamming shut. “And yet, I still—I still can’t stop thinking of your hands that night in my garden. How big and warm and rough they were. I can’t stop imagining you taking off my clothes. Even the ugliest things you’ve said to me, I imagine you saying them in my ear while you…while we…”
Drake falls toward me a step, clutching the center of his chest. “Lexie—”
“Please, get yourself out of my head. One night together. Okay, Drake? So I can get on with my life knowing fantasy was way better than reality. That I built up some unrealistic idea of what we’d be like together that we can’t possibly live up to.” My throat closes. “Get me on the road to forgetting you. Please.” As we walk, I can see the mixture of devastation and hope in his eyes.
“And what if reality lives up to the fantasy?”
“It won’t,” I say fast, with conviction. It couldn’t possibly live up to it. And yet I suck in a nervous breath when he crosses the divide between us, every cell in my body craving him. Fight or flight. In a matter of moments, he’s gone from wounded animal to determined predator, the rain causing his dark hair to hang low over one eye, dripping, his hands ready at his sides.
“Are you so sure, Lexie?”
Damn my hesitation. “Yes,” I whisper. “You’ll prove me right in one night. I can move forward without feeling like I’m leaving something behind.”
“What if your fantasies come true tonight? Could we ever move forward as…as an us?”
I can’t believe what he’s suggesting. “There can never be an us, Drake. Not after everything that’s happened. I’ll never change my mind about that.” I shake my head. “How can you think I would?”
“Maybe I think if I want it hard enough, it’ll come true.”
“It won’t,” I whisper, starting to ask myself if I’m making a mistake. Opening myself up for even more heartache and pinning for this man than I’ve already lived through. It feels like a lifetime’s worth. “One n-night.”
“No backing out from this point on?” My heart beats urgently.
“No backing out.”
He’s silent so long; I’m not sure he’s going to respond. And then, all at once, he reaches me in two strides and scoops me up into his arms. I realize he’s going to bring me into the cabin, “I’ve been studying you for years, Lexie O’Brien. I’ve been hanging on to your every sigh, every expression, and mood. Years. If you don’t think I’ve obsessed weeks of my life away over how you’d like to be fucked, baby, you’re sorely mistaken.” We reach the house in a matter of minutes, and he doesn’t stop; he just keeps going until we’re in his room. And oh God, I have made a severe miscalculation. Because Drake’s showing me exactly what’s always been in my heart and mind when I thought of us together, it’s my fantasy come to life, the two of us wrapped in the arms of the other. And as he turns me, urging my legs around his waist, his ravenous mouth bearing down on mine, I realize I might never recover from this.
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What Was the Mountain, What Heralds the Calamity
Therapy had been tough in the months following the incident. Daily life had turned into a blur ever since.
Heidi stood in front of the mirror and only registered with delay what sound reached her ears. The hollow snap, a release of pressure around her waist, and the rattle of cheap imitation metal accompanying the flaccid flopping of a broken belt as it drooped from the loops on her pants.
Almost as if in a trance, it took her several moments to register that all the stress-eating and weight gain had caused her oldest and favorite belt to break. She held the buckle and studied how its prong had cleanly snapped in half because of material fatigue and the physical strain of her belly’s size increasing.
It was not like she really needed the belt anyway because her pants had gotten a bit too tight ever since she witnessed the murder-suicide at college. Heidi thought of Krissy for some reason.
Before long, she found herself in another haze: the distant droning radio hits looping the same one-hour track list of pop music in the background, while she explored the brightly lit maze of a cramped clothing store, shopping around for a new belt. She felt seen in an uncomfortable way and avoided eye contact with every single person that got even remotely near her.
Unless she needed to, she never went outside anymore.
Navigating the narrow aisles and beginning to feel nauseous from the cocktails of perfumed scents all tactically spread throughout the retail hellscape, she even tried to avoid physical closeness to any other of the shoppers.
This made it harder to get to wherever the hell the damned belts were in this store. Instead of locking eyes with other people, Heidi stared at a camera stuck overhead in a corner, observing how it slowly panned back and forth and a tiny red light on its blocky little body blinked rhythmically. Seeing her own tiny reflection in the camera lens made her feel uneasy, like she saw someone else in there.
Faceless mannequins wrapped in stylish garb loomed high above her everywhere, looking down on her like disapproving deities; divine idols of fashion that saw without eyes but judged her with cold and absolute cruelty.
The moment she heard familiar voices, she darted into an aisle she had no business in and kept her head down. With a sinking feeling, she wondered what she hated more: the bright and garish colors and neo-hippie designs of the articles that flanked her on both sides, or that she was so afraid of human contact that this was who she was now.
Alone and adrift in a sea of empty masks, engulfed in a suffocating fog of uncertainty and countless little fears.
“Do you think this’ll go better with my blue bolero jacket, or do the colors clash a bit too much? What do you think?” Krissy asked.
Heidi recognized her fellow college colleague’s voice through the white noise of store music, cash register beeps, and other voices softly blending. Somewhat sharp, regularly rising in tone as if to pose several questions before posing the actual question.
“I dunno, babe. You might wanna try the darker blue instead. You know, instead of such a radically different color?” Jacob asked back. Krissy’s boyfriend.
The aisles being what they were in this store, it was not like they offered ample opportunities to hide from prying eyes without ducking down in between them—the nature of such a temple of commerce lured everybody in to see its ample buffet of products, rendering its neon-colored reduced-price signs visible from every corner of the store.
Krissy clicked her tongue. Without even seeing her, Heidi could practically hear her shake her head for emphasis.
“Nah, because I’m really thinking of it going with my favorite jeans, and if it ends up all looking like different shades of blue, it kinda sucks,” Krissy said.
With little opportunity to hide without making herself look even more like a freak, Heidi kept her head down and did what she had been conditioning herself to do for months now: pretend like she did not exist and pray that nobody noticed.
Despite her best efforts, she gawked at Jacob’s face. His eyes stole a furtive glance at Heidi which made her stomach knot. Despite how clipped and short it was, and him focusing all his attention on Krissy, Heidi clearly glimpsed the flash of recognition in his eyes.
She wondered if he had stopped giving her adulterously flirtatious looks because of her bloated figure or because of the thousand-mile stare that haunted Heidi’s mien. The moment she sensed her thoughts drifting in that direction, she shook her head and chastised herself for thinking anything like that.
Heidi turned away and gained distance as quickly as she could without running, far away enough to not have to overhear those other two talking. She stifled a sigh of relief when she finally chanced upon a rack of belts in all sorts of shapes and sizes.
Taking less than a minute to scan the massive assortment, Heidi gazed upon one that really struck her fancy. Two big silver rings adorned the black leather belt and framed the buckle. It looked a bit pricey, but she was willing to pay extra if it was made of authentic metal and leather.
Disappointment followed when she realized it was a size too small.
In a seldom burst of defiance, she looked around. A store clerk was hovering nearby, busy sorting jackets by size on a ring-shaped stand.
Heidi dithered, owed to her mind going in circles and struggling to overcome the part of her that felt anxious in approaching and talking to a stranger. But the store employee was small and unassuming, which helped give Heidi that final push.
Instead of clearing her throat as she had envisioned to catch the girl’s attention, Heidi spoke up, “Uhm, excuse me?”
The shop assistant slowly turned and looked up at her. The nametag read “Jenn” and it only briefly distracted from vaguely disheveled hair and black rings of exhaustion under Jenn’s eyes.
“Hello,” Jenn said in a mousy little voice to match her appearance. “How can I help?”
Out of fear of breaking out in a cold sweat, Heidi embraced her newfound momentum and nodded. She held up the belt like a trophy and felt the blood rushing into her face as she spoke with much less vigor than she felt, “Do you have this in one size bigger?”
Jenn’s eyes went from belt to Heidi and back to the belt.
She said, “If there aren’t any out there, that's—”
The sentence died in Jenn’s mouth and she nodded. The faint semblance of a smile twitched around the corners of her lips, genuine and heartfelt.
“You know, I’ll check. We might have one,” she said. And with a sudden dash of melody to her voice, she added, “I’ll be right back!”
Jenn walked away with a bounce to her step.
Heidi hesitated, wondering if she should wait there or follow Jenn to wherever she was going. The thought that she could spare the girl the extra walk to get back to her drove Heidi to follow, several steps behind and struggling to keep pace. Jenn may have looked small and exhausted but hell, she was fast.
This brought them to a door bearing a label in big black letters emblazoned on its surface, reading:
EMPLOYEES ONLY
Keys jingled as Jenn pulled out a tangle of the little metal objects and unlocked the door. She stepped inside and paused, looking over her shoulder and noticing that Heidi had followed her. She gave her another smile, both feeble and warm.
“Please wait here, I’ll find it in no time. Or maybe not find it. Uhm, I hope I find it? Uh, you know what I mean,” she babbled at Heidi.
She radiated a disarming energy. It melted away the icy barrier of Heidi’s many fears. Seconds later, Heidi found it hard to believe that she had felt the pull of facial muscles she had not flexed in a while—she had returned a smile of her own at Jenn.
The girl disappeared into the eerie twilight of whatever storage lay beyond the threshold. Jenn had left the door ajar, giving Heidi ample time to absorb hints of the secret world behind it.
Contrasting the warm eggshell color of the floors in the store area, the concrete grounds of the back area looked coarse and slate-colored, radiating something cold and unforgiving. Racks of naked steel beams held up all sorts of things wrapped in layers of plastic or piles of cardboard boxes.
Although a cool light emanated from fluorescent tubes above the storage space, the ceilings in there were higher than in the store and it felt like some of them were off. One of the lights even occasionally flickered, lending the otherworld that Jenn had stepped into an almost eerie air that reminded Heidi of a cheesy horror movie.
Seconds flowed into minutes as she waited. She resisted the temptation to look around, felt a stronger need not to make any eye contact anymore. The warmth of smiles exchanged between her and Jenn already felt like it was a million miles away.
Just before any impatience could bubble up to the surface, a loud sound crashed in the storage space. Something big and heavy must have fallen, with a loud sloshing on the hells of the impact.
Heidi’s heart raced. Thundered. She wanted to check. Worried that something had happened to Jenn.
But that icy barrier of fears had fully frozen back into a solid shell, causing her heartbeat to shoot through the roof. Paralyzed, she dreaded the idea of looking like an idiot by calling out for Jenn, only to find out that everything was fine. Or to trespass beyond that ominous threshold of the ajar door and get into any trouble.
The door said it was for employees only, after all.
Then she remembered how she once walked towards danger. Towards the sound of gunshots. Towards whimpering. Towards that horrid scene that had wrought all the therapy of recent months.
Instead of impatience, cold dread bubbled to the surface. She did not want to remember the words of the phone call that followed the murder-suicide she had witnessed.
And then, something else bubbled up. Fiery, and searing. It sliced through the icy shell with something she had forgotten.
Something that felt like hope.
All she had done was witness. But now, perhaps, she could make a difference.
The cold sweat erupted from her pores, after several of her steps taking her through that door, pushing through, looking around for Jenn.
Two forces clashed in the thunder of her beating heart. The fire of courage and the ice of her dread. The need to do the right thing, and the fear of consequences.
Something like claustrophobia began to bear down on her as she paced through the narrow corridors of the storage shelves. While the ceilings were high, so were the racks and piles of boxes all around. Heidi had left one maze and entered another.
“Jenn?” she said. Timid, at first. Assertive on repeat, as she called out again, “Jenn?”
Something metal scraped against the concrete floors, grinding. It also sounded wet.
The moment she turned around, the shadows around her grew. The darkness engulfed her, and a tower fell. A mountain fell upon her. It was too fast for her to react, too sudden to realize what even was happening. Just enough time to know that one of those long metal shelves bent and toppled and fell, and piles of boxes came crashing down upon her.
She instinctively flailed about with her arms to fight herself free from being buried alive under a mountain of boxes, but as her eyes fluttered, nothing was the same anymore. Nothing was as it should be.
Distant and incredible, but all real. All too real. Terribly real.
A stinging smell of salt hung heavy in the air. The taste of rust clung to her tongue in a bitter film. The gray floors had made way to a different color of gray, blending into mist all around, shrouding the dark silhouette of a mountain in the distance.
Heidi’s hands were different. Thinner, not pudgy anymore.
Her body, everything. Like she had lost all the excess weight, and then some. And dressed differently. Dried blood stained her leg, and she had a bright orange life jacket hugging her upper body.
Heidi was no longer Heidi. She was now Krissy.
The world swayed and ocean waves lapped at the edges of an inflatable rubber raft. Jacob slumped where he sat, his head hanging down so far that his hair concealed his face, and his head bobbed up and down as he sat across from her in the raft. Like he was unconscious. Or sleeping.
But Heidi—no, Krissy—knew he was not sleeping.
He was also not Jacob anymore, even if he looked like him.
Even if he now raised his head, looking up until their eyes met, and dread welled up inside of her, making her stomach knot and cutting off air as she held her breath.
He stared. His eyes carried a cutting cold that rivaled the sea’s air. Something other than Jacob peered through them, piercing the darkness between the stars, and wriggling its way forth, like a worm burrowing through the void, trying to emerge into the light, to break through the glint of Krissy’s own horrified visage reflected in those orbs of lifeless jelly.
Like someone watching through a screen, displaying a camera feed.
Krissy hoped Jenn was okay and wanted to wake up. To become Heidi again.
But this was no dream.
And that was not Jacob.
“Who are you?” she croaked. The question landed on wings of a dehydrated rasp.
Jacob’s limbs twitched as the entity tried to move, but they were all long twisted in ways that had caused bones to break and muscles to snap, leaving him stranded in the boat and immobilized. His body shuddered and wiggled for a moment, suggesting that he might have lurched forward. Or lunged at her.
“I am Sorrowglade, a Sheen of the Interlocking Oil Walls. You look thirsty. You should drink,” came the words from Jacob’s chapped lips.
Sorrowglade nodded Jacob’s head towards a bottle of water within Krissy’s reach.
It rolled back and forth, courtesy of the ocean rocking their raft. The water in the bottle sloshed around, out of tact, and a violet tint permeated it. For whatever reason, she knew poison had tainted the liquid.
Tears welled up in Krissy’s eyes. She had no hopes of finding Jacob. Either he was long dead or Sorrowglade had absorbed him. The worries about a belt in a clothing store or any anxieties welling up now lay far behind her, even though they had troubled her mind mere moments ago.
Her head weighed a ton and she felt sick. That metallic taste reached far down her throat and a pain in her jaw flared up. The plane’s crash into the ocean had miraculously done almost nothing to her.
“We are the shining light that gleams from the cracks between the walls,” said Sorrowglade, still borrowing Jacob’s vocal cords. His eyes still dead, but awake, and wary.
Studying her features with curiosity. Like a fascinated child.
The lifeboat drifted closer towards the mountain. Panic budded in Krissy’s body, starting as a tingling in her digits and spreading everywhere else until it erupted into a nauseating dizziness, making the world spin around her.
“We are here to guard you from the jovial pudding of the laughing coin kings,” continued Sorrowglade. “From the false promises of freedom. From the lies that the stone walkers cloaked in hairless shadow utter.”
Krissy’s stomach churned. She fought against the urge to throw up while her hands pawed at the paddle nearby, gripping it tightly as she stared at Sorrowglade, expecting Jacob’s broken body to suddenly defy its injuries and jump at her like a hungry beast.
But Sorrowglade only stared at her from the helpless body of her boyfriend.
“They will devour if you let them near,” he said. No—they—they said. Speaking in one voice, but many who spoke at once, “We, on the other hand, we offer salvation.”
Krissy could barely see through the unsteady blur of tears as she pried her gaze from Jacob’s body, and she paddled with all her might. Tried to gain distance from that growing, looming shadow of a mountain. A distance that shrank far too quickly.
“We are golden light that shines upon true ways.”
Krissy forced herself not to sob when she realized the raft spun around. She doubled her efforts to alternate sides as she paddled, harder, with crushing despair taking root in every fiber of her body already wracked with panic.
“We have traveled from far to find you, and we are the conclusion that all your roads lead to.”
Silently, inwardly, Krissy pleaded for something to happen, to rip her out of this and bring her back to where she was. To be Heidi again, to find Jenn in the store, and go home with a new belt. But she was Krissy now, and her world had gone to hell.
“When you close your eyes, you taste us. When you taste the grit of dirt crunching between your teeth, you hear our arrival.”
Krissy paddled, and paddled, and paddled. Looking over her shoulder only turned her dizziness into something worse. The mountain grew larger by the second. Looming behind Jacob like a sinister and shadowy patron. Like the ocean waters carried the raft there no matter how hard she tried.
The metallic taste made way to something far more bitter and caustic and before she knew it, she retched and heaved as she vomited off the side of the boat. Chunks of lunch had gotten stuck in her hair and her mouth burned.
“Lay down your ten thousand nightmares. Abandon all the pain and the guilt,” Sorrowglade said in the same dull monotone, a mockery of Jacob’s pleasant voice as it delivered all these strange words.
Everything he said kept riding on the tone of an invitation. But all she could hear were secret threats.
At least the dizziness waned a little bit. And although her arms wobbled, she found new strength and paddled with all her might.
Doom emanated from that mountain. Slithering in between the scent of sea salt, something putrid and rotten reached her nostrils, almost made Krissy hurl again.
“Why embrace this suffering any longer? Why do some of you resist so?”
Krissy did her best to ignore Sorrowglade, but it was impossible not to listen. His voice kept cutting through the sloshing of ocean waves, infiltrating her ears and mind and thoughts, like tendrils snaking their way forth, smooth, and slow and steady and certain—
“I can make him whole again. I can end his suffering and restore your happiness.”
A gasp almost escaped her lips, but she fought back against it, even harder than she paddled. A part of her wanted to take Sorrowglade up on their offer, but she remembered the words from that call Heidi had taken from the dying man.
Not in a monotone, but a growl, she replied. She repeated those words from the mysterious call as she watched the life fade from the eyes of the man who had committed the murder-suicide at her college, “When the ascetic glimpses gold outside the gloom, he is blinded and strays from his path.”
Something grabbed at the paddle and because she had turned around halfway to face Not-Jacob and address this Sorrowglade, she never saw what yanked that paddle away from her, dragging it underwater and letting the darkness beneath the ocean surface swallow it whole.
Having reached the peaks of her panic, it made no difference anymore.
“These are not my final moments,” she finished. And despite her voice trembling, every syllable emerged with force, riding on waves of defiance.
Sorrowglade continued to stare at her through Jacob’s deadened eyes. They waited for more, but Krissy had said her part. Gave as little as possible, because she sensed how they did not understand one another, even if they spoke the same language and could comprehend the individual words.
“We may be delayed today,” said Sorrowglade. With no anger nor emotion. “The awakening comes eventually, like your sun always rises and always sets.”
The silhouette of the mountain moved. Not because of the boat’s steady rocking amidst the ocean waves, or Krissy’s sight being affected by that motion.
“A celestial body that you see in ways it is not, believe it behaves in ways that it does not.”
No. The mountain moved. Its shape changed as limbs parted from it. Monolithic and towering, one such limb reached out towards them, creeping closer and closer. A low baritone rumbling accompanied its arrival, like a nearing earthquake, heralding how the ocean waves turned more violent, now splashing higher and higher against the malleable sides of the raft.
Something oily and dark and glistening pierced the veil of mists and closed in quickly on Krissy.
As she screamed and clamped her eyes shut, the searing pain flared up in her every limb. Everything hurt.
A string of profanities, panting gasps, the sound of panic weighing heavily on Jenn’s voice as she apologized profusely, both to Heidi and to an imaginary mountain of oppression that haunted her every working moment.
Jenn helped remove the many heavy boxes under which Heidi had been buried alive, and Heidi groaned in pain.
Nothing serious. Nothing had harmed her. The pile of boxes had miraculously did nothing tangible to hurt her.
Krissy was not Krissy any longer, but Heidi again. Heidi hoisted herself up onto her side and her skin tingled as she felt Jenn’s wispy hands gently touching her while she tried to help her up onto her feet.
Trembling from the shock, Heidi’s knees buckled for a moment, but Jenn helped her stand up straight. They stumbled their way out of the sea of boxes and bags that now littered the narrow corridor of the storage space.
The mountain had almost gotten Krissy. Luckily, she was now Heidi.
“Oh my gosh,” Jenn whispered. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry!”
Heidi shook her head and took Jenn’s hands, grasping them firmly and giving them a shake for emphasis, not letting go.
“No, look, don’t worry about it. S'all good. I, uh, I shouldn’t have been here—uh, back here—to begin with. I was just gonna. I was just, uh—there was a sound, and I was just, I wanted to check on you,” Heidi finally said, struggling to find the right words and omit the deluge of wrong ones and not sound like she had lost her mind.
Trying not to talk about her time as Krissy, after a plane crash, talking to the Sorrowglade that had possessed her half-dead boyfriend’s body.
Because none of that made sense. She had turned into another person and back again.
And almost as if to confirm the sheer insanity of it all, the moment the two women emerged from the storage room into the warmer light of the clothing store, Heidi saw Krissy and Jacob standing in the aisles of the shop. Although well out of earshot to hear whatever they were talking about, Krissy’s animated movements suggested she was berating Jacob for some fashion faux pas he had just committed in commenting on her most recent choice in attire to try on.
Jenn’s continued apologies barely pierced the haze of Heidi’s mind, still drifting back to that gloomy ocean, that mist, and that mountain. Its oily, tentacle-shaped something that reached out—that almost reached her.
Almost touched her.
Its agent, Sorrowglade, having almost convinced her.
Almost.
Yet more harrowing things she could not speak of in therapy. For all of this was real.
All of this suggested the invasion of that cold thing, hailing from the darkness between the stars, from far away. From distant worlds, from devoured husks, reaching out and trying to find more connections here, in our world.
Heidi smiled at Jenn and assured her everything was fine. What a beautiful lie.
“Did you find the belt? In my size?” she interrupted the clerk.
Jenn’s eyes went wide, and she burst out laughing.
All the anxiety blown away; it was almost like old Heidi was back. The one from before the incident.
Almost.
In truth, she only wore a mask.
Deep down, she felt sick to her stomach. Wondered what she could do to prevent the coming calamity. Wondered if she could even do anything.
Nobody would believe her if she told them.
She struggled to believe it herself.
—Submitted by Wratts
#spoospasu#spookyspaghettisundae#horror#short story#writing#my writing#literature#spooky#fiction#submission#surreal#hyperrealism#watchers in the gloom#masks of the sea foam idol#heidi#survivor#guilt#trauma#anxiety#agoraphobia#paranoia#feeling watched#avoidance#fear#weight gain#perception#alien#invasion#lovecraftian#darkness between the stars
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My Senior Soundtrack - Playlist
Written by Jen Moglia. Graphic by Allison Thompson.
At the end of this month, I’ll finally be graduating high school. Typing that sentence definitely felt surreal.
Years and years of hard work and stress, with some not-so-bad times mixed in, will culminate in the moment I’ve been waiting for for as long as I can remember. I had been told countless times that senior year would be easy and that high school would consist of the best years of my life, and while I did enjoy a lot of it, there were also some incredibly difficult times, especially this year.
What follows is a list of songs that got me through some of those darker moments. I hope that they can be there for you too.
“Roses” - Watsky
Favorite Lyric: “Leaving is supposed to be hard / Man, I thought it so was selfish of people I love to keep falling out of my life / But now I know / No, I don't take it personal”
This was a song that I connected with a lot when making decisions for college - did I want to move away and start a new adventure on my own, or did I want to stay home with all the people and places that I knew and loved? Listening to these lyrics helped me feel better about my decision to move away for school, learning that I wasn’t selfish for wanting to start fresh.
“Never Grow Up” - Taylor Swift
Favorite Lyric: “And you can't wait to move out someday and call your own shots / But don't make her drop you off around the block / Remember that she's gettin' older too / And don't lose the way that you dance / Around in your PJs getting ready for school”
Taylor Swift is one of my favorite artists of all time, and this song has been hitting particularly hard for me lately. For as much as I can’t wait to start this next chapter of my life, there’s so much about home and my family that I’ll miss more than they will ever know.
“Boston” - Augustana
Favorite Lyric: “She said ‘I think I'll go to Boston / I think I'll start a new life / I think I'll start it over / Where no one knows my name’”
Augustana’s most popular song, I listened to this track a ton when I was first starting high school, dreaming of running away someday. The fact that that day is almost here is crazy to me.
“Swim” - Jack’s Mannequin
Favorite Lyric: “You gotta swim, swim in the dark / There's no shame in drifting / Feel the tide shifting and wait for the spark / Yeah, you gotta swim, don't let yourself sink / Just find the horizon / I promise you, it's not as far as you think”
Another song that I loved in my late middle school/early high school years, this band and all of Andrew McMahon’s projects in general have been staples in my Spotify library for years. This track in particular served as motivation for me to keep going during hard times.
“North Hansen” - Bearings
Favorite Lyric: “I've got dreams, I've got needs / I've got things I believe / That I just can not let go / I still, think about you every single day / I still miss that old North Hansen Home / Sometimes I wanna go home / All I'm saying is the ending scares me every time / Your words replaying / Over and over I save them in my mind / Now I'm grabbing a hold / Of what's about to unfold”
On the flip side, Bearings has been a huge part of the last few years of my high school experience; their 2019 tour with Grayscale, Belmont, and Rich People was the first tour I ever did multiple dates of, and those days and nights I spent traveling and singing my heart out truly changed my life. I leaned on this band’s entire discography during my junior and senior year, but this song specifically reminded me that it’s okay to be scared of leaving home as the future approaches.
“Ribs” - Lorde
Favorite Lyric: “This dream isn't feeling sweet / We're reeling through the midnight streets / And I've never felt more alone / It feels so scary getting old / I want 'em back / The minds we had / How all the thoughts / Moved 'round our heads”
How could I make a “coming of age” playlist without this song on it? Lorde has been a big part of my life for a while now - her hit song “Royals” was the ringtone on my first Smartphone in fifth grade, and I saw her live for the first time on the night before my 15th birthday on her Melodrama World Tour in Brooklyn, New York. Much like the last song, this track perfectly captures the fear of the future and getting older.
“Atlantic” - Grayscale
Favorite Lyric: “This place feels more and more like nowhere to me / I'm sick of waiting for a fire to ignite / I could just leave here without a goodbye / I'll burn down this bridge / And set my life up in smoke...I want to go / Run from this panic / I need the unknown”
As I mentioned earlier, attending four dates of Grayscale’s Nella Vita Part One Tour and six dates of the album cycle in total (bringing me to a grand total of ten times seeing this band) was a formative experience for me. Getting to end every night screaming the lyrics to this song, once again, dreaming of starting a new life as soon as I could, was cathartic.
“City Lights” - Emblem 3
Favorite Lyric: “Caught up in those pretty city lights / Wishing on a star for your direction / Thinking of a new and different life / Babe, I know this one ain't what you've been dreaming”
I choreographed my “senior solo” in my dance class to this song, one of my favorites for many years. Although I have a feeling it’s about someone moving thousands of miles away to chase dreams of stardom rather than moving two hours away to attend college, it certainly served as a source of comfort for me.
“Play” - Rich People
Favorite Lyric: “Because I know I'm beautiful enough / For someone to love / I don't know many things / But I feel everything / And I'm just too young to give up”
Rich People is my favorite band of all time, which you probably already know if you follow me on social media, and getting to watch them perform and connect with them was a major part of why following the Nella Vita Part One Tour was so pivotal for me. This song is my favorite off of their most recent album “Harmony”, and my graduation cap will have these lyrics in frontman Rob Rich’s handwriting on it later this month. This band and this song mean everything to me.
“Dream Envy” - Rich People
Favorite Lyric: “It's no way to live / Sitting on the fence asking myself ‘what if?’”
Another Rich People song, no surprise here, this is one of my favorites from their first release, “Jacob’s Ladder.” It reminded me that “sitting on the fence asking myself ‘what if?’”, is, indeed, no way to live, and it pushed me to make definitive decisions, leaving no stone unturned.
“Something Bigger Than This” - Trophy Eyes
Favorite Lyric: “I'm still flying through my twenties / Waiting for someone to say I made it / Golden boy, tiny paycheck / Big ideas and broken heartstrings / Waking up in the same old skin / It ain't easy to believe / We were born for something bigger than this / It don't make much sense right now / But it will all come together when the lights go out”
I saw Trophy Eyes live for the first time at the start of my sophomore year at the Stereo Garden in Patchogue, New York, leaving my last-period algebra class early to attend their show with Neck Deep, WSTR, and Stand Atlantic (sorry, Ms. Sloane). Their music has resonated deeply with me since then, and this song has especially been a huge source of motivation for me when I was feeling down about myself.
“Forevermore” - The Maine
Favorite Lyric: “Never really ever felt this type of vulnerable / Don't have to hide, don't have to fear / All you have to be is here...And I said, ‘I wanna feel like this forever’ / Even if forever's just for now / We're on fire, let us burn / As the outside world, it turns / We are here and alive / In our corner of time / Forevermore”
The Maine is another band that I feel has been here for me for as long as I can remember, remaining in my daily rotation since the summer before high school started. This song, off their most recent album “You Are OK”, has reminded me that wherever I am is exactly where I need to be at that point in time and to embrace every single moment.
“Flowers on the Grave” - The Maine
Favorite Lyric: “Feel the moment all around you / And the quiet that surrounds you / The time you have is sacred / Don't wait around and waste it / They can't take that away from you / Everything is temporary / Even the sorrow that you carry...'Cause you don't plan life, you live it / You don't take love, you give it / You can't change what is written / So when fate cries, you listen / And flowers on the grave / Of the child that I used to be”
The first time that I saw The Maine was at the New York City date of their “The Mirror” tour at Webster Hall. When they closed with this song, I was near inconsolable; my friends were practically passing me around to hug me and make sure I was alright. Similar to the last song, this track reminds me to live life to the fullest and not take anything for granted, not wasting any time mourning the past and only looking towards the future.
“Old Book” - Real Friends
Favorite Lyric: “It really weirds me out / Because I never thought I'd be where I am today...This isn’t where I want to be / Getting older scares the shit out of me”
On the topic of bands that were constants for me in my formative years, Real Friends was one of the first pop-punk bands that I truly loved. I wore a shirt with their “The Home Inside My Head” album cover on it on my first day of high school, and their 2018 show with Eat Your Heart Out, Grayscale, and Boston Manor at Irving Plaza in New York City was one of my first real general admission concerts; I don’t think I’d be where I am today if I didn’t go to that show. This song always served as a reminder that I wasn’t alone in my worries about the future, and that it would all be okay, even if I didn’t know what I was doing or where I was going.
“Satellite” - Rise Against
Favorite Lyric: “We'll come clean and start over / The rest of our lives / When we're gone, we'll stay gone / Out of sight, out of mind / It's not too late, we have the rest of our lives...This is a life that you can’t deny us now”
Four years ago this week, I saw Rise Against for the first time, opening for Deftones at Jones Beach in Wantagh, New York with my dad; at the end of July, I’ll get to see them kick off their latest tour at Pier 17 in New York City with one of my best friends. If that isn’t a full-circle moment, I don’t know what is. Rise Against is one of my favorite bands of all time, and their music has always made me feel strengthened and empowered. This song specifically inspired me to reclaim my own life, not letting anyone else determine the outcome and my mindset but myself - it’s also the perfect angsty soundtrack to a fresh start.
“Something Special” - A Will Away
Favorite Lyric: “‘Pull out your clothes / You're made for something special’ / If that's what it takes to get you out of bed / You think you're meant for California / But that's just in your head / I saw you howling at the street lights / Pressed against the skin you want to shed / You tore down all the walls for answers / And found this shit instead...Don't let the poison that surrounds you / Stifle out the life you want to live / Please know it truly doesn't matter / And truly never did”
Though I’ve been listening to them since my sophomore year of high school, A Will Away is a band that I really got into this year as a senior. “Something Special” is my favorite song off of their album “Here Again”, and while I know it wasn’t written about finding friends that feel like family, rejecting negativity, and starting a new chapter, that’s certainly what it’s about for me.
“Lead Balloon” - Vanna
Favorite Lyric: “This isn't how we die / You're not reading the ending right / You are meant for greatness / Open up your eyes and face it / Now to your feet and follow me / The road is hard but you're harder / Can't you feel your heartbeat starting?...You're weak but you can feel now / Your soul slowly getting out / You are so strong / And you'll have to carry on now / Cause I know that you know how”
Vanna’s “All Hell” was an album I discovered around this time last year, and I listened to it non-stop for all of summer 2020. It became one of my favorite records ever (and not just because of the pink aesthetic, though I do appreciate the use of my favorite color). When I was struggling a lot during the first few months of the COVID-19 pandemic in more ways than I could count, this song really helped me through, these lyrics in particular. It gave me hope that I’d make it to the end of my senior year celebrating, which, thankfully, I did.
“Give Yourself A Try” - The 1975
Favorite Lyric: “Won’t you give yourself a try?”
While the lyrics of this song are a bit odd, frankly pessimistic, and hard for a teenager to relate to, its catchy, more optimistic chorus served as a mantra for me throughout my last few years of high school. If I couldn’t take a chance on myself, why would anyone else want to? This song’s refrain sparked a ton of self-love in me, and I spent many nights dancing around to it in my bedroom. Also, I couldn’t leave this band off of this list - I’ve been listening to them since their self-titled LPs came out when I was 10 years old, and the album that this song is off of, “A Brief Inquiry Into Online Relationships”, is one of my favorite records of all time.
“Garden Song” - Phoebe Bridgers
Favorite Lyric: “I don't know how, but I'm taller / It must be something in the water / Everything's growing in our garden...She told me my resentment's getting smaller / No, I'm not afraid of hard work / I get everything I want”
Much like A Will Away, Phoebe Bridgers is an artist that I had known of and had recommended to me for years, but I only really started listening to her as a senior in high school. “Kyoto” and “Would You Rather” are probably my favorites by her, but this song, along with “It’ll All Work Out”, helped me through feeling scared for the future and wondering how I grew up so quickly.
“Growing Up” - The Maine
Favorite Lyric: “We'll never lose what we had...Growing up won't bring us down / Graduate, what's a kid to do now? / Get away, yeah / We've got so much to prove / 'Cause it's time to move on / And I start to let go...We're in this together / Yeah, we'll make it somehow / Nothing's gonna stop us now”
Finally, to close it out, one more song by one of my favorite bands ever, and one of the bands that carried me throughout my senior year, as well as all of my high school years. I had to include this one - my graduation pictures were captioned “graduate, what’s a kid to do now?” At its core, this is a song about holding on to childlike energy and teenage memories despite growing up and moving on. Every time I listen to it (which has been a lot, lately), I’m reminded that I have the best friends in the world who have given me some of the happiest years of my life, and that doesn’t have to end just because we’re getting older. “Growing up won’t bring us down.”
For more songs like this, you can follow my Spotify playlist titled “senioritis” here.
Congratulations to everyone who is celebrating this month, whatever you might be graduating from!
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The Three Date Minimum - 3
Summary: Reader is the last single person at her office, and while she puts on a good front, she’s lonely. Will dating apps find true love, or will she swear off romance for good?
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader
Word Count: 2,111
Warnings: language, drinking, sexual innuendo, lots of bad language, no elderly ladies were harmed, uh...fluff…this is fluff.
A/N: Sorry it’s been…three months?! I lost motivation. This is barely edited. But @imhereforbvcky wrote this amazing Wade story and while my Wade is nowhere near as perfect, it made me want to finalize this chapter. Thanks for the Wade help, Mee!
No matter how many times you told yourself that everything was going to be okay, you were still so freakin’ nervous.
Speed-dating was one thing…you didn’t have to put up with anyone for very long and you definitely had the chance to bail.
Your date with Wade was a real date, one that required extended alone time with one human, awkward or not. Not only that, but he wanted to go out on a Sunday…
Why a Sunday? He hadn’t bothered to tell you that.
In fact, Wade hadn’t even told you where you were going yet. His last text had said, ‘Dress casually. Can’t wait.’ followed by thirteen winky faces.
THIRTEEN!
What the hell could a grown-ass man accomplish by sending thirteen winky faces?
Anyway, you spent your morning with the nervous sweats while changing into five different ‘casual’ outfits, trying to decide which would be practical and comfortable but also make you feel less like a potato.
It didn’t help to have Natasha watching your every move, commenting on everything from your hair to your demeanor (you were not being negative, you were just feeling a little anxious!)
“Promise me that when he finally gets here you’re going to act a little more enthusiastic,” Natasha commented dryly from her seat on your bed. “If it’s already a bad date in your head, then it’s definitely not going to go well.”
“Can’t someone have more than one emotion, Nat? I am enthusiastically getting ready, after all.” You leaned closer to the mirror, inspecting the way the fabric of your shirt fell. “Do you think this –“
“It’s fine!” She stood up and pulled you away from the mirror, turning you around to face her before cupping your cheeks. “Y/N. You have to stay calm. You have to stay open-minded, okay? Wade has a lot of energy, he’s very excitable…just go with it for one night, okay?”
She was right, of course.
“I get it, Nat.”
“You can do this.” Her hands dropped from your face. “I believe in you.”
You gave a sharp nod, more for yourself than for her. “I can do this.”
Before Natasha could utter another word, the buzzer sounded.
It was five o’clock, and Wade had arrived.
----
To say that Wade Wilson was handsome would be insulting. He was gorgeous, with bright eyes and a great smile. He was also funny, sweet, charming as hell, and as Natasha had said, really energetic.
So energetic, in fact, that you were tired before you even got to the cab out front. As a self-made introvert, you just weren’t on his level anymore.
He opened the door for you, sweeping his arm in a grand gesture towards the back seat. “Ladies first.”
“Thanks,” you said, getting into the cab and scooting over to make room for Wade.
“Hello!”
You looked up at the rearview mirror, meeting the eyes of the driver. “Hello.”
“Dopinder, what did I say?” Wade chided, shaking his head. He looked over to you apologetically. “Don’t mind him, he’s just my regular driver so I asked for a favor tonight.”
“Mr. Wade, where are we going?” Dopinder asked, glancing at you again in his mirror. “Where does the young lady want to go?”
“I have plans to really wow this one.” Wade gave you a nod and a wink. “It’s 2865 West 3rd Street, here in Brooklyn.”
Dopinder looked confused for a second after typing the address into his GPS. “But Mr. Wade, that’s a –“
“Just drive!”
You shifted uncomfortably. What the hell was going on?
Where was Wade taking you?
“You know, Y/N, I feel like I ordered you off of Amazon or something,” he commented.
Your eyes met his again, and you tried to bite back a laugh. “Why is that?”
Wade’s thoughts went a mile a minute. “Well, it’s like something on my Wish List was finally back in stock, you know? And I got that little email alert, and my eyes lit up like a kid on his birthday, so I rushed over in a crappy cab to open your box. Well, not that box, maybe later though I don’t want to press my luck. Of course, maybe that’s a bad analogy since you seem really nice and Amazon is a corporate nightmare. Also Jeff Bezos is a real dickhead, he could end world hunger six times over but he doesn’t, so he deserves to have his nuts put in a blen-“
“We’re here!” Dopinder announced.
“Thank god,” you muttered, opening up your door and exiting the cab as quickly as possible. When you turned to look at the building you’d been dropped off in front of, your eyes narrowed in question.
“Shoreview Retirement Home,” you read out loud, turning to Wade in confusion as he finished paying Dopinder. “Wade, why…why are we at a retirement home?”
His eyes gleamed in the street light. “Oh, it’s not just any retirement home, Y/N. This is the home my Nana was at before her untimely passing.”
All you could do was follow him up the cement stairs and into the lobby. “But that only leads me to more questions, like, why are we at a retirement home for a date where your Nana used to be?”
The question fell on deaf ears, though, as Wade signed in at the front desk and was almost immediately surrounded by about eight different elderly women in wheelchairs, all reaching for him with big grins on their faces.
So he was popular with the elderly…big deal. It was kind of sweet, right? He clearly had a bond with these ladies, probably from all the time spent when his Nana was still around. It was really sweet that he still volunteered here.
“I don’t even volunteer here,” Wade called from the center of the granny cyclone. “I just show up to kick some old-timer ass at shuffleboard and eat all their applesauce. Greatest generation my ass!”
“It’s pudding night, hot stuff!”
“Watch your hands there, Gladys!”
His hands formed a little heart shape in your direction. “Let’s get this party started, shall we?”
You pinched the bridge of your nose.
----
“Okay, Y/N…the secret to being really really good at shuffleboard is to be the disc. Feel its path. Become one with the disc.” Wade reached around you and gripped your cue, making you feel incredibly uncomfortable for, oh, about the hundredth time since you arrived. “Here, let me show you in a not-at-all suggestive way.”
“I think I got it, Wade.”
“Okay, but just watch out, because that Dorothy over there, she’s a real competitor. She’s won the last five championships here, and I’ve seen her make some cutthroat moves to get that trophy.” He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Isn’t that right, Dot, you fucking cheater?”
You tried not to roll your eyes. “I’ll keep an eye out for Dorothy.”
Taking a turn was nerve-wracking, because not only was Wade up your ass with every move, but the old ladies really did take the game seriously. Once you pushed the disc down the court, you sighed in relief. You’d never wished for an open bar at a retirement home before, but there was a first time for everything.
After a mediocre round where the disc didn’t even get close to the mark, you turned back to Wade, who was now seated between two elderly women you hadn’t met yet.
“It’s okay, Y/N,” he said, nodding toward the court. “It’s totally okay that you didn’t become the disc, and now Dorothy and Agnes are gonna take me for all their worth. It’s totally fine.”
So, you guessed it bothered him.
“Sylvia!” Wade shouted, jumping about a foot away from the little woman seated beside him. “Wait to pinch my ass until after I win!”
“Stop putting it in front of me, hot stuff,” Sylvia replied, waggling her eyebrows at him.
Wade stood up and walked over to you, rubbing his backside dramatically. “That Sylvia, man, she’s a goddamn cougar. Or a cougar’s horny Grandma. Everyone else here knows the ass-pinching-during-shuffleboard etiquette.”
“Wade, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you liked the attention you got from these women.” You gestured around you. “And they like it too.”
“I like to keep their spirits up, Y/N.” His face grew serious, hands moving to his hips. “It’s not about me at all. I simply want to help some old women facing the end of their meaningless, stinky, diaper-ridden lives to have a little fun before they’re sent to the dirt. The men here could join too, but they just get so jealous. A shuttle with a working rocket booster can really cause some envy around here.”
“Fair enough,” you offered, handing him the cue for his turn and ignoring his last remark. “But I’m not a seasoned shuffleboard professional. If you can salvage this turn we still have a good chance at winning.”
He gave you a wink. “You’re damn right we do. Watch and learn, Y/N.”
You stood off to the side as Wade stepped up to the court, cue in hand as he stared his opponents down.
Maybe he wasn’t so bad. He liked helping others and he really did seem like the kind of guy who wanted to make the world a better place, even if it was in his own weird way. Plus, at least it wasn’t your run-of-the-mill dinner and a movie, right? It was something to talk about.
“Goddammit, Dorothy! I’m gonna yeet your fucking dentures into next Tuesday if you don’t stop cheating!”
You shrunk back against the brick wall behind you.
Then again, maybe he really did just like competing against senior citizens.
----
Once Wade was declared shuffleboard king (after challenging one of Agnes’ moves), he tried to get you to stay for celebratory rice pudding, but you insisted that you had to get home (at 7:30 PM on a Sunday).
Was it a good date?
Would you…could you go out with him again?
It would take a lot of processing and probably a lot of alcohol to figure that one out, but it was still your second-best date so far.
At least this whole ordeal would be over soon and you could go back to watching Netflix.
You narrowly avoided having Dopinder pick you up by explaining that you liked to walk, and after a goodnight hug that lasted a little too long (with an almost-ass-grab that you also narrowly avoided), you and Wade parted ways.
As you passed the 107th on your way home, a strange urge to go inside and vent to the snarky bartender filled your veins. It would just be nice to talk to someone who was calm and witty instead of crazy and…well, crazy. Plus, it was too early to message Nat or Wanda without them hounding you for details.
Just one drink, you promised yourself as you stepped up to the door and reached for the handle.
On the door, a bright yellow notice informed you that the place was closed for a private party.
“Dammit,” you mumbled, lowering your hand. With a sigh, you turned back around to head home to whatever takeout and wine might be left in your fridge.
“Hey!”
Wait…
“Snarky bartender?” you asked, turning around to see Bucky opening the door. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to creep on the bar, I saw that notice and was leaving.”
A bemused smile lifted his lips. “Snarky bartender? Is that what you’ve been calling me in your head?”
“And out loud now, ‘cause I forgot your name,” you lied smoothly.
“Sure you did. Just like I forgot yours, Y/N.” He kept the door propped open with his foot as he stepped further outside. “Did you want to come in?”
“I thought there was a private event?”
“There is.”
“It’s not a speed-dating event is it?”
“No, it’s an engagement party.”
Your brows stitched together. “Which means it’s invite only.”
“And I’m inviting you.”
“Won’t the host get mad?”
“No, I’m the host.”
“You’re the what now?”
Bucky chuckled at your confused expression. “I mean, I own the place. This is my bar. So my invite stands, if you want.”
You eyed him warily. Why hadn’t he told you it was his bar and he was a snarky owner? “I shouldn’t. I have work in the morning.”
His head tilted a little as he pushed the door a little wider. “Come on, just stay for a few drinks, on the house. And I mean it this time.”
“Well when you put it that way.” You brushed past him and right into the party, his soft laugh echoing behind you.
----
Part 4
Masterlist
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#bucky barnes x reader#bucky x reader#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes fanfiction#bartender!bucky#jsb three date min#feedback motivates ya know#briefly wade wilson x reader for the date part
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Bound by Circumstance ― Chapter 5: Every Elite
PAIRING: Nik Ryder x trans*M!MC (Taylor Hunter)
RATING: Mature
⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽
⥼ Bound by Circumstance ⥽
Taylor Hunter (MC) has made it good for himself in New Orleans; turns out moving to a new city fresh out of college to reinvent yourself isn’t as hard as people make it out to be. Things only start to get confusing when he finds himself the target of a malevolent wraith. Good thing someone’s looking out for him though — because without Nighthunter Nik Ryder as his bodyguard he definitely won’t survive long in the twisting darkness of the supernatural underworld he’s tripped into.
Bound by Circumstance and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the book Nightbound and the rest of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].
Note: Circumstance only loosely follows the events and plotline of Nightbound, and features a separate antagonist, different character motivations, and further worldbuilding.
*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Circumstance/series tag list!
⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽
When the Pack refuses to help them Taylor and Ryder turn to the lone wolf Cal as a last resort. He’s happy to provide for a simple favor: break into New Orleans’ most exclusive supernatural club to save his little brother from a fate worse than death. Easy, right? If only.
[READ IT ON AO3]
Taylor’s craft is made to be seen. He’s never been one of those types of actors who needs to imagine the entire audience empty to perform at his best. In fact, the larger the crowd the more he feels like they’re a mass of bodies and heartbeats than individuals he’s there to perform for.
The audience swells and becomes one single, solid beating heart — one mind and one capacity for emotion that he’s there to bring out. That’s his talent.
But he has a great respect for those who prefer the silence and solitude to hone their skills. They aren’t performing for anyone but themselves — improving despite the temptation to stay stagnant for their own sakes.
The piano player is one such artist. He’s no performer — no showman. Taylor’s pretty sure the man doesn’t even know he has a sole audience. Yet he keeps playing; rapid keystrokes never faltering to break the miasma of humidity that hangs over them.
He cuts into the world with his playing and knows the spaces left aren’t empty, but rather filled with melody.
Either the song — not one he recognizes — ends or the man simply decides to stop playing. Either way the tune ends abruptly; a life cut short. And he’s so taken by how it resonates in his chest that he does the only logical thing and applauds.
The piano player swings a denim-clad leg over the stool; stares at Taylor like a startled animal.
He probably shouldn’t have announced himself so loudly.
“S-Sorry if I scared you.”
The look he’s given — the threat assessed and deemed non-threatening — is definitely unimpressed.
“Yeah that’s… definitely not what happened.” Like the rest of the wolves the man inhales deeply through his nostrils. Unlike the rest of them he manages a bit of tact and doesn’t noticeably recoil. “Jesus, you smell like…”
“A hot mess, yeah I’ve been told.”
That gets a laugh and the man’s full attention — long legs swinging around away from the piano with elbows resting on jeans that have definitely seen better days. He’s the polar opposite of everything in the trophy room; nothing fancy about him except for his obvious skill with the piano.
It’s kind of nice for someone else to stick out like a sore thumb for a change.
“Nah, that ain’t it — well not all the way.” He sniffs again with his face tilted up into the air and Taylor really really tries not to laugh. Doesn’t know if he’ll somehow offend the entire Pack or something if he does. Ryder really should have given him the low-down…
“You smell like…”
Taylor waits for an answer but none comes. Sees the way the working man’s tan seems to drain from his face and leave behind something strange; almost haunted in his eyes.
Suddenly he really wishes he’d just gone with Ryder.
“Never mind.” Taylor tries to back track — moves to get up and hang out by the bottom of the stairs instead. But there’s a hand that stops just short of grabbing him that makes them both tense up.
Now he looks like the frightened animal.
“I offended you.” It’s not a question.
“What’s there to be offended about?”
The piano player brushes aside one of his mousy brown curls; looks Taylor in the eyes with such a startling honesty that he’s pretty sure his heart stops beating for a second.
“I don’t know,” is the measured reply, “you tell me.”
Well that isn’t happening, so… “Tell me what you were gonna say.”
The wolf leans back — gives them both some space. Shrugs and seems almost sheepish instead.
“A-ha… well I was gonna say you smell like my little brother. Then I realized how weird that sounded since, y’know, I’m pretty sure we’ve never met before. One of those ‘quit while you’re ahead’ things.”
He rubs the back of his head. Shoulders hunched and a measly half-smile that’s disarmingly charming. Sure Taylor’s still confused (even more so now) but it’s better than the assumed alternative.
But he does turn away from the door at the very least.
“Gonna tell me exactly how that works?”
“What d’you mean?”
“How I, uh, smell like your little brother?”
“Well puberty ain’t exactly a science to the nose.”
Puberty. God, he actually laughs. Feels even more ashamed about the obvious sweat stains on his underarms but given where they are it’s not the worst of the multiple stenches in the air.
The man continues on a borderline ramble; “And I’m gonna go ahead and assume most people wouldn’t want to be compared to a pre-pubescent teenager, you know? So then I really didn’t wanna say anything.”
It’s the most genuine interaction he’s had since all of this began — and he didn’t know how much he needed it until now. Ivy, Garrus, Krom; they were all so so great but they loved talking about it all; loved delving into the things weird and strange that Taylor was still trying to wrap his head around.
But sniffing put aside there’s nothing more casual than not knowing what to say in front of a cute guy. Talk about your ordinary problems.
“Cal — by the way — Cal Lowell.”
Taylor takes Cal’s offered hand in that usual way — pressing just a little too hard to affirm his masculinity that he’s so often okay with shrugging away from the surface. It’s how men — and Southern men especially — interact. He’s kind of an expert on the matter.
But Cal’s grip is stronger than other men. Something Taylor just accepts along with the almost sizzling heat of his body radiating from just the palm. Must be a werewolf thing.
“Taylor Hunter.”
“Who brought you along for the party, Taylor?”
Man it’s nice to hear his name instead of ‘kid.’ “Oh, actually —”
His reply is drowned out by the sudden slam of a door above them; followed by thundering footsteps and shouts that were quickly becoming not-so-muffled.
“I knew you were stupid, Ryder, but if you think I’m just gonna push all you done aside and let you come onto my territory demandin’ favors you’ve got less brain in ya than I thought!”
“Christ, Kristof, tuck your damn tail and listen to me, will ya?!”
Cal squeezes a little too hard — makes Taylor yank his hand away. But when he goes to ask the guy what the hell it looks like he’s staring straight through him.
“Shit,” hisses Cal under his breath; and swerves around Taylor rather than pushing him aside to join the argument quickly approaching them.
The man who must be Kristof is hairy. That’s all Taylor can really think of him at first glance. He’s tall but not Krom-level of tall (his new measurement standard) and wide-set in the shoulders with muscle and scars both old and new criss-crossing one another down his exposed arms.
Add a little white to his bushy beard and he could be a budget-mall Santa, Taylor thinks.
Then he catches Ryder leaping down the steps two at a time to catch up.
“If you weren’t gonna hear me out then why agree to meet with me in the first place?” snaps the Nighthunter; teeth grit and knuckles white on the banister.
He’s got height on Kristof, being a few steps higher and all, but he might as well be facing down a charging bull with the way the Pack Alpha rounds on him in red-faced fury.
“Figured it was about time you apologized for what you did to poor Jimbo,” and the fact he isn’t shouting definitely dials the tension up to eleven, “but what’s a lit’le more blood on yer hands?”
Taylor doesn’t have to ask who ‘poor Jimbo’ was. Can get enough from the context. And while he doesn’t want to get involved in something that was before he came along he’s be remiss if he didn’t feel uneasy at the thought of his bodyguard as a killer.
But didn’t that mean he’d kill to keep Taylor safe?
Ryder recoils enough for Kristof to gain the advantage; come up a step so they’re eye-to-eye.
“Don’t you gimme that fake remorse. Not in my home. Ain’t a word in Jimbo’s mem’ry — ‘stead you waltz up in here demandin’ favors?! When you ain’t even got the balls —!”
“Whoa whoa — hey!”
Cal realizes it’s a bad move just a moment too late. Octavia settles her grip on the second floor railing and looks down with a jaw set and proverbial hackles raised. But that’s nothing compared to how Kristof looks at him — goes from red to purple in the face at the mere sight of Cal.
“You stay outta this, boy.”
“Kristof — I just think —”
His reaction has to be purely werewolf. Something real wolves can’t imitate but humans could never understand. Keeps Taylor enraptured as he starts to realize he’s been thinking about them all wrong; that there is no place where the man ends and the wolf begins — but rather that they’re one in the same.
Kristof’s muscles ripple under thick skin. Something shifts on the stale air like a breeze and in less time than it takes a heart to beat Cal’s backing down with his head to the floor.
Baring the back of his neck.
He’s given Kristof an inch and the Alpha takes a mile. Advances a step just to make sure Cal backs off in a strange and unspoken dance.
“I’d say given your predicament, Lowell, challengin’ your Alpha is the last thing you wanna be doin’.”
Cal doesn’t have to say anything to agree. Even when he raises his head he won’t — or can’t — meet Kristof’s eyes.
Before he does something (else) stupid, Taylor grabs the cuff of Cal’s flannel and pulls him back.
“Best you and your pup leave now, Ryder,” Octavia calls from above, “before you overstay your welcome.”
And Nik, literally a dumbass, looks like he’s about to argue. “Ryder,” Taylor calls — practically pleads, “let’s just go. We’ll find what we need somewhere else.” That doesn’t even matter, he wants to say, but we’re not safe here anymore.
It takes him a second to move around the wall of tension named Kristof; looks like he’s about to call the Alpha out on the power move until Taylor manages to grab hold of him, too, and makes it easy on them both.
Kristof stands silent save his breathing — husky, heavy breaths that fill his lungs and puff out his chest.
“Show ‘em out, Lowell.” Octavia calls when the three of them are already halfway to the front of the cabin. “Then go for a run — clear ya head.”
Not like they’ve already forgotten the way out but it is what it is; a way to diffuse the situation. Judging by the looks of things it’s a role Octavia plays quite often.
Cal’s brought them all the way to the pergola at the property entrance before he finally seems to calm down enough to speak. Looks at Taylor with an apologetic gaze.
“Thanks for that — gettin’ me outta there.”
“Wasn’t any trouble,” though he does throw a look back to Ryder; already busy on his phone and taking out his frustration with every punch to the keys, “thanks for trying to help. I figured out he had history with, uh, the pack, but…”
Cal nods. “Guess you’ve just met him, then?”
“How’d you know?”
“Ryder’s a bit infamous around New Orleans.”
“For being a Nighthunter?”
“For being a dick about being a Nighthunter.”
Like he’s psychic, Ryder barks for Taylor not a moment later; “Come on, kid! We gotta get back to the Shift. It’s gonna be a steep price to pay but Ivy thinks she can get what we need.”
“Coming!” He calls — offers Cal what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “You gonna be okay?”
“Yeah, might go for that run…”
But there’s a distracted distance in his reply. He watches Cal’s focus flicker between him and Ryder behind. “‘Get what you need,’ what’s that mean? You needed somethin’ from Kristof?”
“Oh — yeah. We’re putting together a protection spell I guess.”
“Then you came here for Hunter’s Sage.”
It’s enough to catch Ryder’s ear and haul him over to their conversation. Not that he looks at Cal with any less suspicion but it seems to be a mutual thing.
“What d’you know about Hunter’s Sage?”
“I know it’s a standard ingredient for protection magic,” answers the werewolf, “and I also know it’s one of the few things the Pack keeps locked up tight. Whoever your friend is sayin’ they’ve got access to some — it can’t be local. And we both know if that stuff ain’t fresh your spell’ll be about as protective as a house pet.”
Ryder’s teeth grind audibly. “I’ve seen my share of scary pets.”
“But do you really wanna take that chance?”
Judging by the way he looks at Taylor; Cal wants to help. Might even know a way to do so — but if it means going against his Alpha…
“I don’t want to risk getting you in more trouble,” Taylor says, “especially after what happened back there.”
“Ain’t a risk if there’s a big enough reward.”
And much to Taylor’s surprise — and Ryder’s lack thereof — Cal gives a curt nod. “If I wasn’t in the situation I’m in… I’d offer it to you for the sake of keeping the peace. The Lowell’s have always been in good with the Alpha — he’d huff and puff for a few weeks but eventually forget about it.
“But that ain’t the case at the moment. So if you’re desperate enough for the Sage I’m more than willing to provide it as a payment.”
The hunter and the wolf mirror one another; puff out their chests and cross their arms tight. The fragility of their combined masculinity is so thick Taylor’s at risk of choking on it.
“All right — I’ll bite,” Ryder quirks a brow, “‘payment’ for what?”
Even though the Nighthunter would be the one doing said job it’s Taylor that Cal turns to. The nearest torch flame reflects like a burning passion in his eyes.
“Payment for rescuing my little brother before Kristof has him killed.”
The door is already open on Cal’s side and that’s the one closest to the curb; so it’s logical for Taylor to follow the tall werewolf out of the cab instead of joining Nik in the middle of the street.
So why does it look like for a brief second Ryder’s irritated that he didn’t?
But the look fades away; goes through Ryder’s barely-expressive version of the five stages of grief as he sees where Cal’s had the cab take them.
“You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me.”
Cal isn’t kidding anyone. “Now you see what I mean.”
From Taylor’s vague mental memory of those first tours he took of the new city he called home they have to be somewhere in the Upper Garden District. Usually the houses are closer together — though no less grand — but the place they’ve been dropped off in front of has its own lot cleared. As if to heighten its importance.
Or its value.
A roundabout of freshly-paved drive circles a fountain made of black iron. Lights reflect on the water and change from the soft yellow of liquid sunlight to deep emerald green and a blue he’s only seen in pictures of the ocean on a cloudless day.
The manor is no less splendid, either. Filled with the old-world charm of New Orleans; her vines of ivy climbing and spreading fingers of foliage across the vast wings and around windows both large and small. But there’s nothing run-down about it. This place is well-kept; well-loved, well-visited.
“All right — run this whole thing by me again now that I know what shit we’re steppin’ in.” Ryder demands without taking his eyes off of the estate.
Cal, on the other hand, can’t bear to look at it.
“Donny’s a good kid. Came into his wolf on time just like everyone else. He’s a whiz at math, too. Maybe that’s why he thought he could gamble — like there aren’t any card-counting hexes on any place of Smoke’s.
“He was just tryin’ to help. If I hadn’t lost my job at the building site…”
When he trails off Taylor reaches out and rests what he hopes is a reassuring hand on a broad shoulder. Cal leans into it — throws back a small but no-less grateful smile. It’s enough for him to continue.
“Whatever happened, he got in deep. One night he’s digging around the trailer for every spare nickel and dime and the next day he’s not waiting for me outside school like he’s supposed to. I went to Kristof about it and — y’know, he’s a good Alpha temper aside; takes care of his Pack — and he put some feelers out. Only they led him to…”
“They led him to Persephone.” answers Ryder, who gives a jerk of his head to the glamorous mansion.
Taylor looks between them. “Anyone gonna explain what Persephone is?”
The gesture Ryder gives at the building isn’t subtle. Nor is the look Taylor gives him because no, really?
“It’s a high-end club for high-end supernatural folks.” Cal tries only to end up getting corrected anyway.
“It’s the club, more like. You can only get in with a signet membership and people have killed for less in this town. It’s no place we wanna go sticking our noses.”
Taylor frowns. “But Donny…”
“Whatever debts he racked up ain’t somethin’ that can go away just as easy. The people who own this place aren’t exactly known for their forgiving nature.”
Beside Taylor, Cal’s knuckles crack one by one as he balls his hands into fists. Ryder shrugs. “I’m just sayin’. It’s a lost cause.”
“Then so will gettin’ your hands on any Hunter’s Sage.” Cal immediately regrets his words when he sees the way Taylor’s face falls; tries to backtrack. “I don’t — I want to help — really I do. You seem like a good guy, Taylor, and if I can help…”
But Taylor isn’t mad at Cal. “I get it. Your family comes first.”
“Exactly.”
“So why’s Kristof gonna maul him?” Ryder asks.
“For mixing the Pack up with the Smoke? He’d put him down just to make an example out of him for anyone else who might try something similar. It’ll be hard to do but being the Alpha isn’t an easy job. Even if he doesn’t kill him outright, the thought of Donny being banished…
“He’s the only family I have.” He’s trying not to seem vulnerable as best he can but his eyes betray him.
Never has there been a more apt time to think the expression looking like a kicked puppy.
Sage or no Sage, Taylor wants to help. Doesn’t know a thing about what he’s getting himself into but when has he ever made consciously smart choices? Ryder, however, seems to be heavily weighing on the pros and cons.
Well, fuck that.
“So how do we get in?”
Nik scoffs in disbelief. “Was I talking to myself when I said —”
“I’m sorry,” he rounds on his bodyguard with hands on hips and spite in his soul, “did I suggest walking in the front door? No. But there’s gotta be another way in. There always is in the movies.”
“This ain’t a movie, Taylor.”
“Well maybe we should start pretending it is.”
At least Cal looks like he’s starting to get on board with the plan. “What did you have in mind?”
It’s like one of the fountain’s color-changing lights sparks atop his head.
As someone who has never seen a goblin before, Taylor would like to point out what he’s keeping his cool very well. Like, well enough to earn whatever crazy non-alcoholic mixology madness Garrus is no doubt cooking up in his and Ryder’s absence.
Because freaking out wouldn’t help them, now would it? And they could really use all the help they can get.
“I didn’t send out no order for some Bayou filth,” the goblin woman continues on her rampage of scorn, “you must have the wrong address! As if I would serve my guests anything that grew in a local swamp.”
Taylor adjusts the small stack of crates he’s carrying — feels his fingers go numb and quickly moves them back to their aching spot. Better in pain than no feeling at all.
He’s definitely more than a little jealous at how easy Ryder makes his haul look.
“I’ll try not to take offense, ma’am, and for both our sakes I won’t go mentionin’ to my Alpha your little snipe and question of the quality of our goods. But how about you cut a guy some slack? I’m just the delivery.”
Cal’s either done this before or is a natural; lets his accent draw out his words while he oh-so-casually leans in the doorway of Persephone’s delivery entrance. He’s two heads taller than the goblin head chef but that doesn’t seem to bother her in the slightest.
She curls back a green lip in a snarl; reveals a row of large yellow teeth like blunted knives.
“Oh, you’re wantin’ me to cut you slack? When you’re the mangy hound keeping me from finishing a very specific order for a very specific client?”
“Well I can’t go about the rest of my drop-offs until this one is done!”
“And how is that my problem?!”
“I’m making it your problem!” There’s definitely no pretending the ire in Cal’s voice is fake. He pulls a random piece of folded paper out of his back pocket and starts waving it around without actually unfurling it — conveniently right out of the chef’s gnarled green grasp.
“I got a dozen more orders to fill tonight and no room on my truck —” —Cal jerks his thumb behind them but stays right in the goblin’s way; keeps her from looking for what definitely isn’t there— “— for this crap! So let me and my guys drop it off and we’re done!”
“I told you I won’t serve —”
“Christ, woman! You don’t gotta serve it; hell, burn the shit for all I care! I don’t get paid unless I got an empty truck at the end of my route. And you sure as hell ain’t gettin’ paid while arguin’ with me.”
She opens her mouth to argue but the sound of breaking glass and porcelain is the only thing that comes out. Makes her whirl around with a high-pitched and gravelly shriek as she takes in whatever mess as been made.
“You rotten-toothed fools,” she howls, “not the Ming china!”
Thank god for the broken Ming china because any longer arguing and they might have drawn unwanted attention. Well, more unwanted attention.
It’s enough of a tragedy to get the head chef to rush inside without bothering to scold them, send them off, or even shut the door properly. Easily propped open with Cal’s boot.
He holds a hand back to keep them from rushing in — Taylor’s about to very loudly protest when the noise inside starts growing into a full-blown cacophony.
“Now!” He shoulders open the door with just enough space for Nik and Taylor to rush inside, then keeps it from slamming shut as he comes in last.
Only now Taylor’s plan is done and he’s at a loss for how to go forward. Until Cal practically shoves him to follow Ryder along a side hallway out of the kitchen staff — and head chef’s — sights.
Lucky for them that must have been some expensive china because staff of all types, sizes, and goblin-shades rush by them without so much as a ‘hello.’ They test every door in the hallway until they find one unlocked and dump their cargo haul without ceremony.
“So we’re in,” Cal huffs, no doubt heart beating with the same thrill of almost-not-quite-caught that Taylor’s is, “now what?”
“Now we find your brother and get the hell out.”
When he finally catches his breath the werewolf takes a deep breath in — nostrils flaring and eyelids fluttering closed. His nose crinkles slightly, catches the scent of something foul.
“What, what is it?” asks Taylor with worry.
Cal shakes his head. “Someone burned a catfish back there.”
“Focus, Fido.”
If he wants to bite Nik’s head off for the comment he holds it in well. So Taylor smacks a leather-clad arm for him.
They wait — and wait — and wait… but Cal’s shoulders sag in frustration and disappointment. “It’s no use. The kitchen’s messing with my nose. I thought I had him, but…”
“So we just go further in, right?” Taylor grabs for the door but a broad palm stops him in his tracks. Ryder glowers down at him.
“No. We wait until he can catch the scent from back here.”
“What? That’s stupid!”
“Yeah, about as stupid as going out into the ranks of Persephone during Mardi Gras. No signets, no threads; we’ll stick out like sore thumbs.”
“Some of us more than others…” mutters Cal under his breath; not quite soft enough for Nik not to hear.
“We’re not turning back.” And just in case the hunter might be in doubt Taylor yanks the door open; sends him staggering. “Or I’m not, at the very least. So are you gonna come be my body guard or what?”
Not that he gives Nik the chance to answer. Turns on his heel and marches straight out in all his raggedy un-refined glory with Cal the flannel-clad werewolf at his heels.
“I can’t believe this is the job that’s gonna kill me.” Mutters the Nighthunter under his breath — just before he jogs to catch up.
So far everything he’s come into contact with in this strange new world hasn’t been on the best side of friendly. Why should Persephone be any different?
And for the first time Taylor isn’t let down in the slightest. Not when they manage to slip their way out of the back rooms and onto what must be the main show floor.
The ceiling is all four stories high with a large glowing chandelier shining iridescent gemstone reflections down on every inch of the place. Two winding staircases branch off in different directions with velvet-encased landings on every floor.
All around them bodies lean on railings and various balconies. The floor is an addict’s paradise; no matter the vice. A large circular bar rotates in the middle of the sunken floor while around them dice roll, chips are collected, and cards are thrown down to mixed reactions of cheers and disappointed groans.
But it’s not even the physics-breaking space that’s the most interesting part. It’s the people. Well — if some of them are people, that is.
The collective net worth of the civilized world (and then some) has to be gathered on the diamond-studded (actual. fucking. diamonds) carpeting. They titter along, absorbed in their drinks and wealth and company just like Taylor would expect of an entirely mortal clientele.
Some of them look mortal, too — though he has to remind himself that might not hold true. A woman with bright blue scales for skin brushes past with a giggled “pardonnez-moi!” as she heads to catch a waitress and her tray of mini-somethings.
Some have tails, others talons, and just when he thinks he’s seen it all a bellowing call comes from the top floor and he looks up to see a snow-white swan dive off of the landing and turn into an obsidian crow mid-flight without so much as a fallen feather.
There’s a sudden warmth a this back and Taylor jumps, ready to shove off the offender, only to find Ryder there; leading him through the crowd to a shadowed corner of booths with curtains strung around them.
“You feeling okay?” He asks under his breath.
Taylor nods. “Yeah, why?”
He inches in the round booth until Ryder can comfortably sit beside him — finds himself looking around for any sign of Cal until he spots the wolf’s messy curls shadowing a group of fanged flappers on their way to the floor bar.
The most surprising sight — even with all the magic and delight — is turning to see Nik with concern creased in his forehead. The wrinkles overlapping on his scar awkwardly.
“Ryder, what’s wrong?”
“All this ain’t givin’ you a head-splitting ache?”
It’s such an out-there question — actually succeeds to pull Taylor’s attention away from each new bewildering sight to the very-average and very-mortal face of the man before him.
The bravado’s gone from Nik’s voice; replaced instead with… with some sort of sincerity he’s not used to. Not from him, anyway. Even back at the Graveyard Shift he still found a way to make light of Taylor’s situation and the hard, dark truths he had to learn.
If he didn’t know better, Taylor would dare say the man in front of him isn’t Nik Ryder. But because he hesitates in answering, because he instead chooses to take in the sight before him rather than brush it aside, that openness closes up real quick.
Which version was the real Nik Ryder? Now he wants to know.
“No,” and he places a hand over Ryder’s arm on the tabletop to keep him from letting that be all that’s said, “it’s like you said back at Garrus’, you know? I stopped resisting it and now… I don’t see anything but the truth. Like there isn’t a glamour at all.”
It makes Nik give a soft — almost fond — chuckle.
“‘Course there ain’t. Not in here at least. I may hate the lot of ‘em for their vulgar hoards of cash but even I’ll admit they deserve a place not to have to hide.”
“I didn’t think of it that way.” And when he looks back out to the revelry it’s with a different eye.
After all he knows exactly how hard it is to go through life wearing a mask that can’t even come close to capturing the person underneath it.
“Doesn’t stop the majority of ‘em from being assholes, though.”
“When did Ryder start referring to himself in the third person?”
Cal slides in on Taylor’s opposite side, cocks a half-smirk at Ryder who only manages a grumbled and incoherent (probably for everyone’s benefit) response.
“Did you catch Donny’s scent by the bar?”
The wolf shakes his head no. Pinches the bridge of his nose with eyes squeezed shut. “For a second it was there — like he was right beside me — but just like that it was lost in the herbs they got in the drinks.”
“At least we know that means he’s here.”
“Or was, at least.”
Cal looks up when Taylor nudges his side. “Come on, don’t think like that now. We’re on the right path and, hey, knock on wood but no one’s kicking us out just yet.”
“They should with duds like those. Or didn’t you see the dress code on your way in?”
Nik tenses up beside him; mutters “shit” under his breath but doesn’t have to look around like his companions for the owner of the lilting laugh.
She emerges from around the drawn-back velvet curtain with dark blue gems for skin. No — it takes Taylor a second to realize the dress she wears just clings to her in all the right places before cascading down her legs like a waterfall.
She brushes her hair aside, lets it reveal her face as if parted from a violet veil. There’s nothing inherently inhuman about the woman at first glance — but if anyone could be the definition of deceiving looks its her.
From the looks of things she’s been taking them in with the same level of scrutiny. All but Ryder, whom she doesn’t even spare a passing glance. He leans back in the booth — suddenly far more at ease — and throws an arm around the back.
Her eyes linger on the worn state of Cal’s flannel collar and the wrinkles in Taylor’s tee. “Though I can’t tell if it’s just sad or actually a little genius on your part. One sore thumb is a nuisance but three, well… that’s a statement.”
Ryder’s brow twitches. “What can I say? I live to disappoint.”
“If only you were as good at your job as you were at getting dirt on everything you own.”
“Now that’s funny — since I seem to recall you singin’ my praises when you were butterin’ me up on the Raines job.”
“Compliments get pretty girls like me everything and everywhere, Nik. Or have you forgotten that you did come help me?”
“Problem with you Kathy,” Ryder starts up; looks like he’s ready to tell their new friend all the problems he has with her there and then, “is you always say you’ll split the fare after the job’s done but you’re too busy chasin’ your next lead to actually do it.”
‘Kathy’ rolls her eyes and turns to leave — no, not leave — to flag down a server carrying a full tray of champagne flutes filled with fuzzy pink liquid. “You can just leave that here, thanks.” She croons and waves the girl off like it never happened.
“I’ll admit I got… caught up in a few things once we split. But I give you my word the money will be in your account by tomorrow.”
The look Nik gives her is dangerously shy of ‘why wait, let’s go now’ but he doesn’t. Taylor tries to be an optimist and pretends it’s for Cal’s sake — for his little brother’s sake.
“You’re lucky I’m already on a job,” growls the hunter instead, “or I’d be pushin’ it.”
“And you’d end up waiting regardless. You’re not the only one working here.”
“I don’t even wanna ask what job you’re on in that getup.”
“It’s called blending in.”
The likelihood of their bickering lasting until the end of time, if left to their own devices, is a little too high. They have things to do — a little brother to find. And Cal’s getting antsy in his seat.
“Ryder,” Taylor tries — and fails — to be subtle; what with the wide eyes and the way he keeps jerking his head towards the depths of the lobby, “we gotta. get. going.”
Nik actually waves him off. “Yeah yeah, just a minute.” Then to Kathy; “I can’t figure why it’s takin’ you so long when you’re the one who ended up with the better end of the bargain.”
She scoffs — stops grabbing for one of the drinks on the tray and fixes him with a glare that’s gonna start Trouble with a capital ‘T.’
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
Ryder puffs out his chest, huffs through his nostrils. “Just don’t think you gettin’ Raines to do you a favor measures up when I did most of the work.”
“That’s debatable, from what Kathy’s told me.”
The voice from behind them wouldn’t be nearly as startling if it didn’t come from the woman’s open mouth in a deep baritone.
Their new guest is a tall man in sleek black finery. The silk of his shirt ripples like liquid and when he walks around them to Katherine’s side there’s the tinkle of metal on the tile floor; the silver tips of his shoes make him decorated — quite literally — head to toe.
He crooks his elbow and Katherine slides herself onto his arm like she’s just another piece to his fancy ensemble. “Took you long enough…” She mutters aside.
Instead of apologizing, though, the stranger focuses on the ragtag trio in the booth. “Of course we all know there’s three sides to every argument: his, hers,” he looks away from the bristling Nighthunters to stare at Taylor; to penetrate his soul with bright red eyes, “and the truth.”
Definitely not mortal.
Everything about the way Ryder addresses the man screams recognition. Important, but not important enough to warrant an introduction.
“Cadence,” he almost sneers the name, “didn’t figure Persephone to be your kind of scene.” I thought you were better than that; that’s what hangs unsaid in the air packed to the brim with tension.
Taylor’s eyes travel down to the taller man’s hand where, indeed, the same kind of heavy golden ring rests on his finger. Cadence notices and slyly tucks his hand into his trouser pockets; as if he’s embarrassed by it. When they lock eyes again the red is gone; replaced by dark honey.
But if Nik’s remark is a trap, he doesn’t fall into it. Instead does the opposite of his companion and regards Taylor and Cal like they’re actually a part of the conversation.
“I’ll assume you didn’t come in through the front door; kudos to whatever you did that worked.”
“It was surprisingly easy.” Taylor replies.
“And dangerous — but some things are worth the danger.” The man looks down his nose — at his height it’s impossible to do anything else — and squeezes Kathy’s arm. “We should get going. We need to catch Isadora before the show starts.”
She nods curtly; all business now. Throws a look back to her—friend? rival?—Ryder.
“Well it’s been fun, but —”
“‘Isadora’ as in Izzy-Isadora? Carlo’s daughter?”
Kathy’s not the only one taken by surprise at Cal’s interruption but she does seem to notice him for the first time.
“Maybe.”
“Ain’t no other Isadora we’d know by name.” Nik cuts in.
“What’s it to you?”
“Her dad just died — what’s she doin’ here?”
Cal raises a good point. Leaves the collective group in an awkward silence. The gears turning in Kathy’s head are near visible — like the steam coming out of her ears.
“She’s here to pay off her father’s debt to the Smoke.” Cadence finally answers. Judging by the way Kathy looks at him, too, he’s not lying. “What?” He asks her in defense of her silent accusation. “What did I say?”
Only Nik acts like he’s just been shot. “Wait — Smoke’s here tonight?”
“No — Katherine stop — but her collector is. He’s leading the matches in the underground.”
“What matches?”
“The cage fights.”
Cal makes a desperate, choking noise beside him and Taylor immediately tries to see what he can do — he doesn’t have to know much about this new world to understand what they’re talking about. ‘Cage fights’ is a pretty universal term with only so many interpretations.
“That’s where they have Donny.”
Taylor doesn’t have to question him. Not with how sure, how terrified he sounds. And it makes sense — mobsters are mobsters.
“Well… we’ll just be going now…” Katherine starts tugging her partner away — actually has to tug since he seems suddenly taken by Cal’s reaction. “Cade — come on.”
Nik leans over Taylor — is personal space a concept to anyone around here? — to look Cal dead in the eyes.
“You sure?”
“Has to be.” Cal chokes out.
“Would you like to join us?”
Katherine stops tugging only to pick her jaw up off the ground. Even Taylor’s surprised by the man’s abrupt invitation. Checks his face again for any sign of cruel teasing but there’s nothing in those golden eyes.
Nothing but curiosity. Not even sincerity. He wants to see what will happen.
“Bad idea, Cadence.” Katherine warns.
“Nope!” Taylor’s shoved by Ryder — accidentally shoves the still sheet-white Cal as a result — out of the booth in haste. “Can’t take it back now.”
The Nighthunter adjusts his shirt and coat sleeves like he’s wearing something bought on the same rack as every other bespoke suit and outfit there. When he speaks he’s looking straight at Katherine — now fuming — and has to be getting his kicks judging by the look on her face.
“We’d love to.”
All it takes is a gesture for their new guides to turn and start walking. Too far ahead and too fast for Taylor to catch any of the whispers Katherine hisses under her breath. But he’s more focused on Cal.
“We’re gonna find him — don’t worry.”
Cal swallows audibly.
“Cage fights, Taylor. They’ve got him in cage fights.”
“And we’re gonna get him out before anything happens.”
Nik passes them; offers him grim two cents.
“If it ain’t happened already.”
#nightbound#playchoices#playchoices fanfiction#nik ryder x mc#cal lowell#nik ryder#katherine nightbound#oc: cadence smith#nightbound mc#mc: taylor hunter#oblv: bound by circumstance#oblv: new chapter#; my fics
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'The Chosen One': In the midst of a career year, Morgan Rielly has become the Leafs reluctant star.
Scott Wheeler. 5th April 2019
His nickname in junior hockey was “The Chosen One” because everyone knew just how good Morgan Rielly was — and they wanted him to know it, too.
He doesn’t like to talk about it though. He didn’t then and he doesn’t now.
“It rings a bell,” he said of the moniker.
“You get to your junior team and you make nicknames for each other and that’s just your first experience of junior hockey. And really riding the bus with older guys and experiencing what it’s like to be a young rookie with older, 20-year-old men on the team when you’re 16.”
Nine years after his Moose Jaw Warriors teammates coined the nickname, Rielly is in the midst of a career year that will conclude with a debate over his merits as a Norris Trophy candidate and the season’s best defenceman.
“Whenever I see him, I still call him ‘Chose,'” said Joel Edmundson, now a Blues defenceman. “When I’m talking to my other former teammates, we still talk about him as being ‘The Chosen One.’ It’s weird how nicknames like that stick with you forever.”
Last month, Rielly became the third Leafs defenceman to ever register 70 points in a season, joining Borje Salming and Ian Turnbull. He’s the first 20-goal-scoring Leafs defenceman since Al Iafrate in the late 1980s.
But Rielly’s success didn’t come overnight. This is his sixth season with the Leafs, and even though he’s a star now, he has never thought of himself as one.
Those who know Rielly chalk it up to his modesty.
That was true when he was with the Notre Dame Hounds, a team he captained to a national championship. After his time with the Hounds, he was selected second overall by the Moose Jaw Warriors in the 2009 WHL Draft.
“The most important thing about him is he’s just a good person and a good friend,” said James Melindy, Rielly’s defence partner at Notre Dame. “His hockey obviously speaks for itself, but he’s a leader and he was a leader at a young age on our team and it’s so good to see a friend like him do well.
“It was nice to be able to give him the puck and let him do the rest.”
Steve Watterson, a billet with the Warriors, could see it in Rielly when he refereed the Hounds’ Triple-A games. That season, when the Warriors recalled Rielly for a few days around Christmas, teammate Travis Hamonic invited him to stay at the Wattersons during his visit. By the time Hamonic — a second-round pick of the Islanders — was traded to the Brandon Wheat Kings, the Wattersons knew they wanted Rielly as their next billet the following season.
Early in Rielly’s rookie season, he had already endeared himself to the Wattersons’ children, 10-year-old Alexa, 7-year-old Brennan and 4-year-old Brooklyn. No matter what was happening, he always made time for them whether it was playing cards, mini sticks or ping pong. For that, Watterson, a lifelong Canadiens fan, was swayed into becoming a Leafs fan.
“It was a lot of fun. Morgan was full of energy,” Watterson said.
“Nothing but good memories. You can’t help but want to see the Leafs do well and exciting things for Morgan.”
Despite the fact Rielly was the youngest player on the Warriors, his teammates never thought of him as a rookie. As players graduated and moved on, that stuck with them.
“He was just one of those guys that you wanted to play with, you wanted to be around off the ice. As soon as he came in, you could tell that the guy just had a characteristic that made people gravitate towards him,” said defenceman Dallas Ehrhardt, who now plays for the Manchester Storm.
“On the ice he was such a dynamic skater and player and off the ice he was such a good teammate.”
On a team where the blueline was built around big defencemen like Edmundson, Dylan McIlrath and Kendall McFaull, Rielly played differently.
“He’s a guy that really wanted to win,” Edmundson said. “He was just naturally so talented. You could see it. When he stepped on the ice, he just took over games. You knew he was going to be an NHL player just the way he could skate and rush the puck. He could go end-to-end like nothing.”
Despite standing out on the ice, Rielly made a point to fit in with his teammate off it.
“He was just one of the guys,” Edmundson said. “Whenever I see Chose, we definitely share some laughs.”
“Whenever I think of him in junior, it’s just him picking the puck up behind the net and just going through the whole team. In the D zone, he battled hard, too. When guys went to the net, it wasn’t easy against him. Even when he was 16, he was built like a man.”
Rielly left his mark on the Warriors’ staff too.
Dave Hunchak, Moose Jaw’s head coach during Rielly’s rookie season, remembers the moment he realized there was no holding the defenceman back. It was late in a game against Prince Albert when Hunchak, who’d relied on his veterans all season, turned to the rookie for the final shift of regulation. Rielly leaped over the boards, straddled the blueline and placed a shot top corner to tie the game.
Hunchak had always known Rielly was gifted. However, the Warriors were a veteran team and Rielly had only been getting regular minutes. That moment changed everything.
“He made a move that just dropped everyone’s jaw,” Hunchak said. “He was very quiet, very unassuming, very shy person. But he had a tremendous work ethic, he knew what he wanted to do and he was consistent in his work ethic every day.”
From then on, Rielly never let up.
“His skating ability was second-to-none at that point and it was a treat to watch. He would make plays that would make you shake your head at times, but they would work out for whatever reason for him. And if he made a mistake he wasn’t shy to go and get the puck back,” Hunchak said.
“He realized that he was a bit of a risk-reward guy at that time and we had to work real hard at 16 to convince him to play in his own end first and it took him time but then he just figured it out.”
It wasn’t always a straight path.
In his NHL draft year, Rielly blew out his knee. The Wattersons saw him go through those ups and downs firsthand. They saw the tears and heard the heartbreak in his voice. They sat in on conversations with his parents as they debated the risks of rushing back.
After seeking opinions from multiple doctors, Rielly was reading off a list of pro athletes who had come back from the same injury in six months and promising Watterson that he’d best it.
“He just kept saying, ‘That’s going to be me, I’m going to find a way to be faster than those dudes and sure enough he made it back for playoffs and he had the emotion and the heartbreak but it was short-lived with Morgan and it switched right to ‘What do I have to do to get back there?’” Watterson said.
“I couldn’t believe how it played out. You just can’t write that stuff. It’s just sheer determination and he outplayed all the odds in that situation.”
When the draft came around and the Leafs picked him fifth overall, the Wattersons were there to see his hard work come to fruition.
Longtime Warriors general manager Alan Millar will never forget Game 4 of the second round of the playoffs when Rielly, who was still doing strength and conditioning and hadn’t travelled with the team, was at their Medicine Hat hotel when they arrived back at 3 a.m.
“I’ve never seen anything like it. No down time, no pouting. After he got the surgery done, I don’t know, you’re talking days not weeks and he was back in the gym,” Millar said.
“I’ve never seen a young man work that hard on rehab. He wanted back in the lineup. He wanted to win a championship. That’s a credit to him and his character and leadership. It didn’t take me very long to realize that he was pretty special, both on and off the ice.”
Assistant coach Mark O’Leary remembers two things about Rielly. One was the regular phone calls he’d get on off-days when Rielly wanted to come in to skate or work out. When the team did skate, Rielly was always the first player at the rink and the last to leave.
Two was how popular he was with his teammates and members of the community. People at the high school, O’Leary said, still talk about Rielly and the way he would help kids he didn’t know. O’Leary said he still hears people talking about the defenceman at the local Tim Hortons.
“There was no doubt inside the walls of our rink in terms of what kind of player he was going to be,” said O’Leary. “Not just the skill that he had, but probably what doesn’t get talked about enough, which is his work ethic. There was nobody in better shape. He did things outside of what normal people would do in terms of getting better.”
When he was replaced as the star rookie on the team by Brayden Point, Rielly grew into a leadership role naturally.
“He was a big part of our team, a high profile guy who I looked up to a lot,” Point said.
“He would dominate games in our league and he was fun to play with. You could see back then that he was going to be the player he is today. He was always so good. We’ve both come a long way since then. He was a great guy and still a friend today.”
Ehrhardt has paid particular attention to Rielly’s career. Part of it, he said, was a matter of the small-town nature of Moose Jaw (they all went to the same high school, Vanier Collegiate) and the way it forced them together. But there was something else about Rielly, too.
On a recent trip to Texas, Ehrhardt caught one of the Leafs’ games against the Stars and noticed Rielly was doing all of the same things he did in Moose Jaw.
“I think everybody who played with him at that time kind of knew. The way he was able to move the puck out there, at 16, he was already miles ahead of everyone around him,” Ehrhardt said.
“And it wasn’t just his skills, it was the way he was thinking through the game. He was already two steps ahead of everyone. It was one of those things where it was fun to watch. And nowadays he has just really taken off with it.”
There’s also a maturity about Rielly that was evident even when he was in high school but has since turned into a leadership role as the top defenceman with the Leafs.
In hindsight, Edmundson said he knew, too.
“Thinking back on it now, it does not surprise me one bit. Especially compared to any other D-men in our league at that time, he stood out. He’s always been that talented. He’s always been that guy that’s had high expectations and he’s meeting them right now,” Edmundson said.
After more than a half a decade in Toronto, Rielly is back to being the star he was in junior.
For that, his modesty ought to turn into pride.
“I never imagined this,” Rielly said. “I think I have been able to reflect on it now, but when you’re a young guy, you’re a prospect who is supposed to be good, and the older guys used to make jokes about me playing in the NHL one day and I kind of dismissed them because at the time you’re not there yet, you don’t think it’s realistic.
“The injury made it tough to think about where we’re at now, but man, those were fun times.”
He thinks about his time in Moose Jaw and credits his teammates for turning him into the player and person he has become.
He remembers that first Christmas break visit with Hamonic and the Wattersons. He still keeps in touch with Millar, O’Leary and all of the “really good friends” he made along the way.
“Just the relationships that we were able to build, a lot of characters,” he said, with a laugh. “We all had a lot in common. It’s strange. It really was a unique group. We all got along. We spent a lot of time with one another.”
There are a lot of Leafs games on TV in the Watterson home these days. At the end of February, Rielly welcomed the Wattersons to Toronto for a pair of games against the Canadiens and the Capitals and took them out to dinner.
“Everyone else sees a star player, but I have to admit I still just see Morgan,” Watterson said. “Even though I’m well aware of what he has accomplished on the ice, it’s a far second to just missing him as a person.”
In that moment, his journey came full circle. It was special. But he’s still not quite ready to fully give himself full credit.
“I was lucky enough to have one of the best billet families in junior hockey. They really had an impact on me, so I feel very lucky to have had that,” Rielly said. “That’s what makes the experience that much better.”
But as another season wraps up, Rielly has a coach who is happy to give him the credit. Mike Babcock, like everyone before him, says you must understand where Rielly started — and who Rielly is — to understand the season he has had.
“You’ve got to go back a number of years. He was a real high-end player drafted, you come to the National Hockey League, everyone expects you to be good right away. As a defenceman in the National Hockey League, to be good defensively right away, you don’t see it very often,” Babcock said.
“And so it has taken him some time. He’s had a great year for us. He’s a big part of our team with his energy, his preparation, his professionalism, but obviously with his play.”
Soon, that play might result in a Norris Trophy nomination.
Just don’t expect Rielly to brag about it.
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Pet or guilt trip, your choice
Avengers (and Matt Murdock) x reader
Sum: no home is complete without a pet, or second best
Steve Rogers:
After the first attack on New York gifts and presents started pilling in the lobby. For every member of the team at that point, even the ones who the public didn’t know the name of. Flowers, candy, clothes, jewelry, and sometimes straight up cash. Most were donated (save for the drawings, and that one necklace Nat was not going to let go of), and among those gifts were Lady.
She was a little golden retriever puppy, pink bow around her neck. Security guard (a wall of a man) was cooing over her when you had walked in.
Accepting her on Steve’s behalf she fit snuggly in the crook of one arm. The other holding the files. Help from fellow employees pressed elevator buttons and open doors kept Lady from touching the floor.
You sat Lady down after seeing him in your office. Opening the door and nudging her inside with the toe of your pump. She goes right for the next available source of attention in the room, Steve kneeling to her level. She whines and goes for his face, tiny paws trying to get traction on his shirt collar and get to more of his face.
“Careful of Cujo there,” You say, papers on the desk.
“I don’t- okay, later.” Another movie added to the list. “Who is this?”
“Our child,” You said, an arsenal of guilt ready to be used.
Tony Stark:
You’d need more hands to count how many times you’ve tried to get a pet. Tony has dodged every attempt with legit reason; cats knock things over, dogs are a lot of work and messy, birds? No, just no.
This helped create the “Stark adoption day”, your personal project. Part passion project, part proof that you are more than just some trophy on Tony’s arm. Working with any shelter that will have you (which was a good majority) and setting up the meet and greet with dogs, cats and everything else in the park. Unsurprisingly it was maybe an hour before people started asking about Tony.
It was a little deflating that people were more concerned about Tony than the animals. This was why you had gotten to Tony before he made his entrance. Making sure he’s not wearing anything that he wouldn’t want ruined.
Adoption rates went through the roof. Hand picking the oldest, least desirable pets and putting them on the for-front. Tony holding a single eyed orange cat was still being cycled around, another where you had stolen his sunglasses for a brief moment and placed them on the bridge of an old saint-bernard. Both of them were adopted within the hour on that day.
Thor:
Thor had a horse, Thor had a big fucking horse.
“What’cha got there?” A lame question with an obvious answer.
He had this confidence that everyone should envy. Even when he doesn’t know where or what’s going on, he is still so sure. Just like now, holding black reins of this dun horse, tail black, mane matching.
“Gail,” A simple name that he probably didn’t pick out. “She’s from the neighbors,” Neighbors who were over two miles away. “Come, come here.”
His hand lays over yours, guiding you to stroke her neck.
Whether you had experience with horses or not it didn’t matter. Gail was Thor’s girl. A free ranged horse that wondered your property, coming into her little barn when the weather is less than pleasant.
Thor gets this look on his face when brushing Gail. Every bit of stress, every forced laugh and smile is gone when he mounts her up. How could you say no to that?
Bucky Barnes:
He hadn’t noticed you yet, sitting on the patio steps. The rented cottage was angled so the sun caught whatever rested on the porch. Usually it were local cats, this time they were joined by your man. Scratching his head at just the right angle, gleam of metal sending magic over the stone.
He’s a tuxedo with white on only his back-left paw. Following the little white dots along the stone and up the wall. Both paws reaching out to slap at the light swishing side to side, following it left to right and back down to the porch. He was one of those outdoor cats, born in the wild. Scratched up ears and skinny body to match.
Bucky raises his arms up and down for the sun to catch it. Kitty not having a care in the world no matter how close he got to the large man. Eventually attacking Bucky’s leg, pressing against it and bouncing back. Turning around and attacking again, maybe trying to confuse his prey.
“Oh God, I love it.” Wanda had texted when you sent the video.
Kitty was your host for the duration of the small vacation. Probably hanging around because of the food you had left out, letting out a jagged meow while trotting up whenever Bucky leaves the cabin.
By the last day Kitty sat next to the bags stacked by the door. Staring, daring like he was daring you to try and leave without him.
Natasha Romanoff:
His name is Clint and he’s a bastard.
Just like the man he was named after, the large African gray parrot hung out in the highest points of the apartment when alone. Sometimes flying down to chill on the counter or couch when Nat was home, bouncing around the apartment while she would watch amused.
He was adopted when Natasha officially moved in. Someone for you to be with while she was away. She really loved him, cooing at him when perched on her shoulder. Speaking in any language she knew as a greeting.
Nat was Clint’s obvious favorite. The moment she was gone he would go into his corner. Waiting for you to be in sight before throwing an actual tantrum. There was a real chance that Clint was a cat reincarnated; going into your kitchen and knocking down the hung-up mugs, opening the cabinets and marching on the plates when he locks himself in. He’ll scream into the void between the couch and wall, grab at chips or snacks as your bringing them to your mouth. In those few minutes that he’s calm he’ll stay in front of you and just stare;
“Bring mom back, or I’ll tear this house apart.”
The worst? He can speak, but only in Russian. You hadn’t learned what he was saying, but he was likely cursing you out.
Bruce Banner:
She’s a street beggar that had a love for fried chicken. With a meow too high for a cat her age, not caring about dangers and stretching deep. Her front paws against your leg, as though she just happens to be leaning against you.
She does this every day when you pass. Accepting whatever sort of meaty substance you have at the moment. Seeming to glare when you had the audacity to offer a vegetable. At one point she followed after eating the treat, it was a spur of the moment decision to scoop from the old cat, her nails barely pressing into the cloth of your sleeves.
It honestly took a few days before Bruce noticed Peppermint. She was an older cat, her all black coat had some shimmer of gray from age. Long haired and only showed her bratty side at the vet, or when she was being brushed.
You really, really should have told him about her when you first got home. He wasn’t home very often, a little house outside of a city. Even the mildest mannered of the Avengers was almost never home. This was among the excuses you had used for randomly adopting a cat.
“She was alone, like me.” You are a real asshole sometimes.
Of course, you never blamed Bruce for having to be gone. You’ve spent years separated until the Avengers brought you back together, another few more when he disappeared into the sky. Using all that for a cat? She better be one amazing cat.
T’Challa:
The man has battle rhinos, you’d think he could handle a French bulldog.
Cosmo was a spoiled coworker’s birthday present. She lost interest in him after he passed his puppy phase. Her comments about taking him to the shelter had perked your ears, swooping in to save the little boy right behind her.
He’s a real brat, you love him, but he’s the worst.
You’ve just never realized how bad he was until T’challa insisted you visit for a longer period then expected. This was the journey of many firsts for Cosmo; first time on a plane, first time leaving country and the first time in Wakanda. First time meeting Okoye, who just watched this little black ball raise on his paws and stare at her on the plane seat. He growled deep in his throat, whining up at her and she just stared back. Eventually he just started barking, sitting on his butt and barking to the sky. Demanding she pick him up.
She just smiles down at him, head on her hand. Seeing how long this boy was going to whine until he gave up. Cosmo was going the entire flight, Okoye would make a great mother.
Shuri’s face lighting up was worth bringing the little booger along. It wasn’t that there were no small dogs in Wakanda, or that she didn’t know what a French bull dog was, it was just a breed that wasn’t necessary to adopt from the outside world. With both hands she holds him up to her face, more than willing to watch him while you met up with T’challa.
His face looking at Cosmo was one of “What did you bring into my home?”
And he kept that face every time Cosmo stared up at him with that old man wheezing. Or when Cosmo would take a sock from those placed out, running from the room with it like he had just robbed a bank. His worst offense is to have the audacity to squeeze his firry butt between you and T’chall at night. Too deep in sleep to hear the names your man was calling your second favorite boy.
Pietro Maximoff
Nothing can cement a person to one place like a sleeping pet.
They’ve been stuck to the same spot for the past hour. The black and white husky resting her head on his lap, one paw over the knee as a way to say “please, don’t move.”
Pietro’s face was annoyed, but his dominate hand kept a good rhythm of petting Savannah’s head. The other flicked through channels, occasionally looking your way. Maybe to see what you were doing (still on the laptop), maybe to look for help. Not that you’d ever mess with your copper and white colored princess.
She would nip at your legs, howl and scream when the food would take too long. Keeping Pietro wrapped around her paw whenever he left the house. Growling low in her throat when he’d tell her no. She would do this until he grabbed her leash, muttering in his mother language as she wiggled with excitement.
Peter Parker:
Peter held the little guy way too close to his face. Looking at the white and fawn spotted bunny in his hands, inspecting him as though he might not have been an actual rabbit. In his defense Happy was cute little guy.
It was like a divorce from a marriage that never happened. Happy was a plan that took weeks in the making. Infecting each other with the Bun disease after watching one too many “how to care for your rabbit” videos in the wee hours of the morning. He spent most his life at your place, taking him Peter’s a few times a week during “Dates”.
It wasn’t that Aunt May had explicably said no, she just gestured around the apartment. “We barely fit in here.” The woman was immune to the bunny charms, still more than willing to hold him, though. Making kissy noises and cooing.
This was Happy’s life now. Seeing his Daddy every “date” night. The two of your sitting across from each other on the floor, legs stretching out for your feet to be flat against each other. Creating a tiny carrel for Happy to choose which parent he will be cuddled by.
Stephen Strange:
It wasn’t so much Stephen had said no that Wong did. He had the look of a man who had seen the effects of cats on old books and birds in wide open areas. Dogs don’t seem to be on the list of preferred pets for those working in mystic arts. They’re too good for them, anyway.
“It’s good karma,” You had said, door chiming when opened.
“Karma’s not real, Sweetie,” The nickname of condescension.
“You’re fucking attitude is. Hi, Marisa.”
There is probably a reason dogs aren’t chosen for mystic arts. They’re too much of a distraction, spending hours with these girls and boys. Filling bowls, washing cages and scrubbing puppies cleaned the soul.
Stephen had stood off to the side at first. One of those poor kids whose parents had never let him have a real pet (maybe a fish, but you can’t pet a fish). Slowly getting more accommodated with the dogs getting too excited around him. Then he met Beorn, the adult male Newfoundland who was getting on in age.
Because of his age he wasn’t the first option for adoption, a mass of black hair laying in his cage. Beorn nudged against his hand, a deep noise at the back of his throat that said, “I’m old and deserve pets. Get to it, youngster.”
Stephen’s hands disappeared into the black mass. Reaching for miles before he found the body and Beorn groaned at the attention. Stephen fell in love with him at that moment. Going with you to the shelter and just so happen to wander towards Beorn. Taking credit for volunteering while he only stays with this old bear.
“I want him,” He one day admitted on the way home.
“Talk to your work-husband.”
Matt Murdock:
“I don’t need a service dog,” He says.
“I’ll pay for it.” You says.
“Sweetie, Angel, no.” The double pet name. It’s on now.
“Come, how’d you get that busted lip?”
Thug two was quieter than thug one
“Walked into a door.” He says.
“And your ribs?”
Big crow-bar, bigger guy
“Went hard into a table.”
“You know what can keep you from doing that? A service animal.” Beers clink between your fingers while walking into the room.
“I have you for that.” He says.
“Wow,” You keep the bottle from his hands. Setting it on the coffee table instead.
“I didn’t mean that,” He reaches for the bottle. Missing by a few inches, leaning forward and pushing it gently into his hands. “I think the cane says I’m blind enough. I don’t have time for it either.”
“Dogs are suffering you know,” a drink of beer. You’re planning something. “And their shelter is underfunded.”
There it is; his little, bleeding heart, angel. “What do they need?”
“Lawyer on retainer, paperwork and stuff. “Another drink, a louder gulp. You hardly ever asked for anything, let alone a legal favor. “All your clients with them will be innocent. Ya know?”
Matt nods, “Foggy’ll love it.”
------------------------
Carol Danvers:
“This is just a favor to a friend,” Mr. Fury says walking with you through the house.
Middle of nowhere was an understatement, surrounded by fields owned by no one and woods belonging to the deer. You should probably ask if there was wifi in the place. That the phone line is connected out here is a serious long shot.
“In exchange for that favor,” You’ve only known this man for a few hours. Long enough for car ride and brief introduction that told you nothing but his name. In that time, you have learned he seemed to like being dramatic. Grabbing the carrier on the kitchen table and setting it on the floor with a clunk for dramatics. “He’s your problem now.”
The orange kitty inside obviously didn’t share Mr. Fury’s love for dramatics. Just sitting in the loaf position inside of his crate, barely acknowledging that he now had a way to roam around.
“Carol has a cat?” You ask.
The floor creaks as you squat down to see inside the crate better. Cat now acting like you meant nothing to him while he stretches out. Walking out and sniffing your outstretched fingers. A purr deep in his throat gets louder when he rubs against them, spinning to trail his tail between your fingers.
“He’s more then that. Just make sure he’s in front of your if they break in here.” Mr. Fury says, holding out a card to you. “When that happens give me a call.”
-----------------
Shang-Chi:
It takes a minute to realize that a turtle had made it’s home in Shang’s apartments. It’s enclosure blending a little too well with the shelves, lamps and junk that decorated Shang’s living space.
“That’s Sheldon-.” Shang begins.
“LAME!” Yells Katy from the couch.
“-Xialing gave him to me a bit ago. She said he ‘matched the décor and my attitude.’ Whatever that means.”
Seeing Sheldon making his way around the room. You had to agree. Especially as it was a pancake tortoise that moved around faster than you’d assume it to be.
Now that you knew Sheldon was there he was hard to miss. He walked through the tiles of the kitchen when let out of his enclosure and chilled on the carpet when Shang would get ready in the morning.
“I thought I was your pushup cheerleader.” You said one morning from your shared bed.
It was a blessing and a curse that Shang used pushups to wake up in the morning. A blessing because who doesn’t like to wake up to a beautiful view? And a curse because of the constant suggestion that you join him.
This morning he was doing the set as usual. With Sheldon choosing to hang out right under his owner. Completely confident in his dad’s ability to not just slam to the ground.
#Avengers#avengers x reader#avengers x you#DareDevil#matt murdock x reader#matt murdock x you#Bruce banner x reader#thor x reader#steve rogers x reader#stephen strange x reader#tony stark x reader#Natasha romanoff x reader#peter parker x reader#t'challa x reader#bucky barns x reader#pets#requested#pietro maximoff#pietro maximoff x reader#carol danvers#Carol danvers x reader#Captain Marvel x reader#Shang-Chi#Shang chi x reader#Shang chi x you
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☯ + the moment Baelfire found the picture of Milah on Hook's desk.
Days then months. Months then years. Baelfire had been aboard the Jolly Roger for what now felt like centuries. At first, Bae thought he’d rather be anywhere but on the wooden vessel. He thought he’d rather be drowning again in the middle of the ocean being eaten by mermaids than on a ship with a bunch of pirates.
Pirates killed his mother. Pirates are the reason that his Papa never let him go swimming or go explore beyond where he could see. Pirates are the reason his childhood was taken from him because the minute his mother died was the minute Baelfire’s innocence also died.
Pirates were why his Papa was the Dark One. Pirates ruined his life.
As time had ticked on for the boy, he found that this ship was full of very different pirates from what his Papa had filled his head with stories of. His Papa had told him stories of vicious, killing pirates that didn’t do anything kind to people. He told him stories of pirates that stole and treated people like them like scum. This ship was different. Captain Hook was kind to him, treated him like he was his own son. Gave him clothes, taught him how to sail… Showed him that pirates are not everything his Papa made him believe in his stories. After all this time, Baelfire began to see the Jolly Roger as more than just a pirate ship, but his home. He thought he could never find a place that felt like home as much as the Darling’s home, but he was mistaken.
While Hook was out commanding his ship, Baelfire thought he would explore the lower decks a bit. Normally, he only went where he was told but as a fourteen-year-old boy often does, he let his curiosity get the better of him as he roamed into the Captain’s quarters.
The first thing he saw, a sword. A big, long one at that. With much care, as he done during all their sword fighting lessons, Baelfire slowly drew the sword from the sheath and held it in his grasp. In the sunlight, the silver object shined like the hook the pirate captain dawned. It was beautiful. Bae had never seen anything this beautiful before in his life beside his Mama’s smile.
Sword in hand, Baelfire continued his exploration of the Captain’s quarters. Different jewels, trophies the boy could only imagine came from all of Hook’s adventures littered the place with grace. He walked around the desk and Bae saw something out of the corner of his eye—a corner of parchment peeking out of a corner of a drawer. Scrunching his eyebrows together in question, the lad slowly opened the drawer to reveal what exactly it was that was begging to be found. His eyes widened in shock as Baelfire’s whole world came crashing to a halt. For there, in that drawer was a self portrait of a woman he’d know anywhere – his mother.
In that moment, Baelfire saw nothing but red as his heart brought out feelings he had not felt since his Papa had abandoned him in the Enchanted Forest. Anger. Heartbreak. Sadness. Betrayal. In truth, that list could go on for years. His chest rose and fell as he shakily picked the picture up from the drawer and brought it close. It really was her, but why did he have it? Unless-… Unless…
Without another thought, Baelfire tore to the main deck with the sword in one hand and her picture in the other. Tears lined his Papa’s rich brown eyes as he charged at Killian in full force and swung his sword.
“FACE ME, VILLAIN!”
“What’s this about, Bae?”
“I found this… In your desk.” He panted, looking down at the image in his hand. His heart was pounding at a mile a minute, his head screaming for him to know the truth. “It’s-…It’s my mother. How did you get it!?” The boy hissed.
“Bae-”
“HOW?!?” He swung his sword again, this time more blindly as tears clouded his vision. “You’re the pirate that killed her!” He screamed through his throat that now burned as he tried to hold back from sobbing right then and there. Another swing and this time the sword was gripped by a hook and hurled across the ship and for a brief moment Baelfire just stood there frozen as tears trickled down his pale cheeks and onto the picture of his mother.
“I didn’t…Kill your mother… We fell in love…”
The boy’s eyes softened as Jones began to tell his side of the story. His chest rose and fell as confusion filled the young boy. His whole life, his Papa had told him that pirates were the reason his Mama had died. His whole life, he was told that pirates were awful, dangerous people that didn’t deserve happy endings.
“We ran off together… .”
Yet, as Killian knelt in front of him and looked into his eyes with the same ocean colored ones his Mama had Baelfire knew that, in that moment, his Papa had been wrong about pirates.
“…Your father lied to you. He was too much of a coward to tell you the truth! He tore her heart out and crushed it in front of me, and I’ve spent every moment since then wanting revenge.”
As Baelfire stood there letting the tears trickle down his face, he lost track of what he was supposed to believe anymore. Killian had solved the issue as to how she died. All those years ago, his Papa had told him that pirates had killed his mother, but after hearing what Killian had to say and going back over everything he witnessed from his Papa after he became the Dark One, it became clear that the real villain in his life was his Papa.
“She abandoned me…” Bae said quietly, keeping his broken eyes fixed on Killian’s.
“Not a single day passed when your mother didn’t regret abandoning you, Baelfire. We talked about going back for you when you’re old enough. Perhaps fate brought us together so I can make good on those plans.”
Killian reached for Bae’s hand as he looked at the boy who was the spitting image of the woman he loved, “We can live the life that MIlah wanted for us as a family.”
As if like clockwork, Baelfire jerked himself back Killian violently. His heart was telling him no. Killian wasn’t all good, either. His Papa was bad, but he was just as guilty. “No! Stay back. You used me!” He breathed heavily, the tears flooding down his cheeks again, “You wanted to kill my father!”
“Yes, I did…”
“You tore apart my family… As sure as if you tore her heart out yourself.” The lad came to his own conclusions, his own thoughts. Not only had his father destroyed their family by his own hands, but this pirate was just as guilty. As he stood with his heart breaking, his hands trembling and his mind racing he decided…
“Bae, don’t-…”
“I want off this ship…” Then what he said next spat off of Bae’s lips harder than any word he had ever said before, “…Pirate.”
With no more words to say, the devastated brunette walked off to go back to his cabin and pack the few things he had on the ship and a few other things. He no longer considered the Jolly Roger home. He no longer considered any adult in his life to be one he could trust. He’d rather face the world alone, than let that pirate, his Papa or his mother help him ever again.
/ / @justmilah & @rumdaydreams
#{ooc}Y'ALL OUT HERE KILLING ME! EXCUSE YOU!?#Anonymous#{answered}#v:The Pirate's Life for Me#answered meme#{Baelfire answered}
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Searching - Chapter 1
The last time I wrote about Eisuke, I’d met someone in my travels who inspired the story. This one comes from a similar place, and I hope you’ll enjoy. Should be the first part of something short again. Let me know if you want to be tagged.
I’d woken up extra early and made my way downstairs to the cafe, in order to grab a coffee and emotionally regroup before my day started. I brought my small bag with my planner, pen, and of course camera, as I found a cozy corner to sit in.
The hotel cafe was sparsely populated, and I figured it wouldn’t be long until a waiter brought over my drink. In the meantime, I took out my things and leafed through my schedule as I examined what was on the docket today, not to mention the month to come.
I wasn’t an alcoholic, but looking at my calendar I found myself whispering, “one day at a time,” incredibly overwhelmed by the amount I needed to do in the weeks to come.
This current week in Tokyo was jam packed with planning and photoshoots with well known models before I was set to head north and do a few shoots before returning for another two weeks before ultimately flying home to the states. For years I’d hoped for this kind of opportunity and this kind of life, but now that it was happening I found myself having second thoughts.
Being on the move made it hard to put down roots.
I’d been single for almost 3 years and I’d always figured I’d start dating once my life calmed down. What I hadn’t anticipated was that the opposite would happen. Like a snowball rolling down a hill, my career seemed to grow exponentially with every job and pick up speed until I had the choice to either quit completely or accept that this was my life.
I was grateful for the fact that success in this area of my life had allowed me to transform my hobby of snapping photos with friends to traveling the world on someone else’s dime. I currently lived a life full of expensing fancy dinners and making more money than I’d ever dreamed. I wasn’t a billionaire by any means, but I had more money in the bank than my grandmother who immigrated to the states could have ever wrapped her head around.
People say that money can’t solve your problems, but I figured that money could help with the quest to find me a steady boyfriend.
I employed a matchmaking service back in New York for almost ten thousand dollars with the hope that would understand my criteria and find me the perfect husband without much work on my end. I simply didn’t have the time to go on first date after first date that didn’t go anywhere and I did want to be married one day.
Though I knew I was not nearly as attractive as the models I was paid to capture, I believed myself to be more attractive than the matches they sent my way. Before I’d left New York for my one month tour of Japan, I’d demanded that they do better as they tried to persuade me I’d set the bar impossibly high.
“That’s absurd,” I’d snapped back. “You’ve seen the pictures of my exes and the guys I date. I’m sure these guys are lovely but I can’t help the fact I am completely unattracted to them.”
My matchmaker protested gently, “I’ve been doing this for a long time - sometimes someone isn’t attractive at the start but they grow on you…”
“No. I know myself well enough to know that won’t happen here. Even when I’ve had that experience they haven’t necessarily been my type or what I’m used to but they’re still attractive and there’s still SOMETHING that drew me to them…not like this.”
I felt awful having to admit how superficial I was at the end of the day but I also knew that I didn’t have the time to waste on a lackluster first date with a man whose appearance I found slovenly and unappealing.
I didn’t care that he was a business owner and had a penthouse - I wasn’t trying to be his trophy wife.
I was becoming my own rich man, as Cher would say.
“But if you just gave him a try…”
“No. I’m sorry but no. It’s not nice for me to go feeling this way and I’m leaving for a month as is. I’m not wasting his time or mine and I hope when I return you have someone that’s more in line with my preferences.”
I felt like a diva but I was too busy to mask my annoyance. I was in the business of always delivering for my clients.
I was theirs and they owed it to me.
I rubbed my eyes, still feeling the jet lag from when I’d arrived and made a few notes in my planner. Scout today. Shoot tomorrow and Wednesday. Review retouching Thursday and Friday. Fly out Saturday.
Rinse.
Repeat.
I sighed, knowing full well that I craved a vacation where I could actually enjoy Tokyo instead of being shuttled around in town-cars for work.
“Everything alright?”
I looked up and saw the smiling face of a middle aged man who worked for the hotel.
“Yes, everything’s fine - there’s just a lot to do.”
“Should I arrange for any of the hotel’s spa services for you?”
“No, that’s alright. Thank you…Mr. Kenzaki,” I said, taking note of his employee name-tag.
“Of course. Just let me know if there’s anything I can do to make your stay here more enjoyable.”
“May I take your photo?”
He’d started to walk away when I’d asked, and at first he appeared shy, almost apprehensive as if I were asking him to tell me something incredibly personal. I suppose taking a photograph of someone is incredibly personal, at least, someone once said that about my work long ago.
“You don’t have to,” I quickly added. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
“No, that’s quite alright. Go ahead.”
I took out my small point and shoot that I used for fun, and framed him up dead center with the cafe’s arch creating a sense of symmetry around him as identically set tables almost created a look as if there were a mirror effect taking place in the image.
He looked stiff and uncomfortable and to get what I wanted I asked, “Mr. Kenzaki, have you always had that haircut?”
For an instant he looked vulnerable and I snapped the photo before he replied.
“Yes. For some time now at least - why do you ask?”
“It suits you. You appear to be a very capable, organized individual and your appearance reflects this. Thank you for letting me take your photo.”
He nodded but I could see that he was slightly unsettled as he walked away and once out of sight I looked at the image on my screen. There was something incredibly boyish in his face that captured who he once was in a moment of who he’d become.
“You’re as good as they say you are,” said a voice behind me, and I looked up to see a man looking at the camera’s digital screen over my shoulder.
I found it odd that someone would recognize me, but having worked at this level for the past few years with several international showcases it wasn’t implausible enough to alarm me.
“Thanks I guess.”
“I thought you’d have a much more professional setup though…”
“I do. This is just when I am trying to enjoy the process - when it’s not work. There’s something freeing about not having so much equipment.”
The man scowled and I was uncertain as to what in my statement had rubbed him the wrong way.
“Work is work, not play. There is only joy in the capital gained from it.”
“Perhaps for you, but there was once joy in what I did and I’m trying to find it again. Have a good day.”
With that, I started to leave. I’d drained my coffee and a car would be here soon enough to take me to scout several outdoor locations where we’d be working tomorrow.
“Won’t you take my photo?”
I turned around and looked at him. It was obvious that whoever he was, he’d built up so many walls that getting him to expose who he really was would take more time than I had. An offhanded comment would not crack this man as it had Mr. Kenzaki.
“I do, but right now I don’t have the time.”
“Later then? When you return?”
Puzzled, I raised an eyebrow and said, “I don’t know - I’ll see how I feel. It’s not just snapping a photo for me you know. It’s more than that.”
He started to say something but then pursed his lips and nodded.
“Okay.”
I thought about the oddity of that interaction for most of the day.
I had a translator, 2 assistants, and a creative director with me at all times for the bulk of the scout and it took us most of the day to finalize the schedule for the following 2 days. They took me around and to places most Americans would never get to visit but I still felt as if I had to be my professional self versus my real one.
I had to remain upbeat and excited, grateful for the opportunity, and impressed by all the city had to offer while simultaneously creating shot lists in my head that I’d frantically jot down in notebooks while their backs were turned.
My phone informed me that I’d done about 10 miles of walking by the time the day was over and after a fairly luxurious dinner with the creative team and translator in which I walked everyone through the plan for the following days I found myself spent.
There was a sense of relief as I kicked off my shoes and walked into my hotel suite, prepared to order some late night dessert from room service and soak in the tub before I turned in on the early side. I chucked once more thinking about the man I’d met who wanted his photo taken, and wondered if he was going to be in the cafe tomorrow morning with the hope I’d photograph him.
As I waited for my cake, I lay on the couch in my suite and connected my phone to wifi, allowing for iMessages and WhatsApp notifications to flood my phone from the states.
My friend was getting married.
My other friend had given birth.
People missed me.
My mom wanted to know if I was doing ok.
And my manager had put me up for a few additional jobs in Asia that could potentially extend my stay up to two months and I felt annoyed at the fact that he hadn’t run the idea by me first, seeing as how I was already tired and wanting to go home.
I felt too tired to reply and lazily tossed my phone onto the table next to me before I closed my eyes to rest.
I hoped to quiet the thoughts swirling in my head, but all that I could think about was how lonely this new life of mine felt. I managed to be around people all the time and yet I was close to no one these days. My friends had all moved forward into new chapters of their lives and I felt as if I were being left behind.
No one pitied me or had any idea I felt this way. To them I was their fabulous photo friend who rubbed shoulders with the rich and famous and updated my instagram with a steady stream of exotic photos. On paper it looked as if I had it all, but in my heart there was a hole.
The longer I sat with these feelings, the more confused and hopeless I felt. It wasn’t long before the mix of melancholy and exhaustion had silent tears streaming town my cheeks.
I felt as if I had one foot in my old life and one foot in the new one - resisting the fact that I was someone who would be gone for months at a time and who would be unable as a result to cultivate new relationships. And to add insult to injury, what was once fun had started to feel like work in all areas.
I couldn’t just snap a picture anymore for fun. My pictures were scrutinized. They were shared. They were representing my brand and therefore they couldn’t be flawed.
I missed being able to shoot freely and make mistakes and not have this reputation - albeit a good one.
Too good in fact.
The bar kept getting set higher and higher and all I wanted was the freedom to make art the way I did when I was first starting.
A knock on my door interrupted my stormy thoughts and I hastily wiped my tears before asking, “Who is it?”
“Room service.”
I’d forgotten about the cake.
I made my way to the door, unconcerned with my appearance and opened it to discover the man from the morning awkwardly holding a piece of cake.
“You…don’t usually do this, do you?” I found myself asking.
“I do not.”
I chuckled and took the cake, hanging my head a bit in the hopes I could extricate myself from the conversation without having to acknowledge the feelings that had come before.
“Do I have to sign anything?”
“No. I…Are you alright?”
There was something clumsy about the way he asked me.
“Just an off day. Thanks for the cake,” I said scanning for his employee badge.
“Eisuke Ichinomiya. I own the hotel.”
“Well, thank you for personally delivering it.”
“I have ulterior motives. I want you to take my picture.”
“Yeah, I kind of got that earlier. Why?”
“Because they say you capture the essence of who someone is.”
“Thank you. But if you want a professional shoot contact my agent and they’ll…”
“I need you to help me understand who I am.”
His voice was quiet when he said it, but there was a humility behind those words that I hadn’t seen before in him. Now that I was looking at him, it was fair to say he quite handsome. Though guarded, there was an elegance and masculinity about him that would make for a good subject and knowing that he was a powerful man I suddenly shifted in what this photograph could do for me.
If I could capture a king looking as lost as he did now, I could take my career somewhere else perhaps.
I could maybe even afford to be more selective with my jobs.
The universe had brought me a gift, but I would soon see that it was not going to be what I initially thought.
Please like/share/comment if you enjoyed the story or buy me a kofi!
READ CHAPTER 2
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Yuletide 2018
Requests:
Spinning Silver (Naomi Novik) - Irina / Mirnatius
The Lost Fleet series (Jack Campbell) - CEO Jason Boyens
Wheel of Time (Robert Jordan) - Logain Ablar
My AO3 username: morganstern
Dear author,
Thanks for writing a fic for me this holiday season!
Here are the 3 fandoms I requested this year. My prompts are mostly about suggesting possible directions for a fic, and brainstorming about what I like about the characters. If you have an idea that I didn’t list here, feel free to run with it!
Spinning Silver (Naomi Novik)
Irina / Mirnatius
I enjoyed watching Mirnatius's emotions toward Irina evolve from a resigned apathy to frustrated, fearful bewilderment to a terrified awe. Irina may have saved his life and his soul, but how are things going to stand between them in the aftermath of the canon events? I'd estimate that his stunned gratitude lasts for a total of half a day at the absolute outside, before his suspicious and cynical instincts lead him to the conclusion that there's no reason for Irina's supposed plans for his future (one, at most two heirs, then a knife in the back for him and a cosy regency for her family) to have changed.
How will Mirnatius, who has probably never trusted anyone in his entire life, going to deal with Irina continuing to competently take over the responsibilities of state? Power and obligations that he doesn't want and is 100% unequipped to deal with, but the loss of which means that his position is even weaker. How does he heal with overtures of kindness and affection from Irina (now that her own conscience will finally allow her to offer them), when he is desperate for both of those things, but also alert to every scrap of possible evidence that she is intending to seduce and then kill him?
I see Irina taking a little while to catch on to Mirnatius's concerns, since from her perspective with the demon gone she'd be quite happy to settle down for the long term doing all the admin work, while her pretty trophy husband is free to spend his days sketching flowers and fashion designs in the garden. Irina's father, on the other hand, is likely to be thinking along the same lines as Mirnatius. Does Irina think to explain to her father that, no, she'd actually prefer that her husband not suffer any tragic accidents… and if so, does her father listen to her?
I'd expect Mirnatius to have a number of issues when it comes to sexual intimacy (indicated pretty clearly in the book). And that's even without his acute awareness that once Irina produces an heir, he himself is superfluous to her and to her father. What happens once Irina begins to address the urgent need for a royal heir? Does Mirnatius find another Tatar-looking soldier to assign to Irina's guard so she can take care of the problem and leave him out of it... only to find himself coming down with unexplained stomachaches that are absolutely not due to jealousy, every time Irina comes within 50 feet of her new guard?
The Lost Fleet series (Jack Campbell)
Jason Boyens
"How ex-CEO Jason Boyens learned to stop worrying worry less and love not living under an authoritarian police state"
Boyens is just a tiny bit of a weasel, but I love him. I was intrigued by his character when he was introduced - someone pretty decent for a Syndicate CEO, even if he doesn't buy into all of this 'democracy' propaganda nonsense yet. Willing to stick his neck out for the sake of the star systems he was assigned to defend, even though that put him at risk both from (as he had every reason to expect) the Alliance and especially from the Syndics themselves (who tend to frown on anything smelling of collaboration with the enemy).
He didn't have many scenes, but the important aspects of his character were clearly drawn. CEOs can lie like no one else, but Boyens was introduced to us via his actions, ones that entailed a direct risk to himself. So I was extremely frustrated when he turned up with a new fleet, talking like a pompous asshole and threatening to bomb Midway system. It contradicted everything firm that we knew about Boyens, and seemed like lazy characterization used just to further the plot. When he defected to Midway and later turned out to have previously been under duress, I was gleefully satisfied at having been proven right.
How is he doing on Ulindi? It would be fun to see a post-canon look at his adjustment process (original characters welcome). How does he get along with Iceni and Drakon now? Or, if he ever runs into Geary again, how does that awkward conversation with a confused Geary go?
Would also love seeing some past offscreen events from his POV. What was going through his mind after the defeat of the Reserve Flotilla, when he decided to risk himself by trying to bargain with the Alliance? How was his stay in custody on the voyage with the Alliance fleet to fight the Enigmas? How did his interrogations with Allied intelligence go? What happened back in the central Syndicate system after he was returned from Midway the first time… or when he returned there after his failure under Happy Hua's command?
Wheel of Time series (Robert Jordan)
Logain Ablar
This series has so many characters. SO. MANY. And out of all those ~500k named characters, Logain is my favorite. He is extremely proud and stubborn. He loves drama and has always craved power. However, his abundant potential to be the most Extra person in canon is curtailed by the fact that he is also burdened by a large amount of common sense, calulating practicality, a strict ethical code, and a firm sense of kindness and decency. He has been through like 90% of the unpleasant things that the world could possibly throw at him, and has always come out the other side with his self and his moral code intact.
I also just love how absolutely Done he is with Rand's bullshit once they work together directly. Like, to the extent that he is forced to side with Cadsuane in an argument.
Rand: *mutters out loud to the voices in his head, almost turns everything in a 5 mile radius into a glowing crater*
Logain: *stares into the camera like he's on The Office*
I mainly want a glimpse at how Logain is doing now that the Last Battle is over. He hasn't had a chance to process anything since escaping from Taim. I feel that now that the fighting is over, the minute he stops to rest, all of his demons are going to come out at once, like they almost did during the battle itself. I'd love to see him work through some of the various traumas, especially with help from another person - since a good part of those issues are rooted in his feelings of isolation and his fear of others. Gabrelle, Cadsuane, Pevara, Min, Elayne, someone else?
What does Gabrelle actually feel for him, and vice versa? I'm pretty sure neither of them have any idea during the canon period, with both the problem of the one-sided bond and the general landslide of events. (I found it a little ironic that he was hurt by the fact that Gabrelle was jealous of Toveine for being released from her bond to him… when Logain himself would never in a million years willingly suffer such a bond being placed on him for even five minutes.) I have an image of him releasing her from the bond during a general normalization of relationships with the White Tower, or offering to do so... and then her coming back and hammering some sense into his head. Personally, I don't know how well their relationship would hold up for the long haul, but I believe that there is genuine fondness and affection. I think that Gabrelle also knows him better than anyone else alive, and
I love the fact that Logain is going to have to deal with Cadsuane as his counterpart in the White Tower after the Last Battle. The upcoming M'hael-Amyrlin meetings are going to be FANTASTIC. Equal parts tea, embarrassing stories from That One Time he tried to conquer the world, general roasting, and unsubtle inquiries about his mental stability. Would not put it past her to kidnap him and hold an intervention if she thought it necessary.
A helpful list of the most important scenes with Logain (at least IMO), since the series is just SO LONG:
The Shadow Rising, chapter 47 (escape from the White Tower)
The Fires of Heaven, chapters 26-28 (arrival at Salidar)
Lord of Chaos, chapters 8 (Logain's audience with Altaran nobles), 29-30 (Nynaeve heals Logain - "Is that what she says she did?"), 52 (Egwene talks to Logain and arranges his escape)
Winter's Heart, Prologue (Toveine thinks of nothing but murder all day)
Crossroads of Twilight, Prologue (Gabrelle thinks about Great Sex)
Knife of Dreams, chapters 18-19 (Cadsuane, Min and Logain gang up on Rand to convince him not to wipe them all of the face of the earth), 22 (meeting with the Sea Folk)
A Memory of Light, chapters 4 (failed rescue attempt), 14 (escape), 30 (attack by lava), 37 (The Last Battle: several scenes), 43 (Temptation), 48 (Concerning Whether It Is Better To Be Loved Than Feared)
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Real Life Sleeping Beauty
Chapter Three
<PREVIOUS || NEXT>
Summary: Akaashi, now sixteen, is excited to become a first year. His biggest fear is that his KLS will inhibit him, especially in his chances of making the volleyball team. He wants nothing more than to be a normal teenager. And maybe he can be, with some help along the way.
(AN: tw panic/anxiety attack)
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“HEY, HEY, HEY! AKAASHI!” Bokuto screamed up at Akaashi from the bottom of the club room stairs. His streaked hair flopped slightly as he took the steps two at a time, landing somewhat unsteadily beside Akaashi. He draped an arm over Akaashi’s shoulder, likely a last ditch effort to stablalize himself, and scanned quickly over the list.
“Congratulations, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi said with a small nod.
“Oho ho ho! I told you you would make it, ‘Kaashi!” His grin was blinding, eyes crinkled against the force of his own joy.
“Yes, Bokuto-san, but you didn’t tell me you would be Vice Captain.”
Bokuto’s head snapped back to the list so fast, Akaashi thought it could’ve gone around full circle. He watched those golden eyes practically bulge out of his head, hair grow impossibly fluffier, jaw drop low enough for Akaashi to see all his teeth. And then a piercing screech erupted from the taller, supposedly older, boy.
“AHGKAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASHIIIII!!!!!!!!!!”
Bokuto kept darting his head between the door and Akaashi, not sure which to focus on, before finally locking gold on green and grabbing Akaashi’s shoulders in both hands. He shook him around like a rag doll. Akaashi couldn’t even hear his own protests over the sound of his brain rattling in his skull. His eyes started to roll in his head with each jolt back and forth. The final shake launched Akaashi forward into Bokuto’s very broad, very defined chest, arms roping around his middle like a vice. All he could manage was a muffled, “Bokuto-san,” before Bokuto started yelling again.
“AKAASHI, I DIDN’T TELL YOU BECAUSE I DIDN’T KNOW IT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN!!!! AAAAAGHHHHAHAHAHA! WE HAVE TO GO CELEBRATE!”
Bokuto then took to leaping around in a circle, finally releasing Akaashi from his death grip only to reattach himself to Akaashi’s wrist. He’d never felt fragile before, but Bokuto’s huge hands made Akaashi fear for the safety of his wrist. He dragged his free fingers through his hair and huffed. His face fell back to flat.
“We still have to attend class today, Bokuto-san.”
His honey eyes sobered immediately.
“You’re right.” His brows plummeted down his forehead, face squinching in thought, hand flying from Akaashi’s wrist to cup his own chin. After a few minutes, he snapped his fingers into finger guns directly in Keiji’s blank face. He didn’t flinch. “Well, how about we celebrate after practice, Akaashi! What do you say? I know a really good yakiniku place not too far from school, we could walk there!”
In less than a second, Keiji weighed the pros and cons, mulling it over and coming to the conclusion that bonding with the team ace would probably be a good idea. He would be setting primarily to him.
“Sure, I’ll go.”
“WOOHOOO!!” Bokuto took to prancing in a circle again, coming to a stop only so he could fist bump the air vigorously.
Akaashi didn’t know how to react to that, but he assumed people eventually got used to his endless energy.
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By the middle of practice, Akaashi was wishing he could go back in time and eat his own words— or, well, thoughts. He knew being the only setter was gonna be hard work, and he was by no means in bad shape, but Bokuto didn’t know what the word quit meant. It looked like each good spike only succeeded in giving him more energy. Akaashi was running around like a chicken with his head cut off. He had to admit, for all his rambling, Bokuto was a good leader. But Akaashi could feel his muscles starting to ache from the strain. He couldn’t believe he was hoping they’d run laps or start receive drills again.
During water break, Akaashi approached Bokuto for a change.
“Bokuto-san, can I ask you something?”
Bokuto’s thousand watt smile smacked Akaashi across the face as he spun on his heels to face him. Water dribbled out of the side of his mouth to run down his shirt front.
“Of course, Akaashi! Anything for my beloved first years!”
Akaashi decided against bringing attention to the fact that he was the only first year, eye twitching slightly as Bokuto took to bouncing on his toes. Which brought Akaashi’s mind back to his question.
“Where do you get so much energy?”
Bokuto flopped his head to the side almost curiously except for the fact that his teeth flashed brighter with a widening smile.
“Well, actually, I go on a run every morning for about eight or so miles. Just to get my blood pumping a little before morning practice.” His hands smacked his face and then waved manically in front of him, a short groan escaping from low in his throat. “Don’t tell Coach, though, I promised not to over exert myself! It’s not really over exertion, though, because it doesn’t make me tired anymore! Trust me!”
Akaashi blinked at him for a few seconds. Maybe hours. He wasn’t really sure at this point. His brain had gone completely blank, eight or so miles bouncing for an indeterminate amount of time between his ears. Externally, he looked the same as always, stoic face unchanging, but he was freaking out on the inside. Guess I should start running, he thought once his mind started functioning again. A little voice in the back of his head complained that he still felt weird; he chose to ignore it.
“I’m sure that’s true. I won’t tell Coach, Bokuto-san. Thank you,” he spoke to his shoes with a curt nod. He didn’t notice the small upturn of his lips, and Bokuto wasn’t yet experienced enough to know the full weight of his smirk. Akaashi didn’t hear the “No, thank you ‘Kaashi!” as he stood back up, didn’t sense the eyes on his back as he walked away, didn’t feel fully present as Coach whistled for the end of break.
Practice finished with partner passing drills, and they were finally free. It was 5 o’clock. Bokuto was practically vibrating with excitement, shouting that he had an announcement for the team.
“I wanna celebrate the new team, and let us all get to know our new kouhai a little bit better, so what about we all go out for dinner together!? What do you say?”
No one could deny Bokuto with that childlike light burning in his eyes, not that anyone wanted to to begin with. A hearty yes resounded through the gym, and the team seemed to have newfound energy in cleaning up. Akaashi was looking forward to it that much more. His lips felt a little wobbly at all the smiles directed his way throughout the tear down process. Maybe I can have real friends for once. He excused himself to the bathroom before he could make himself cry, hiding the sting behind splashes of cold water. An alert went up in his brain that he was being too emotive; he assumed it was just from beginning to find his groove with the new team. He headed into the locker room to find everyone had already begun getting changed. Hurriedly he followed suit, dressing back into his uniform before anyone else. He set his bag in front of his locker. There was something he needed to do before they left, for his own peace of mind.
“I’ll be back, I have to speak to Coach. You all can go on with out me,” Akaashi said before leaving the locker room. He didn’t wait for a response; he would meet them there. It would be fine. It’s gonna be fine. He kept that looping in his head. He felt shakier than normal, feeling too much at once, his heart racing a little too fast as he made the trek to Coach Yamiji’s office. The door had materialized in front of him before he could wonder any longer why he was feeling everything so sharply. He knocked before stepping inside.
“Hi, Coach. I wanted to talk to you a little bit before we get too far into the season.”
“Of course, Akaashi. What’s on your mind?”
Akaashi took a seat in front of his desk, momentarily letting himself be distracted by the shelves of trophies, the walls lined with plaques and news headlines, the hooks mounted with medals. His thumbs twirled like dancers about each other, without his control.
“Well, I believe you know about my... condition?”
He hesitated to glance upward, getting a singular nod in response.
“I just wanted to talk to you about this, or, well my, disease a little, if that’s ok? I don’t really have control over my episodes. I take medication to help prevent episodes or put them off for as long as possible, but ultimately they come over me randomly. I know I’m a liability to the team, but I want nothing more than to play. But if at any point you decide it would be better if I—“
“Akaashi, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I need to tell you something before you finish that sentence. I wouldn’t have chosen you for this team if I didn’t think it would be worth it. I knew about your disease the second you turned in your application. I have to say, I was a little skeptical at first. But, after the skill, the hard work, I saw at the tryout and at practice today, I have no doubt in my mind that this team needs you. I researched as much as I could about Kleine-Levin Syndrome, and I want you to know that whatever happens, we’ll work through it. I believe in you, and I want you to know that if anything bad happens, it’s not your fault. No one on this team will blame you—“ Akaashi’s eyes widened, mouth opening, but Coach continued on— “And before you ask, I haven’t told them about your condition. I figured that was something you should be able to do on your own terms. But keep in mind, while I can already tell your skills as a setter are something incredible, and something that this team will no doubt help you nurture and build upon, if anything unexpected is to happen, Konoha can hold his own while you take time to get back to us. It’s gonna be fine. I look forward to a strong three years with you on our team.”
Coach gave him a smile when he finished. Akaashi felt hot tears pouring unbidden down his cheeks, bringing one hand up in a desperate attempt to wipe them away. He choked out a thank you, standing to bow, putting a hand out to shake his coach’s hand. Yamiji reciprocated warmly, ruffling Akaashi’s curls before sitting back in his desk.
“Go have fun with your teammates. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
He passed Keiji a tissue. He took it graciously and stepped out of the room. The sharp feeling hadn’t gone away, had actually gotten a little worse, and he slid down the wall outside the office door, cradling his head in his hands and trying to suck in air around the tightness in his throat. He felt relieved from what Yamiji said, ecstatic in fact that he had such an understanding person in his life besides his mother. So why was he feeling so terrified?
He couldn’t breathe, everything felt muted like he was underwater, but hightened at the same time. He looked at his hands. They were shaking. He didn’t need to feel his pulse to know his heart was beating beyond a healthy tempo— he could hear it pounding in his ears.
He was sure this was a panic attack. This wasn’t the first time; having an illness that struck him unpredictably led to a less than stress free life. But his anxiety medication was supposed to prevent this. It had so far. He tried to think through his day, remember if he’d taken his pills, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t focus. He couldn’t breathe.
Unsteadily, he got to his feet, stumbling back toward the locker room. He needed to get to his bag, needed to see if he’d taken his pills at lunch. He was starting to think he hadn’t. His fumbling fingers fished for the doorknob. His knees were wobbling at a concerning velocity, and he leaned heavily into the door. He could feel the sweat dripping down his face, his neck, his back. He might have been hyperventilating, but he couldn’t hear it over the sound of his heart slamming painfully into his rib cage, couldn’t feel oxygen flooding his lungs like it should be.
“AKAA— ...Akaashi?”
Akaashi’s eyes were like a caged animal as they darted upwards, quickly taking in Bokuto’s form from where it had leapt off the locker room bench, arms slowly falling from where he’d thrown them above his head. He had dropped his bag, and the sound of it was echoing in Akaashi’s brain. His body was vibrating at an inhuman rate. A sob wrenched its was through his clenched jaw.
“I, uhmm... bag,” he forced out of his meddled mouth, a convulsing hand pointing limply toward his bag.
Bokuto sprang into action, retrieving the bag as Akaashi crumpled to the floor. Akaashi watched, detached, as it was set beside him, as Bokuto knealt down before him, grabbed his hand, placed it on his own chest.
“Ok, ‘Kaashi. Can you hear me?”
A feeble nod. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but the beating under his fingertips was more grounding than the floor swaying under his legs.
“Good. I want you to breathe with me, ok? Ready? In. Out.”
Bokuto made an exaggerated show of sucking a breath in, releasing it, repeating the action again and again. Hours may have passed, but Akaashi finally started to feel his head clear. He kept breathing with Bokuto, but turned his face to his bag, using his free hand to rummage for his meds. Today’s box was full. Just as he thought. He set the container on the floor, his shaking hand making a lame attempt to open it. Calm fingers cupped his chin, pulling his attention back to golden eyes that were smoldering slowly, warm, comforting.
“Shh. Keep breathing with me, yeah? Just close your eyes. In and out.”
Akaashi let his eyelids flutter shut, let the soothing sounds wash over him. He heard a faint pop. The hand not caged to Bokuto’s chest was opened inch by inch, small pills placed in his palm. Keiji brought them to his lips, let them roll onto his tongue. A water bottle was given to him. He took it, sucked in a mouthful, swallowed everything down. Back to breathing. In and out. In and out. In, out.
He knew it took half an hour for his meds to kick in, knew that when he started to breathe normally on his own again it meant Bokuto had sat there with him for thirty minutes. He was embarrassed. He’d only known Bokuto for a day and now he had broken down in front of him. But instead of freaking out, he had been calm and supportive. Gratitude began to ebb over Keiji in waves. If he had had any tears left to cry, they would have bubbled over his swollen eyes. Instead, he tried to speak.
“Bokuto-san. Th-thank you, I—“ his voice cut off and he couldn’t get anything out again. He let his teeth click back into place.
“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Bokuto murmured after a few moments. “My little sister gets anxiety attacks a lot, I could see the signs. How are you feeling? If you’re not up to meeting with the team, I can walk you home.”
Bokuto was speaking slowly and quietly. Akaashi was sure he would’ve been surprised if he wasn’t so shaken. Only now that he was on his way back to normal could he hear the slight buzzing of Bokuto’s phone from where it lay, forgotten, in his fallen bag, could he see his inanely large pill organizer sitting with today’s date opened, on the floor. He looked at the clock up on the wall. It read 6:15. That was probably one of his quickest recoveries from a panic attack, though he wasn’t fully stable yet. He was overwhelmed again with gratitude that Bokuto didn’t press for why he had panicked or why he needed so much medication; he wasn’t sure he was ready to entrust those answers to anyone.
Some unrational part of his brain still wanted to meet up with the team, wanted Bokuto to pick up his phone and tell them they were on their way. His stomach growled to agree with it.
“I think I need to sit down a little longer. But I want to go see everyone.”
Bokuto’s eyebrows raised almost imperceptibly before he nodded and smiled his best reassuring smile.
“Sure thing, Akaashi! Here, have some more water.”
Akaashi let himself be mothered until his head fully cleared, his hands stopped shaking, his heart nestled back in his chest, his legs supported his weight on their own. He chugged the rest of water. His face was set in determination.
“Thank you, Bokuto-san,” he said in his usual monotone, bowing low enough to kiss his knees. “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to make this up to you.”
“Hey hey hey, it’s no problem! I promise! I’m just glad you’re ok! We can’t be losing our setter on the first day, now, can we?” That wild grin snapped to serious in less time than it took Akaashi to blink. “Are you sure you still wanna go out, though? I swear it’s no trouble at all if you want to go home. I have no problem making sure you get there safe.”
“Yes, I’m sure, Bokuto-san. Thank you for your concern. I actually have worked up quite the appetite. Though, if it’s not too much to ask, would you be willing to accompany me home afterward?”
“Yeah! Of course! Now, let’s go get some yakiniku!!” He hooted loudly, hefting his bag up from its resting place on the floor, the strap finding a home on his forehead in his haste.
Akaashi stared after him for a moment, letting himself take one final deep breath. He gathered his things and scrambled out the door, composing himself as he caught up with the black and white head bobbing cheerily along. There were many things he felt he was going to learn from his new team. A sharp jolt of anticipation swept through his veins, almost completely washing out the aftershocks of his anxiety attack. He sighed as they left the gym, listening to the sound of their feet change as they smacked against the concrete, of Bokuto chattering happily about grilled meat. Finally, he let himself relax.
————————————————————————
The walk to the yakiniku place felt relatively short. Bokuto kept Akaashi’s mind occupied the whole time, talking about food or volleyball or owls or whatever thought came into his head at that moment. Akaashi found himself breathing easier in the outdoors.
“Well, here we are!” Bokuto threw his arms open wide and came to a sudden halt in front of a little hole in the wall restaurant. Akaashi was skeptical, but the smell wafting through his very being was quite convincing. Bokuto rushed in the door, holding it open as an afterthought for Akaashi, and ran toward the calls of their teammates. Akaashi followed calmly, a small wave greeting everyone as he took a seat.
“We ordered an all you can eat while we waited for you, so dig in!” Matsui offered a toothy grin as Bokuto and Akaashi settled in, “Don’t worry about helping pay, it’s my treat! Pay me back with your dedication, and let’s have a good year!” Everyone raised their glasses to that, clinking them with a yell.
Akaashi couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed so much or fallen so easily into conversation. He learned Komi had a hamster that he was teaching to play volleyball; video evidence was given, and Akaashi could barely stifle his giggles behind a hand as it fell asleep holding a miniature volleyball. He assured everyone that he was working on it and that Libby had definitely passed a ball back to him before. Konoha was surprisingly good at catching food in his mouth. No matter what was thrown to him, he effortlessly caught it. Matsui wasn’t upset until Bokuto gave it a try, pieces of meat littering the floor around him with each failed attempt, juice dripping down his face. He had about a 70 percent accuracy rate. Konoha promised to give him pointers some other time. A shadow passed over Matsui’s face, and Akaashi let his attention wander elsewhere as he threatened Bokuto against wasting another precious slice of beef. Aoyama was more of a listener, and Akaashi found himself drawn to his quiet energy. He kept whispering sarcastic comments under his breath, and from Akaashi’s seat next to him, he could pick them all up. A surprised snort escaped him on more than one occasion. Washio, despite his outward appearance, was the most gentle giant Akaashi had ever met. Grilled meat magically appeared before each person in an almost endless stream, a glimpse of Washio silently sliding a cut onto Akaashi’s plate the only way he knew its source. Sarukui was a fountain of sunshine and puns, telling each person at the table how “udder-ly excited” he was for the season at least five times before moving to asking if they were “a-moo-sed” by his word play. Several sighs and eye rolls made themselves prominent. Akaashi quickly determined this was a common occurrence, and let it amuse him for the time being.
A pang went through his chest when everyone was done eating. Oddly enough, being with the team had helped him settle; he felt almost completely calm now. Akaashi wondered, as they all continued to sit, if this is what it would be like to have siblings, this constant stream of chatter and fond smiles and playful teasing. He took comfort in the fact that he had a year to enjoy getting to know everyone, to meld into their family. He smiled as everyone stood from their seats.
“Thank you for dinner, Matsui-san. And thank you all for waiting up for me and Bokuto-san,” Akaashi said with a bow. Unbeknownst to him, which was quickly becoming a common theme in his life, it couldn’t hide his lopsided grin. Matsui ruffled his hair and flashed a smile in return. A shout of, “THANKS, MATSUI!” thundered through the restaurant as the rest of the team echoed Akaashi, Bokuto trying his best to yell around the piping hot mound of steak he had shoveled into his mouth.
They walked out the doors together, babbling and giggling as they moved, a little drowsy from the sheer amount of food each of them had consumed, no thanks to Matsui or Washio. At the storefront they split: Komi racing to catch up with Aoyama and Matsui; Washio and Sarukui tugging along a drowsy Konoha who had had to be supported out of the restaurant on his wobbly legs, falling asleep while he walked— Keiji knew that feeling all too well; and Akaashi starting off only to hear the uneven pounding of increasingly more familiar footsteps following. Bokuto took his laser vision off the ground.
“Hwmmf mfphsm fmpf?”
Akaashi slowly raised an eyebrow, shifting his bag to the opposite shoulder and looking at Bokuto. Saliva tracked down his swollen cheeks like honey, making a water-dampened circle appear on his shirt for the second time in as many hours. Akaashi must have missed him stuffing more food into his face as they exited, because his cheeks were stretched impossibly wide by beef. His eyebrow rose steadily higher.
“Bokuto-san, please finish chewing before you speak.”
With a swallow that looked terribly painful, the wince that accompanied it only proving his mistake, Bokuto tried again.
“How are you feeling after food?” He shot a soft smile down at Akaashi and then trained his focus to the floor once more, tongue poking through the side of his teeth, taking uneven steps to avoid touching cracks in the sidewalk beneath them.
“I’m feeling good, thank you.” He appreciated Bokuto’s attempt to look decidedly uninvested, but Akaashi wanted to put the locker room incident as far behind him as possible. “I didn’t know Konoha was so bad at eating.”
A raucous laugh was pulled from the older boy. “He just gets sleepy. He probably eats the most out of all of us, but he gets really tired afterward. He won’t let himself eat that much on game days, I don’t think he’d be able to play. And really, the only thing Konoha likes more than eating is volleyball. He’s like a puppy.” It was Akaashi’s turn to tilt his head in question.
“The only things he does are eat, sleep, and play. You know, I used to have a puppy. Well, used to because she’s a big girl now, but she was the tiniest thing. She’s a pit bull, and she’s so sweet. We got her for my little sister’s third birthday, and she named the dog Honey Bear. It’s fitting, I think. I don’t understand the stigma about pit bulls, they’re just big lap dogs. We rescued Honey, actually. Apparently the family who had her first didn’t know she was a pit bull when they got her. When they found that out they tied her up in their backyard and neglected her. The people who saved her said she had been making the most pitiful howls for three days before they realized she was in danger. It makes my heart hurt to think about.”
He ruffled in his bag for something while Akaashi sat in awe of how quickly his mind could just... shift topics. He wondered how many times it was possible to feel thankful for one person in only a few hours, sure he was meeting a record level today. Bokuto snapped back to full height, phone in hand. Waving it excitedly in Akaashi’s face, effectively snapping him out of his thoughts, he turned it on.
“Looooook!!!! She’s so cute!”
Akaashi cupped the sides of the phone to steady it and looked at his lock screen. A little gray dog stared innocently up at him, small black splotches littering its hair with one almost curiously heart shaped across its snout. Akaashi thought it was suspiciously familiar.
“She is very cute,” he hummed as he let go of the phone.
“Say, ‘Kaashi?” Akaashi glanced at him sideways, imploring him to go on. “Where exactly is your house?”
Only then did Akaashi realize how far they had already walked. “It’s just down the street up ahead, on the left. Why do you ask?”
“OHO HO HO! Because mine is across the street there!” Bokuto’s arm shot to the right, pointing to a little cottage style house with a slightly faded white fence, a dog just visible inside with its nose pressed to the front window. Akaashi now realized why the dog looked familiar. Early morning runs were probably the reason behind why Akaashi had never seen Bokuto before.
“We moved here last year since I got accepted to Fukurodani!” Or that was the reason. Akaashi smiled to himself as they walked the rest of the way to his house, thanking Bokuto profusely as he turned to walk inside. Bokuto waved with flare and then sprinted the few blocks to his own home. The last thing that Akaashi thought after he walked inside, showered, got ready for bed, tucked himself in and settled, was that their proximity would make it easier for him to ask to join the morning runs. He fell asleep smiling, hopeful.
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#haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! fanfiction#haikyuu!! fic#hq fanfic#hq fic#hq#akaashi keiji#akaashi#akaashi haikyuu#bokuto koutarou#bokuto#bokuaka#Real Life Sleeping Beauty#Kleine-Levin Syndrome#KLS#wc: 1-5k#wc: 4704#sleeping beauty#sleeping beauty syndrome#volleyball#mine
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October
For so long, I was told by my parents that my body wasn’t built to run. It sounds comical to think someone’s parents would discourage their kid to be active, but when you’re painted as the “unathletic daughter” who grew up with asthma and somehow always got injured in sports, it makes sense. For so long, I believed them. I liked the idea of running and being active, but I never thought my body could mechanically handle it. It was a mental block that told me I physically wasn’t capable; a belief slowly built for years.
In February, I signed up for a half-marathon in March, which got postponed to October, which eventually got cancelled and turned into a virtual race by August. I made the goal to complete my first half-marathon at the start of 2020, when the year was still full of hope and I was high off the adrenaline of being fresh in my 20s. I was determined to keep this goal, whether the race was in-person or not. With the emotional weight of the events that happened in Jan-Feb., I wanted to prove to myself that my mind was stronger than my body. If I could convince my mind to run 13.1 miles without stopping, then I knew I would be able to pull myself away from the situation and the people that made me feel stuck.
The “Beginner Half-Marathon Training Schedule” I promised myself to follow became futile after I realized I was 3 weeks away from the day I was expected to run, and I had barely ran more than 6 miles. My procrastination led me to commit myself to 21 days of clean eating and consistent running in order to be at my prime on race day; minimizing injury and maximizing performance. Weeks building up, I was excited for the day I knew I would be able to complete something off my bucket list. But 1 week out, I began to have a tingling sensation in my foot that traveled up to my calf. It forced my body composition to compensate, causing my joints and ankle to swell up after each run. Then, my running partner got sick. He wasn’t able to recover in time to run with me, or leave the house to watch me cross the invisible finish line. By the day before, plans had come up that prevented my friends from showing up. I wasn’t upset in the slightest, but rather extremely discouraged and doubtful of myself to finish the race. My bubble of thrill was instantly popped, and I was more scared at the idea of running 13 miles alone with no one to meet at the end of the finish line. I was scared that that my body was going to give out, and I would be forced to walk back to the starting position. I was just scared I would be a failure.
Nonetheless, I woke up at 6:30AM, and J-- said he was going to pick me up to drive me to D.C.. Though I assured him that I would be okay going solo, he insisted, saying, “Bro, stop. I’m going to be there.” He refused to let me be alone. He ended up driving me to Dunkin Donuts for pre-race bagels, parked at the starting point at Chesapeake and Ohio Canal, and RAN THE WHOLE DAMN RACE WITH ME (mind you, he has never ran more than 2 miles in his entire life). Every time I looked back, he was there. 6.5 miles in, we cheered together that we were halfway done. Well, until he lost his keys and had to retrace his steps.
I can only praise God for pushing me through that race. I didn’t care about the time. My only goal was to not stop. I prayed to God during my run, asking him to subside any tingles, joint pain, or muscle tears just until the race is over. I asked him to help me get through one mile at a time. I thanked Him for the body that was told it wasn’t built to run. It was through His faithfulness I was able to get through 13.1 miles with minimum pain. At the times I felt like there were no air in my lungs and my hips began to strain, I told myself I would not stop. I refused. My body will always obey my mind -- and it did.
In that last quarter mile, I kept pushing. I pushed and defied every muscle in my body that begged me to quit. And within 2 hours, 12 minutes, and 45 seconds -- I completed my first half marathon. I finished alone, staring at the river who kept me company through it all. I stared at the passing bikers and fellow runners who had no idea what I just accomplished. No posters or ceremonial cheers. I completed something I thought I could never do. I finished with God by my side (and eventually Jake who came 5 minutes after me). In times like these, I realize you don’t need much. Just a few good people who will show up and support you. People who will run the race with you. A God who will push you through. You don’t need anything more or anything less.
---
In the last days of October, I was able to experience more fun days. More days that make me grateful for life here.
- A much needed mental break led my cousin, sister, and I exploring the National Gallery of Art, the Capital, and the streets of Georgetown. Eating tacos under a tree by the Potomac, I remembered what it was like to just enjoy being present with people you care about. Talking to the family I’ve known all my life but somehow just finally getting to know them.
- A day of painting with E-- and N--. Note to self: stop trying to paint trees. It never works out right
- Sitting at UMall, eating Halal Guys with E-- and S--, because I can’t remember exactly what we did or talked about, but I just remember feeling comfortable with good friends.
Servants Retreat pushed me forward to embrace the present. Pastor D.L. said that we are called to remember. We remember in order to move forward, but sometimes we forget the most important things. We forget the fundamentals. We forget that love is the thing that pushes us to take steps in the right direction. To love God with all your heart, soul, and mind is to love God with every ounce of your being. And if you are capable of doing that, then you’ll be able to love your neighbor, even the worst kinds. In the days of nursing school that leave me feeling drowned, I’m reminded He gives me enough every day. Nothing more. Nothing less. I’m learning to try to maximize each day, but understanding each day I’m provided enough.
---
I’m reflecting on the relationships I have with some people. The ones that lie vacant, the ones that are hyperactive, the ones that lie in the in-between. All of these kind of friendships exist in my life. I’ve always struggled to feel important to people, especially people who are important to me. I’d rather be loved by few than liked by many. I’ve questioned my role in people’s lives, and feel some form of embarrassment to think I’ve held someone so highly only to know I am nothing but a trophy in their assortment of token friends (LOL, hi J.C.). The concept of outgrowing relationships is a Tumblr cliche that I’ve tried manipulating to make it less angsty, but I don’t think theres any other way around it. I justify their shitty lack-of action by trying to think of what they’ve done before or wondering if this is what “good friends” do. I hold onto the past to keep fueling potential in the future. Guilt sweeps over me when I take steps to separate myself from people who make me question myself. I hold onto their loyal moments, the funny moments, the conversations. I think of what we were before, hoping maybe it could be like that again. But the more we try to recreate feelings and memories, the more likely we are to tarnish them. I’m accepting things change and some things are better left said as, “It is what it is.” That was then, this is now.
Sometimes you have to force yourself to say “No”. Not necessarily to that friend, but to yourself. Force yourself to stop sacrificing your time for those who take advantage of it.
“If you want to be a really good friend, you don't have to say yes to everything they ask you, you just have to be there when it matters.”
Be a good friend to others by being a good friend to yourself. Loyalty does not need to be compromised by taking a break from friendships that make you feel like a choice. We’re all growing into different things and some of us are called to watch from a distance. If you’re lucky, a friendship is dynamic and active. Two separate beings navigating life side-by-side. Sometimes friendships lie dormant, and there should be no guilt for choosing to keep to yourself. You should never force to claim importance in someone’s life who does not deem you as important. I’m relieving myself of the pressure to be there all the time. To invite people to come into my space if they need me or want to hear from me. To be present when it matters, but trusting that the friendships that matter will uphold.
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Reflection: Ch. 2 - The Wait
Reflection
by Aivaeh
Disclaimer: Familiar characters, plot elements, and settings belong to L.J. Smith, Julie Plec, and the CW. The author of this work of fanfiction has made no money from it.
Summary: It was supposed to be a harmless trick to try at a slumber party, but most slumber parties don't come with a witch. Look into a bowl of water after burning a lock of hair and you'll see your soul mate. You didn't expect it to work. Except it did, showing you the face of the dangerous vampire Damon Salvatore.
Pairing(s): Damon Salvatore x Reader, Stefan Salvatore x Elena Gilbert
Rating: M
Word Count: 3,376
Warning(s): Graphic descriptions of violence on par with the show itself. Sexual content..
Master List
External Links: AO3 | Wattpad
Chapter Two
The next day brought startling news. Jenna had been compelled to stab herself. She was alive, thankfully, and out of the hospital, but it was clear no one was safe from Katherine.
I was pretty sure she wouldn’t be happy to learn I’d hacked into her cell phone account.
Not that you’d have to worry about Mason saying anything about it. According to Caroline, he was very dead. After hearing the news, your mind conjured Mason’s agonized screams throughout the rest of the day. You couldn’t concentrate in class.
You didn’t feel like going to the Masquerade Ball at the Lockwood’s, either. Instead, you retreated to your room to game once you’d finished your homework. You were halfway through a level when Caroline called after ten.
By the time you hung up, you were glad you’d decided to stay home. Tyler had killed a girl Katherine had compelled, triggering his werewolf curse. Elena had been linked to Katherine and suffered all the injuries Stefan and Damon had inflicted in their quest to kill her. Luckily, Bonnie had saved the day and convinced Katherine’s witch to unlink them and disarm Katherine. Katherine had been caught. Finally.
Before going to bed, you hoped things would settle down now that Elena’s evil vampire double was out of the picture.
When a worried Stefan and Jeremy approached you the next day right after second period, you realized you should have known better. “Have you seen Elena?” Jeremy asked.
You shook your head. “Not since yesterday. Why?”
They shared a look. “She’s missing,” Stefan said.
“Missing?” That wasn’t like Elena. She always picked up when someone called.
Jeremy stepped closer, lowered his voice. “We were hoping you could find a way into her phone, like you did with Katherine. Get her GPS information.”
“That’ll take too long.” You pulled out your mobile and strode for an exit that led outside. “What’s her carrier?”
Jeremy, following after, told you. Stefan wasn’t far behind.
You called information and got the number to their customer service line as you stepped into the sunlight. Dialing in, you waited with the guys, moving far enough away from the door that there shouldn’t be much in the way of background noise. After a few minutes, the hold music went away and a man on the other end greeted you and introduced himself. “Hello, yes,” you answered, doing your best to sound mature. “I need some help.”
“What can I help you with?”
“My daughter’s taken off with my car.” Jeremy’s brows shot up in surprise. “It’s just teenage angst. But if you could turn on her GPS, I would really appreciate it.”
“We’re not supposed to—”
“I understand,” you said, cutting him off. “But she’s just sixteen. I don’t want to file a police report on a sixteen-year-old girl.”
There was a moment of silence before he replied, “Alright. But you’ll need her password to log into the GPS tracker.”
“I have it.” You flashed Stefan and Jeremy a thumbs up. “Thank you so much.” You listened to his farewell and hung up. “There.” You pulled your laptop out of your backpack and opened it up on a nearby picnic table. “Now I just need to crack her password.” You aimed a searching look at Jeremy. “Unless you know it.”
Jeremy shook his head.
“This might take some time, then.” You brought up a program that went through thousands of popular passwords and set it to run on Elena’s mobile account.
“How long?”
“A few minutes if we’re lucky.” It was still running, which meant it wasn’t any of the top thousand. “If not, then we could be looking at hours if I have to run a program that generates random combinations. And there’s no guarantee that’ll work, either.”
Jeremy and Stefan exchanged a glance. “Maybe we should ask Bonnie if she knows a spell?” Jeremy suggested. Stefan pulled out his phone and shot off a text while Jeremy shot you an apologetic look. “Just as a backup.”
“I get it,” you assured him. You glanced back at your screen in time to see the login screen change and the program’s log register the working password. From the looks of it, you’d bet it was a date. “But thankfully, Elena isn’t into high security. I’m in.”
Stefan lowered his phone as he and Jeremy bent down to examine the map on your screen. You saw the marker for Elena’s location—or, her cellphone’s—and zoomed in until the street names became clearer.
Or what would have been street names. “She’s three hundred miles away.” Your brows drew together. “Nearest street is some county road in the middle of nowhere.”
“No way is that by choice,” Jeremy muttered.
Stefan’s jaw clenched. “Can you keep an eye on this? Tell me if she moves?”
“Sure.”
Jeremy stood with Stefan. “Let me go with you.”
“No.” Stefan calmly met Jeremy’s defiant press of lips and narrowed eyes. “We don’t know who took Elena. She wouldn’t want you in danger.”
“That’s my decision to make,” Jeremy insisted.
Stefan’s stare implored him to listen. “I’ll bring her home, Jeremy. I promise.”
Jeremy stared back for several long moments before nodding. Stefan reached out and squeezed his shoulders before turning to you. “You and Jeremy keep an eye on that map and tell me where to go.”
You exchanged a glance with Jeremy before nodding. “Okay, sure.” You stood, keeping your laptop open. “We can take my car back to your place, Jer.”
Jeremy nodded but turned back to Stefan. “You can’t just go by yourself.”
“I’m not.” Instead of elaborating, Stefan’s sights darted over your shoulder to something behind you.
“What’s going on?”
You twisted around to see Bonnie hurrying across the grounds.
“Elena’s missing,” Jeremy explained. “Stefan’s going to find her while we track her cell back at my place.”
Bonnie blinked before a determined light shone from her eyes. “I’ll go with you.”
Stefan shook his head. “I’ve got someone in mind.” When Bonnie opened her mouth to argue, he nodded towards you and Jeremy. “Stay with them.”
Bonnie examined you both before giving a short, grim nod. “Fine.”
“C’mon,” you said, stepping back from the picnic table. “Let’s go.”
The three of you and Stefan headed together to the parking lot. By the time we parted ways, Stefan was dialing someone up on his phone.
Coming up to your car, you passed Jeremy the laptop. “We’re heading to Elena’s,” you told Bonnie as she moved towards her own car a few spaces away.
“Okay,” she called back.
Jeremy’s sights tracked Stefan, still on his phone, before lowering into your passenger seat.
You were both quiet as you started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot. It wasn’t until you were halfway to his house that Jeremy shook his head and muttered, “This shouldn’t be happening. Not with Katherine finally locked away.”
“I know.” You frowned.
The rest of the way remained silent until you pulled into the driveway of the white, two-story house Elena and Jeremy called home. Bonnie was barely a minute behind, gliding in behind your car as you and Jeremy got out. You waited for her before following the walkway to the Gilbert’s front door. Jeremy dug his keys out of his pocket, sorting through them before finding the right one and letting you in.
He led the way up the stairs and down the hall to his room. A different track then you were used to taking to Elena’s room. You gazed around, taking in the darker colors, trophies from before Miranda and Greyson died, and the myriad of games piled up next to his console. He nodded towards the bed. “You can set up there.”
Seeing the desk was filled with his computer and keyboard, you put a knee up on the mattress and crawled to the center of Jeremy’s bed. Folding your legs, you balanced the laptop so that the vents weren’t directly over your thighs.
“Any movement?” He leaned over to stare at your screen.
You angled your laptop so he could see better. “No. Looks like she’s staying put.”
“Any idea who took her?” Bonnie asked, pacing back and forth in front of Jeremy’s door.
“Someone connected to Katherine, probably,” Jeremy replied, his dislike of Elena’s doppelgänger clear from his tone.
That did seem the most likely explanation. You nodded your agreement. “They must have grabbed her just after you guys captured Katherine.”
“Think they’ll try to ransom her for Katherine?” Bonnie wondered, both brows pinched low.
“The we give them Katherine,” Jeremy said, sitting on the edge of the mattress beside you, eyes glued to the laptop.
You and Bonnie were nodding in agreement when your phone went off. Your laptop wobbled as you pulled your cell from your pocket. A glance at the number confirmed it was Stefan. “Hey,” You said as soon as you’d hit the answer button.
“We’re on sixty-four,” Stefan said.
You zoomed in on the interstate nearest to Mystic Falls. Following it with your eye, you mentally mapped out not just the closest, but the fastest way to Eden in North Carolina. “Get off on eighty-one south. Follow that to Roanoke.”
“Got it.”
You couldn’t help but ask, “Who’s we?”
There was a moment’s silence filled with the sound of alternate rock playing on the radio before Stefan admitted, “Damon and me.”
You rolled your eyes. Of course. “Right.”
“We’ll call you once we’re near Roanoke.”
“Okay.” You waited until he hung up to lower the phone. At Jeremy and Bonnie’s expectant looks, you said, “They’re on their way. But it’s going to be a few hours.”
Looking down, Jeremy nodded. He moved off the bed and asked, “Does anyone want something to drink?”
“No thanks, Jer,” Bonnie replied with a slight smile.
“I’m good,” you assured him.
Jeremy nodded again and went to the chair in front of his desk, sitting down. His leg bounced up and down as he stared off at one of his bookshelves. You didn’t think he was actually seeing any of the titles.
“Stefan will bring her back,” you said, hoping to reassure him.
Jeremy frowned. “I hate waiting like this.” His lips pressed together as he glared at his bookshelf.
Bonnie’s gaze found yours, and you shared a small frown with her. It was awful not knowing how to do more to help your best friend. How much worse would it be if Elena were your sister?
“Maybe there’s something we can try,” Bonnie announced, picking her backpack up off the floor where she’d dropped it. You and Jeremy watched as she unzipped it and pulled out a familiar book.
“Your familiy’s grimoire?” You eyed the book with a healthy dose of hesitance. You’d been Bonnie’s friend since kindergarten, and easily accepted she was a witch. That didn’t mean you were comfortable with magic. It defied science and could do the impossible. It was powerful. That made it frightening.
You trusted Bonnie, but you didn’t trust magic. The last spell she’d performed hadn’t exactly done more to endear you to it.
Still, you kept your mouth shut. It was clear magic was becoming more important to Bonnie the longer she studied and practiced it. You didn’t want to risk alienating her by voicing your concerns.
You kept the worry from showing well enough that Bonnie didn’t seem to suspect anything as she hugged the book to her chest and sat beside you. Spreading the book open, she began turning worn pages stiff with time. “I know I saw a spell for sending messages.” It was another minute before she found what she was looking for. She pointed at the writing. “Here.” Her eyes shifted back and forth as she skimmed the page. “I’ll need a candle and Elena’s hairbrush.”
“Got it,” Jeremy said, hurrying towards the door that connected his room to his and Elena’s shared bathroom.
“Can you hand me my bag?” She asked you.
You nodded and set the laptop onto the mattress. Crossing to the door, you picked up Bonnie’s backpack from its place against the wall and brought it over. She unzipped it and pulled out a notebook and a pen while you sat.
“What are you doing?”
Bonnie tore the piece of paper she’d been writing on free. “Sending Elena a message.” She held it up.
Stefan and Damon are coming for you.
- B
“How are you going to send it?” Jeremy asked as he brought back the items she’d asked for.
“Put the candle down here.” Jeremy did as Bonnie instructed, lighting the wick while she pulled some hair free of the hairbrush. She crumpled the hair and the note together before holding her hand out above the small flame. “Like this.”
Bonnie’s eyes were shut as she whispered the words of a spell. You and Jeremy watched with rapt attention as Bonnie continued her silent chant. After a moment, the movement of her lips stopped, and her expression tensed.
When she began chanting again, blood was dripping from her nose.
“Bonnie.” Jeremy reached for her arm. You joined in calling her name as you set your laptop aside.
And then the crumpled note in her hand began to burn. As if the paper had been soaked in lighter fluid, it was engulfed in moments. It turned to nothing but ash before you could blink.
Bonnie finally opened her eyes. Her hand fell to the bed, and a look of accomplishment came over her face.
She collapsed.
Jeremy followed, grabbing her shoulders and calling her name as he shook her. You hurried to grab the candle before it could tip over and light the bed on fire. You blew it out with a puff, setting it on the nearby nightstand before moving back to the side of the bed.
Bonnie’s eyes were shut despite Jeremy’s constant shaking and shouting.
“Is she breathing?”
He looked up, terror stark in his eyes at your question before he placed a hand over her mouth. Relief loosened some of the fear from his features. “Yeah.”
You took hold of her wrist and felt for a pulse. You weren’t sure what was normal, but it felt steady and strong enough. “I think she fainted.”
“Should we call an ambulance?” Jeremy asked.
You bit your lip in thought. “No,” you decided. “Not unless she has trouble breathing or something changes for the worse.” You turned and headed for the bathroom, picking up a washcloth and running some water over it.
Jeremy was leaning over Bonnie, concern written all over his face. You sat next to her and carefully wiped the blood from her mouth and chin. “The nosebleed stopped,” you pointed out.
Bonnie took a deep breath and her eyes opened. Some of the tension eased from your chest and shoulders as her green eyes met yours. “Hey,” you greeted.
“Hey,” she repeated, brow crinkling as she pushed herself up by her elbows. “What—”
“You passed out,” you told her. You looked to a relieved Jeremy. “A glass of water might help.”
“Yeah, alright,” he agreed, standing up and moving out of the room.
As soon as he was down the hall you frowned at Bonnie. “You scared the hell out of us.”
Bonnie let out a pained breath and rubbed her head. “Sorry.”
“Are you okay?” You tried to get a good look at her eyes. Didn’t something happen to the pupils if there was an issue with the brain? You wished you knew enough biology to be able to tell.
“Yeah,” she insisted, sliding up to the headboard. “Just a little woozy.”
“That sounds bad,” you pointed out.
Bonnie sighed and met your concerned stare with her regular green gaze. “I’m fine.” Her eyes implored you to believe her. “Really.”
“You didn’t look okay a minute ago,” Jeremy pointed out from the doorway, glass of water in hand. He handed it over as soon as he reached the bed.
Bonnie took a drink before setting it beside the candle. “It’s nothing you guys.”
“That was something,” you insisted.
Bonnie pushed herself further up the headboard until she’d found a more comfortable position. “I’ve been doing a lot of magic lately.” She frowned lightly before admitting, “It wears me down.”
“You were unconscious,” Jeremy said, concern drawing both eyebrows taut.
Lips pressing together, Bonnie looked between you before admitting, “Witchcraft has limits. I push too hard, it pushes back.”
“How do you know all this?” Jeremy asked.
Bonnie nodded her head towards the open grimoire at the end of the bed. “It’s all in here.”
Careful, you picked it up. The writing wasn’t in any language you recognized. It smelled of stale air and dust. Like an old woman, the pages were wrinkled and stiff with age.
Bonnie leaned forward and reached out, and you passed the book over without hesitation. “Don’t tell anyone,” she implored as she carefully closed the grimoire.
“Why not?” Jeremy asked.
“It’s a weakness,” she explained, voice soft, as if she worried about even speaking of it too loud. “I don’t want certain people to know.”
“Certain people. You mean Damon,” Jeremy said.
Bonnie shook her head lightly. “I mean anyone that could hurt me.”
You nodded. “I promise.”
Jeremy glanced at you before his stare returned to meet Bonnie’s imploring gaze. “Promise. I won’t say anything to anyone.”
Bonnie nodded lightly, glancing at you but her sights turned back to Jeremy. “It’s hard, you know? Grams is gone. My dad—he hasn’t wanted to know anything since my mom left.” She looked at the grimoire before meeting Jeremy’s stare again. “I’m all alone in this.”
Jeremy nodded. “That’s how I feel a lot of the time. Alone.”
The two stared into each other’s eyes. Feeling like a voyeur, you looked away.
“I should—put this back.” Jeremy had Elena’s hairbrush in hand when you turned back.
Bonnie dragged in a deep breath as she leaned back. “Yeah.”
Jeremy smiled and headed back to the bathroom.
You caught Bonnie’s attention. Your brows flew up, lips curling in amusement. “Were those sparks?” you asked, careful to keep your voice soft.
Bonnie gave you a ‘don’t be stupid’ look. “No.”
“Mhm.” Your lips curled higher. “Definitely sparks.”
Bonnie’s brows pinched together. She shook her head, sending her brown curls bouncing. “You know there can’t be.”
“Because he’s Elena’s little brother?”
“Because I didn’t see Jeremy’s reflection.”
You winced at the reminder. That damn spell. “C’mon Bonnie. Are you going to be alone until some guy you saw in a bowl of water comes along?” you asked, harsher than you’d intended.
Bonnie blinked and her brow crinkled. Just as she opened her mouth to reply, Jeremy came back in the room, silencing her.
The day passed. You watched the map, directing the Salvatore’s whenever Stefan called. Jeremy spent the time pacing. Bonnie, still drained, rested.
Finally you got the call.
“We’ve got her,” Stefan said over the phone, sounding as relieved as you suddenly felt. “She’s alright.”
“Thank goodness,” you breathed, looking over to Jeremy and Bonnie. “She’s okay.”
Jeremy bowed his head. Bonnie’s eyes brightened with tears as she smiled.
“Any idea who took her?”
“Not yet,” Stefan replied. “We’re bringing her home.”
“Do you need directions?”
“No. We know the way.” There was a pause before Stefan added, “Thank you.”
“Thank you.” After a moment’s pause you added, “And Damon, too.”
A few words of goodbye and you hung up.
Jeremy’s heaved a huge sigh of relief before he stood up. “You guys can hang out until she’s back.”
“Okay,” Bonnie said. She wiped the side of her eyes before adding, “I could use more rest.”
You glanced between them before closing your laptop. “I’d better head home.” Hopefully the school hadn’t called and reported your absence.
“Alright. Thanks,” Jeremy said, following you to his bedroom door.
You smiled at him. “Of course.” You waved to Bonnie. “Say hi to Elena for me.”
“Okay,” she promised.
Once you were back in your car, trying to beat the setting sun, you thought about Bonnie’s refusal to acknowledge the spark she had with Jeremy. You resolved not to let the spell dictate your life the same way. It wouldn’t hang over you.
He wouldn’t hang over you.
#the vampire diaries#tvd#damon salvatore#damon salvatore x reader#damon salvatore x you#fanfiction#reflection#ofc#you#reader#Stefan Salvatore#bonnie bennett#Jeremy Gilbert#elena gilbert
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» BASICS
FULL NAME: Narcissa Walburga Black
NICKNAME(S): Cissa, Cissy, Princess
AGE: Twenty-five
DATE OF BIRTH: August 8th, 1957
GENDER: Cis-female
PRONOUNS: She / Her
NATIONALITY: British
ETHNICITY: Caucasian
SEXUALITY: Heteroflexible
» APPEARANCE
FACE CLAIM: Margot Robbie
HEIGHT: 5′7
BUILD: Slim, slender
DOMINANT HAND: Right
EYE COLOR: Blue
HAIR COLOR: Blonde
BIRTHMARKS/SCARS: Freckles atop her shoulders, a small mole on her left collarbone.
» PERSONALITY
ZODIAC: Leo
MBTI TYPE: ENFP
TEMPERAMENT: Choleric
MORAL ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Neutral
ARCHETYPE(S): Tastemaker, Royal
ELEMENT: Fire
HOUSE: Slytherin; ambitious and cunning, shrewd but devious
WAND: 12¾", Elm & dragon heartstring, reasonably supple
PATRONUS: Lioness; individualistic and self-aware, blunt and protective
AMORENTIA: Freshly baked pastries, crisp leather, cherry wine, pressed white roses in the pages of an old book, cigar smoke and whiskey
+/- TRAITS: tbd
» MORE INFORMATION
RESIDENCE: Malfoy Manor
OCCUPATION: Socialite
SIGNIFICANT OTHER(S): Lucius — tbd; Sirius — tbd; Amos — tbd; Hestia — tbd; Crouch — tbd;
FAMILY: Cygnus — tbd; Druella — tbd; Andromeda — tbd; Bellatrix (npc) — tbd;
» TIMELINE
1958: Born
1969: First year at Hogwarts
1976: Last year at Hogwarts
TBD:
» HEADCANONS/BIO
ONE OF A KIND — Her sisters have always been her favorite people and she puts her family—her blood—above all else. She’s strong-willed, with a mile-long list of her own beliefs and affirmations, but she knows better than to share her ideals for a bat of her lashes and a coy smile have always gotten her much farther in life. But her mind—her thoughts, her goals, her dreams—have always been her own, no one else’s, not to be shared or judged or gawked at. They can have her words, but only what she’s willing to divulge and the rest belongs to her.
PRIMADONNA — Her youth was spent donned in the finest clothes, littered with the most expensive things, dazzling with luxury and sophistication. To say she was spoiled would be a grave understatement for there was nothing in the world forbidden to Narcissa, and the word no was never once uttered in her direction. Can I have more? Yes. Will you buy me this? Yes. Am I the prettiest? Yes. So sweet, so tempting. So innocent, so captivating. So manipulative, so charming. She had the world wrapped around her finger, pulling it tighter and tighter whenever she pleased. She was raised a princess, given opportunities any other girl would have killed for. She grew into a lover of all things beautiful: clothes, food, people; became a master of all things elegant: Parisian travel, fine wine, satin sheets. And she did it all with a natural, wind-whipped tousle to her blonde curls, perfectly lined lips and a smile that could have surely burned Rome to the ground. The spitting image of Druella, all doe-eyed blues and champagne curls, she coasted through life on her long, sun-kissed locks and her naive smile, always drawing people near only to have them lay down at her feet. A lover of all things posh, she keeps up with the latest trends in fashion which helps her create a quite envious sense of style. And to this day she’s Narcissa, the apple of her mother’s eye and the princess her father had always wanted; perfect in every sense of the word.
WORLD TRAVELER — At a young age, she developed quite the passion for languages, mainly those considered the languages of love: French, Italian, Spanish. She’s only mastered French, able to speak, read and write in the tongue, but her Italian is still spotty. She’s unable to read or write it, but can speak it beautifully. She’s been to each country as well, traveling to Paris for the first time at the tender age of eight where she fell madly in love with the city. And to this day, she still travels there often, begging Lucius to go along with her or even sneaking away every now and then when she needs a fresh breath of that Parisian air. Next to a quiet night at home beside her husband, Paris is her favorite place on Earth.
TOUJOURS PUR — Always pure; a mantra, a belief system, a way of life. Her family’s motto, one whispered after bedtime stories, purred among adults behind closed doors, slithered along the halls of Hogwarts. Such a thing, such a strict notion draws a line in the sand in the pretty head of a young girl, tells her who to associate with and who to avoid, lets her know who’s relevant and who isn’t, whose life matters and whose is worthless. Theirs—hers—was of the utmost relevance, their blood pure through and through, revered, worshipped as they are The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. Royalty, and she a legacy, a descendant of the grandest heritage. Such a motto put her in certain social circles, gave her friends of similar backgrounds, put her in the crosshairs of boys whose families came of the same noble background. And all her life she’s been told the importance of her blood and in turn the inferiority of others’. It’s something that has been drilled into her mind since she was a child, so it was only natural for it to affect her own beliefs, her own ideas about life. Two words, both seemingly unimportant when separated, and when brought together they created an entire lifestyle, but she has never been too vocal about her prejudices mostly because she wouldn’t consider them prejudices. She wants no harm brought to those of mixed families, wishes no ill will upon mudbloods, but it is of her opinion that blood should be toujours pur.
ENCHANTRESS — In her youth, she enjoyed toying with the numerous men vying for her affection, always flirting her way through her social circle, not really looking for love but enjoying the occasional dalliance with a cute boy, that is, until she met Lucius though she did make him work for it. She’s never been a hopeless romantic, preferring attention-seeking dramatics and all-consuming passion over standard and boring and wholly ordinary trysts. She wants to be adored, and despite her current icy exterior today, she still demands a certain level of affection and this will never change for her ego was far too inflated as a young girl.
IRREPLACEABLE — She isn’t terribly sentimental save for just a few things. A golden ring in the shape of a slithering snake gifted to her by Lucius upon their first anniversary. It has made a home on the middle finger of her right hand and she hasn’t taken it off since the day he gave it to her. A silver sweeping necklace with a pink stone pendant cut in half of which the other half belongs to Andromeda. It is one of, if not the most precious thing she owns, given to her by her sister on her eleventh birthday, and she hadn’t taken it off since. But since her betrayal and subsequent shunning, it now remains in the jewelry box atop her vanity for safekeeping and she has never been able to part with it.
LIKES & DISLIKES — Silk dresses, fur coats, diamonds, fresh morning snow, pink champagne, stilettos, summer thunderstorms, french croissants, white roses, lace lingerie, menthol cigarettes, Chanel perfume and bubble baths are just a few of Narcissa’s favorite things. She detests mediocrity, liars, muggles, traitors, dark chocolate, white wine, waking up early, sleeping on anything but satin sheets, spending extended amounts of time outdoors and mudbloods.
TRUE LOVE — Her wedding was a grand affair, something out of a muggle magazine, a ten-page spread of glitter and glitz and glamour. Her dress was designer, fitting her like a glove. Her ring was enormous, the envy of every one of her friends. And her man was more handsome than any other. It was perfect; he was perfect, and though she’d be loathe to admit it to anyone but herself, she knew from the moment they’d first kissed that he would be her last. Though deeply in love, marrying a Malfoy came with certain expectations, numerous advantages and tremendous hardships. But in true Narcissa fashion, she navigated such uncharted waters with the poise and grace only a Black could have, taking on the merger of two noble families with the decorum of a princess turned serpentine queen. And oh, how easily she slid into this life, that of wife. Half trophy, half snake, she wore the title of Malfoy with pride, a badge of gory honor upon her chest. And though Black still coursed through her veins, she adapted far better than expected. She slithered her way around Lucius, holding the forbidden fruit in the palm of her hand, but it had been her who accepted the offer of intertwining not just their lives, but their souls, too. Equals in more ways than one, respectful in all aspects of their love—a romance she would have died for, killed for. A passionate, all-consuming kind of love that stops your breath and cinches your heart. No longer a girl, but a woman as strong-willed as the day she drew her first breath, a woman in love with a beast of man, but perhaps she’s become a beast, too.
DARK LORD — She’s never bore the dark mark, never lived to serve the evil deity that calls himself Voldemort—the Dark Lord, as Lucius calls him—and it isn’t because she doesn’t believe in the same ideals. She’s always been a purist at heart, truly believing crossing blood was a disgusting venture, abhorrent in every sense of the word, and it is this very reason she no longer speaks to Andromeda. It is such a strong belief that she’s cut off her own sister, tore flesh from flesh and renounced all relation to someone she’d idolized all her childhood. Her husband believes in these ideals so much that he’s willing to put himself in danger just to appease whom Narcissa would consider a madman with an even more demented band of cultish followers. And she’d have been a fool not to support Lucius. He’s of good social standing, handsome—a good jawline; he’ll pass that onto their sons someday—and most importantly, he adored her, and she him. But each time Lucius leaves the house, she’s terrified of what will happen, of what’s to come. And if they were to bring a child into this world, she has no idea if it would even be safe. What was supposed to be a happy and fruitful decision to bring life into the world has instead come to a screeching halt and part of her resents Lucius for prioritizing the rhetoric of a maniac over her, for doing the bidding of a psychopath. The ideals are what matter, she thinks. Not the bloodshed.
I WANT—I NEED YOU TO LIVE — As the years have passed, she’s aged with elegance, privilege still radiating from her every step, magnified tenfold with a charming flip to her curls coupled with that sweet aphroditic smile. She met, fell in love with and married the perfect boy, though as she stares at him from across the dining room table, she’d consider him a man now. Her life is a dream, save for the nights Lucius comes home beaten to a bloody pulp, ribs cracked, lips swollen. But what’s worse are the nights he doesn’t come home at all. Those are the nights she paces back and forth in the living room sipping wine and smoking one cigarette after the other, panic overwhelming all her senses. She simply cannot condone the extremism, the senseless violence and calamities this association to the Death Eaters brings. It bleeds into her daily life, takes over her every waking thought and the idea of this continuing is unbearable.
PRINCESS vs. QUEEN
I. “Primadonna girl, yeah, all I ever wanted was the world.” She floated through young adulthood like a beautiful, jasmine-scented mirage, a fever dream of pink mist and long golden curls. Those who knew her loved her, and she would have accepted nothing less than your devotion. She surrounded herself with like-minded individuals—like-blooded—and only chose the best of friends to call her own. Adored by all, but understood by none and yet envied by everyone. Men wanted her, most of whom she indulged but only just, stringing them along and thinking very little of them. Girls wanted to be her, most of whom she paid no attention to, never really deeming their lives worth much or any of them worthy of her precious attention. A princess in all aspects. A radiant reminder of the perfection that went hand in hand with being a Black. An ethereal, utterly irresistible creature who knew just how to get what she wanted.
II. “I wish I were a girl again, half-savage and hardy, and free.” Melancholy, the air is thick with it. It hangs over them, a looming presence, a terrible reminder of another war brewing, and she can feel it in her bones—the death, the destruction. By her husband’s hands, by her own if anything were to happen to him. Lips normally curved into a knowing smile, as if she had a salacious secret on the tip of her tongue have now fallen into a sullen, straight line. Eyes usually alight with the possibilities of tomorrow, adventure just around the corner have now hardened, no longer filled with joy, only anguish and darkened by sorrow. The high walls encasing her heart have frozen solid, turned cheeks so rosy into icy alabaster and she fears things will never be the same.
LITTLE KNOWN FACTS
01. Bellatrix has called her Cissy for as long as she can remember.
02. She never really wanted to go to Hogwarts, always harboring dreams of venturing to Beauxbatons instead mostly because of her love of France.
03. Loves the color pink.
04. Sirius was her favorite cousin when she was younger and his betrayal hit her hard, perhaps even more so than Andromeda’s.
05. She’s her parents favorite, still relishing in this fact to this day.
06. Her boggart is quite traumatizing and is the theme of most of her nightmares; her family’s lifeless bodies staring up at her, Lucius included and there is nothing she could do to stop it, nothing she could do to save them.
07. Began dating Lucius in her final year at Hogwarts; they were married a few years later.
08. On her 11th birthday, Andromeda gifted her a silver necklace with a pink stone cut in half. She wore it until the day her sister betrayed their family.
09. Enjoys old black and white muggle films; Casablanca is her favorite, but she doesn’t share such an obsession as it would hurt her carefully constructed reputation to enjoy something so frivolous and human.
10. She’s scared to start a family because of all the dangers surrounding her and her loved ones as of late, but often dreams of giving Lucius a son though she’d secretly hope for a daughter to call her own.
11. Strengths: creative, passionate, generous, alluring.
12. Weaknesses: arrogant, stubborn, selfish, narcissistic.01 Bellatrix has called her Cissy for as long as she can remember; Lucius picked up on the nickname as well and uses it often.
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