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onceuponastory · 3 years

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Coming Back Home - Chapter Five: The Time of My Life

“So I'll tell you something This could be love, because I've had the time of my life No, I never felt this way before Yes I swear, it's the truth And I owe it all to you” - (i’ve had) the time of my life: bill medley and jennifer warnes (aka the song from dirty dancing)

Plot: Six years ago, Y/N left her hometown and all its bad memories behind, and never looked back. But now, she’s come back to be the maid of honour in her sister’s wedding. Returning ‘home’ means she has to confront her past, the last thing she wants to do. When she meets the handsome best man Nick, she feels more comfortable…until her sister asks her to show Nick around town…a town that Y/N fell out of love with a long time ago.

Can Y/N fall back in love with the town she left behind, and maybe find love of her own along the way? (based on prompt by @orphicodysseywrites)

Tag List: @shinydixon, @baker151910 and @thesundrop. Let me know if you want to be added!

Warnings: Some mentions of alcohol

Note: I’m so sorry this chapter took so long! I’ve been super busy during Christmas because I work retail, and when I got home, I was so drained and unmotivated to write something, but here we are! I hope y’all enjoy the emotional roller coaster this chapter will take you on ;) Also, this chapter has some parts told in Nick’s POV for the first and definitely not the last time

Read the other parts / Read this story on Wattpad!

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Nick or his character! I just used Nick bc he’s the only character of Dacre’s that fits this prompt. Aside from Nick being in this, this fic has NOTHING to do with The Broken Hearts Gallery. But you should all see the movie if you can, because it’s adorable!

Later That Day

“How about this one?” Nick suggests. I scrunch my nose up. We were both trying to figure out what song to dance to at the wedding. Yes, we’ve left it late, but given everything that’s happened since we got here, can you blame us?

“Absolutely not.” Nick sighs. “What?”

"It’s a fun song! It’ll get people dancing.”

“Nick, even though we both look good, I don’t think dancing to Sexy and I Know It will be a good idea. Unless we want to give our great aunts a heart attack.” Sighing, Nick nods, crossing it off his list. “Now, I have made a playlist for this very occasion, so let me put it on...” I announce, crossing over to my phone.

“Of course you have. Katie’s told me about how many playlists you have Y/N. How many do you have now? Fifty?” Nick teases. Ignoring him, I hit play. Soon, the sounds of Waterloo by ABBA fills the room. Nick gives me a look. “ABBA? Seriously?”

“What do you mean, ‘seriously’ ?!” I ask. “They’re iconic! This song won them Eurovision!”

“That’s true, but no. No ABBA." I roll my eyes.

“No taste.” I shake my head. Ignoring me, Nick hits skip. The Time of My Life from Dirty Dancing starts playing. Nick and I look at each other. My mouth drops open, and he raises an eyebrow. “What?! This song is iconic! This scene is iconic! Patrick Swayze is an incredible dancer in this scene!”

“That’s true. He’s a great dancer. But I’m not that good.”

“I can’t judge that Nick, I’ve never seen you dance.” Nick laughs.

“That’s a good thing. You’ll see at the wedding.”

“Come on! Get some practice! Dance with me.” I urge, holding out my hands. “Please?!”

“Oh, no. Did you hear what I just said?” Ignoring him, I take his hand, gently leading him into the centre of the room. “Y/N. I’d only ever do something like this for you, but I’m telling you that I’m going to stand on your feet and you will regret ever asking me to dance with you.” He sighs, taking my other hand. I start dancing, whilst Nick stands there, awkwardly moving.

“See! This isn’t so bad!” I smile. “I’ve had...the time of my life....” I start singing. Nick laughs. “I get to endure your dancing, and you get to endure my singing. It’s only fair.”

“Guess that’s true. In that case, I should dance properly.” Nick moves closer, places his hand around my waist, and takes my other hand in his. I gasp. Did not expect him to be so close. Nick twirls me under his arm.

“I’veeee, had the time of my lifeeee...” I sing to myself. Nick laughs. “What? I know I’m not that good at singing, but this song is SO good, can you blame me?!”

“You’re not that bad.” Nick smiles, continuing to twirl and dance with me around the room. “Do you even remember the dance from this film?” He asks.

“Kinda? To be honest, all I remember is the lift. You don’t have to lift me by the way.” Nick frowns.

“I think...he dips her like this.” Nick mumbles, and before I can even do anything, he gently but effortlessly dips me. I let out a little squeal, and he quickly pulls me up, asking if I’m okay. Still breathless, I can’t even reply.

“For someone who says he can’t dance, you’re...really good.” I gasp eventually.

“Guess I’m full of surprises.” He grins. As the song draws to a close, Nick continues to hold me close. It was nice...really nice. I could stay like this forever. The music changes in the background behind us, but neither of us notice. “So...” Nick begins. “Which song do you think we should choose?”

“Well, if we pick this one, everyone will expect you to lift me.” He nods.

“We could try if you want?” He asks, dropping his hands to my waist.

“No, no, no, no, no, NICK!” I squeal as he lifts me off of my feet. “I’m ticklish! No!” I start giggling and squirming, so much so that Nick drops me. As I fall, so does he, and he lands on top of me.

“You okay?” He asks, his voice husky. I nod, breathless. He moves some hair out of my face, gazing into my eyes. “Good.” He smiles. His face has never been so close to mine before. I can see little flecks of gold in his eyes. They’re beautiful...like he is. Nick sits up and gently helps me up onto my knees. “Sure you’re okay?” He asks, and I nod again.

“Nick, it’s okay. Honestly. Thanks for today, though.” I smile, scooting over and hugging him. “Sorry you had to endure my singing though.”

“Sorry you had to endure my horrible dancing.” Nick replies. The two of us sit there for what feels like forever, but is probably just a few minutes, holding each other. Reluctantly, I pull apart.

“I better go. Katie wanted me to help finish up some of the stuff for the bachelorette party.” I announce, getting up and picking up my phone. “Bye, Nick.” I give him a small wave before walking out of the room. As soon as I’m out of his eyeshot, I lean against the wall and sigh. What is it with me these days? I had suddenly started to feel an intense desire to stay close to Nick, and spend as much time with him as possible...but gotten way more awkward at the same time. Sighing, I walk upstairs to meet Katie.

It’s probably nothing...right?

~~~

A Few Days Later: The First Night of the Bachelorette Party Weekend - 6 Days til the wedding.

“Okay, so this is the number for the hotel, even though you’re not meant to be texting or calling me....but I won’t tell!” Katie talks to Adam as I carry my suitcase towards the stairs. It’s finally here: the bachelorette party. Katie, the rest of the bridesmaids and I were travelling to a nearby town to go drinking and dancing. To save driving back to Saint Chase in the middle of the night, we were all staying in a local hotel. Sighing, I pull my suitcase towards the stairs, ready to walk down them one step at a time, whilst also trying to keep a hold on my other bags. I stifle a yawn. Since Katie and I were going down early to set up the hotel rooms, it meant we all had to get up super early, and I was nowhere near close to functioning. Not that I was usually, but today was worse.

“Need some help?” Nick asks suddenly, popping up behind me, causing me to jump and almost lose my balance. My suitcase is close to tumbling down the stairs, nearly taking me with it. But Nick holds his hands out and catches it as best as he can.

“Shit, Nick! You need to stop sneaking up on me like that!” I scold. Even though I liked seeing him, I did not like it if it meant a heart attack came along with it.

“Sorry, I just saw you were struggling, and I saw those stairs, so I thought I could help.” He shrugs. I sigh. I mean, he was right. I did need help.

“...Yeah, you’re right.” I nod. “Can you take these?” I ask, passing him most of my bags.

“God, what is IN these things?” Nick asks as he gets increasingly more laden down. “I thought you girls were only going away for the weekend?”

“Yup.” I nod, popping the p. “These bags have our sashes, some balloons, other accessories like the mini veil and tiara, headbands....the photo booth props....” I trail off when I notice Nick looking at me like I’ve grown an extra head. “Yeah, bachelorettes are intense. And Katie and I are going down early to set up, so I have to bring everything now. Hence...all this.” I gesture around with my free hand. “And this suitcase has our makeup, outfit changes, and spares, just in case.” Nick still looks horrified.

“We’re just gonna stay here, play some video games and drink some beers.” He states, making me laugh.

“Welcome to the world of the bachelorette party, Nick. Trust me, I was the same when I first started planning. Now...I am the master.” I strike a pose, and Nick laughs. “And besides, if you think this is bad, wait till you see our stuff for the day of the wedding.” Nick’s eyes go wide again, making me laugh. Nick helps me down the stairs with everything, and he and Adam help Katie and I pack the car full of our things.

“Okay, that’s us all loaded up! Bye, handsome.” Katie tells Adam, pulling him into a kiss, whilst Nick and I stand around slightly awkwardly.

“Well, uh...have fun. Be sure to...show me pictures?”

“Only if you show me some from the bachelor party too.” Nick nods. “Well...bye Nick.” I smile, giving him a small wave and walking towards the car.

“Y/N, wait!” He calls, and I turn around. He walks up to me and gently takes my hands in his. I immediately feel shivers up my arms. Nick speaks again, his voice now hushed. “If you have a nightmare again, or if you need someone to talk to, give me a call, alright? Doesn’t matter how early or late it is. I want you to know I’ll always be there for you.” I feel tears rising in my eyes all over again.

“Nick...are you sure?”

“Positive.” He pulls me into a hug before I can even react. “Have a fun weekend.” He whispers, squeezing me so tightly that I swear my heart stops. In a good way, though. Nick and I pull apart, and as I gaze into his blue eyes, I realise that I don’t want to go. Even though I knew I had to support my sister, and I knew I did want to go....a stronger part of me just wanted to stay and hang out with Nick.

“Come on, Y/N!” Katie orders. “We need to go if we’re going to have any chance of setting up before the girls arrive!” Blushing slightly, I turn back to Nick.

“Bye Nick.” I smile. He wishes me goodbye, and I get into the car besides Katie. The two of us wave as we pull out of the driveway, Nick and Adam waving us goodbye as we go. As the house fades out of view, the feeling from before, the desire to stay, returns. I try and ignore it, but it’s intense. “What is wrong with me?!” I think to myself. Whatever it is, I better forget it soon, or I’ll be thinking about Nick for the whole night.

~~~

That Night

Pushing open the door to the karaoke bar, the six of us walk in.

“YAAAAAY! KARAOKE!” Katie calls, slightly tipsy already.

“I cannot believe you’ve talked me into this. I’m not even that drunk or a good singer!” I hiss. I know I’ve already sung in front of Nick, but this was different. I was comfortable with Nick, but there were people here. People who could hear me. People who I don’t know.

“Come on, Y/N! It’ll be fun! And don’t you worry, once you get some more shots in you, you’ll be right up on that stage.” Sam grins. Sam was another member of Katie’s bridal party. Altogether, there was me, Caroline, Sam, Sam’s wife Vanessa, and Katie’s college roommate Brooke. I was so thankful that Katie has such a small bridal party. It makes my life so much easier.

“And besides, you don’t have to be a good singer...to be honest, most people aren’t.” Brooke smiles.

“If you say so....” I mumble. The group of us sit in a booth and order some drinks to get started. I’m going to need a lot more of these to get through this karaoke. If they think I’ll be up on that stage, they have another thing coming.

~~~

Two Hours Later

“Cause tonight for the first time....just about half-past ten....for the first time, in HISTORY....it’s gonna start raining meeeeeen!” I sing into the microphone. The girls cheer from the table. “IT’S RAINING MEN!” Brooke and I both sing/shout into the microphone, our arms around each other.

“I mean we’re gay but yessss!!! Love that!” Vanessa and Sam shout. It turns out it only takes a few more wines to get me up on the stage. Who knew? Brooke and I continue the song and finish to thunderous applause, mostly from the rest of the girls.

��You’re right!! That was so fun!!!!” I grin, jumping up and down. “I’m sorry for doubting youuuuu.” I pull Brooke into a hug, which she returns. The two of us sit back down at the table. “Katie! Katie! Did you see me?!” I ask. “Wasn’t I good?! Can you believe....Nick had the cheek to say I wasn’t that bad. I’m a star in the making.”

“Who’s Nick?” Sam asks.

“Well. He’s Adam’s best man. And he is cute as hell.” I grin. Fumbling with my phone, I open instagram to Nick’s profile. “SEE?!” I exclaim, showing them my phone screen.

“Babeeee, your thumb’s in the way.” Katie tells me, trying to swat it out of the way. I move it, and soon a chorus of ‘awwws’ and ‘wows’ fills the air.

“You’re right, he’s gorgeous!” Brooke nods.

“Right? I wish he could see me now. I’m so hot.” The girls agree. “Wait. Katie...I have an idea.”

~~~

A Few Hours Later

Nick’s POV

Yawning, I put my phone on charge and place it on the nightstand. The boys and I had had a fun night together, but I was exhausted, so I decided to go to bed. As I close the curtains, I hear my phone start buzzing on the nightstand. I pick it up, and a bunch of text notifications from Katie pop up on the screen. Chuckling to myself, I open the texts. If I know anything about Katie, I know she’ll most likely be drunk by this point. A picture of Y/N flashes up on the screen, accompanied by a text saying:

“LOOK HOW GORGEOUSSSSS MY SISTER LOOKS!!!!!!! BET YOU MISS HER, HUH?!” and about a million emojis. I tap on the picture of Y/N, enlarging it. Katie obviously took it whilst she was getting ready, unbeknownst to Y/N. She’s smiling as she applies her makeup, and is looking over at one of the bridesmaids, probably laughing at a joke or something. I smile. She looks so...natural? I’ve been so used to seeing Y/N being fake happy to appease either myself or her sister, and seeing her naturally, with a big smile on her face, not knowing anybody’s watching or taking her photo...she looks beautiful. I mean, she always looks gorgeous, but this time...she looked even more gorgeous. Radiant even. I didn’t even know that was possible. And Katie was right. I do miss her. It was crazy, I’ve only known her for two weeks at this point, but she was quickly becoming someone I cared about, and someone I wanted to see after the wedding. I mean, we had almost kissed...which I initiated...and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t wished that we had kissed. I don’t think I’ll be forgetting her that quickly.

I scroll down, and notice a video, which Katie has helpfully captioned with “4 u ;)” I hit play. Y/N Is standing by a karaoke machine, wearing a black sequined jumpsuit, a pink maid of honour sash, and a tiara. She looks great.

“This is for youuuu Nick!” She calls, sounding pretty drunk, pointing directly into the camera. The music starts playing, and I start laughing as soon as I recognise it. It’s Dancing Queen by ABBA. Of course. Y/N immediately starts singing and dancing around the stage. She told me earlier on she couldn’t sing, but she was actually pretty good. I find myself softly singing along as she sings. Soon, the song ends, and she takes a bow to thunderous applause from the bar. She comes running up to Katie’s phone. “Were you filmin?” She asks, before looking right into the camera. “NICK! I hope you enjoyed that, even though you have NO TASTE!!! See you on Sunday!” She blows a kiss to the camera, making me smile. “...Oooh is that more champagne?” She asks, immediately walking away, making me laugh. I type out a text to Katie:

“You’re right. She does look gorgeous. Tell her I enjoyed the song. Enjoy the rest of your night girls x” I put my phone back on the nightstand and get into bed. Sighing, I look up at the ceiling. What is it with me? Y/N has been occupying my thoughts ever since she and Katie left, and I have no idea why. “You know why, you idiot.” Part of me tells myself. “It’s because you like her.” No, that can’t be it...can it? I mean, I had almost kissed her. Oh shit. Maybe I did like her. I prop myself up on my elbow and pick up my phone again. I start scrolling through my photos from the past two weeks. Y/N’s in almost every one. I feel butterflies within as I see her face smiling back at me. Oh god. I think I do like her. But there’s no way she feels the same.

~~~

The Next Morning

Y/N’s POV

Groaning, I sit up in bed. My head is starting to pound. Getting out of bed, worming my way around the pairs of heels and accessories left on the floor, I walk into the bathroom, gasping when I see myself in the mirror. My mascara is running, my eyeshadow is smudged, and there is glitter all over my face. Sighing, I get undressed and hop in the shower, letting everything wash away with all the soapy water. Once I’m out, I hear Katie’s voice from the other side of the door, and she frantically knocks.

“Y/N! Y/N! Are you in there?!” She asks. I open the door and see her shocked face on the other side.

“What? Do you need to puke?” I ask, standing aside.

“NO! LOOK!” She thrusts her phone at me. I take it and look down at it. It’s displaying her texts to Nick.

“You sent him the video of me singing karaoke?!” I exclaim. Katie frowns.

“You told me to? And no! I don’t mean that!!” She snatches her phone back and scrolls down. “Look what Nick sent!” She orders. Taking the phone back, I read the message.

“You’re right. She does look gorgeous.” I immediately block out the rest of the message. Those words replay in my mind. Nick....thinks I look gorgeous? Katie is staring at me, clearly waiting on my response...but I can’t think of anything to say. My mind and my heart feel like they’re racing at 100 miles per hour. I mean, it’s not like he outright admitted he was in love with me or anything...but in a way...he kind of did? Holy shit. I don’t even know how I feel about him. I mean, we have almost kissed already, but that doesn’t mean anything, does it? Who am I kidding, of course it means something. It means that I must like him too, or I wouldn’t have almost kissed him. My mind immediately flashes back to the times people thought Nick and I were boyfriend and girlfriend, or telling us we would make a cute couple, how I didn’t want to leave Nick for this weekend...and realisation dawns on me. The reason why I liked being told that, and why I enjoyed being with Nick...is because I wanted it. Do I...like Nick? As in...like, like? ...I think I might?

“Y/N...are you okay?” Katie asks. “You’re kinda spaced out.”

“Yeah, I’m wonderful.” I lie. I feel like my world has been turned upside down, or like the rug has been pulled out from under me, and I might collapse at any moment. Katie raises an eyebrow.

“Y/N...you promised me that if something’s going on, you’d tell me what it was. I can tell something’s up, and I want to know what. Please? You’re my sister. I want to know if something’s bothering you.” She reminds me, and I sigh.

“Fine. We’ll go for some coffee before brunch, and I’ll tell you. Now, will you PLEASE let me get dressed in peace?!”

~~~

Later

I take a sip of my coffee, letting it soothe me and my slowly developing hangover. Katie sits across from me, looking expectantly as she waits on me admitting what’s been going on with me...that I think I have a crush on Nick. Sighing, I meet her gaze...and start telling her everything. How close we’ve grown, how everyone we’ve met thinks we’d be cute together, our almost kiss, how excited I was to see him again, and...how I think I’m falling for him. When I’ve stopped, Katie stares at me silently for what feels like an eternity. I knew she’d need some time to process this...but not this long. “Uh...Katie?” I start, and she immediately cuts me off.

“I KNEW IT!” She gasps, letting out a squeal that makes some of the people in the coffee shop stare. I flush pink, but she doesn’t even notice. “God Y/N, I thought it was going to be something worse than this.” She admits. She sees my pink face and continues. “Y/N. A few days ago, I told you that I’ve seen how happy he makes you, and how it’s like when Adam and I first met. It’s SO OBVIOUS that you like him. Actually...” She giggles, stopping only to take a drink of her coffee. “I didn’t tell you, but last night you were talking about him all the time. Like for the whole night. I think the rest of the girls were too drunk to notice, but I wasn’t. Every five minutes, it was ‘do you think Nick would like this?’ ‘Nick said this...’ ‘Nick said that...’ ‘He’s so cute!’ ‘I want Nick to know how cute I look tonight!’ And now, he does! All thanks to me.” She grins triumphantly. “But seriously Y/N. It’s so obvious. To be honest, I knew that you probably liked him from that first meal in the diner, when you kicked me in the shin.”

“Sorry about that by the way.”

“No, no, don’t be silly! It’s fine. You did that every time I almost spilled your crushes to Grandma. I know you too well. BUT, I did NOT know about this almost kiss though!!!” She squeals again, thankfully quieter this time. “My sister’s getting with the best man!” I quickly shush her.

“No! Nick cannot know. At least, not yet.” She frowns at me. “For one, I have no idea if he even likes me in that way, and second, I am not doing anything to jeopardise your wedding.” Katie scoffs.

“Who cares about my wedding?! My big sister’s finally found the one!”

“Okay, that’s a bit much, I don’t even know if-”

“Oh, please. I have a feeling that he likes you too, and that you two will be happy for many years to come.” She taps the side of her head as if she’s made a breakthrough, before going back to her coffee. “So...when are you gonna tell him?”

“Katie, did you not hear what I just said? I’m not going to. At least not yet. I do want to know if he likes me back, but I don’t want to take away from your wedding.” She reaches over and takes my hand.

“Y/N. As your little sister and the bride, you have my blessing to declare your feelings to Nick before my wedding. Seriously. It’s okay. I just want you to be happy.” I smile.

“Thanks sis.” I sigh. She gets down off her seat and hugs me.

“I love you.” She whispers.

“I love you too.”

“...Oh by the way, when I said ‘who cares about my wedding?’ Yeah, well I still care about it. Even though you have my blessing, please don’t let anything go wrong.” I chuckle.

“I won’t. I promise.”

~~~

The Next Day: Sunday - 5 Days til the Wedding

Nick’s POV

Adam’s practically bouncing on his heels as the two of us wait on Katie and Y/N coming back from the bachelorette party. It was cute, though. I had seen his relationship with Katie grow over the years, and was honoured they asked me to be part of their special day. It was so clear how much they loved each other.

“Dude, calm down.” I smile. “They’ll be here soon.”

“Sorry.” He blushes. “I’ve just been missing Katie, and it’s so close to the wedding now, I’m just...I’m excited to be her husband! I’ll try and calm down.” I smile.

“It’s okay. I just don’t want Katie to come home and find out her fiancé got so excited I had to scrape his body off of the ceiling.” Adam and I laugh.

“So...how about you and Y/N, huh? You excited to see her again?” I nod. Of course I was. “And then you two can finally have that talk.” I frown, looking at him. Did he...did he know? “Oh please, Nick. I’ve seen the way you talk about her. You don’t make it very subtle. You like her, don’t you?” He raises his eyebrows suggestively.

“Well, yeah, but-”

“Not as a friend, as in...that way.”

“How did you know?” I ask, not even trying to deny it. He chuckles.

“It’s pretty obvious dude. Both Katie and I have noticed.” Before I can even say anything, he holds his hands up, stopping me. “Don’t worry. Katie and I don’t mind if you and Y/N get together. We just want you both to be happy.” I stand there in silence for a while, not knowing what to say. I mean, he was right, of course...and he gave me his blessing to be with Y/N if it came to that, so what was the issue? Well, of course, she might not like me back...but it was worth a try. “Are you going to talk to her?” Adam asks, looking at me expectantly.

“...I guess?” I say before even thinking about it. Adam grins and pulls me into a hug.

“Good luck.” He smiles. Yeah, what could possibly go wrong? Oh right, everything. Soon after, we hear a car pulling up to the house, and we open the door to see the girls getting out and unloading their suitcases and bags. My stomach twists into knots. Katie and Adam spot each other and immediately run into each other’s arms. Walking past them, Y/N walks into the house, standing in the doorway.

“Hey, Nick.” She smiles softly. The sun behind her illuminates her hair, backlighting her in a golden glow. God, she’s gorgeous.

“Uh...Hi!” I gasp, quickly realising I hadn’t replied to her. The two of us stand awkwardly silent for a few moments.

“WELL uh, I think I’m going to take these upstairs.” Y/N suddenly announces, making her way towards the stairs.

“Need a hand?”

“No! I mean uh...no, I’ll be fine. Thanks Nick.” She walks upstairs, leaving me frowning in the hallway. Why is she being so weird? You don’t think she...oh no. Does she know? Does she know that I think I like her? Does she not feel the same? Oh god, she doesn’t. That’s why she’s so awkward around me. Well, more so than usual. Katie walks into the house and gives me a hug. She winks at me as she also heads upstairs, confusing me even more. What is going on with those two? Sighing, I decide to make us all some tea. As I sit in the living room, drinking my cup, Y/N comes and sits beside me on the couch. “Oh! Thanks, Nick.” She smiles, taking a cup of tea. “So...did you have a nice weekend without us?” She asks. No. I missed you too much. I want to say, but instead, I say:

“Yeah! It was good. We just played some video games.” I immediately curse myself for saying I had a good weekend without her. Now she’ll think I hate her. However, Y/N smiles at that.

“That’s good. Katie told me you saw my karaoke video. Did you like it?”

“Yeah, I did. You know, you told me you couldn’t sing, but you’re good.” She laughs.

“I don’t think so, but thanks Nick.” She smiles. She glances up as Katie and Adam walk into the room. “I need to talk to you later.” She whispers, before greeting them both. My stomach starts twisting again. Oh god, she’s going to tell me that she doesn’t feel the same, isn’t she? Dammit. Why do I always fall too hard for a girl then end up disappointed? Katie and Adam continue talking to us both, too caught up in the excitement of seeing each other again even to notice how silent Y/N and I are. The atmosphere is shattered by the sound of a car pulling up outside. The four of us look at each other, clearly confused. Nobody else is meant to be staying here now, just us four...so who’s that?

“Did one of your groomsmen forget something?” Y/N asks. Adam and I shake our heads. “And it’s not one of us, because they’re staying in the local hotel, right, Katie?” Katie huffs.

“It better not be one of them, because I TOLD THEM this house didn’t have enough room for anyone other than us.” A knock sounds at the door. Huffing again, Katie gets up. “Let me handle this.” She sighs. “If it’s our flower vendors, I swear to god, I told them to deliver stuff to the VENUE, NOT HERE.” We hear her voice disappearing down the hallway, and the three of us go back to our tea, expecting Katie to reappear moments later with a quick explanation. Sure enough, we soon hear: “What are YOU doing here?!” Y/N places her cup down and gets up.

“I’ll help her deal with this. Don’t want any issues, like last time.” She gives me a knowing look, and I chuckle lightly. Adam and I go back to scrolling through our phones and drinking tea, until the sound of “Oh, my GOD!” cuts through the air. Frowning, Adam and I look at each other. That was Y/N’s voice. The two of us get up and walk towards the front door. A man stands in the doorway, looking at Y/N and Katie. He hasn’t noticed us yet. Y/N is holding Katie’s hand, clearly squeezing it for dear life, but neither of them says anything. Either to us, the man or each other. Their faces are pale. The man looks over at Adam and I.

“Ah! Hello there! Now, which of you is the groom?” He asks.

“Um, I am?” Adam frowns. The man smiles.

“I see! Wonderful to meet you!”

“I’m sorry, sir, but who are you? Can we help you?” I ask. The man chuckles.

“Of course! Where are my manners?!” He asks. “I’m Robert Miller.” He gestures over at the girls, still ghostly pale. “And these two lovely ladies...are my daughters.”

#nick x reader #the broken hearts gallery #dacre montgomery #dacre montgomery x reader #dacre montgomery fanfic #dacre x reader #dacre montgomery fic #nick fanfiction #nick fanfic #nick x y/n #coming back home fic #coming back home #fanfiction #fanfic

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taerseok · 4 years

Text

— differences | j.j.k [hogwarts!au] (pt. 2)

pairing:. Ravenclaw!Jungkook × Slytherin!Reader

synopsis:. the girl who has never fallen seriously for a guy, now falls for the wicked, witty Jeon Jungkook. But it only happens to be that you, now believe, that you have given your heart to someone who may not take care of it as well as you thought he would.

word count:. 4.3k

genre(s):. romance, angst

warning(s):. mentions of sex, swearing

song rec(s):. house of cards - BTS, promise - Joytastic Sarah (cover), rather be - Clean Bandit

Differences: points or ways in which people or things are dissimilar.

"A great relationship isn't when a perfect couple comes together, but when an imperfect couple learns to enjoy their differences."

Why was the night so long? You sighed. You had been aimlessly walking through the corridors, they were empty as they should've been, except for you roaming them. Maybe you should've returned by now. You hugged yourself tighter, the winters coming nearer didn't help.

Upon reaching the portrait, you uttered the password and jumped in, only to find that Ara and Jungkook had disappeared. You huffed. You didn't need to notice those details.

You walked deeper into the common room, and your presence did not go unnoticed by Jimin and Yoongi, who came rushing over to you immediately.

"Are you okay?" Jimin embraced you as he asked, pulling your head to his chest like a brother. You wrapped your arms around his thin waist, barely able to keep back the tears.

"You were right," you said softly, between sobs and sniffs. "I shouldn't have fallen deeper. But before I knew it, I-" you stopped, your stomach churning and your heart screaming for rebellion against fate, "I was in love."

Jimin's posture was rigid but he calmed down rather quickly, running his hand over your back. "I'm going to kill him," Yoongi muttered, and you drew away from Jimin to find yourself between the two boys.

"Don't be stupid, Yoongi... that wouldn't make anything better, besides…" you bit your lip, "I'll be over it."

"Doesn't look like it from your face, Y/n," the male said back, making you sigh. "I know, I just… I can't believe it. I can't believe him," you muttered, your brows knitting together. "What really happened? He didn't say anything as he came out of the dormitory, but we saw his expression and you looked really angry when you were leaving… so… we kicked him out and told Ara to leave too… she ran after the guy, regardless," Jimin said slowly, turning his gaze towards you.

"He… He kissed me," you explained softly, "and then I thought… I thought he really liked me back, that it was not one-sided… so I…" you bit your lip, "I confessed. But he said that… we just couldn't? I don't know what the fuck he wanted out of me, I don't what he meant but I left immediately. I couldn't stand it."

"Damn the guy for playing with your heart. If he tries talking to you, let us talk to him for you. He deserves to learn a lesson," Yoongi said, gritting his teeth. You were happy your friends understood you, but how could you explain them the loneliness you felt, the emptiness that was etching into your heart?

You couldn't. That was simple enough to understand.

You could only hope that time would make it easier for you to deal with it. Because time never fully healed anything.

Time passed, like anything ever did. Like a flower that decayed for it wasn't watered.

Like you who kept waking up, and going to sleep again because you didn't feel like you had a reason to live anymore.

Your project, which was left uncompleted because of what had transpired, was completed by Jungkook alone as a token of apology, though you ignored it entirely and submitted it to the teacher, regardless.

Since the holiday season was coming, your parents would want you back for Christmas. And to annoy them, like always, you had started to write lyrics down for the songs you'd create, but most were heartbreak songs since that felt like what you resonated with most, and since the two boys did not mind, you went along with whatever your heart wanted. It deserved to be treated well after what had occurred.

And as for your parents, it was simply your job to annoy them. Your family, which consisted of an older sister who had already graduated from Hogwarts, your mother, and your father, was very well-known in Wizarding South Korea as one of the richest, and most powerful Pureblood families, alongside the Park and Min families. Your parents were also well-acquainted with Jimin's and Yoongi's, being business partners and whatnot.

One of the reasons why you three grew up as childhood friends.

Your teenage rebellion hadn't ended, as of yet, and Jimin and Yoongi tagged alongside you in the journey. You three made a band in which you would sing and write lyrics, Jimin would play the guitar, and also sometimes help with male vocals, and Yoongi would compose the music as well as help you write lyrics, since you were much newer to it than him. But he also rapped in a few of your songs, just to anger his parents even further, take it a step higher.

Your families were not the biggest fans of muggle music, which is what you three usually composed, so it went well with your 'we try to piss off our parents' vibe. Though you acted like it was a great deal to be a Pureblood, you just acted that way. You weren't the most excited for being born in a Pureblooded family, like so many others of your heritage were, or how so many other students in Hogwarts would wish to be.

That being said, you hated your family. How you had to hold your chin up high, just because you had a status to uphold, or how your parents scolded you for not being proper enough, or how your elder sister would nag you because she was complimented for her manners, but you weren't.

You just didn't know how to be a proper lady.

But you considered that fine, and so did Jimin and Yoongi, so you did not what your family was talking of.

You were great in your own way.

Or that's what you believed, anyway. But you had to get a boyfriend really soon, because your parents would try to marry you off to another Pureblood family to keep their status. Gosh, why did your parents suck?

Your elder sister, Areum, was not married yet either, so you hoped they'd go for her, first. But you highly doubted that. If anything, her soon-to-be husband would give a trillion won to have you over her.

You were just that gorgeous.

But then again, you didn't want to be seen as a trophy. As something to showcase and put on your shelf, and to forget. And then to remember, only when you had something to ask of it or something to use it for. You weren't going to be pushed around like that.

Though the only one who came to your mind, when you thought of the word 'boyfriend' was Jeon Jungkook. And that was plain impossible now.

You sighed, shaking the thoughts away and focusing on the paper below you. It was lunchtime, and you had decided to use it to write lyrics. But you couldn't find a good idea. All you had been doing was drawing hearts and scribbling words, only to cut them out. You remained calm for a second before it struck you.

A song from Jungkook's perspective.

No one would know it was him, and you'd get a good song. You could just imagine the way your parents would go red with fury as they heard you play it loud along with your bandmates.

That sounded like the best thing.

After a good fifteen minutes, you were done with some of the lines.

Keep your eyes on mine,

And if you want I'll tell you lies.

Tell you I'm yours for life,

And tell your friend she's next in line.

Ohh, should've listened to them.

Ohh, don't you know what I am?

You smiled. The lyrics felt really good. You didn't know if they were exactly what Jungkook's mind was like, but you were willing to bet it went this way. You tapped on Yoongi's shoulder, showing him the paper excitedly.

"That's... really good. Some of the best lyrics you've written. You're improving, Y/n!" he said, patting you on the back. You smiled appreciatively like a child, nodding. "Mhm! I… I took inspiration. I thought if I'd write it from… someone else's perspective instead of mine like another heartbreak song… it'd be more interesting," you took the paper back, analysing the lyrics.

"You're on the right track then! This song will be killer. Can you finish the lyrics soon? I'll start on the music right away. Tell me the tone and some specific notes you have in mind," Yoongi said, and you nodded. "Mhm, so-" you were about to say, when you were cut off.

It was Jimin, who came to sit next to you on the other side. You didn't even notice he was gone until now. You must be really into writing the lyrics - or thinking of your horrible family.

"Guys!" he said, taking his seat, and catching his breath. "What happened, Jimin?" Yoongi raised a brow, and you tilted your head to the side.

"It's Ara! Apparently she's showing the other girls her trip to the Leaky Cauldron with Jungkook," he said quietly, though urgently.

You sighed, shaking your head, "don't tell me," you began to say, hoping it wasn't what you thought it was.

"Yup… they took pretty drunk photos with fire whiskies…" he bit his lip, gesturing to the girl on the far end of the Slytherin table, who was surrounded by many other females. She had been showing them a bunch of moving photos. Usual Wizard-y things.

You sighed again, unable to bear it all anymore. Only when you thought it was getting better, you started to wonder if you were, instead, falling deeper into the spiral of the potion Jungkook had made you drink. You thought for a bit.

What if Jungkook and Ara had done something? What if they were together? What if he did something similar to her as he did to you? What if he kissed her like he had kissed her - what if?

Speaking of the devil himself, as if the Universe wanted to answer your queries, Jungkook made his way into the Great Hall, and you could see the wave of girls gushing over him. Since when did he become so popular? The whole situation made you confused. Where was the 'nose-in-books-always' Jungkook you knew? Yeah, it had been a few weeks since the whole thing between you and him had happened, and you hadn't talked since then, but what major changes had gotten into the guy?

You couldn't help but sigh again. He was still as intoxicatingly handsome as ever. His dark locks, piercing eyes, red, soft lips - and to say you had tasted those once. It made you slightly sad to remember that.

"Okay, well… I'm going back to writing the lyrics… I don't feel like seeing his face anym-" you began saying, before Jimin cut you off. "There's more. She keeps going on and on about how they… Were intimate with eachother," he said quietly, biting his plump, lower lip.

"You don't say. That's what happens when you get too drunk," replied Yoongi, rolling his eyes. Your heart went breaking into a million pieces. So your doubts were correct. Of course they were. Guys were guys. They'd always be.

"Yoongs, you don't mind if I write another song and you compose the music for me? But I don't want… to use it as a band song, just yet, if that's fine?" you asked, the sudden idea just coming too quick for you to register, and being the impatient gal you were, you were quick to voice it.

"Sure. You start writing and I'll help you," he said, smiling a little, which he didn't do often, so you were quick to give him your brightest smile as you started scribbling on more lyrics.

It was that evening when you had finished your dinner, you were out in the corridors, a piece of paper in your hand, as you slowly recited how you wanted your 'not-band-song' to go. Being out in the open, breathing in the fresh air - it all made you really creative, opening your mind to brainstorm new ideas. You had written a couple lyrics.

Got me lookin' so crazy right now,

Your love's got me lookin' so crazy right now.

Got me lookin' so crazy right now your touch's,

Got me lookin' so crazy right now.

Got me hoping you page me right now your kiss's,

Got me hoping you save me right now.

You'd be lying if you said that this song wasn't another foolish, 'i-am-naive-and-fell-in-love' song, but you didn't mind it much at this point. In fact, you were enjoying the way it sounded. It was like writing away your emotions that seemed to be eating you from the inside. A way to express yourself, in other words.

Staring down at the paper, you sang the lyrics quietly, hoping no one would hear you, while your thoughts slowly wandered away into a more peaceful place, and you sang your heart out. You loved the way it made you feel. You felt free. It was just like another method of talking to yourself, except in a sing-song manner.

"Y/n!"

The voice made you stop in your tracks, it stopped you from singing any further. You had recognised it, but you didn't want to show him your face. You were well aware, after all, that it would be a matter of your pride. You could only halt your steps, as the person - the guy - came closer and closer to you, until he was right behind you, and you could feel his heat.

You were trying hard to keep your breath even, but even the process of breathing hurt. Why, you wished you could die on the spot.

"What do you want, Jungkook?"

You couldn't bare to look around to find his sweet face looking at you, you had simply came too far to go back to square one for goodness' sake.

"I'm sorry."

"For fucking what?"

Although you did curse, your voice remained surprisingly calm. It even astonished you as to how at ease your body was, despite your heart running a couple hundred miles an hour.

"For everything. I treated you so wrong, I know. I'm sorry."

"Ara's waiting for you. Go back to her."

It hurt you badly, ever so badly to say what had uttered out of your lips, but what was the truth was simply a fact, and you couldn't change the reality. He was someone else's and you had to come at terms with it, whether you liked it or not, whether it was against your heart's will or not.

"She's not. Why do you say it like we're together?"

Guys were guys. And you had understood. So that's what it meant. So that's how it was. You were always right. If you were together, he'd say the same thing to Ara. To every single girl he wanted to fuck. And that upsetted you beyond measure. Why couldn't he part ways with you? You had already accepted the true, harsh reality.

Or you were pretending to.

Not a day had passed since you didn't stare at him, since you didn't have him as the center of your Universe, and how long had it been that you had fallen in love? Why was life so cruel?

"Because you are? Last time we went to Hogsmeade, you got drunk with her and got intimate. Why, does that not prove-?" you were saying more until he interuppted you.

"No, it doesn't. We were drunk and… and it was irresistible. But I don't hold any feelings for her."

You scoffed. "Then who do you hold feelings for?" the hand that held the lyrics paper dropped down, as you turned to be face to face with the guy you had came to love, only to have your heart broken in return.

"You."

His answer was simple, the look in his eyes spoke a million words, but all you could do was shake your head.

"If you did love me, you wouldn't have done what happened a month ago."

"That was all for a reason."

You clutched the paper tighter, your hands balling into fists. You had enough. Your heartbreak was for a reason? You were rejected for a reason and yet still, were not given closure? It infuriated you.

"There is no reason to step on someone's heart over and over, Jeon Jungkook!" you shouted, stepping away from him. He was still as youthful, as handsome as ever. His dark, black locks, his red, soft lips, his rabbit-like face. It all made you feel so broken. He was a signature of how you were heartbroken. He embodied it all. He was the reason you stood where you stood, writing heartbreak songs.

"Yes, there is! If you'd only listen to what I have to say-"

"There is nothing left to say! I loved you and you rejected me for reasons you don't want me to know!"

"Well, I want you to know now! If you'd only listen to me."

"Then, say what you have to say and leave."

"I… the last time I held you, it… it was out of affection. But… you know, I'm a commitment phobe, I was afraid I'd hurt you for that, if we weren't right, if we weren't compatible, I'd hurt both of us. You deserved a better person than someone who'd never settle for you. And it scared me. I didn't want to lose you but I knew if I hurt you, I'd never be able to forgive myself. But I guess… I hurt you either way. So I'm here to ask for forgiveness. If only, you could do that, I'd be… forever in your debt. I put you through hell and over, but I still love you.

"And I know, I know you wouldn't want to be with someone like me, for several reasons… I have came to learn how we are so different, I'm a muggle-born, your parents would never accept me… and I'd hate for you to ruin your relations with them for me. I'm not worth all that. So… I completely accept the condition that you don't want to be with me. It's fine, and I... I am okay with it."

You gulped, standing still.

Had you misjudged him so much? You didn't mean it… but how had you forgotten? You were fine with overlooking the fact that he was scared of commitment… but now you realise, it is so important. And you can't proceed without it.

"I'll change myself for you. I'll make my fear go away. I'll erase the man before you, create someone new, just so you can be happier. You deserve it, after everything I put you through. But I'm… I'm accepting it if you don't want to be with a guy like me. Everyone falls for you anyway, you're sweet, kind, humble, yet always know what you are worth. I love everything about you, but it's fine if you don't love everything about me after what I did."

He had never talked this much.

You could feel your heart breaking, despite being given the statements you wanted to hear. Instead of sounding like music to you ears, it sounded like the end. The end of you. You unevenly sighed. "I need time… but I forgive you either way… okay?" you smiled up at him, his astonished look giving you all his responses.

And because you loved him, it was all because you loved him that you'd make sacrifices to make him happier. Because you still loved him, albeit what he had done to you.

"Don't change for anyone. Not even me."

It was midnight by the time, you were done explaining everything to Jimin and Yoongi.

"It's your call, honestly. You still love him, but if you don't want to do it anymore, you don't have to," said Yoongi softly, his face lighted by the fireplace.

"I know… I really want to give it a chance. But I know… there's so many things… to look at…" you bit your lip, "what if we break up, then we both hurt? If my family doesn't accept him? If he doesn't get over his fear?"

"It's for you to decide, Y/n. You'll have to step up," Jimin said, eyeing you worriedly. "I know… I need time…" you said softly, getting up. "I'm going to sleep."

"How much time do you need?" asked Yoongi.

"..." you stayed silent. You'd need weeks - months to go over everything. "…a couple days?" you raised a brow, shrugging. "Tomorrow's the 20th. We're leaving tomorrow," said Jimin.

"L-Leaving? As in… for holidays?" you stammered, biting your lower lip. "Yeah… you'll have to decide right now... tell him tomorrow, maybe…" he replied, frowning a little.

"I wish, there was more time…" you sighed. "You can tell him after the holidays?" Yoongi raised a brow. "True… but…" you sighed heavily again. You wanted him to meet your parents, if it was possible. If you decided to be with him. "I'll see."

By dawn, you had made up the decision. You were still madly in love with the guy. You couldn't leave him, despite everything he had done. Despite everything that happened.

You got up, packed your trunk, and got ready to leave.

Jungkook didn't meet you up anywhere, neither did you see him.

You decided to go to the Ravenclaw dormitory, it was the last place you could think of.

The riddle was easy, surprisingly you had gotten more intelligent, despite whatever you thought of your IQ.

"Jungkook?" you asked softly, entering the boys' dormitory. Opening the door, you were greeted by the sight of the man you had been looking for.

He was on his bed, moving around and still fast asleep. The room was empty, except for him.

The scene made you smile. You walked up to him, booping his nose. You had never seen him like this, mostly he was just a poker face guy. But seeing a cute Jeon Jungkook was a sight you didn't want to miss.

"Nngh," he made quiet sounds, rolling around. You felt giddy seeing him. You shook him lightly. "Jungkook! Wake up. I'm about to leave," you said in a hushed whisper. One of his eyes burst open, the other one still closed.

"What do y-?" he looked to you, and both his eyes widened in surprise. "Y-Y/n!" he exclaimed, getting up immediately.

You laughed. "Well, I'm about to leave. And I'm deciding... to give you a chance." His mouth dropped open. Before you even knew it, you were in his embrace, feeling his locks on your face.

"I… I… I'm so sorry. I'm so… grateful. I don't know what to say… Thank you," he said quietly. You rolled your eyes. You appreciated it, but you were getting late. And this could be done sometime else. "You have better things to do than be grateful, sweetheart." He pulled away, eyeing you mischeviously. "And that is?"

"Getting ready! Now, c'mon."

"But… why?"

"Because, I'm taking you," you booped his nose again, "to my parents' for the holidays. And you are coming, whether you agree with it or not."

"Wha-?!" but before he could utter a word, you were giving him his uniform and pushing him to the bathrooms.

The Hogwarts Express drove away, and the ride was fun. You sat in a compartment with your two friends, and Jungkook and his friends, Hoseok and Taehyung. Apparently, they were going to their parents' too, but since Jungkook's parents didn't like him much, he wasn't invited over.

"That we can agree on," said Yoongi, "parents suck sometimes."

You all shared a laugh, you stuffed some more candy in your mouth, before taking a handful and feeding it to Jungkook.

"I'm so excited to see the looks on mother's face. Oh, and Areum is totally going to freak out. I mean, Jungkook is really hot," you rolled your eyes as you spoke. "So, you two sisters have a competition about who has the hottest boy over?" Jungkook smirked, his face left you speechless.

"Well, yeah. Sometimes. But mostly, she doesn't get many guys over. And besides, you're going to up my points and before you know it, it'll be zero for her and beyond infinity for me. I mean, not going to lie, you're eye candy," you brought a candy to your eye to emphasise.

"Are you hitting on me?" Jungkook chuckled, and you rolled your eyes. "People don't hit on their significant others, Jeon Jungkook! I'm flirting," you popped another candy in your mouth.

The ride ended, and you all got out of the Express. You said your goodbyes to Taehyung and Hoseok, and then to Yoongi and Jimin, telling them you'll meet up soon. You grabbed Jungkook's hand, and led him over to your mother and sister.

They looked the same as ever, modern, holding themselves highly. You could just sense the egoistic vibes. "No joke, the good genes run in your family, but you're the hottest," Jungkook whispered in your ear, making you blush a little, but you rolled your eyes in response.

"They've came here all the way from South Korea to pick me up, so you better shut that pretty mouth of yours, before I get scolded," you muttered to him, making him chuckle.

"Whatever you say, sweetheart."

"That's my line!" you elbowed him as you walked up to your mother.

Your mother looked astonished to see the young man, but you expected this already. "This is Jeon Jungkook, mother. He's a Ravenclaw at Hogwarts, seventh year like me. We're… dating," you said, liking the way it tasted on your tongue.

You could see Aruem memorized by your boyfriend, which made you smirk slightly. "Ah, I see. It is a pleasure to meet you, Jungkook. Is he from a Pureblood family?" your mother inquired.

"No, actually... He's a muggle-born."

The horrified looks on her and Aruem's face told you that this winter was going to be a lot more merrier than the last ones.

Not only because you had a boyfriend, but another reason to piss off your parents.

A/N:. so that was all for this ff! It was really fun to write it, I'm still a bit mad at tumblr, but 'kay. Anyway, hope you all enjoyed, m'loves. <333

#jeongguk #jeon jungkook #bts #fanfic #hogwarts #au #rm #jin #suga #jhope #jimin #taehyung #fic:differences #differences

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loquaciousquark · 5 years

Note

The entirety of a lot of your fics are so wonderfully descriptive that I can picture them very well in my head. If I had to pick though, I would say all of Given Respite since the inquisition members are so in character I can hear their voices in the dialogue. The parts in Mute and River Stone where Hawke is found and the battles afterward and the part in River Stone where Hawke is by said river also stick out clear in my head because of all the heavy emotions depicted in those scenes.

Oh my golly, can I talk about River Stone for a second? I wrote that fic over a terrrrible summer (in retrospect, I had horrible untreated depression and boy did it show in that fic), but there’s a section in that fic you mention here, the one where she’s by the river--at least, I think it’s the one you mean--that honestly has some of the writing I’m still the most proud of to this day.

Dawn breaks grey and cool, less a sunrise than a paling sky that stretches from horizon to horizon with heavy and unbroken clouds. A thin, damp mist seeps through the trees, washing away the colors of the bark and the earth and the leaves until all the wood is left fog-wreathed and muffled, the distant trees vanishing into white, indistinct shapes, their skyward-reaching branches stretched, like hopeless penitents, towards the hidden sun.Hawke wakes early, smoothly and in silence, as if a hand has brushed across her shoulder or a well-loved voice has softly called her name. Teeth's arm is draped over her waist; she lifts it away and sits up, brushing her dark hair out of her eyes, and then she stands and stretches and sees the ash-grey mist that surrounds the camp, as smooth and soft as smoke. It ought to be bleak; she finds it peaceful. A reflection of herself.She is the first one awake. Even Delia is curled in sleep, her yellow hair tightly braided and draped over her shoulder, and Carn lies on his back with one arm thrown over his eyes; there is no guard set, but she has not needed one in days. She thinks, perhaps, she will go back to the lake. She would like to see it in this grey dawn-light, to watch the gentle mist rolling soft and slow over the still water's mirroredsurface.Maybe the thrush will sing again.A quiet breeze tugs at the tips of her fingers, at the loose-falling ends of her hair, drawing her with soundless laughter towards the lake. She yields to it, treading lightly in the hushed white world she has found herself in, the worn leather toes of her boots pressing into the springy pine needles of the forest floor without a noise. She passes through the outer edge of the camp, wraithlike; the trees float by her like ship-masts on the white waters of the sea, effortless, and silent, and without number.Then a hand reaches out over her mouth, and strong arms pull her into the lee side of a thick-boled grey oak.

I have no idea if it transferred as well as it still plays in my head, but I hope so. That entire fic was an unintended effort at catharsis and there are some parts that are difficult for me to read today, but this part and as you mentioned, the battle scenes, I still find embarrassingly enjoyable to revisit when I have the itch.

I’m also very glad you liked the voices in Given Respite. I’ve been thinking a lot about Inquisition lately, and as many problems as I had with it, I truly did love its characters. I remember struggling the most with Cole, of all people, in that oneshot; he has such a particular cadence and manner of speech, but I kept pushing way too hard into one or the other--all spirit insight into people’s minds and nothing else, or all inquisitive boy and none of the wisdom. I found him really challenging and rewarding, and I think his section is one of my favorites, along with Bull’s in that fic. Thank you so much!

He glances over his shoulder across the yard, furrowing his brow at the door that leads to the Champion's quarters. "He's angry. They're holding hands. A hot knot in his heart, twisted, tight, tugging at his ribs. It's too old to heal, so she's wrapped it in red ribbon to soften the scars. It tore when she left, but she's stitching it back up because she loves him. I do not want her to leave again. It frightens me to love her; it frightens me to lose her. I am yours."

"Look," Trevelyan says, pulling Cole's attention away from a moment neither of them is meant to see. "She's a wonderfully calm child. Have you ever seen an infant before? Up close, I mean?"

Cole crouches at Trevelyan's feet in the grass, head tilted back enough that he can see Leda's face past the brim of his hat, the dark head turning left and right as he moves. "Did she talk with them too?"

"She's too young to speak yet. It takes time for babies to learn words."

"A field of yellow flowers, wind fluttering the heads. They are smiling at each other, at me. An apple splits crisply under a little knife; I can smell summer in the juice. I want everything."

"She doesn't remember that."

"You do."

"Cole," Trevelyan says, startled, and he reaches out, more carefully than she knew he could, and touches Leda's bare toes. Softer, she asks, "Does she remember anything?"

"Love," he says, and cocks his head. "It's all she knows."

#dragon age for ts #quark replies #tiredangelaziegler #don't be tired mercy :(#memorable moments meme

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thatfairyfangirl · 5 years

Text

True Colors Chapter 12

“Young lady you came all this way to see your family! Sit down for dinner. Those hooligans you call friends can wait.” Your mother scolded you as you and Bucky were halfway out the door for the night. Your eyes closed as you turned, you were so close...

“Mom, I was kinda planning on taking Bucky for his first authentic cheesesteak...I’ll have dinner with you guys tomorrow, I promise.” You protested as you slowly walked back inside, knowing resistance was futile.

“There’s always tomorrow, it’s alright Doll.” Bucky offered in an attempt to smooth things over as fast as possible, planting a soft kiss on your cheek for appearances that made your heart flutter just a bit. As you watched him take a seat at the table you realized that the feel of his lips against your flesh actually got a reaction out of you...what the hell is wrong with you?!

~ ~ ~ ~

“So (Y/N), how did you two even meet?” Your Nana asked, never taking her eyes off of Bucky as the two of you set the table for dinner.

“Well that’s actually the other part of the surprise.” You drew in a nervous breath as you pushed your rainbow hair back. Your mom and Nana exchanged frightened looks, wondering what new ways their little girl would find to let them down now. “I’m not just a musician anymore…”

“Oh good lord you finally started dancing at that God-awful club haven’t you?” Your mom cried out as she threw her face into her hands. “I knew it! The second I saw you on the news I knew your days of finding a decent job were over!”

“No mom.” You grumbled. “I don’t even DJ there anymore. I’m...I’m an Avenger now.” You straightened your back attempting to look as heroic as possible. The two burst into laughter at the idea.

“Oh Darling why must you always feel the need to lie to us?” Nana asked as she sat herself down. “Your little color...thing is a nice trick and all but hardly what heros are made of. Now Captain America, now there’s a hero-” and off Nana went yet again droning on and on about how much she loved him back during the war.

“No, really...What do you think they taught us at mutant school?”

“...not as if Captain America ever needed help from the Germans to be great like some people.” Nana continued her rant to herself, catching Bucky’s attention.

“Actually, ma’am,” His brow creased as the plates of his arm tensed up. “Captain Rogers’ serum was developed by Abraham Erskine, a German, and first used on Johann Schmidt. A man you might know better as the Red Skull. A man I had the honor of fighting against alongside Captain Rogers.” His eyes were like ice as he looked from one horrible woman to the other.

Nana dismissed what Sergeant Barnes had to say as she set a roast beef on the table...not exactly traditional Christmas but she’d be darned if she was going to make that twice! “(Y/N), why don’t you do your color thing to cover up Bucky’s arm for dinner so we don’t upset your Nana?” Your mom suggested lightly.

“Umm, no.” Each woman looked up to you as if you had just blasphemed, eyes wide with shock and anger. One would think this was the first time you flat out told them no. “I have been working very close with Bucky about getting over insecurities about that arm…You both are being just as ignorant and small minded with Bucky as you have been with me ever since I got my powers.” You pushed a fist into the table as the wood swirled with an angry red. “It’s fine for me. I’ve dealt with the both of you delivering me backhanded and mean comments all my life. So we’re different. So what? I’m still your daughter.” You could feel angry tears swelling up inside you, very certain you were about to burn two bridges. As you spoke a cool metal hand came to rest on your shoulder offering you comfort as his eyes looked on you as if he was truly seeing who you were for the first time. Your heart fluttered as you thought back over the past few months, about how the relationship between the two of you has gone from loathing to whatever was going on here. “And if you ever loved me, even a little, then you would at least give him a chance. Cuz the thing is,” you paused looking to him, “he makes me happy and he treats me right. And that’s all that you really should care about. That’s all Dad would have cared about. But you’re both so shallow and calloused and angry at life that you-” You pushed yourself from the table as something in you found the breaking point with these two, staring daggers into the two bitter old women. “If you can’t see that this is my life and my choices then you better start keeping an eye on the news, because it’s the only place you’ll be seeing me.” And with that you pushed yourself up, storming up the stairs to your room.

Bucky looked between the two with a look that struck fear into their hearts, a look worse than that of the Winter Soldier. Suddenly he realized why she was so upset things with Eric never worked out, and where that initial anger he once saw in her came from. He began to wonder if anyone had ever shown her real love before. “You two should be ashamed of yourselves.” As he circled the table they made sure to stay opposite him, as if a table ever stopped him before. “(Y/N) is beautiful just the way she is, and so strong! Your daughter is the new face of the mutant rights act…Quite literally THE reason Captain America is currently free to be a hero… I may not know either of you very well but I can obviously see that she didn’t get any of her amazing traits from you. All (Y/N) has ever wanted from either of you is for you to be proud of her and accept her for who she is...Though, after meeting you I don’t think I’ll ever understand why, or how something so bright and beautiful came from the two of you. But the world is better for having her.”

The two old bitter women just stood there as the assassin pushed past them, leaving them to wonder if they had lost their daughter forever as he rushed up to your room to make sure you were alright.

He opened the door to find you sitting on the bed wiping tears from your face as you clung to what used to be your favorite stuffed bear, hearing wonderful things that Bucky had said through the vent leading to the kitchen. “Hey no...none of that.” Bucky’s face softened at the sight of your tears with long rushed steps to come sit by your side. As he lowered onto the bed you flung your arms around him, loving him for always coming to your rescue. He whispered softly shhs into your ear as his strong hand stroked up and down your back.

“If I ever end up as bitter and heartless as either of them please just shoot me.” You half joked after some time of the feel of his arms around you comforting you.

“I promise.” You gave a half laugh at the response as you sat up, wiping the last of the tears away.

“Wow Buck. Didn't think you have it in you to shoot me.” You teased with a growing smile.

He shrugged. “Maybe when we first met... but I know you better than that. And I'm sure it'll never come to that.” You tried hard to ignore the pitter patter of your heart fluttering as he planted a comforting kiss to your temple.

~ ~ ~ ~

“Did you mean that Doll?” Bucky asked as he watched the sun set over the city skyline. “What you said to your mom I mean.”

You nodded a bit as you thought about the argument, though your mind seemed to want to settle on the time you both spent on the couch watching the claymation classics together and how warm he was. “Yeah...I really couldn’t ask for a better boyfriend….umm friend pretending to be my boyfriend.” Your eyes darted from the road to him, catching a glimpse of the smile dancing across his lips. “What about you? Did you mean what you said?”

“Yeah.” He answered smoothly as his smile grew, finding you even more gorgeous under the growing nightlights of the city. He reached his hand to yours, brushing his calloused thumb over your knuckles before drawing them to his lips. “Every word.” You pulled your hand away as you felt your heart skip several beats at the feel of his lips. It was bad enough he said such nice things, but to know he actually meant them…

“My friends know that we’re not really dating, that it’s all for mom and nana, so at least we don’t have to worry about keeping up appearances.” You told him as you straightened your back, trying to take back control of your head and your heart. “But the real question is can you sing?” Bucky’s brow raised at the question as you pulled up to the curb by a small building surrounded by metal picnic style tables topped with a giant glowing sign. You shot him a smirk as you got out, prompting him to quickly follow.

A small group at one of the tables rose as they spotted your keleidoscopic hair dancing in the wind as they shouted your name. With a beaming smile you greeted them by waving both your hands in the air before absentmindedly grasping Bucky’s hand, pulling him to the order window. “Yeah, two wit whiz and two cokes.” The words slid off your tongue as you fell into the old ordering habit like you were only there yesterday, free hand sliding into your pocket to pull out the money not needing to wait for a total to be given.

“Were those even words?” He asked with a chuckle as his fingers wrapped just a bit tighter around yours, finding just how comfortable they were there. “What did you even order me?” Bucky looked down to the sandwich dripping with cheese, feeling his stomach churning a bit as you both sat down with your small circle of friends. “What is this?”

“Just eat it.” You laughed as you picked up yours, reveling in the familiar taste of home. “Mmmm Pat’s I miss you more every time I leave.” You said to the sandwich before watching Bucky take his first bite of the authentic Philly classic.

“So this is the guy you’re not dating?” One of the girls asked, putting air-quotes around ‘not dating’ as she raised a suspicious brow.

“Oh! Right! Everyone, this is Bucky. Bucky this is Mary, Natalie, Cyndi, and Grace.” As you spoke the names you pointed to each of your friends, Mary being the suspicious one. “Honestly Tony was supposed to be playing the part but work happened at the last possible second so…”

The girls shared knowing glances with each other, dissecting the way you and Bucky looked at each other, finding every one of your tells as you tried your best to suppress that spark of feeling hiding deep within. “So why do you need to know if I sing?” Bucky asked as he looked over the girls, feeling much more like he was being studied then acquainted with.

After dinner the group moved from the table to a nearby bar offering karaoke and suddenly the question finally made sense. “So how long have you two been a thing?” Mary whispered with a devious smirk as you watched Bucky wander from the table to get everyone their drinks, your eyes lingering just a little too long.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You insisted as you flipped through the karaoke music selection.

“Oh please! I’ve been your best friend since we were two! The last time you looked at a guy like that was,” she paused for a moment to think of his name, “Ryan Weiss!” Your back stiffened as the name brought back memories of your middle school crush.

“You love him!” Natalie insisted as the rest of the girls nodded in agreement.

“I really don’t. He’s just a teammate.” You insisted as you watched him attempt to get the bartender's attention amid all the blue and yellow of the university students flooding the place. “And a really good friend.” The corners of your lips curled up against your will as he turned triumphant, glasses and bottles in hand. The girls shared glances, amazed that their friend could be this oblivious to what she’s feeling.

“Oh! But you really do!”

“Really do what?” Bucky asked with the absent minded grin she seemed to be giving him more and more.

“Lo-oww!” Your face pursed as you kicked Cyndi into silent submission.

“LIKE the idea of singing one of the songs from the album...A few of them are on the list already. I mean, at that point it’s not even kareoke anymore right?”

“Well, you’re always one for publicity. I’ll record it for you to put on that me tube thing” He offered as he set the drinks down.

“It’s called youtube.” You corrected as he leaned over you, his long hair brushing against your cheek as he looked over the list of songs, your scent intoxicating to him. Stubble brushed against your cheek as he shook his head, disappointed that the one he really liked wasn’t on there.

“Aww that’s a shame. They don’t have my favorite. Do you have your flashdrive on you? I could really go for hearing that slow one you do.. umm… “ He paused as he searched his mind for the hauntingly beautiful voice he heard while he was in the shower last night, digging for the words. “I understand you, we see eye to eye double rainbow...Something like that?”

The girls giggled as they watched your back stiffen and your muscles tense once more. Your eyes took on a deer in the headlights level of panic as you looked up to him. “That song wasn’t on the album. How do you know about that?”

“Umm…” He didn’t realize he wasn’t supposed to know about that! “We live across the hall from each other and you still don’t seem to understand how headphones work.” Well that was the best excuse he could come up with anyway. His bionic arm gave you a playful shove as your friends noted the nervous look in his eyes. “And I may have heard you singing it while I was in the shower last night?” The giggles continued as they spotted the hint of pink growing in your cheeks and hair.

“Oooh special song! Please (Y/N)?!” The girls began chanting ‘do it’ drawing attention from everyone around them as people finally began to realize who you were.

“Ok! Ok!” You laughed before chugging the drink Bucky had brought you. “Just...Stop!” You sauntered to the karaoke dj and pulled out your flashdrive, explaining the situation to him, quietly begging him to say no so you could go on with your night...Too bad he was a fan and now wanted to hear it just as much as everyone else.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ibl7owfLpjg Your powers were in full swing as you sang, creating a subtle yet spectacular lightshow of rainbows as the colors in your hair took on more pink hues, giving away your feelings to those who knew you well enough to notice the mood-ring-esc properties of your body. It wasn’t something Bucky had picked up on yet, but the girls certainly knew what it meant.

As you stepped down from the stage Bucky left your phone with the recorded video on the table for you to do with as you liked before wandering off once more to get you a new drink and maybe empty the tank while he’s up.

“You even wrote a song for him! That’s so cute! You are so in love!” Mary prodded at you as you sat back down.

“No! I’m not!” You searched for a drink avoiding eye contact as you gnawed at your lower lip, the redness in your cheeks growing with each second. “That wasn’t about him.”

“(Y/N) and Bucky sitting in a tree, K-I-S-”

Seeing Bucky reemerge from the crowd you jumped up, rushing the DJ booth once more. “I’ll give you $20 if you let me pick a song and sing it right now!” He was more than happy to let you sing whatever you wanted whenever you wanted to. This one looked like it would get the point across.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yl6Yyl7iZhs

As you sang you realized the mistake you made. Of all the times to slip musically this was the worst! Bucky’s crystal blue eyes sparkled as he watched you belt out the tune he recognized from that disney movie. “What going on?” He asked the girls as he sat back down, a little concerned for his rainbow’s sanity at this point. “I thought she didn’t want to sing anymore?”

“She’s failing at making a point of how-” she threw up the air quotes “not in love with you she is.”

“Oh ok.” Bucky’s eyes went wide choking on his drink as the words settled into him. “Wait what?! She…!”

“Oh my god you’re just as bad as her!”

You shot the girls a stare scarier than Bucky could have mustered even in his winter soldier days as you sat back at the table, the rest of the bar applauding your talent. “I hate all of you!” Bucky’s eyes were fixated on yours, his jaw hanging open in wonder. You raised a brow giving him a double take, confused about everything written on his face right now. “What? You’re acting like you’ve never heard me sing before…”

“Your turn! Your turn!” The girls scrambled to shake him by the shoulder, pushing him toward the small stage. His eyes darted around the room, overwhelmed by everything he had taken in tonight before rushing for the door. Maybe some fresh air would bring his heart rate back down to normal.

#avengers #bucky #bucky x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #mutant!reader #avengers x reader #winter wolder #winter soldier x reader

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sunshineoptimismandangels · 6 years

Text

If I Fall For You, I'll Never Recover

Pairing: Klaine Status: Complete Author: Sunshineoptimismandangels Word count: 2,717 Summary: Kurt has the best friend in the world. Blaine is smart and talented and everyone loves him - including Kurt. Now if he could just work up the courage to say something about it. Notes: Another little one-shot that was quickly written for a Tumblr prompt. This was meant to be shorter but it got away from me. :) I hope you enjoy it!

FF.net | AO3 There he was, the cutest boy in all of NYADA – Blaine Anderson. He was heading towards Kurt with a spring in his step, wearing a ridiculously bright yellow cardigan, and looking like a walking ray of sunshine. He caught sight of Kurt and sent him a dazzling smile, a smile that was just for him. Kurt's heart somersaulted in his chest. Someone should find a way to bottle Blaine's smiles to cure cancer or spread world peace.

Kurt sat up straighter eager for Blaine to join him, but Blaine's gaze was averted as two sophomores ran up to him stopping Blaine in his tracks. They practically drooled over him as they chattered animatedly. Kurt wouldn't have been surprised if they whipped autograph books from their bags and asked him to sign.

Kurt's mood soured. Blaine was incredibly popular. Winning the Harold Prince Award for Excellence back in his freshman year, a feat previously accomplished by only two other NAYADA students in the history of the school. He then went on to land a leading role in the school's big end of the year musical while only a sophomore. Now Blaine was a junior and everyone at NYADA knew he was going to be a big star someday – he had students, male and female, fawning after him at all times.

If Blaine wasn't so sweet, humble, and truly, honestly grateful for all opportunities he was given Kurt might resent him a little bit. As it was, Blaine was one of the most sincere and generous people Kurt had ever met. And beautiful. And smart. And funny. And… Kurt was in deep. He'd been in love with his best friend for nearly two years and it was the worst.

Blaine finally peeled himself away from his admirers and hurried over to join Kurt, sitting down across from him and folding his arms on the table, giving Kurt another one of those heart-melting smiles. It was a beautiful and sunny spring day and Kurt had secured a table in the quad, giving anyone who might have thought about sitting down with him a withering glance to keep them moving. He'd saved this space for Blaine. Blaine, Kurt's own personal sunshine.

"Sorry, I'm late," Blaine said turning to the bookbag he'd placed on the bench next to him. "Dr. Norris wanted to talk to me about my song choice for the Spring Showcase."

"Mmm." Kurt hummed and nodded, "Did he want to give you recommendations or get some from you? He probably wanted your advice on the lesson plan for his next class." Kurt meant for his words to come out teasing, but it sounded bitter to his ears. He wasn't actually jealous of Blaine, but seeing him adored by every boy on campus sometimes left Kurt feeling raw.

Blaine looked up from his bag, his brow furrowed slightly. "No, he just thought my choice of doing something Top 40 was risky."

"Right." Kurt looked down at the coffee cup in front of him. Actually, there were two coffee cups – one for him and one for Blaine.

"Is everything-" Blaine started just as Kurt slid a cup towards him.

"I got you coffee," Kurt said at the same time.

Blaine's face softened and he looked from the cup to Kurt's face. "I was going to get you some, but I was already late."

Kurt laughed, "I win this round."

Blaine smiled and picked up the cup taking a sip and sighing with satisfaction. "You went to Pour."

"Only the best."

"Where does that put us now?" Blaine asked setting his cup down. "I think I'm still in the lead."

"You most certainly are not," Kurt said with relish. He and Blaine had a running game of who could buy coffee for the other person more often. It started early in their friendship when Blaine showed up at Kurt's dorm with a non-fat mocha and a bag of ladyfingers after Kurt had a horribly grueling day. Kurt had been so surprised that Blaine remembered his coffee order that he'd fallen a little bit more in love with him on the spot. Now it was a competition that had lasted years.

"I'm in the lead." Kurt continued. "I brought coffee after your midterm with Cassandra July and I brought coffee when we met up after my combat class to go see Rachel in her new off-Broadway play."

"Uh no." Blaine said tilting his head, "We both brought each other coffee and had too much of it before Rachel's play. That was a draw."

Kurt's chest warmed at Blaine's teasing tone. "Okay… but when you were sick last month I brought you soup."

"That isn't part of the game!" Blaine laughed.

"What? You didn't like my homemade chicken noodle soup?"

"Homemade? By who?"

"By the woman at the little corner sandwich shop of course. She said it was her grandmother's recipe."

Blaine laughed again and Kurt couldn't help the wide smile on his face as he watched him. Blaine was all crinkled eyes and bright smile and ruddy cheeks. He made Kurt's heart ache.

"Fine. We will count the soup. Just this once." Blaine conceded reaching out to squeeze Kurt's hand. "You're in the lead, but barely."

Kurt flipped his hand over to hold Blaine's and took a sip of his drink to try and hid the slight blush he knew was spreading across his cheeks. Blaine was always very tactile. Holding hands, linking arms, leaning his head on Kurt's shoulder as they watched a movie or coming up behind him to surprise him with a hug at any time of day. Kurt love and hated it. He was addicted to these sweet little touches, but at the same time, they often left him feeling a little lost and wanting more.

Kurt wanted to turn around in a hug and kiss Blaine silly. Or take his hand and press Blaine's knuckles to his lips. He wanted to tell Blaine how he felt and hear that Blaine felt the same way. He'd almost said something countless times, but the timing never seemed right. First Kurt had a boyfriend and then Blaine did. Then even when they were both single it felt like every time Kurt was about to get up the courage Blaine would say something about what a great friend Kurt was and Kurt would clamp his mouth closed, fearful of ruining what they had.

So Kurt sat in silence. Drinking his mocha and holding his best friend's hand as Blaine started talking about his song selection for the Spring Showcase. Kurt had decided his song weeks ago; he was singing The Greatest Star. Kurt had been practicing almost nonstop, Blaine listening to him on several occasions to help give critiques. Blaine wasn't much help though; he always just stood and cheered for Kurt gushing about how perfect he was. Blaine usually had his song selection made early as well. This time he was struggling. Kurt wondered if the pressure of being the school's golden boy was getting to him.

"I honestly can't choose between And This Is My Beloved and Love Somebody."

"You're still considering a pop song after talking to Dr. Norris?"

Kurt loved Blaine's voice when he sang Adam Levine, but honestly, he had a habit of doing pop songs. It wasn't a necessarily a bad thing, especially in a school that heard way too much of, For Good, Seasons of Love, and other Broadway staples. Still, the idea of Blaine singing the lyrics to And This Is My Beloved made something deep and warm stir in Kurt's chest.

Blaine sighed, running a hand through his dark silky curls… god, Kurt wanted to run his hand through them himself. "I don't know. I mean it's kind of my thing. Doing pop songs when everyone else is doing Broadway. I feel like I have to keep it up."

Kurt shook his head quickly. "No, Blaine. Your thing is picking songs that mean something to you and then singing with your whole heart. That's why you're so good. That's why everyone loves you. Don't pick something because you feel like you have to. What do you want to sing?"

"And This Is My Beloved," Blaine answered immediately, still holding Kurt's hand and looking him in the eyes with a soft, earnest expression that made Kurt's throat feel dry.

"Um… then," Kurt cleared his throat and looked down at their hands. "You should sing that one."

They were silent for a moment before Blaine spoke, his voice full of emotion, "Thank you, Kurt."

Kurt looked back up at him with a smile. "Anything for my best friend."

Blaine nodded and chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. "Let's talk about anything besides school," Blaine said pulling his hand back and taking a sip of his coffee.

Kurt wanted to chase after him, grab his hand again, but he didn't let himself. "Okay." Kurt thought for a minute. "Oh! Oh my god. You won't believe who asked me out!"

Blaine placed his coffee cup back on the table his expression looking funny for a moment before he smiled, "A date? You have a date?"

"No." Kurt laughed, "I do not. I said guess who asked me. I said no."

"Oh." Blaine's smile grew. "Um… that older guy who works at the deli counter?"

"What?" Kurt looked at Blaine speechless before he burst out laughing. "Why in the world would that be your first guess?"

"He flirts with you."

"He is at least fifty!"

"I said older guy."

"Oh my god. No. It was that cute little freshman girl that I was paired with in a mentoring project earlier this year. She walked right up to me this morning and asked me out."

"Really? I mean kudos to her. A freshman having the guts to walk up to one of the most admired seniors in all of NAYDA and ask him out? I'm impressed. Her gaydar is completely broken, but I'm impressed."

Kurt smiled and lifted an eyebrow, "Most admired seniors?"

Blaine waved him off as if Kurt's renown was undebatable. "At least you're being asked out. No one has asked me on a date since… I don't know? Last year before I dated Carlos?"

Ugh, Carlos. He was a perfectly nice and stupidly handsome exchange student Blaine had gone out with for a month last year. Kurt pretty much hated him. He didn't even like to think about that long, lonely November. Still, Kurt was shocked Blaine wasn't getting offers left and right. "Really? No one has asked you out since then?"

Blaine shrugged, propping his face up against his hand. "I guess in a sea of eligible students I'm not cute enough to get any attention. Unlike you, who has freshman girls and deli counter workers falling all over themselves for you."

Kurt laughed wondering why someone like Blaine wasn't knee deep in suitors, but privately a little pleased about it. "Aw Blaine, you're adorable. I'd date you."

The words were out of Kurt's mouth before he had a chance to consider them. As they left his lips Kurt felt as if his soul was leaving his body. As if he was standing next to himself and watching him say something that could shatter the perfect little bubble he and Blaine resided in. Kurt could feel the blood drain from his face and his hands suddenly felt clammy. "I… mean…" Kurt sputtered out hoping Blaine would take what he said in jest.

Blaine looked at him seriously, not skipping a beat. "Then date me."

"Wait…" Kurt blinked a few times, "What?"

Blaine took a deep breath. "You should. Date me. I know you're out of my league. I know. You're Kurt Hummel. Kurt Hummel who everyone at school looks up to. Who everyone wants to be like. I know you could have your pick of any student here… and some teachers for that matter." Blane ran a hand down his face, "But have you ever thought about… us? I mean we fit together so well. No one knows me the way you do and who knows you as well as me?

"I know when you're in an actual bad mood verse when you just need to eat something. I know that you pretend nothing bothers you but your lips twitch a little when you're holding your emotions in. I know that you're endlessly kind well after I would have given up on people. I know that you laugh at stupid reruns of "Millionaire Matchmaker" and that your father is your whole world. I know that when you were eight you asked for a pair of sensible pumps not only because fashion has no gender, but because they reminded you of your mom…" Blaine let out a deep sigh as if these words had been weighing on him. "Kurt, you're my best friend and I… I care about you so much. Haven't you ever thought about us as… more?"

Kurt stared at Blaine, his mouth slightly agape and a flurry of emotions washing over him. "I…" He started and stopped, not knowing what to say. Had Kurt ever thought of them as more? Only every single day for the past two years!

"Oh god." Blaine breathed in sharply when Kurt didn't respond. He stood from the table snatching up his book bag. "Oh my god. You don't and I… I have to leave now."

Blaine turned to leave and Kurt sprang up from the table, finally able to function again and his heart pounding against his chest. "No! Please don't go." He practically leaped around the table to stand face to face next to Blaine. "Please Blaine," Kurt smiled, a laugh bubbling up inside of him. "Yes. Yes. I've thought about it. A lot. I've wanted to be with you so much and for so long… I just convinced myself that you didn't want to be anything other than friends."

"That… that's what I thought you wanted! You're always saying I'm your best friend… like I should remember not to push."

"Oh my god no! Blaine, I'm crazy about you."

Blaine's dark eyebrows shot up and a smile slowly spread across his face. A new smile, a smile Kurt wasn't familiar with and Kurt thought he knew all of Blaine's smiles. This was one different. This one wasn't holding anything back and it was full of something that looked a lot like love.

"Kurt." Blaine didn't say anything else, instead, he just crashed their lips together, dropping his bag on the ground with a dull thud, hands moving to wrap around Kurt's waist.

Kurt's body reacted before his mind had even caught up with what was happening. He looped his arms around Blaine's shoulders and kissed him back. His mind singing, Blaine is kissing me! Blaine is kissing me! Until he wasn't able to think at all and he could only cling to Blaine, lips chasing and mouth opening to deepen this kiss. It was a few minutes before they broke apart, Kurt's whole body warm and trembling against Blaine – he leaned his forehead against Blaine's sighing happily. "How long have you felt this way?"

Blaine pressed his lips briefly against Kurt's again before answered. "Pretty much since we met. Why do you think I brought you coffee that very first time?"

"Jesus, I'm an idiot."

"You were dating someone else."

"No one has ever compared to you, Blaine."

Blaine chuckled in disbelief, his eyes misty, "Then we are both idiots."

Kurt just swooped in to kiss him again. They stood like that for a long time, the sun on their shoulders, arms around each other, and lips locked. A few students walked by and catcalled, but Kurt couldn't have cared less. Kurt brushed his thumb over Blaine's bottom lip as he pulled back. "We should..." Kurt could barely catch his breath, "We should go back to your place and practice your Showcase song."

Blaine nodded, "Yeah. We should go back to my place, but not to practice any songs."

Kurt grinned wildly, that was exactly what he'd been thinking. "Let's go back to your place and make up for lost time."

"Perfect," Blaine beamed, grabbing his bag and then Kurt's hands and tugging him along as Kurt laughed and quickly followed after him.

For the Tumblr post- Tag your OTP

Person A: Aw you are so cute! I'd date you Person B: Then date me Person A: .. what?

#klaine!au #klaine fan fic #written for an OTP prompt #klaine fic #my fic

105 notes · View notes

sidespidey · 6 years

Text

Deck the Halls- Harrison Osterfield

Authors notes: OH BOY has it been a while since I’ve posted a piece of writing wow! Is it too early for Christmas fics?!? I hope not bc I’m feeling festive. I kinda came up with this while I was decorating my house with my family and now here we are. Like I said its been some time since I’ve written so I’m sorry if this is trash, but I’m always open to some constructive criticism! I hope all you lovelies enjoy!

Word Count: 1557 (oops)

Warnings: pure fluff dw

You loved winter. The cold weather called for days inside cuddled under a blanket with hot chocolate, reading a book or watching your favourite movie. Your boyfriend Harrison also loved winter, but he’d rather spend it another way. He’d drag you out from under the blankets on the day of the first snowfall to catch snowflakes on your tongues and attempt to make snowmen with the little snow that fell. Although your feelings towards how you wanted to spend winter were different, you could both agree that the best part of the season was Christmas.

You both loved Christmas. As soon as Remembrance Day had passed, you two would be found hand-in-hand with Christmas flavoured drinks traveling shop-to-shop gathering decorations for your shared apartment. You’d be out finding the ugliest matching Christmas sweaters and taking cute pictures for Christmas cards to send to your friends and family. You thought the idea of Christmas cards was cheesy, but Harrison convinced you that everyone loved them.

Since you started dating, you made a tradition amongst yourselves of buying each other a tree ornament that reminded you of each other. They had to stand out from the generic ornaments you both brought from home however, so each year two new creative ornaments would be placed on the tree on Christmas Day.

The ornament exchange was a sort of competition between you and Harrison. You competed with each other to see who could find the best ornament, Harrison normally winning because he would find you a unique one during his travels with Tom, practically dragging him and Harry to any store he thought could have ornaments. This year would be different though. You went all out and spent the money on getting Harrison an ornament decorated with a picture of you and Monty, both dressed up in Christmas sweaters and reindeer antlers that you had taken while he was away on press tour. The two of you continued through the mall, picking up new decorations to spread around your apartment. Harrison grabbed a few strands of new christmas lights to put on the tree, claiming that “the tree needs to shine brighter than your smile love”.

“I think that’s enough haz,” you told him after almost 3 hours of looking at decorations, “we have enough decorations to cover every inch of the apartment” you laugh as your boyfriend pouts. “That’s the whole point (Y/N), as the saying goes, the more the merrier” he says while winking, placing a kiss to your forehead. You look up into his blue eyes, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks just like when you two first started dating. “But baby, i’m tired and my feet hurt” you whine, knowing that it is impossible for Harrison to say no to you. “Alright let’s go, i want to spend the rest of the night putting all our new decorations up” he says, grabbing your hand with his free one as you walk out to your car.

Spending the night putting up decorations is exactly what you did. Once you returned home, Harrison fixed you both up a cup of hot chocolate while you gathered all the decorations into the living room. It’s not long until Christmas music can be heard throughout your apartment, dancing through the air as you and Harrison get to work. You start on hanging tinsel around your windows as Harrison puts your tree together. Christmas lights are soon wrapped around the tree, Harrison gloating that the new ones he had bought that day made the tree look better, earning an eyeroll from you.

The two of you get to work decorating the tree. Ornaments of gold and red soon cover it, and of course the ornaments of your past competitions as well. Your favourite one being the one Harrison had given you the year you first started dating; a blue ornament with both your signatures tattooed to one side in white writing with the date of your anniversary on the other side. It was a simple idea, but it meant the world to you. Harrison knew you appreciated simple gifts with lots of meaning behind them, so when Sam gave him the idea, he ran to the nearest craft store and had it made.

“You know, i can’t wait to beat your butt again this year in the ornament exchange. Face it love, you’ll never beat me, i’m just too good of a gift giver” Harrison proclaims proudly as he hangs up his winner from the year before on the tree. “Ya ya tough guy, you just wait. I went all out this year and i’m so going to win” you remark. “Well if it’s anything like this one,” harrison replies holding up the batman one you got for him your first year together, “i’ll have no problem winning.” “I thought you loved the batman one though?” you question, sounding a bit hurt and beginning to fake sob. Instantly feeling horrible, Harrison hugs you close. “I do, i do love it! I love it so much its my favourite one imsosorryiloveyoupleasedontbeupset im a div iloveyouimsorry(Y/N)pleaseforgiveme” he pleads making you giggle. “You’re such a div, i couldn’t get mad at you over a Christmas ornament. I love you too much” you laugh, leaning in to peck your boyfriend’s lips making his frown convert into a smile. “I love you too my little snowflake”.

You were finishing the final touches to the tree when Harrison tapped your shoulder causing you to turn around. He looked at you with a sly smirk and held a piece of mistletoe over your head. “Oh look! How did this mistletoe get here?” he giggled as you wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him closer. “I’m not sure, but it’s pretty good timing. This place could use some heat” you reply, pulling him down to meet your lips, his hands finding your waist pulling you even closer. You break to rest your forehead against his, breathing in the warm scent of your boyfriend, slowly swaying to the Christmas music in the background. “As much as i enjoy this,” Harrison says breaking the silence, “I think it’s time we put the star on top.” You nod your head in agreeance as you place a soft kiss to his lips and turn to find the star.

As you pull the star out of its box, you feel Harrison’s arms wrap around you. “You ready?” he whispers in your ear, letting go of his grip on you. He turns around and kneels slightly, just enough for you to wrap you legs over his shoulders and get comfortable on his back. He stands slowly, lifting you up so you can reach the top of the tree. Placing the star on top, you feel him slowly draw shapes on your shins and place light kisses to the inside of your knees and thighs causing you to giggle. “Don’t giggle too much or i might drop you love” he warns you before kneeling once again so you can safely get off his shoulders.

He stands up and pulls you into a hug, admiring the beautiful job you had both done on the tree. He smiles to himself and kisses the top of your head, your face nuzzled into his chest. You stay like this for a moment, the two of you humming along to I’ll be home for Christmas enjoying each other’s warmth, swaying lightly. The moment is cut short once you hear the piano notes of your favourite Christmas song start playing from the speaker. Harrison looks at you with fear in his eyes as you pull away from him, smiling at him with a devilish grin.

“(Y/N), no. please don-” he tries saying but he’s cut off short as you attempt to match your voice with that of Mariah Carey’s. You let go of his waist and run to the bathroom and grab your hairbrush, running around using it as a microphone as you lipsync All I want for Christmas is You to you boyfriend. He stands there in awe as you sync each word perfectly, watching as you jump on top of the coffee table and point to him as Mariah’s voice sings “all i want for christmas is youuuuu, youuuu babyyyyy”.

Harrison laughs and jumps up on the table with you, grabbing the hair brush from your hands, mimicking your exact moves causing you both to fall onto the couch in a fit of laugher. Once you both have caught your breath, Harrison turns off the speaker and grabs you by your waist, pulling you on top of him as he lays down and wraps his arms around your shoulders, hugging you close like a teddy bear. His hands find your hair and he starts playing with it as yours rest on his raising chest, feeling his lungs emptying and filling again under your fingertips. Your head rests on his chest listening to his heartbeat as it slows to a relaxed pace. And it is in this position that you feel yourself slowly drift to sleep, the only light in the room is that of the christmas tree in the corner, and the only sounds are those of muttered i love yous and the light snores that escape Harrison’s lips as you both fall into sleep.

Tags: @zendmylife @aliedelanie

#harrison osterfield #harrison osterfield imagine #harrison osterfield x reader #my div of a boyfriend #christmas with harrison #christmas #mine

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poeticnerd · 3 years

Text

· [Kina - Get you the moon (ft. Snow)]

Kane Legrata saved Daniel Avi’s life multiple times. Not from being heroic or anything. Kane didn’t stop him from accidentally poisoning himself, or stop him from wanting to pet a polar bear, though the thought of petting a dangerous animal does come bothering him more often lately. No, it wasn’t anything as dramatic and hilarious as that.

· Avi was suicidal, and heavily depressed. His job as a paramedic in an experimental super soldier lab was more a distraction from his own issues. The hecticness and duty gave him a purpose, distracted him from the heavy thoughts and feelings that echoed in his head.

· That being said, he fell back into that unending spiral a lot of times. He never meant to fall again, repeatedly, but it happens. Slowly, darkness would creep up on him until it enveloped him entirely.

· If he doesn’t take care of himself, and pent everything up for days on end, sooner or later he’d willingly let himself be wrapped back into the seductively warm arms of depression. And, Kane helped him through it. All of it. Kane and Sam. Both of them. They were his anchors through all of it, helping him up, helping him find routine again, helping him find hope. They were the ones who drove him to see his therapists without fail. They were there to comfort him whenever he felt so low he could drown.

· They were there all the way. Kane especially. Sam took time to warm herself up to him, but when she saw how helpless Avi was, like an exhausted child lost in loudness that sounded like nothing, and everything, she followed Kane’s example. And she honestly loved him too. They were like a found family, the three of them.

· It was a slow day, Kane was busy throughout with routine tasks. Checking up on and testing out the prosthetics of the soldiers. Avi wandered the halls, thinking about nothing and everything.

· They met up in the afternoon, in a control room of a high-risk experiment. They were standing by; in case something went horribly wrong. If it did, Kane would handle the mechanical bits, while Avi would handle the fleshy bits.

· But it didn’t. The experiment was a success. The observers and the testers walked out of the room, chittering happily at the success of the experiment.

· It was the end of the day. Kane and Avi just lazed around in the room, both entertaining their own exhaustions. Kane from work, Avi from thought. He’d been thinking about something. Something he thought he should do.

· Reminder, Avi is a person who feels deeply. People say he looks and acts cold-hearted, but that’s just how he carries himself. His natural state of being, exteriorly at least. Being a ‘badass’ is just how he likes to live his life, with as little drama as possible. Get the job done, get it done to perfection, move on to the next job.

· But deep inside, he feels things. Weird things, nice things, wonderful things. He never had the ability to express much of it. That is why he seems so cold and emotionless. But his eyes, they always betray nothing and everything. Kane noticed that much from their first meeting.

· Kane was among the first who entertained the idea that Avi feels a lot inside. Most people shrug him off as another typical heartthrob. A handsome bad boy; heartless, mechanical, uncaring. Someone who finds offence in nothing and could barrel through the most impossible of everything.

· But Kane was the type of person who, if given the chance, would preach of how shattered and broken and deserving of love everyone is. His heart automatically assumed you were suffering from something, maybe a bad childhood, maybe a toxic relationship in the past or present, maybe unresolved trauma. He goes out of his way to be kind because of that. Everyone is fighting their own battles, whether they show it or not. Whatever it is, no matter how minor you see it, Kane would be willing to listen to the things that bother you.

· So, when he befriended Avi, from the many instances they’ve crossed paths, it was this kindness that broke Avi down, that let him freely be vulnerable.

· And Kane helped him through a lot of it. The therapy sessions Avi attends were Kane’s idea. Avi would come into his office to break down and cry whenever necessary, with or without Kane there. Kane designated a sofa specifically for the task, with a thick, warm blanket waiting readily on one of its arms. It was more isolated and cleaner than the bathrooms, and more secluded than the parking lot. On weekends, a lot of times Avi was invited to the Legrata household. Mostly he was there for Sam and Kane to keep an eye on him, stop him from harming himself, but also to let him be surrounded by joy and love. Being there while Kane and Sam baked together, joining them for movie nights, having pillow fights without warning. These were the best moments of Avi’s life. He would quietly catalogue them in his mind, and pull them out whenever he realized he had started to slip. It helped a bit sometimes.

· There were so many emotions swirling in Avi’s head while they were in that control room together. How grateful Kane was in his life, how much he cherishes him, all the warm and fuzzy things. It confuses him. It’s love, he admits that. He loves and cherishes and cares for Kane. Seeing him smile makes his day a little brighter every time. But mostly, he was content. This love makes him content, he realized. He wants nothing more, and nothing less. It’s … comforting. Is this … are all these .... romantic feelings? No. He wouldn’t call it that. He’d known it if it was. Romance bugs him a lot. Rom-coms make him worry for humanity, and excessive cheese from unnecessary romantic subplots make him instinctively want to put a book down and scream. Friendships however, has always led him to his strongest feelings. Just being there, laughing and smiling and talking. How people never paused and took time to cherish the friends they have really is beyond him. Cherishing honest friendships were among the very things that kept him going.

· He wanted to tell Kane how he felt. How he really, really felt. But he can barely string the words together. Its confusing. He’d have an epiphany in the middle of the night, with the words sounding so beautiful in his head. When he goes to write it down, to record it for future reference, he’d draw a blank. Or worse, the words only sounded good in his head, but worthless out loud. Love is weird. All he’s certain of is that he feels it. That love is exactly what he is feeling. How he could express it, if he can even express it at all, is so beyond him that he prefers not to think about it.

· Then, one night, a few days ago, he found a song that suited it. All of it. All of the confusion, all of the gratefulness, all of the warmth. All the warm and fuzzy feelings, captured in the lyrics and melody. It captured everything so perfectly he cried, and fell asleep with it on loop.

· When he woke up, his chest burnt red hot with the desire to let Kane hear it.

· “Kane?”

· “Yeah?”

· “Got a minute?”

· Kane glanced Avi’s way.

· “Sure. What’s up Dan?”

· Avi pulled out a pair of earbuds, and an old, banged up MP3 player from the early 2010’s. He bought it cheap from a yard sale in his youth, and, in his eyes, it was the most prized possession he had.

· “I, uh, found a song. And I’d really like it if you hear it with me.” He said sheepishly.

· Kane smiled. “Sure.”

· They inched their chairs closer and leaned in. Avi plugged one bud in his ear, and handed the other to Kane. Kane plugged the bud in.

· Avi searched for the song, expertly clicking on the buttons as he had done a million times before.

· Then, when he found that very song, Avi wavered for a few short seconds. Negative thoughts started to shut down the very confidence he felt half a second ago. So many ‘what ifs’ and ‘will he’s’ started bombarding his mind, rattling around loudly like a metal nail in an empty can.

· No. Stop that. I’m here. Kane’s waiting expectantly. No point backing off now. He shut his eyes tight, and clicked play.

· The song started out slow, with notes of piano singing a sweet sadness. The beat was haunting, sorrowed, beautiful. Kane braced himself for lyrics that sung of how evil the world is, how horrible and how destitute. How life is meaningless and sorrow is all there is in the world. Avi shared his music with him a lot, and most of the time they were reflections of how he feels at a present moment. He was getting worried that Avi might be on his way to another spiral, if this is what he’s been listening to. Admittedly, the beat was good, but thoughts of his best friend going through something hard again crowded in his head, justifiably made him worry.

· Then, the singer started singing.

· “You gave me a shoulder when I needed it” the voice crooned.

“You showed me love when I wasn't feeling it

You helped me fight when I was giving in

And you made me laugh when I was losing it”

· At that very moment, Kane’s eyes widened.

· Avi didn’t just want him to enjoy it with him. Avi wants him to listen. Listen and know and understand. “This is how I feel.” Avi seemed to say. “These are the words I don’t know how to say, but I want you to know anyway.”

“'Cause you are, you are The reason why I'm still hanging on 'Cause you are, you are The reason why my head is still above water”

· Kane glanced up at Avi, trying to gauge his expression. Avi had his eyes shut all the while, like his whole soul was singing along with Snow, and together, they were singing to Kane.

· Kane could barely keep it together. He was close to tears. He’d have a talk with Avi, for sure. Later, he’d have to remind him that no matter how much you love someone, sacrificing yourself for that person’s sake, especially with your own life, is bad. It’s a betrayal to what love actually is. Love is when one person wants the other to be happy, and the other person wants nothing less than the same. Being a martyr for the other isn’t a healthy part of that. It never will be. People tend to forget that.

· He wants to tell Avi all of this. All of this and so much more. All he wants for Avi, the whole time they were friends, was that he wanted him to be content. With life, with living, with breathing the air he once wished would choke him, with walking the very earth he once wished would swallow him. That’s all Kane wanted for him. He’d never stop wanting them for him. And one day, he’ll tell Avi all this. Maybe, like what Avi’s doing now, he’d find a song so suited to tell it all that the only thing they could do is sit there, together in silence, while the song’s emotions swirled and tided and ebbed and flowed in their veins.

· But for now, he’s here. He’s here, and he’s listening to Avi singing his heart out. Though the words weren’t from his own lips, and not with his own voice, it didn’t matter. His soul sung it. His soul sung it, and it was beautiful. It was beautiful how a man so tired of life, wanted to thank him, for teaching him to want to live.

· Kane gently pulled Avi’s head closer, and tenderly he leaned his forehead against his. He left his hand in Avi’s hair, silently telling him “I’m here. I’m here. I’m here and I’m listening.” and closed his eyes together with him. In his mind, he whispered “Thank you, I love you too.”

“And if I could, I'd get you the moon And give it to you And if death was coming for you I'd give my life for you”

#love #platonic fluff #aromantic

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hsj-scenarios · 7 years

Note

heyo, lately i've been suffering awful depressions that cause me insomnia and tiredness at once. i always feel the need to cry and i am just so tired of everything ... mostly depressed because of my looks. sometimes it just happens to me that i just skip school or try to avoid going outside or i hide my face in public places.. is there something you could write about best? something like helping their girlfriends deal with this.. i don't know i can't write prompts or anything.. hahaha sorry

Title: He just held you closer. Pairing/Relationship: All members x ReaderRating: GWarnings: Depression, self-image issuesGenre: Hurt/ComfortType: Oneshot

Dearest Nonnie-chan–I FEEL YOU. We are together on a deeply spiritual level here–not even joking! I am so sorry you struggle with these feelings. I wanted to send you encouragement through this story. I hope you feel my love through the words, and I hope you know that I really do believe this. Every word, everything I wrote–I believe our boys would be this way.

Love you always and forever!!!

Mod J

Please note:

I wrote this story a little differently than normal. I intended to write a story for each of the members, however, as I wrote it, I realized there REALLY were only a few parts of the story that would be different for each member. I wrote the story to fit ALL of the members because I sincerely think it does! After the story, I provide headcanons for what I think would be unique to each member in this situation.

BONUS:

I did the members of 7 as well! MMMWAH!

The knock was becoming louder and you couldn’t seem to lift your head off the couch. You heard the key slip into the lock, and pushed your face into the pillow, because you certainly didn’t want to see anyone today, but you most certainly did not want to see him today.

You heard the door open, his whispered voice as he didn’t want to step inside and scare you, “Baby? You here?”

“No,” you called out, pulling the blankets over your head and feeling a deep pain roll across you that he was in the room with you. You felt your eyes sting with tears, taking a shuddering breath as you drew up into yourself, curling into a ball.

He moved into the room, the door clicking closed behind him, and part of you wished, or perhaps thought it would be right, that he would just leave, just go and leave you alone. You didn’t want to make him sad, you didn’t want to make anyone sad–you just needed to be still and not try to interact because you just weren’t humaning very good these days.

You heard him shuffle over to the couch, making noise so he wouldn’t startle you. You could see through the knit blanket the way he approached you. Slowly, cautiously, like he was walking toward a caged animal–and you understood, because he had never been around you when you experienced one of your episodes.

It had been something you’d managed to avoid–with his hectic schedule and your own methods of covering up and distractions–but this time, he wouldn’t let your normal excuses fly. This time, you were fairly certain at least, he had been clued into your condition by your mother. You would have words with her later about the level of her treachery, you had bigger things to deal with at the moment.

He moved to you, sitting down on his knees by where he was guessing your head was, and you blinked back tears as you saw the concern on his face, the way he frowned, and his eyes were shaded with worry and a tinge of fear.

I am the worst person ever to make him suffer like this. I should never have given him the key. What was I thinking?

You were thinking no one else lived close to you in case there was an emergency.

I guess–but I didn’t ever want to make him hurt–look at what I am doing to him, he’s so sad and hurt and I did that–you did that!

Don’t worry, he’ll see you like this and that will be that, won’t it?

Yes, I guess that’s true, he’ll leave me for sure once he realizes how messed up and fragile and stupid I am.

Probably.

Definitely.

That’s the least of what you deserve! Honestly, I have no idea what he ever saw in me in the first place–maybe it was just being charitable because he’s such a nice guy–and you’ve been waiting to mess this up all along because it never fit.

You never fit with him. He’s an idol for goodness sake, he’s beautiful and perfect and has the best personality and I am like a rock, a lump of ugly next to him.

You never deserved him. Not for a second. He should be with someone who equals him.

Nope, never deserved him. I don’t deserve anyone or anything ever at…

Your self castigation was interrupted when you heard him take a deep breath, leaning forward, his hand moving to lay on your shoulder, his fingers flexing softly as he shifted, his voice soft, “Hey…”

You didn’t try to speak, you hadn’t spoken out loud in days, you weren’t even sure that you remembered what your own voice sounded like at this point, so you just hummed, but it was a sad sound, a sound meant to cast him off, push him away, but he didn’t move, he just blinked, and then he shifted closer.

And then, he was covering you, his entire upper body was pressing against you, his arms wrapping around you to hold you against his chest, his head buried against your neck and your entire body stiffened, you held your breath, every system seeming to lock up.

You groaned, it felt like your bones were going to snap, it felt like the weight of him was going to break you into pieces, and he turned his head, his mouth near your ear and his words were soft, “It’s okay. I’m here. You’re not alone.”

Your eyes clenched shut and you couldn’t breath, and yet, his words continued, “I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier. I was working, but I sent you so many messages, and you didn’t answer. I was scared.”

He took a deep breath, “I called your Mom. I know that’s not cool. I know…I’m sorry. I was just…so worried.”

You shifted, turning your face away from him, as if he could actually see you, even though he couldn’t.

“I called…so many times…I was…I was just so scared.”

I’m a horrible person. I know he was messaging me and I just ignored them all.

You want him to go, you want him to leave you.

I never deserved him.

You felt the tears fall, and you couldn’t breath, you didn’t want to, didn’t want to do this, didn’t want to let him see you cry.

“I love you.”

NO!

You pushed him, you reached out and shoved him, and he just moved closer, grabbed you harder, squeezed you tighter.

“I love you.”

Stop it!

You growled, the tears uncontrollable, and you shoved him again, trying to push him away, trying to make him go. He held onto you like his life depended on it.

“I love you!”

You won’t, not if you know!

“Shut up!” your voice was hoarse and rough, you shifted, pushing harder, twisting to get your feet up, and then he pulled back and he jerked the blanket down off your face and you squealed, grabbing a pillow and covering yourself, “Don’t look at me!”

He held you still, his hand coming up to cup your head, drawing you into his chest, holding you as your body shook with emotion, a broken sob escaping as you tried to gather your strength.

“It’s okay, stop trying to hide from me.”

“I-I…you need to go!” You pushed at him, but it was weak, it was a feeble attempt because there was a part of you that was comforted, finding some measure of solace there in his embrace.

You don’t deserve such things! Push him away, make him leave!

You pushed him again, crying harder.

“Don’t hide from me,” he repeated the words, “I love you. I am not leaving, so stop pushing me away.”

You will leave, when you know the truth! You’ll leave.

“Go!”

His hand moved, stroking your hair, your body shaking as your tears increased, and he didn’t tell you to stop, didn’t try to calm you down.

“Please, just go!”

He just held you closer.

His voice was soft, laced with feelings, “I want to share something with you…”

You couldn’t stop crying to acknowledge him, but he continued, “I don’t think I ever told you how it was growing up as a Johnny…did I?”

He didn’t wait for you to answer, his voice soft as he continued, “I didn’t exactly fit in. I felt really self conscious about myself. I mean, that’s bound to happen when you’re surrounded by beautiful people I guess…”

You wanted to laugh, wanted to slap him because honestly, how could he be so stupid. He was beautiful, more beautiful than any of them. How could he see himself so wrong, so unclear.

“Not just about my looks either. I mean I wondered at my ability to sing, because you know that’s pretty terrifying. I wondered if I could dance? Could I be poised? Could I do this? I watched others, and I continually thought that I wasn’t as gifted of a performer or dancer. When I first started, I was kind of lost. I was really lucky to be surrounded by others who helped me, but it didn’t really make me feel any different about myself because when I saw myself, I just still saw a distorted, terrified version of me.”

He sighed, and you took a deep breath, trying to understand what he was saying.

“I mean, I felt this way for a really long time. I was glad to be a Johnny, of course, but there were struggles. It’s a very superficial environment, and it’s easy to get caught up in weird ideas of success and fame and popularity,”

“Sometimes, I was really glad to have people focus their attention on others and not me. But, I mean, that’s stupid, right?”

He laughed but it lacked real humor, “I mean I wanted to be an idol! If you don’t want people to look at you, then you’ve clearly picked the wrong career, but I wanted it. I really did. So, it was all very confusing.”

He squeezed you softly, “I mean…I liked the attention. I liked when people appreciated me, and when they cared, and I started to get fan letters and things–and when fans would cheer, or hold up an uchiwa with my name on it. There’s not a feeling that matches it.”

“But this fear continued to be a part of me–this feeling that I wasn’t all of the things that everyone else was. Someone was always better, always taller or shorter or more athletic, funnier, quieter, sang better, danced better, handled things better, was more popular, more outgoing, more talented. I felt like I was nothing compared to them.”

You pulled back, trying to look at him, hurt by the things he was revealing, your tears heavy, your breath jagged, one word slipping through your lips, “Lies.”

He smiled, it was sad smile, “I believed I was nothing compared to them.”

You shook your head, “Stop, please…”

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” he murmured, leaning forward to kiss your forehead, and then resting it against your own, “I still struggle with those feelings sometimes.”

“W-why?” You couldn’t wrap your mind around it. He was so beautiful, his personality was amazing, and he was such a fun person, so full of light and happiness and child-like joy–how could he see himself as anything other than the amazing guy he is?

He shrugged, “I’m human. It happens.”

You stared at him, your breath caught in your chest as the words settled over you.

“Do you understand?” His hand brushed through your hair, a tentative smile crossing his lips, “You’re human, too. It’s okay to be human. That’s what we have to remember.”

You struggled with the thought, with the understanding, not able to come to terms with it.

“I love you,” he whispered, and you laughed, a broken sob escaping as you shook your head.

“I really do love you,” he spoke the words louder, “It’s okay to be sad, it’s okay to struggle, it’s okay to see yourself in a way that is contrary to how others see you.”

“You shouldn’t…”

“I shouldn’t what?”

“Love me.”

“I can’t help it, I love you, it’s a fixed point in my life,” he leaned back from you, forcing you to look into his eyes, “I’m not leaving you, I love you.”

“But why!?”

The words came out as a deep mournful plea, and you tried to push him away again, your agitation flaring up, and he grabbed your face in both of his hands, not letting you look away, not letting you hide from him, his words firm and concise, “Because you are YOU!”

“I’m nothing! I’m nothing at all, it is crazy for you to love me!”

He shook his head, his thumbs stroking your cheeks as a fresh wave of tears fell, “I’m crazy in love with you, that’s all…you’re perfect, I love every single thing about you.”

He leaned forward, rubbing his nose against your own, “Your eyes are so beautiful, they shine, they radiate joy and happiness and love, I see it in your eyes, and it takes my breath away.”

“Your hair is so soft and silky and smooth, and it shines so bright, when the sun hits it sometimes it seems like it’s got strands of gold in it.”

“Your cheeks are so sweet, they flare bright red when I look at you too long, or when I tell you these things.”

He laughed when your cheeks grew hot under his hands, “Your lips are so soft, so squishy, it’s the reason I can’t stop kissing them!”

You laughed despite yourself, and he smiled, “I could go from head to toe and tell you all of the things I love about you, about your body, about your face, about every facet of you–but it’s not just that, it’s not just how you look, despite me thinking you are the most breathtaking work of art in all of creation–no, it’s more than that…”

You tried to believe him, wanted to believe him, but it was hard to imagine that these words were true, not when you felt the way you were feeling, but he held you still, wouldn’t let you shy away from him, “I love everything about you. I love the way you smile, I love the way you speak your words with such conviction. The way you put your shoes on and tie them. The common, every day things that I notice about you. I love all of those aspects of you. I love how you see the world and how you help others see it.”

He stared at you for a moment, and then he kissed you softly, “You are who you are because you struggle with these feelings. You wouldn’t be you without the pain. I see the truth in you through my own life–these times of darkness are exactly why you shine so brightly the rest of the time.”

You considered this, considered his thoughts, his words, and tilted your head in wonder.

“You are you because you struggle with depression, because you see yourself the way you do,” he kissed you again, drawing back slowly, “…and that’s okay, I wouldn’t tell you to change it, not at all, what I would tell you to do is to listen to what other people say, not just your own voice. It’s easy to think of others as just saying things to be polite, to be nice–but honestly, our world isn’t that good, people aren’t that good.”

You both laughed at that thought, because he wasn’t wrong.

“You also need to believe me.”

You blinked, nodding your head, knowing it was true, knowing that it would probably be the thing you struggled with the most.

“I won’t ever lie to you, not about anything, and most certainly, I wouldn’t lie or mislead you about how much I love you, how much I adore you.”

You pulled him forward into a hug, your arms trembling as you held him, your voice weak, “It’s not simple. I’m not simple. I can’t just turn this off.”

“I know,” he turned his head to kiss the side of your head, “It’s okay, I’m not in a hurry–and I am not leaving, I’m not walking away, I want to be here. I want to take care of you.”

You tilted your head down, burying your face into his neck, humming softly.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispered, “Please.”

“O-okay,” you squeezed him tightly, “but…that might mean some days are like this…and I won’t want you to touch me or talk to me…I mean…the worst days…they are like that…”

“I will just bring you ice cream, and sit on the other side of the couch while we watch your favorite movies,” you could tell he was smiling, “Maybe you’d let me rub your feet, or something at some point.”

“Maybe,” you sighed.

“You won’t have to talk, you won’t have to do anything, and if you want to cry, you can–and if you do want to talk, we can talk all day, all night–and if you want to yell, I’ll let you, if you want to hit things, I’ll hold the pillow–there’s only one thing I won’t let you do.”

You pulled back, your hands wrapping around his neck, into his hair, “What?”

“Believe the lies.”

You tilted your head, taking in the sincerity of his expression, the way love flowed so clearly from his eyes, and you couldn’t help it. Somehow you knew in your heart that all of his words were truth–that he meant what he was saying, and that the words you kept saying to yourself were horrible lies. It was a moment of clarity.

“I will need reminding,” you admitted, cautiously, never having told anyone other than your mom about these feelings, about these thoughts.

“I’ll remind you as many times as you need.”

He leaned forward, kissing you gently, his lips soft and tender on your own, and then he drew back, the smallest amount, his hands holding you close, “I will always be here to remind you.”

You smiled, pulling him back into you, your mind trying to wrap around the way his words were threading through your heart, realizing that he really meant what he was saying.

He would always be there to remind you.

I can live with that.

Headcanons

Kei:

Kei would reference to a lot of his insecurities of not being as strong in some areas as others. I think he would have liked to be in the back a lot of times. He loved his job, and he loved his group. He would feel like the reason he wasn’t as popular as the others would be because of how he looked mostly. As he grew up, he realized that it was okay to go at your own pace, to find your strengths and admit your weaknesses and ask for help. I think he is a learner, and would watch others to learn how to handle himself.

He would be super squishy, he’d hold you and touch you and want to even just have a pinkie finger on you if he could. He would respect your boundaries when they revealed themselves, but that would just make him all the more clingy and needy when you were back to normal again. He would have a REALLY hard time on days you didn’t want him to touch you admittedly. He’d be fine with you staying in, he’d let you heal at your own pace.

Kota:

He would most certainly reference his height and weight, something others might admire, he felt like it often made him stand out in a negative way. That was particularly hard on him when the younger “chibi” idols got so much attention. He knew he had power in his voice, but he would lack confidence in his appearance. As he grew up, he came to appreciate his appearance and height as something that made him stand out instead of blending in–actually embracing it and finding value in it.

He would be very soft and his voice would be nearly child-like. He would want a lot of direct eye contact, and he would also pay attention to other details like what you were eating. He would be very observant, hoping to catch you before you drifted into a dark place. He would be super attentive, and while he wouldn’t let you stay inside all the time, he would only take you to places he knew would not overwhelm you.

Daiki:

He would be all about his height, all about being so short, about being called chibi and about how everyone around him grew to look like men but he just stayed the same, ever a 16 year old version of himself. Of course, as an adult, he values this much differently than he did when he was growing up, but it would most certainly be something that he would have struggled with and sometimes no doubt still does. It would be healing for both of you to talk this through. He would also realized that he needed to pay attention to things. That is also a positive thing.

He would literally crawl onto the couch with you, curl up behind you, and hold you for as long as you’d let him. He’d feed you when you didn’t want to eat, and he’d come up with elaborate disguises for you when you didn’t want to be seen in public but he’d insist that you get out of the house now and again. He would also continue to talk to your mom about this, though he would not lie or mislead you about it.

Hikaru:

He would not have been super concerned about thing until he reached his teenage years, and then he would have been very self-conscious about his teeth despite always saying it was one of his “charm” points. He would have also felt a little bit of embarrassment that he didn’t grow up in the same environment it seemed like others did and he often felt stupid or undervalued because of it. As he grew up, he realized that it was the things that made him different that made him a good idol. He also realized, as he observed others, that EVERYONE deals with their own insecurities, and it was nice to share those with trusted friends now and again.

He would literally pick you up and hold you in his arms like a child. He would flutter soft kisses and he would give you plenty of time to talk. He would bring you stupid gifts and stuffed animals and things to make you laugh. He would send you video chats when he couldn’t be there, and he would ask you every day to tell him how you were feeling. He would double, triple, quadruple his words, wanting to fill up your mind with good thoughts and emotions about yourself to outweigh the negative. He would also encourage you to do yoga and such, and research natural supplements that might help you heal.

Yuya:

Yuya absolutely had very few issues with his physical appearance, but he struggled in a major way with the way he viewed the world, and his place in it. Despite wanting to be an idol, he often felt like his heart wasn’t in it, something that set him apart in a negative way from the other idols who seemed to be all in all of the time. He would have went back and forth with his value as an entertainer, as a member of Jump, and thought about quitting A LOT. As he grew up, he realized that there are stages of life, and while he’s young it’s good to take hold of the things that you can do while you’re young–and that there will be time for all of the adventures he could find.

He would force you back so he could hold you closely right there on the couch. Moving forward he would write you a note every day, and he would insist that you write him back, no matter how busy you two were. He would pay close attention to you and your habits, making note of what you were eating, how much you were exercising an such to see if any of those things were effecting your mood. He would be ridiculously patient, and would never force you out of the house.

BONUS: 7

Keito:

No one could have struggled with more insecurities than this precious soul. He would reveal them all, he’d spend three or four days telling you every single thought he’d ever had, and he would cry with you, he’d sob and hold you and between the two of you eventually you’d both agree that you both needed to fix the way you viewed yourselves and you also would promise to remind one another daily as he still struggles sometimes with this very issue.

He would not mind if you only left your house to come to his. He would, at least for a time, want to be with you 24/7 and would be as long as he could. He would bring you magazines and books to read, and he would also engage you into shows and programs he enjoyed. More than anything he would share his extensive love for music by sending you a new song every single day to cheer you up.

Yuri:

He would of course reveal the undeniable truth that he struggles with insecurities and fears even though he always presents himself as the opposite. He would tell you how self-conscious he is, how he doesn’t want to be near people and it makes him incredibly worried. How he works himself into a frenzy of anticipation and fear when he has to do anything without another member of Jump with him. How he feel so awkward and uncomfortable on sets of shows and programs and interviews and how the only thing that calms him down now that he’s grown up is YOU.

He would drag you out of the house, not forcing you around a lot of people but taking you to the park, to the zoo, to the beach. He’d tell you sunshine and movement would help you. He’d plan picnics in the spring, and he’d take you ice skating in the winter. He’d be very affectionate, and most of the healing that would happen between the two of you would be literal silence.

Yuto:

Oh gosh, let’s be honest, he’s got his own encyclopedia of issues without a doubt, all of which he would reveal to you very openly, honestly, and freely. He’d be very proactive in helping you, researching and studying all aspects of depression and determining ways that he could help you. He would be very attentive to you, but he also would refuse to become a crutch. He’d want you to stand on your own two feet, and so he’d be very careful with how he handled your emotions so that your healing would come from inside you and not from him. It’s not a bad thing, it’s just different than most.

He would be very soft to you, his words and manners would be very gentle, but at the same time, he’d have times where he’d just stare at you like you were crazy and tell you to snap out of it. Not in a mean or degrading or negative way, but just in the way of saying “I’m right here, I’m listening, stop feeling like you’re alone!”

Ryosuke:

Ah, our Ace, the boy who seems to have it all. He struggles with enough insecurities and self-hatred for the entire world. He would readily admit to you all of his flaws, and once he’d had you furious with how stupid he was to see himself so clearly, he would quite literally point at you and say “Pot meet Kettle!”* The two of you would be committed to saying one thing you liked about yourselves to the other every day, and if either of you said something negative about yourself then you’d have to say three things that you loved about yourself, no exceptions. He would write notes to you of encouragement, and would send you cute things all the time as a surprise, but all of them would always be related to something you’d discussed in one way or another. He would always include a note explaining how the gift applied to the topic.

Lord, he would be like a human blanket 24/7. He would be very affectionate. At the same time, on the days when you didn’t want to be touched, he would have deep respect for that, and settle for feeding you your favorite foods or treats that he made for you. He would constantly be coming up with new ways to make you smile, new ways to make sure you knew how much he loves you, and more than anything, he’d be very proactive in helping you find hobbies, activities, and such that would promote a happy, whole feeling in you. He would also encourage you to go to counseling, AND to take meds if necessary. He would remind you daily if you’ve taken them, and he would drive you to your appointments. He would be careful to not push you, but he would also be very clear that your well-being is intricately entwined with his own, and when you don’t take care of you, it hurts him. You would obviously be more than clear that this was a two-way street.

*I realize this might be an American idiom which others may not understand. The meaning of the phrase is said to have come from lots of sources, but the one I trust the most is from an early issue of St. Nicholas Magazine from 1876:

"Oho!" said the pot to the kettle;"You are dirty and ugly and black!Sure no one would think you were metal,Except when you're given a crack."

"Not so! not so!" kettle said to the pot;"'Tis your own dirty image you see;For I am so clean – without blemish or blot –That your blackness is mirrored in me.

It is literally referring to the fact that the person who is pointing out the reason others were wrong or broken in their way of thinking is just as guilty of the same flawed thought process.

#Hey! Say! Jump #Yamada Ryosuke #Yaotome Hikaru #Chinen Yuri #Inoo Kei #Arioka Daiki #Nakajima Yuto #Okamoto Keito #Yabu Kota #hey say jump #oneshot #drabble #Takaki Yuya #drabbles #Mod J

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abutterflyscribbles · 7 years

Text

Tiny People in Jars AU: Part 10

shoutout to @dainesanddaffodils @deluxetrashqueen @lunalocura for proofing this chapter!

(if you read, if you enjoy, plz reblog and comment!)

Part One/Two/Three/Four/Five/Six/Seven/Eight/Nine/Ao3

“I feel like something Brian Froud would draw.”

Marianne strained her neck, trying to watch Dawn fasten the back of a shirt around the base of the limp purple wings that had so recently taken up residence on Marianne's shoulder blades.

As promised, Griselda and Dawn had gotten some clothing together for Marianne. It was a relief to exchange her ragged jeans and compromised shirt for something clean and whole. Even if the new garments appeared to be made out of leaves.

There must have been some sort of magic involved that kept the leaves fresh and allowed them to be stitched and tailored like cloth. Marianne put on a pair of dark purple leggings that stretched just like knit fabric even though they gave off the faint perfume of flowers. The green tunic sort of thing was something like a belted leaf poncho that hung down to her knees and had some tricky fastenings in the back to allow for wings.

Dawn was doing up the fastenings and was not talking. Very loudly not talking. Which would have been easy enough to ignore if Dawn's silence radiated any amount of anger. But, no, it was a sad silence. The careful silence of someone afraid of offending with a badly placed word. Someone trying very hard to be tactful.

It made Marianne feel guilty and that in turn made her angry. As far as bad days went Marianne's surpassed anyone else's by far. She shouldn't be expected to have the emotional energy to deal with anyone else's woes. Unpleasant truths were clawing at the comfortable veil that had been drawn over her life, ripping apart everything Marianne had thought were rock solid. This left her with no time or inclination to humor the wistful hopes of a teenager.

Then again, a king dealing with a kingdom in chaos wouldn't have been expected to spare the time to offer comfort to a supposed fairy changeling that had stuffed him into a jar earlier on in the day. Bog really was just too awkwardly sweet for his own good. Marianne felt obliged to pass on a little of the niceness she had received and restore cosmic balance.

Mood somewhat lifted by a change of clothing, even if her wings were still trying to drag down her shoulders and her mood, Marianne made an attempt to cheer the princess up.

“Look, kid,” Marianne said, feeling new muscles pulling in her back when she strained to look over her shoulder at Dawn, “I'm not . . . I'm not mad at you or anything, okay?”

“Okay,” Dawn said flatly, finishing with the fastenings and stepping away.

Marianne fumbled for something kind to say that wouldn't bring up the lost princess business. She was sure if she had to hear one more word about that she'd scream. Dawn would look up at her with those big blue eyes full of hope and Marianne would feel like a monster for crushing that hope. Even so, the expectations prickled her temper and she would end up being horrible to the kid again.

“I'm . . . I'm sure Sunny is going to be fine,” Marianne offered, “I mean, he'll get the potion and it will all be . . . fine.”

“Sure,” Dawn agreed, still lacking her characteristic sparkle.

“And—and your dad will be impressed by how you've been handling this whole thing. I mean, getting the goblins to cooperate with you, that's a pretty big deal, right?”

“Yeah. Impressed. Sure.”

“Uh,” Marianne said, trying to provoke the conversation into continuing so that the strains of lovesick singing would remained masked, “Um.

Marianne pulled at the edge of the leaf tunic. It acted almost exactly like fabric. When she pinched it there was no bruising or stickiness of a crushed leaf, just the faint smell, like trees warming under the summer sun. Built-in perfume. Nice.

“I'm sorry if I was kind of abrupt,” Marianne tried again, “It's been a very long, very weird day and I'm six different kinds of scrambled.”

“It's fine.”

The stonewalling tactic had been used on Marianne before and she had an array of methods to deal with it, but most of them involved tackling the taciturn individual and either tickling them or putting them in a headlock until they begged for release and agreed to talk.

These methods had not been devised with a wilting fairy princess in mind.

“Uh, Bog invited me to stay here.”

“Oh?” a spark of life returned to Dawn's face, a gleam of interest in her eyes.

“Yeah, to learn glamour after this love potion is cleaned up. I mean, I would kind of have to stay anyway, really, to learn how to get right-sized again, but it's nice to have a clear invite. Maybe this heap isn't a four star hotel, but maybe it looks better when the sun is up.”

“You're going to stay?”

“Yeah, maybe. Yes. I'll be around for at least a few--”

Dawn sent Marianne staggering with a hug. They both would have tipped over except Dawn spread her wings and hovered with her feet kicked up off the floor.

“--days,” Marianne finished, trying to speak around the shoulder that was crammed into her throat.

“I can show you the fields!” Dawn shoved Marianne to arm's length, “and Sunny's village! You could come to the festival! It was supposed to be tonight, but I bet it was canceled because of everything and--”

“Dawn, I'm going to be staying here. In the forest. If I stay at all.”

“Oh, I know, but you can still socialize! You'll be Boggy's guest, not his prisoner. He likes you.”

“He doesn't like anyone,” Marianne rolled her eyes. Her face felt warm and she really wasn't sure why. It was probably the smirk on Dawn's face, “Especially not people who stick him in badly washed mayo jars.”

“Oh,” Marianne,” Dawn fluttered to the side as she flicked her hands to dismiss the idea, “You do that to everyone. It's just your way, we understand.”

Marianne sputtered out a laugh. “I went my whole life without collecting tiny people in jars, and then in one day I get three. Beginner's luck.”

“Think of how good you'd be if you practiced.”

“I'm trying not to make a habit out of it. With the exception of Roland. I'd like to get him in a pickled onion jar and lob it into a landfill.”

“I only understand half of what you're saying,” Dawn remarked, giggling as she floated around, fussing with Marianne's tangled hair, “but it sounds funny.”

“I'm a riot.”

“Now, don't you look just lovely?” Griselda pattered back into the room, a length of something bundled in her arms, “You could still use a comb, though, mushroom.”

“I've sort of given up on that,” Marianne blew a stray lock of hair out of her eyes after she shooed Dawn's hands away, “It doesn't seem to be worth the effort.”

“Your message to your dad was sent off, dear,” Griselda told Dawn, “And it looks like all the love-dusted folks have been gathered up. Patrols are still out but they haven't reported any new cases of love-sickness in awhile.”

“That probably means somebody got the potion away from the imp,” Dawn tapped her fingers together, “the question is: who?”

“And how's the antidote coming along?” Marianne added.

“Plum does things in her own time,” Griselda's wide face dipped into a frown, “Ridiculous little airheaded twinkling maniac and her useless potions. Oh, of course it works now when it'll cause a mess, but . . . hm. Never mind. She's working on it. There was a little bit of a delay because my boy had her make this.”

Griselda shook out the bundle she had been carrying. It was some sort of blanket or cloak made up of layers of flower petals. Dark purple petals overlapping like scales, rimmed with a slightly darker shade of purple.

“Hellebore petals,” Griselda said, “Had some stowed away. Anyway, my boy had Plum make a wrinkle for you. I had to haggle with her for an age. I said you'd give an IOU for it, sunshine, seeing as it's fairy business in its way. Couldn't get her to name a price that we here could pay.”

Griselda address the last note to Dawn who nodded, “That's fine. She probably wants to make sure she has a protector and patron once she's free. Dad will be happy to oblige. Boggy is so thoughtful!”

“A wrinkle?” Marianne asked, feeling uneasy that a favor done for her was going to be paid for by the fairy king. It felt like Griselda and Dawn were working on the assumption that Marianne really was the lost princess and they were humoring her declarations to the contrary. She would rather have been in debt to Bog and Griselda, if she couldn't be responsible for it herself.

Marianne looked at the offered assemblage of petals that was offered to her, reluctant to accept it, “What is it?”

“A wrinkle, dear. A wrinkle? You know, a wrinkle in the veil? Oh, just try it on, sweetheart.”

The “wrinkle” was like a sort of sleeveless shift that was open down the front. It was waistless and fell straight down to Marianne's knees, no openings in the back for the wings, so it just laid over them. It was nice enough, she supposed, but she couldn't figure out why it was apparently so special. Which was a relief, since that meant she could decline the gift and the debt to the fairy king.

“What's it supposed to do?” She turned in place to see the movement of the garment, “prevent wrinkled clothing or cause it?”

Marianne stopped in the middle of her second rotation, the hem of the wrinkle flapping around her legs. Something had changed, something . . . She spun around, trying to see her own back. She reached behind herself and felt shoulder blades, ordinary shoulder blades and nothing else, poking through the back of the wrinkle.

“Oh, that doesn't look right,” Dawn shuddered, her face tinged with green.

“They're gone!” Marianne spun around again, enjoying her reclaimed balance, “The wings are gone! I can move again!”

“You look all wrong.”

“Are you kidding?” Marianne bounced up and down on her heels, “I could do cartwheels. Move over, I'm going to do cartwheels.”

“Don't you dare!” Dawn grabbed her shoulders, “The room is too small!”

“Handstands, then. Something!” Marianne rolled her shoulders, “How don't I have wings?”

“Take off the wrinkle, dear,” Griselda said, flapping her hands to hurry Marianne up.

Marianne did, and the weight settled back on her shoulders, the wings returned.

“Wrinkles are tricky things, changing just a little part of you to be what it isn't in a world where it is. Probably no one could do one except Plum, My boy thought this might help since you were having so much trouble getting around.”

“I'll thank him when I see him,” Marianne put the wrinkle back on and did another twirl, “I will show my gratitude by respecting his personal space and not hugging him.”

Griselda snorted on her way out of the room, “My boy doesn't know what's good for him.”

“Boggy is so sweet,” Dawn said with some of her usual sparkle, though she was still trying not to look at Marianne's wingless back, “I don't understand why we've been so scared of starting up talks with him. Marianne, stand still!”

“I'm going to do cartwheels!”

“You cannot do cartwheels!”

“You sound just like my brothers. 'Marianne, you can't do cartwheels'. 'Marianne, you'll break something'. 'Marianne, this is the third time you've broken that arm'.”

“Third?” Dawn asked, eyes wide, “How many times . . .?”

“My family invested in rubber stamps so they wouldn't have to sign their names by hand every time I was in a cast. In my defense, it didn't look that far from the roof to the ground.”

Marianne ceased her spinning and dropped herself into a chair. She could sit in a chair again, just like a real person who hadn't been dealing with an otherworldly incursion in their kitchen. She was just Marianne Gallagher who had more stitches than sweethearts to her name.

Except she wasn't.

“I was trying to fly,” Marianne said, remembering how she teetered on the edge of the porch roof, looking down at the smooth carpet of lawn. There had been an expectation in her tiny, baby brain that she would fly. Or that someone would catch her.

Someone with blue eyes.

Blue eyes always made her sad, a little wistful. Bog's eyes reminded her of that, but they were different from the memory that slipped out of her hands. It was like chasing a gauzy scarf in the wind. It shimmered in the air, rippling out of reach. Dawn's eyes . . . they were almost familiar.

“Dawn . . .” Marianne slouched down in the chair until she was almost sliding off of it.

“Sit up straight,” Dawn tapped Marianne's knees as she walked by.

“What, you afraid I'll wrinkle my wrinkle?”

Dawn giggled, swatting Marianne's knees as punishment for the joke, “Does everyone talk like you? Where you've been—where you come from?”

“There's a whole range,” Marianne gestured in an arc, “I fall on the mouthy end of things. My brothers, less so. It's my coping mechanism in times of extreme upheaval and weirdness.”

“It sounds like . . . like you have a lot of fun with your family.”

“Yeah. We did. Do.”

Teetering on the edge of the roof, teetering between two realities, watching a scarf dance in the wind. How long could she teeter before she fell one way or the other?

Marianne pushed herself up in her chair, her new outfit rumpled around her and the wrinkle wrinkled up beneath her. Distracting herself with the details of getting comfortable, letting the fresh smell of the leaf tunic and flower petal cloak surround her in a comfortable, outdoorsy perfume, Marianne asked the question like she would have dropped a pebble into a dark hole to judge by its rattling descent how deep the darkness went.

“What happened to your sister?”

Dawn looked sad over Marianne's phrasing of the question, and still somewhat queasy over Marianne's missing wings. She sat down, her wings falling effortlessly into place as she did.

“We were kidnapped,” Dawn said, starting the story off with a bang, “some of dad's political rivals took us to use as leverage. Well, actually, it was a cousin, a third or fourth cousin a few times removed. He wanted to be king and he was going to use me and you—me and my sister to make dad step down.”

“Intense,” Marianne remarked.

“I guess,” Dawn shrugged a shoulder, “I can't remember, I wasn't even a year old. Mar—my sister was just five. He had us taken and hidden, but his plan fell apart pretty quickly. All the people he was counting on as allies didn't really want to help him be king. He thought they would all rally around him.”

“Failed a perception check.”

“What?”

“Nothing. So, dear old cousin Back-stabber--”

“Luke, actually.”

“--decided that he wanted more than the simple life of moisture farming on Tatooine and decided to try his hand running the empire. Sorry, never mind, ignore me, keep talking.”

Marianne knew she was being unnecessarily snarky and wished she would stop. It was her way of controlling the situation, as was her habit. Sarcasm and quick jibes kept everyone else on their toes and too busy to press on with an attack against her. It was a tactic she had had much success with, most of the time. It was less effective when no one got your pop culture references.

“Then he tried bargaining to get off without being charged. Mom and dad wouldn't negotiate and sent everybody out to look for us.”

“They obviously got you back. What happened to your sister?”

“It was all kind of confused. We'd been kept at two different places and the people guarding us were under orders to do whatever they had to to keep use from being found. I was being kept near one of the elf villages, actually. The elves found the hiding place and sneaked me out. When the soldiers caught up they found me safe and sound, playing with Sunny.”

“Aw, you were baby best friends.”

“I cried when the soldiers tried to take me away. Mom had to come get me herself.”

“Awww.”

“That's part of why dad has always put up with me going down to the village. Not that he's ever going to let me again, not even with ten times the usual number of guards.”

“Wow him with your super diplomat princess skills. If you make a triumphant return, leading the goblin king by the hand, your dad might reconsider some views.”

“Not likely. He's going to chain me to a chair and chain the chair to the floor so that I can't scoot anywhere. And he'll never let me see Sunny again, not ever. Not that I want to ever see Sunny again.”

“Of course not.”

“But dad doesn't get to make that choice for me.”

“Absolutely not. So . . . while you were happily burbling over a borrowed rattle, what happened to your sister?”

It wasn't clear to Marianne what she was hoping to learn from this story. Maybe some detail she could point at and say, “aha! That proves it! It couldn't have possibly been me!”. Maybe find out that the princess had a distinctive birthmark that Marianne didn't. That was the usual method in these sort of melodramas. And Marianne could quite safely claim she had no birthmarks, distinguishing or otherwise. A sizable collection of scars, but none whose origins had not been documented.

Purple wings were all that Dawn had to go on, and Marianne refused to be convinced on such flimsy evidence. There had to be something that would explain everything. Something in the story that would prove . . . well, she was starting to feel a little beyond believing that she could prove she was purely human. But maybe there was something that would just . . . let her be her. That if she was a changeling, she was an anonymous orphan without family or ties that would pull her away from the world she wanted to belong to.

“They found where she was being kept, too,” Dawn continued, “Or they were pretty sure. They surrounded the hiding place—it was on the edge of the Dark Forest in the hollow at the base of a tree—and moved in to take Luke's accomplice by surprise.”

“How do you know all this? Seems like your dad wouldn't want your gentle ears dirtied with such sordid details.”

“Sunny's mom told me when I was older. Nobody at court would dare breathe a word about it around me. Lottie thought I should know and when I asked about it she told me everything.”

“Sunny's mom?” Marianne laughed at a sudden thought, “She's going to kill him for all this, isn't she? If she's anything like my mom, she will.”

“Oh, goodness, she will! I kind of hope I'm there . . .”

“Share the front row seats with me. I'll bring popcorn.”

“Why popcorn?”

“Wait, you know what popcorn is?”

“Why wouldn't I know what popcorn is?”

Marianne imagined a fairy eating an individual kernel of popcorn and wondered how they popped corn without getting concussed.

“Anyway, Sunny's mom told you everything?”

“The important things. She didn't give me many details, except that mom tripped over a guard in the dark when they were creeping up the tree. She smashed him behind the ear,” Dawn made a punching motion, “dented his helmet.”

“You're making that up.”

“Busted up her hand, but luckily she was ambidextrous.”

“I'm not left-handed,” Marianne muttered.

“So she could still hold a sword and lead the charge against Luke's men.”

“You are making this up.”

“Mom won, of course. There weren't enough guards to do more than slow her men down for a few minutes . . . but it was long enough. One of Luke's people ran away and it was dark, but they thought he might have been carrying my sister, but . . .”

“He got away?”

Dawn wrapped her arms around herself and looked down at her knees. She spoke in a lower voice, hushed and serious, “He got snatched by an owl.”

“Oh. Oh.”

Marianne's earlier concerns about owls and other flying creatures of the night were justified and the confirmation sent a shiver down her spine. The shiver even felt like it traveled into the wings, outlining them for a passing moment. A fairy caught in the talons of an owl . . . wings tangled, maybe ripped, a baby in their arms . . .

“Yeah,” Dawn nodded, “Everyone kind of got scattered and they couldn't find the owl's nest afterwards.”

“But . . . why did you guys think she could be alive? Even if she wasn't eaten by the owl she could have fallen and been snatched up by something else.”

“Nobody knew for sure!” Dawn said hotly, “Nobody had actually seen Marianne! They found four more hiding places afterwards and decoy guards all over the place!”

“Okay, okay!” Marianne said, feeling bad that she had upset Dawn again, “So there's a chance she made it. Where did she end up, then?”

Dawn gave Marianne a flat stare.

“Oh. Duh. Right. Changeling.”

“Uh huh.”

“Give me a break, it's been--”

“A long day.”

“Shut up. It's true no matter how many times I say it. Why would they stash your sister with humans? And if her, why not you too?”

“I hadn't thought of that . . .” Dawn drooped a little, “That does stick out.”

A touch of excitement made Marianne's heart skip a beat. The scarf was in the wind, her fingers nearly on it, she was on the verge of finding out something that would put the world back to rights. The changeling princess theory was about to fall apart.

“But then why do you look so much like mom?” Dawn stood up and threw her hands out in a plea for answers, “Your wings? Your—your attitude? Everything I remember, everything people tell me, mom was strong, she was funny, and she was really kind! You're all those things too! You're a changeling! Nothing else makes sense!”

“None of this makes sense!” Marianne shot back, standing up too.

“It does so! It's got to! You've got to come back! You've got to come back and it'll all be okay! We'll have you back! The kingdom will be so happy, dad will be . . .” Dawn choked a little, “dad will be happy.”

He's not my father.

Marianne couldn't say the words out loud. Again she was caught between her need to scream her hopes until they became true and her unwillingness to crush this fragile little girl. Dawn had taken too many hits already that day.

“Kid . . .” Marianne sighed, putting her hands on Dawn's shaking shoulders, “We'll . . . we'll look into all this. Look for some answers. Two kingdoms are involved, I guess I'm not going to be able to just skip town. But, kid, please don't hang all your hopes on me. Please.”

Dawn hung her head.

“Look me in the eye, kiddo.”

Dawn lifted her head and looked into Marianne's eyes. “Okay. That's fair. But if you are my--”

“I'm your friend. I'll be hanging around awhile. That is all I can promise. Okay?”

“Okay.” Dawn offered a bright smile, still looking into Marianne's eyes, her usual brightness quickly eating away the sadness.

The wind changed. The fluttering scarf blew into Marianne's hand. She remembered edging along the gutter on the roof, looking down, looking for something. For someone. A familiar face that glowed with warmth, sparkled with happiness. Someone with eyes that were . . .

Marianne tore her gaze away from Dawn's face. She covered her face with her hands and refused to look at Dawn. She tried to throw the fluttering memory away. She didn't want it. She wanted it to dissolve again, this time forever. But the scarf had turned solid in her hands, wrapped itself in knots around her fingers, and she could not tear it off.

“Marianne? Marianne are you alright?”

The room was too small. There wasn't enough space in it with the memory filling the room from corner to corner.

“Dawn,” the memory squeezed Marianne's chest until the whisper came out, the question was asked, “What color were your mother's eyes?”

“Blue,” Dawn replied, “Dad says I have her eyes.”

The scarf was somehow attached to a heavy weight and Marianne tumbled off the roof, falling and knowing there would be no one there to catch her.

“You've got to stop doing this, tough girl.”

Bog was suddenly there, keeping her from tipping over.

“Doing what?” Marianne asked, blinking away the blur in front of her eyes.

“Not fainting.”

“I was not not fainting. I tripped.”

“While standing still?”

“I'm talented that way. When did you materialize out of the ether?”

“Just now. Just in time. Are you alright?”

“Fine. It's just been a--”

“Long day?”

“Shut up.”

Marianne took a deep breath and looked up to see if the room was stable. It was. It was also notably empty of any sparkling fairy princesses.

“Where did Dawn go?”

“There was some news and I sent her to talk to the messenger. I thought you would . . . you were looking a little . . . I thought you would rather not have her speculating any further about your identity for the time being.”

“Thanks. This identity crisis is knocking me off balance.”

“I noticed.”

“Shut up. You're horrible. You're the worse.”

“I hope you don't think that is a revelation for me.”

“I said shut up. You shut up, everybody shut up. I shut up. Bog . . . Bog is there any possible way I can get out of here? Right now? This minute? Have the tipsy glitter fairy slap some charm on me to get big again and just let me go home?”

“Not that I'm aware,” Bog replied, bewildered at Marianne's babbling and frantic pacing up and down the room. She couldn't stand still. She had to run. She had to run now.

Marianne kicked over a chair.

The chair knocked a piece off the wall. Dust sprinkled down from the ceiling.

Bog stood there, twiddling his fingers uncertainly.

Marianne thought over the benefits of kicking more furniture.

“I hate this place,” She said, teeth clenched.

“Oh?” Bog said, obviously stung by the statement.”

“Not your stupid Dark Forest. I'm sure it's absolutely lovely underneath the cobwebs and rot. This stupid, absurd situation.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing! Nothing.” Marianne scrabbled around for a change of subject. Anything to avoid talking, remembering. She settled on asking about the progress of diplomatic proceedings between fairies and goblins. The sooner that was settled the sooner Marianne could get everyone's full attention on solving the problem on making her big again.

“What was the news for Dawn? Her dad write back already?”

“Not as such.” Bog let out a tired sigh and massaged the back of his neck. His default scowl returned, dark as ever. Marianne was sort of glad that the shadows cast by his eyebrows hid how blue his eyes were. She was also sort of disappointed. Bog kind of had lovely eyes . . .

“An armed force of fairies and elves has crossed the border into the forest.”

“Oh. That stinks. What, they trying to rescue the captive princess? Didn't they get Dawn's note about how she has totally not been kidnapped?”

“Hard to say. The messenger hasn't returned.”

“Well . . . this isn't looking exactly terrific.”

“And the love potion is still unaccounted for. My scouts have lost track of the elf entirely. He's quite slippery, it seems. Plum needs to have that antidote at the ready before the elf or the preening fairy get here.”

Every new bit of news had Marianne's heart sinking lower. At this point it was somewhere in the pit of her stomach but she was sure it would get all the way down to her feet sooner or later.

“I guess I hope Sunny has the potion. The guy has learned his lesson.” Marianne said. But she imagined the pink bottle in Roland's hands and felt her heart slip down to her knees.

Bog just snorted.

“What's happening now, then? To war?”

“Not so long as I have their princess.” Bog's face pulled into a pleased smirk. It was ridiculously adorable how smug he got when he had the upper hand. It was like he was relishing a hard-earned triumph.

“Except you don't really,” Marianne pointed out.

“Technically, I do.”

“I thought the hostage thing was a joke.”

“She's not a hostage. Technically.”

“Don't get yourself twisted up in technicalities there, crunchy.”

“Don't call me--”

“Prickly?”

Bog's face twisted up in an even darker scowl. He even bared his teeth like he was working up a snarl.

It was also completely adorable how easy it was to ruffle Bog. He wasn't used to having people talk back. Except, Marianne supposed, by his mother.

“Look, if I have to I'll hold the princess here and only turn her over on the condition that the love potion is returned and they cease to trample all over my forest.”

“If that doesn't pan out?”

“I thrash the stuffing out of their tin armor and send them scurrying back home.”

“Straightforward. I like it.”

“Why does your approval fill me with unease?”

Marianne laughed. She hadn't expected to laugh so soon. For a towering pillar of spikes and prickles Bog was somehow reassuring to be around.

“You'll have to get Dawn to agree. If she doesn't then we're busting out of this joint.”

“Huh! You and what army?”

“I'm a one-woman army.”

“. . . true.”

“And I'm not handicapped anymore.” Marianne bounced up and down on the balls of her feet, feigning a few boxing-style punches at Bog. “You're hoisted by your own petard, giving me the coat of wrinkles.”

“I do appear to have made an error in judgment.” Bog chuckled, grabbing her fist when it swung by his nose. He held onto her hand and looked down into her eyes, probably disconcerted by the manic sparkle that must have been glittering in them. She felt out of control, running, running, running. She couldn't stop. Couldn't give herself time to think.

“What’s wrong--?” Bog began.

“I haven't thank you for the wrinkle,” Marianne pulled her hand free and spun away, the wrinkle flaring out. She almost stumbled, but managed to turn it into a lurching sidestep, “Sharp outfit, no wings, I feel human again. Kinda.”

Bog made a motion to grab her shoulder. He stopped himself and rubbed his hands together instead. “What happened?”

His voice was soft and kind. His eyes were visible again, a breathtaking shade of blue, lighter than the ones that haunted her, but similar enough to make her physically recoil.

Bog took a sharp step back, hands held up as if he were demonstrating that they were empty and his claws were out of play. It took Marianne a moment to realize he thought he had frightened her.

“No, no!” Marianne hurried to say, “You're fine! You're good. You're great. You're fantastic. It's not you. It's me. I'm a mess. I'm in worse shape than your castle.”

“Pardon?”

“It can't have escaped your notice that it's falling apart.”

Bog's gray teeth bared again as they scraped back and forth.

“Okay, wow, I am on a roll with the offending. Sorry. Please refer to previous statement of me going a disaster and disregard my opinion accordingly. I swear, I am too sober for this. But this castle is falling apart and so am I.”

“If it's falling apart it's because you've been throwing furniture into the walls!”

“Hey, it was only one furniture.”

“May I inquire as to why you are throwing things—singular or plural—and why your falling apart seems to have . . . accelerated?”

“Nothing. No reason. I'm fine.”

“I thought you just said you were falling apart.”

“Did not.”

Bog growled.

“Oh, go tangle yourself in a fly trap.”

“I can't tell if you're upset or just mad.”

“Mad like angry? Or mad like crazy?”

“Either.”

“Shut up. Maybe I am mad! Mad as in angry! My wedding fell apart because my boyfriend is a cheating, opportunistic pixie, I got shrunk when I wanted to be drunk, a fairy princess insists I'm her long-lost sister and she might be--”

Marianne hiccuped. Her throat had seized tight and the volume of her voice dropped dramatically. Tears rushed up into her eyes and started to spill over when she finished her sentence.

“--she might be right.”

There was an awkward pause that Marianne filled with angry sniffles. Bog shuffled and fidgeted. She couldn't blame him. He'd had to deal with her erratic emotions quite enough already tonight.

“Do you . . . do you want to hit something?” Bog asked.

“What?”

“I find it helps.”

Marianne looked over at the overturned chair. She nodded.

Bog opened the door and motioned for her to pass through it with a bow and wave of his hand.

“Dork.” Marianne sniffed.

For the first time in days Marianne felt sure of her footing.

The weight of the wooden practice sword in her hand was perfectly balanced. Her feet slotted easily into to pattern her muscles had followed so many times before. Gracefulness of movement was not something Marianne counted among her virtues, but she knew she moved well with a sword in her hand. And it felt good.

The throne room was nearly empty save Bog, Marianne, and a couple of squat goblins sitting on the steps in front of the throne. Marianne was fairly sure that one of them, for whatever reason, was licking pebbles. The two goblins were the only audience to witness a fairy changeling and a goblin king square up to fight.

Marianne put herself through a few stances to get the feel of the floor through her new boots and how the wooden sword rested in her hand. It felt ten times better than a baseball bat.

“You look happy. And a wee bit bloodthirsty.” Bog remarked. He cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, shifting his hands into black on the wooden staff he had taken up instead of his scepter.

“I am going to destroy you, Bog King,” Marianne pointed her sword at him, “and take your gothpunk throne for myself.”

“Oh,” Bog casually spun his staff in the fingers of one hand. Marianne hated that he made it look so easy. “So that was your plan all along. Charm the king and depose him when his back was turned.”

“I've been found out. I totally want to take over a kingdom with no indoor plumbing or twinkies. Now that that's out in the open--” She took up a stance with the sword above her head, parallel with the floor, and her other hand out for balance, “--bring it.”

“I was anticipating something more along the lines of going through a few basic moves.”

“Okay, or that. If you want to be all reasonable and sane.”

“One of us has to be.”

“Says who?”

They went through the slow movements of a mock battle. Marianne had started off wanting to pummel something into a pulp, but the structured exercise leveled out her mood as she because too focused to let her thoughts stray to unwanted memories.

Like of crying. Of being a tiny child in her mother's arms but crying her lungs out. The arms that held her were strange. The wrong arms.

The blow Marianne struck was forceful enough to jolt her all the way up to her shoulders. Even her banished wings asserted their existence enough to give a ghostly flutter. Bog was taken aback, weapon still held up defensively.

Marianne lowered her sword. “Sorry.”

Bog tapped her exposed stomach with the end of his staff. “I suppose the intent of this exercise was to give you an opportunity hit things.”

Marianne knocked the staff aside. “Yeah, but not with, like, killing intent. Unless Roland was around.”

A few more blows were exchanged. Bog's wings flicked up and down with his movements and Marianne could tell he was trying his best not to lift himself off the floor. It made her wonder about the dynamics of a fight between two winged people. It would be a whole new ballgame.

“I went and rattled Plum's cage,” Bog said, parrying her swings with one hand behind his back, “She started to babble about riddles, but only until the princess looked as if she was going to cry. The antidote should be ready soon.”

“Great. You have my permission to dose me with it if any of that potion starts getting thrown around. Please?”

“Of course.”

Marianne held up a hand to signal a time out. The news unwound one of the tight muscles in her back and the release made her sag. She was going to be safe. No matter what, Roland couldn't charm her again. If he got so far as to force the love potion on her, she could count on Bog to administer the antidote.

The muscle in her back snapped tight again. Count on Bog to help her. Save her. How had she ended up in a situation where she needed other people to bail her out? Running away from everything had been an attempt to assert control over her crumbling life. She had lined everyone up in a neat row of jars and presided over them, their fates in her hands.

But, really, she had not been in control of anything since the day she met Roland and he had charmed his way past her defenses and wrapped a chain around her heart, trapping her. She was still trapped. Cut off from the people she had thought were her family. Shoved into a miniature world, shoved into a life that was supposed to be hers. And she hadn't been able to do anything to stop it.

Standing on the edge of the field, crying because she couldn't find the way back home. Wedged into a world where she didn't belong. Ripped out of it and forced into a space that no longer fit.

Marianne struck a series of blows so sudden and forceful that Bog could only say, “Whoa!” while he hurried to block and dodge. She charged. He defended. She blocked. He dodged. The foundation of his fighting style appeared to be strictly defensive. Marianne redoubled her attack, trying to make him fight back. Take her seriously. She was a threat. She was dangerous.

She backed him up the steps to the throne. Bog's wings were rattling, a dry noise. The wrinkle brushed around her legs with the whisper of fresh flower petals. She wished it was the crackle of splintering wood. Shattering glass. Of wood crumpling metal armor. She was not soft. She was not a buttercup or any other flower. She was--

“Tough girl,” Bog leaned back so far to avoid her slashing sword that he could have won a limbo contest. It beat Marianne how someone who wore armor 24/7 could be that flexible. “I thought this was just practice!”

“What? The mighty Bog King afraid of a challenge?”

“Hardly. I just wonder if you can keep up!”

Marianne's reply was a sharp shout. She brought her sword down hard enough that had they been using real weapons sparks would have flown. She was wildly mixing one-handed fencing techniques with two-handed sword moves. And she was making it work. No rules. No points. No holding back. Everything that had been simmering inside her bubbled up and boiled over until her arms screamed and her throat was raw.

No matter how many blows struck true nothing could get rid of those blue eyes of a woman that was buried at the very foundation of Marianne's memories. Blue eyes that were so loving that Marianne hurt. She didn't want the shreds of memory. They were edged with broken teeth and they tore her skin when she fought them.

Bog fought back.

Really, actually fought back.

Marianne was grateful for that. It put a smile on her face, the fact that someone was taking her seriously. Acknowledging that she was not only capable, but dangerous. His lopsided smile showed her that he was enjoying this fight.

Somewhere in the exchange of blows Marianne's anger began to flow out of her, caught in the current of competition. She started to show off. She jumped over the staff that tried to sweep her feet out from under her. She added flourishes, she spun. Bog imitated her footwork and stance and she laughed at it.

It might have taken a complete collapse of her lungs to stop Marianne if the wooden sword had not struck the side of the throne instead of Bog, wrenching the wooden blade out of its hilt. Bog pressed forward to take advantage of the opening. Marianne took a leap back, her wings fizzing with the need to lift her in the air. The staff splintered when it hit the patch of floor Marianne had just vacated.

Gasping for breath, the two of them stared at each other.

“Tie?”

“Tie.”

Bog dropped onto his throne, flicking his wings out of the way. Marianne sat on the arm. The sword's hilt was still in her hand.

“Feel better?” Bog asked, giving his broken staff an absent examination.

“Emotionally? Kind of. Physically? I feel like I have made something not unlike a mistake.”

Bog grumbled something unintelligible that might have meant something like, “Same.”

They wheezed for awhile.

“I remembered something.”

“Hm?”

Marianne fought to make her dry throat swallow so she could go on. “I remembered something about here. I think. I think it was my--” Her throat closed up. She couldn't say it. She couldn't say 'mother'.

There was a soft rasp. Bog had placed his hand on the arm of the throne, next to where her own hand was resting. The sight of those long black claws was comforting. It was hard not to put her hand on top of his.

“Dawn's right.” The words sent a wave of nausea up her throat and she had to swallow hard to push it back but still let the words out. “I think I'm the princess.”

The scarf of memory was wrapped around her throat, tight enough to choke her.

“I'm sorry.” Bog said, in that gentle way of his that he was so reluctant to show. “I know it isn't what you wanted.”

He put her hand on hers after a few false starts, expecting her to draw back.

She moved her hand so she could grab his fingers and squeeze them hard. She kept squeezing as she slid off the arm of the throne and turned to face him, enjoying the novelty of looking down into his eyes. She smoothed her hand over the armor on the back of his hand, following the pattern with her thumb.

Bog looked terrified.

“You've been great,” She told him, bending over his hand. There was some new feeling that warmed her chest and she clung to it, ignoring the mass of other emotions seething inside her. While everything else that day had been weighing her down, this feeling buoyed her up. Made her feel light. It was a nice feeling.

Also terrifying.

She wasn't sure what it was. It was like jumping without knowing how far it was to the ground. It was thrilling and frightening, leaving her in a moment of weightlessness, neither falling nor flying. The ground would rise up sooner later to slam into her unprepared feet, but right now . . . the feeling filled her up, leaving almost no room for breath. It spilled out of her, she couldn't stop it. She didn't really try. She just looked into blue eyes that were still new to her and unfairly gorgeous.

Even as she did it Marianne knew it was something not unlike a mistake. That did absolutely nothing to stop her from bending over and placing a kiss on the back of Bog's shaking hand.

#strange magic #spread the lofe #butterfly bog #potionless #tiny people in jars au #strange magic tiny people in jars au #sparkle princess #fiery warrior princess #the bog king #chapter #my fanfic #fanfic

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ethicallysourcedhumanmeat · 7 years

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Counting Stars: 3

[ < ] [First] [ > ] [Masterpost][AO3] Wordcount: 5500

It’s supposed to sound nonchalant, but the way his voice breaks and the nervous laugh that follows makes his greeting sound more guilty than carefree.

“Don’t,” Yoosung shakes his head, “d-don’t Hey Yoosung, me!” He takes a few steps closer, tears threatening as he stares at his best friend. “How long have you been back?”

“Yoosung,” Seven says coming around the couch, “it’s, it’s really complicated ok?”

“It’s really not,” Yoosung growls, “you could have said something in the messenger, or sent a text or—”

“Tell him he’s cute when he’s mad,” Saeran snorts climbing over the back of the couch instead of stepping between them, “used to work in the chatroom.”

“Saeran,” Seven hisses as he covers his face with his hands and Yoosung struggles to find his words.

His brother shrugs and sticks the carton he’d been eating his ice cream from back in the freezer. They watch as Yoosung’s mouth opens and closes, his brow furrows and he glances around the room almost frantically.

“I’m, uh, I-I didn’t, I—”

“Yoosung this is my brother,” Seven practically sprints to the kitchen, he tosses an arm over Saeran’s shoulder but Saeran shoves him off.

“You’re on your fucking own Saeyoung,” he snorts moving towards the hall, “wouldn’t want to make the baby cry right?”

“Saeran,” Seven almost whines as he throws his brothers dirty spoon down the hall after him.

“Baby?” Yoosung says, the anger back.

“That’s not what I said,” he pleads. “I just asked him to be nice.”

“To the baby?”

“He says things without thinking, I didn’t want him to make you c-cry, I—”

“—like a baby.” Yoosung interrupts furious that he can feel the tears spill over his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Yoosung,” he tries, “that wasn’t what I meant he just, he’s still getting the hang of, you know?”

“The hang of what?” Yoosung screws up his face.

“People? I guess,” Seven shrugs.

Seven tears a piece of paper towel from the roll on the counter and hands it to Yoosung, they’d run out of tissues the day before but he had forgotten them when he stopped at the store today, he forgot so much. Yoosung takes it and wipes at his eyes before he throws himself on Seven’s couch.

“How did you know I was back?” he asks when Yoosung looks up at him.

“I saw you today, when I was on the bus,” and for a moment the look of betrayal on Yoosung’s face feels akin to the impact the bullet had made with his vest months before. “Why didn’t you tell us, how long have you been back, I-I can’t believe you have a bother, where was he?”

The edge recedes from his voice with each question.

“I don’t know,” Seven says sitting away from Yoosung and drawing his knees up.

“Before or after the party?” Yoosung asks, the look on his face suggests that his answer would colour the mood.

“After,” Seven swallows, “it’s only been a few weeks.”

Yoosung runs a hand through his hair and lets out a relieved breath. “Why, after—ugh I— why aren’t you talking to us?” he finally manages to say.

“No one was supposed to miss me,” he shrugs. “And I didn’t know what to say, and what if you all wanted to come here? I couldn’t, I don’t know.”

“Of course we missed you,” Yoosung leans forward to give him a little push, “that’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said, and you have a brother, everyone is going to want to meet him! You should bring him to the café to meet everyone.”

“No Yoosung,” Seven shakes his head. “I don’t think he’s ready for that yet. He’s met Jumin and now he’s met you, let’s uh, let’s give him some time.”

“He’s met Jumin,” Yoosung repeats, and Seven can see the light bulb, the way the question forms in his mind. The way Yoosung’s eyebrows knit together and he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth while he decides if he should ask. “Was he who sent the message that day.”

Fuck, he just shakes his head no, he doesn’t want to say something that would make Yoosung ask more questions or worse, cry again. He doesn’t want to have this conversation right now when he’s not sure if Saeran can hear them.

“W-were you there at all?”

He nods, “Yoosung thi—”

“Did you see her?��

“Yoosung I, I don’t want to talk about her right now.” They both jump with the sound of a slamming door.

“B-but I—”

“If you need to have this conversation we can talk about it later in texts or somewhere else but not where Saeran can hear I don’t want to,” he inhales remembering everything he saw at the Castle, every terrible thing he’s heard his brother talk about. “Yoosung, I don’t think you want the answers I have.”

“Why not wher—”

“Yoosung,” he says firmly, “I know you have an idea what was happening there, please.”

He watches Yoosung press his lips together and squeeze his eyes shut in frustration, he can see the wheels turning as Yoosung tries to process what little he’s been given and move on. “He was the hacker, wasn’t he?”

Seven nods.

“Is he safe?”

Seven closes his eyes and swallows. “Mostly,” he says softly not sure how his voice will carry with the door shut, “to you, and Jumin and probably everyone else. He’s recovering, he’s doing OK. Today is a good day, or it was maybe not anymore.”

“Sorry,” Yoosung hangs his head. “I didn’t—”

“No,” he doesn’t know why he does it but he pulls Yoosung into a hug, “it’s my fault, you didn’t know, I’m sorry, I’m an idiot.”

“You are,” Yoosung nods and mumbles into Seven’s sweater.

When he lets Yoosung go, they sit awkwardly for a few minutes in silence. “Do you want to watch a movie?” Seven asks

“Are you going to get a call and kick me out in the middle of it?” Yoosung frowns.

Seven laughs. “No, definitely not.”

“You said that last time.”

“Oh,” Seven smiles wide pushing himself up off the couch, “my sweet little Yoosungie,” he sing songs, “didn’t you know you’re looking at a dead man?”

Yoosung frowns. “You’re not a ghost Seven,” he shakes his head and crosses his arms. “That is the laziest joke you’ve ever tried on me.”

Seven cackles. “No no, that’s not what I mean. Agent 707 is dead, no more Luciel Choi. I quit and they shot me, fell off a roof. Splat, super dead.”

“You got shot?” Yoosung leans forward.

Seven thumps his chest over his heart as he walks backwards into the kitchen. “Shot through the heart,” he sings loud and off key, “and you’re to blame.”

He cackles and Yoosung blushes.

“Hey you should go see if Saeran wants to watch with us,” Seven climbs up on the counter and reaches for a box on the top shelf.

“Me?” Yoosung squeaks.

“Yeah you’re right,” he shrugs. “Get some drinks out of the fridge, Saeran likes those sweet coffee drinks.”

It’s nice really. Having Yoosung back in his house, even if it had been a rough start things had swung back around and it felt normal, like any of the other rare occasions that he’d invited Yoosung over to hang out. He knocks on his brother’s door, “I’m coming in OK?”

“Whatever.”

Saeran is laying on his bed with his hands on his chest snapping the plastic beaded bracelet his therapist had given to him. Seven can see the bottle of pills on his nightstand. “I’m sorry.”

Saeran shrugs and snaps the bracelet. “I didn’t need them.”

“T-that’s a good thing right?”

He snaps the bracelet again. “Sure.”

“We’re going to watch a movie,” he says sitting on the edge of the bed, “if you want to come out? You might like Yoosung, he’s a uh, he’s a really good listener, you know?”

Saeran snorts. “Yeah? Does he know you’re in love with him?”

Seven freezes as his brother sits up and walks past him. He tries to will himself to follow, come on, you’re asshole brother is going to rat you out, he shouts inside his head, but then his brother’s shaggy head peeks around the edge of the door frame.

“Are we gonna watch a movie or what?” He smirks.

The movie goes well, Saeran stays for more than half of it before leaving abruptly and not coming back and when Seven peeks in his room after Yoosung leaves his brother is sleeping soundly, and none of the usual alarms go off during the night. It’s the first time since the incident that Saeran has slept more than a few hours at a time.

When Yoosung calls the next day Seven braces himself for the questions, for the horrible things he’ll have to tell him but Yoosung surprises him.

“I uh, I looked at the reports Jumin had,” Yoosung says quietly, his voice is hoarse and Seven can tell he’s been crying. “Last night when I got back, I’d been avoiding them I thought I could get someone to just tell me.”

“If you want to ask me anything,” he says, not wanting to think about it but knowing Yoosung might need more closure than whatever Jumin’s people had put in those papers. “I don’t, uh I don’t know much more than what I saw that day and a few things Saeran has said.”

“No,” Yoosung says firmly. “I don’t want to think about it. If I change my mind I’ll ask V when he comes back.”

If he comes back, Seven thinks. V had been in pretty rough shape when he’d left them there and Seven couldn’t deny that regardless of his complacently V had also suffered there. “Does anyone else know?” Seven asks.

“Oh no, no they don’t,” Yoosung says quickly. “Kit and I saw the message in the chatroom, and Jaehee called Jumin, and I called Zen.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t answer when you tried to call me.” Seven says.

“No,” Yoosung says his voice cracking, “it’s ok, if we’d have known what was happening we wouldn’t have tried we were just worried. Kit and Jaehee figured out where the coordinates pointed to but there was nothing there that we could see and Jumin wouldn’t tell us anything until after.”

“What do they know?” He asks, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Just that you weren’t there when Jumin got there, and that V and Rika were, and that,” he swallows, “she killed herself. I’m the only one he told the whole story to; I think V told him to. But he never said anything about your brother.”

“Jumin didn’t know about Saeran until later,” Seven says. “He uh, I needed to get him to an actual doctor so I asked Jumin for help but I made him swear to keep it a secret.”

“But you kept in contact with him?” Yoosung asks, and there’s a hint of something in his voice. Seven can’t tell if it’s jealousy or anger.

“Not really, Jumin just kept checking in,” then it hits Seven, “actually you know, he did keep me up on all the big RFA news.”

“You mean like the last party? Because it was kind of not great, we didn’t even really have and auction or anything.”

“Come on Yoosung, aren’t you going to tell me about your girlfriend?” There’s something satisfying about the choking sound on Yoosung’s end of the phone.

“Girlfriend, Jumin said I have a girlfriend?” Yoosung squeaks trying to breathe.

“Hmm,” Seven hums, “he might have just said you had a date, either way my little buddy is all growed up.”

“Ugh,” Yoosung groans, “no it’s not. I don’t know I didn’t realize it was a date until we got there, I just thought she wanted to go to the party.”

“Aw buddy,” Seven chuckles. “Tell me about her, I want to know everything; did you take her out again? Did you kiss her?”

“What? No! I, Uh, oh my god.”

“Please Yoosung,” he whines.

Seven gets up from where he’s been sitting on the couch and walks to the window to watch his brother sitting in the backyard drawing while he waits for Yoosung to give in and tell him what happened. He’s not even sure why he’s pressing so hard for information. It’s not like he was going to tell Yoosung how he felt.

“Fine, she was my tutor,” Yoosung mumbles. “I thought she just wanted to come to the party because she’d heard Kit and Jaehee mention it, I didn’t, god I’m so stupid.” Seven can see how Yoosung would shake his head and cover his face while he spoke.

“You are pretty dumb sometimes,” he agrees.

“Ugh, do you want to hear the whole story or not?” Yoosung pouts.

“Very much, yessir.” Seven chuckles, and he can hear Yoosung snort.

“I don’t know, I thought she was just nice to me because she was tutoring me and she was pretty but I dunno. I figured she was off limits and then we got to the party and,” Yoosung groans again, “I’m a moron.”

Seven laughs. “How bad could it be?”

Yoosung’s words are mumbled and Seven is pretty sure he’s buried his face in a pillow or something. “She tried to kiss me and I kind of freaked out.”

“What,” Seven teases, “Yoosung is the connection bad? Is your battery dying I can’t hear you.”

“It was really bad, OK?” Yoosung sighs, his voice clearer. “We left early because I didn’t feel right and it was so soon after everything, and I guess she thou—I don’t know what she thought but she— she grabbed me in the car on our way home and she tried to kiss me and I panicked.”

“That still doesn’t sound that bad, Yoosung,” Seven chuckles.

“When I panicked I tried to push her away but the car hit a bump and our faces slammed together and I think she broke her nose,” he says like he’s trying to prove a point.

Seven cackles.

“It’s not funny, there was a lot of blood, my best shirt was ruined.”

That only makes Seven laugh harder.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Yoosung whines. “I had a text in morning from her saying she couldn’t tutor me anymore and she would call me but she never has.”

“Do you want her to?” He’s not sure why he asks, a sucker for punishment he figures as the door to the backyard slides open and Saeran comes back inside.

“I don’t know,” Yoosung says.

It’s late evening a few days later and they’re leaving Saeran’s therapy appointment when he gets a text from Yoosung. There’s an RFA meeting at Jaehee’s café after it closes in a half hour and Yoosung thinks they should come. He considers ignoring the text, not even mentioning it to Saeran.

They made special appointments, that Seven happily paid double for, this late in the day so that his brother didn’t have to risk being around too many people. It also helped that being late in the evening it didn’t ruin a potentially good day with a tough session.

But Saeran looked OK tonight, he was walking to the car a few feet away from Seven looking up at the streetlights rather than sticking close to his brother and curling in on himself to keep from the crowd like he almost always did after a session while they walked to the car. Sometimes, after a particularly rough session Seven would have to almost carry him.

“Was that Blondie,” Saeran teases when they’re getting their seatbelts on.

“Who’s in love with Yoosung now?” Seven teases.

Saeran shrugs. “Still, fucking, you dummy.”

He shakes his head, he’d made a promise not to lie to Saeran, and there was no point in denying it, it was doubtful Saeran would tell Yoosung, at least not on purpose.

“Is he coming over or something?” Saeran asks as Seven starts the car.

“He wants us to come to the Café,” Seven shrugs. “There’s an RFA meeting tonight, I guess.”

“You don’t sound convinced,” Saeran frowns.

“I think it’s Yoosung code for I want to introduce your brother to everyone,” Seven laughs.

The car is quiet for a few minutes while they pull out of the parking lot. “Did you want to go?” Saeran asks quietly. Seven can see him fidgeting with his bracelet.

“It’s not a big deal,” Seven says.

“Do you want to go,” Saeran tries again.

“Kind of,” he admits. “But not if—”

“Do they make frappes?” Saeran cuts him off.

“I think so,” Seven says carefully.

Saeran nods, like the choice has been made and Seven takes the turn towards the café. Saeran pulls up his hood when they get out of the car but it’s Seven who stops at the corner of the building. They can see through the window, Zen is sitting at a table in the corner near the counter, Kit is on a stool strumming a guitar, nicer than the one Seven remembered, and Jaehee is alone behind the counter.

It’s not busy this close to close. A few people stand at the counter waiting for Jaehee to make their drinks, a man sits alone near the restrooms on his laptop and there’s a woman his age sitting near the front watching Kit play.

“You’re sure you want to go in?” He asks his brother. “I could just get your frappe say hello, and we could go home.”

“You’re a fucking baby,” Saeran snorts shoving past him and opening the door, but he freezes when Jaehee smiles and greets him, tucking his head down and stepping into line behind the man she’s serving.

“Don’t worry tough guy,” Seven whispers with a grin, “I’ll order for you.”

“Fuck off,” Saeran mutters.

“Luciel!” Jaehee says, stunned as he steps up to the counter. He can hear Kit’s strumming stumble and Zen’s chair scrape against the floor as he turns.

“I can go sit down right?” Saeran mumbles.

Seven nods. “Hey, Jaehee,” he smiles and rubs at his neck nervously.

“What are you doing here?” She asks.

“Heh, well I can uh leave? Yoosung said there was an RFA thing.”

“That’s not, I’m sorry I meant when did you get back,” she frowns and shakes her head.

He laughs “Oh uh, I don’t know,” he shrugs. “But uh, could you not call me Luciel anymore?”

“Oh, yes,” Jaehee nods, “of course, should I—”

“Just Seven for now.”

Jaehee nods as a big hand clamps down on his shoulder. “Look who’s back,” Zen smiles.

Seven looks at his shoes and wishes for just a minute he could trade places with his brother, sitting alone and ignored at a table in front of Kit. He glances in that direction wistfully and Kit nods towards him.

“Where were you? We were worried.” Zen gives him a small shove.

“You’re staying for the meeting then?” Jaehee asks, “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Oh, yeah you still make those Frappe things right?”

She nods and makes a face, “What kind do you want?”

“Uh whichever is the sweetest one I guess, chocolate or—do you put whipped cream on them or am I thinking of something else?”

She nods again, “I didn’t think you liked coffee.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t it’s not for me.”

“But you are staying?” she asks again.

“I uh, I don’t know.” He looks at his brother again. “For a few minutes I guess.”

While Jaehee makes the drink he watches Kit’s fingers fly over the strings of a banjo. So much had changed here in only a few months. The little rack of instruments has grown and they’re all newer now. He listens to her sing. Saeran smiles a little and she winks in his direction.

The girl who’d been alone in front of Kit before Saeran sat down is looking out the window but she stands up suddenly and steps cautiously towards Kit, writing something in a notebook and dropping a few dollars in the coffee cup next to it. Seven thinks he hears the door open but when he turns no one has come in or left.

He turns back to the counter when he hears the machine stop whirring and watches Jaehee tuck her hair behind her ear as she reaches for the whipped cream. It’s noticeably longer, one more thing to remind him how long he’d been gone. She’s smiling when she turns around and Seven can’t remember ever seeing her so happy.

“So did you come here with that boy?” She asks and he can see exactly what she’s thinking.

“He’s my brother,” he says quickly knowing how embarrassed she’d be if she voiced that thought out loud.

“Oh.” He watches her face shift a few times.

“I knew Jumin was a vault but I guess Yoosung can keep a secret too,” he smiles.

Kit sings as they glance behind them and Seven can see Yoosung’s blue hood disappear past the window. He can tell from Jaehee’s face that she saw it too. The two of them frown at the window so long that he’s forgotten about the drink on the counter until Saeran reaches past him.

“Hello,” Jaehee smiles at him, “I’m –”

“Jaehee, I know,” Saeran shrugs.

“Do you need to leave?” Seven asks.

Saeran shrugs. “I’m ok right now, as long as your friends don’t get fucking weird.” He goes back to the table he’d been sitting at.

“Your brother seems,” Jaehee tries.

“It’s ok, I know he’s rough, but he’s getting better.” He sighs. “He doesn’t mean anything by it.”

“Yeah I’m fucking harmless,” Saeran grunts sitting down.

“Could anyone explain why Yoosung appears to be hiding outside?” Jumin asks before he’s stepped all the way through the door.

The girl listening to Kit turns around and leaves and Seven watches as Zen gets up, “I’ll uh, I’ll go help?” Zen shrugs following her out.

“Was that Mina?” Jumin asks as Jaehee hands him a cup of tea.

“I thought she looked familiar,” Kit calls letting the man with the laptop out.

“Oh no,” Seven laughs but he’s surprised when everyone looks at him, “p-poor Yoosung?”

“I haven’t seen them study together since the party,” Jaehee says with a frown.

Seven does his best not to give away that he knows anything that they don’t.

“It’s nice to see you out, Saeran,” Kit smiles cleaning up the mugs and plates still left on a few tables. Both twins look at her, and then Saeran frowns at Seven. Kit wrinkles her nose. “Was I not supposed to know?”

“Apparently Kit is good at keeping secrets too,” Jaehee sighs.

Zen is laughing with tears in his eyes when he bangs on the door to be let back in and Yoosung looks, Seven can’t decide if it’s embarrassed or put out. He has a comical grumpy-cat frown on his face and his hands are balled into fists.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he snaps when Kit opens the door for them.

Zen practically howls with laughter, wiping at his eyes.

“I told you she was your girlfriend,” Seven teases and Zen almost chokes trying to keep himself from laughing again.

“Oh my god,” Yoosung sobs. “She’s definitely not my girlfriend.”

Zen has settled into a sort of staccato chuckle as he slaps Yoosung on the shoulder. “I thought for sure you’d have kissed her already but—”

“Shut-up,” Yoosung whines covering his face.

A wave of laughter passes through the small group as things start to settle down. Zen offering advice on girls while both Yoosung and Jumin point out that they have never seen Zen with a woman. Zen and Jaehee try a few times to ask about Saeran, Kit and Jumin help him deflect. More than once he notices Kit check in with his brother.

To his own surprise he’s ready to leave before his brother. He suspects being able to sit on his own with his headphones in has helped somewhat. Seeing everyone after so long had been good, great really but he was exhausted, he hadn’t done much more than buy groceries and set appointments for Saeran since he’d walked out of the sweets shop the month before.

“A-are you going?” Yoosung looks up from his phone when he stands.

Seven shrugs. “Yeah, gotta work tomorrow, the boss is a real hard ass you know?”

Jumin shakes his head. “I would rather you not use me as an excuse, if you’d like to leave simply say as much.”

Saeran snorts and smirks and Seven watches Kit stop to help him pick up the couple dishes he’d been using.

“Can I get a ride from you?” Yoosung asks shoving his phone in his bag.

Saeran shrugs when he glances at him and Seven nods. “Yeah sure.”

Saeran sits in the back, Yoosung tries to argue with him but Saeran just chooses not to respond, he puts his headphones and stretches out in the backseat. Seven laughs.

“Do you m-mind, uh can I hang out at your place?” Yoosung asks as Seven starts the car.

He starts to speak, starts to say he doesn’t know if it’s a good idea, Saeran is probably tired, it’s been a busy day for him but a voice from the backseats grunts. “I don’t fucking care, I’m going to bed.”

“I guess it’s fine,” Seven shrugs.

“Thanks,” Yoosung smiles.

Saeran goes straight to his room when they get home, Seven tosses Yoosung a bag of chips from one of the boxes in his cupboard and they both flop down on the couch. “So what happened?” He asks fiddling with the remote.

Yoosung blushes and stares straight ahead, his lips purse and he swallows. Seven turns on the TV and starts to scroll through Netflix.

“T-that was Mina, the girl I took to the last party.”

“Your tutor,” Seven chuckles, “that you had a crush on?”

Yoosung groans. “I don’t think I did,” he frowns.

His heart skips a beat. Yoosung had been so flustered and Zen had thought something was hilarious. “Did you give her a bloody lip this time?” he teases, trying not to let on.

“N-no!” Yoosugn snaps. “S-she didn’t break her nose,” he says softly, still not looking at Seven, “s-she said she couldn’t tutor me because she had a crush on me,” Yoosung’s voice shakes a little as he speaks.

“Really?” Seven tries to sound light but he can feel every single thing he’s eaten today slam dancing in his stomach.

“She tried to k-kiss me again,” he says quietly, “and then Zen was right there and I turned my head and she missed and,” he covers his face. “I just asked her to go home and I maybe shoved her a little, I don’t know I freaked out again.”

“Was she pissed off?”

“I don’t know I ran away, that’s why Zen was laughing.”

Seven smiles and laughs and ruffles his hair. “You are like little baby man,” he says affecting some kind of terrible made up accent.

Yoosung just frowns and pouts and snatches the remote out of his hand. He knows exactly what to put on instead of scrolling for 15minutes like Seven always had to do.

“Do you like her though?” Seven asks while the opening credits roll.

Yoosung shrugs. “I don’t know, I thought I might but I don’t know. I’m kind of scared to even try now.”

“If you like someone,” Seven says seriously, “there’s never a right time to tell them.”

Yoosung shrugs.

“There’s just right now and too late and there’s no way to tell where you are until you try.”

“Ugh,” Yoosung groans playing with the zipper on his hoodie, “you’re not supposed to have advice you’re supposed to make me feel better. You’re supposed to make stupid jokes about how I’m cursed and I’ll never get to kiss anyone and make me laugh even though you’re being a jerk.”

Seven laughs. “Sorry.”

Yoosung growls.

Seven isn’t sure when he fell asleep, it’s daylight when Saeran pokes him in the forehead and he jolts up.

“Aren’t you supposed to work this morning?” Saeran laughs. “Or did you cancel so you could spend the morning with your boyfriend.”

Seven’s eyes go wide for a minute as the top of Yoosung’s head catches his eye in the middle of a pile of blankets. But he’s still fast asleep. “Wait, my boyfriend,” Seven say quickly, chuckling, “I’m not the one who tucked him in Saeran, you didn’t even give me one blanket.”

“That’s because he’s nice and you’re an asshole,” Saeran shrugs. As he walks away it strikes him unusual that his brother is actually dressed rather than just sporting his usual flannel pants and sweater.

“Yoosungie,” Seven singsongs tapping on the tuft of blond sticking out of the blankets. “Cutie-pie-Yoosungie, rise and shine.”

There’s a soft groan and then the hair disappears under a blanket and Seven laughs. He gets on his knees and starts to bounce on the couch.

“Yoosung! Hurry oh no!” he yells, still abusing the poor old couch, making the pile of blankets wobble and pitch.

Another groan as the pile lurches a bit. Seven stands up and starts to bounce harder, a foot on either side of the pile. “It’s an earthquake Yoosung,” he shouts, “a big one little buddy, quick I forget what to do. Yoosung, Yoosung, save me,” he says as he feels a hand wrap around his ankle.

The bunker door swings open and Kit steps into view with a guitar case on her back and an Arabic to English dictionary in her hand just as Yoosung pushes his foot off the couch and he crumples on top of the pile of blankets and Yoosung cackling.

A strangled sound escapes the blankets as Yoosung pushes Seven and the pile off of him.

“Good morning?” Kit smirks cocking an eyebrow. “Aren’t you supposed to be in a class right now?”

“I-what?” Yoosung yawns.

“It’s fine,” Seven chuckles, “I’m supposed to be working or whatever.”

“Oh no,” Yoosung whines digging around for his phone, “I do, I have to go, my class starts in like 2 minutes I’m going to be late again.”

Seven doesn’t even get to say goodbye or offer him a coffee or an energy drink before he’s running out the door.

Seven’s eyes narrow on Kit and her little grin. “What can I do for you?” he smiles picking up the blankets his brother had piled on Yoosung.

“You can get your brother or point me towards him,” she shrugs.

“You’re here for Saeran?”

She nods. “Doctor Rhee has been asking me to come see him since you got back only you hadn’t told anyone you were back so I didn’t want to step on any toes, but I talked to him a little last night and he seemed interested so here I am.” She smiles, nerves peaking through for the first time.

Seven just shakes his head and pulls a PhD Pepper from the fridge. “I don’t understand, what do you know about my brother.”

“Not a whole lot to be honest,” she admits. “I know what you told Jumin and I know the vaguest terms of his diagnosis but I won’t get any access to his records without his permission.”

“Why?”

“Who do you think gave Jumin the recommendations for you?”

He was off his game, of course Jumin would have asked Kit, she’d been a music therapist, and she’d had some significant connections before her own breakdown a few years ago after the death of one of the kids she worked with.

“Jumin didn’t tell me who they were for,” she offers seeing the frown on his face, “I actually kind of thought the recommendations were for you until I saw the two of you last night. Doctor Rhee had thanked me for recommending him to Saeran Choi at my session a few days ago and I just thought it was one of your aliases.”

Seven hears the back door slide open and then his brother’s monotone, “Oh, you’re here.”

Seven leaves them to whatever they’re going to do and shuts himself inside his computer room, he logs into the C&R VPN and sends a text to Jumin apologizing for being late.

[Jumin Han]: As long as your work does not suffer I have no need for you to be particularly punctual, flexibility was part of our agreement.

The day to day IT issues for the C&R building were mind numbingly simple and Seven almost loved it. Jumin had told him there would be use for his skills but not having to hack, not having lives on the line was a nice change of pace and Seven found he enjoyed the monotony of it. He liked the emails from the people who seemed to think the internet was magic just as much as he liked the emails from people who were certain they knew exactly what their problem was while being 100% wrong about what their problem really was.

He doesn’t notice Kit leave, he doesn’t notice his brother with the set of practice drum pads after she leaves, he doesn’t notice the pizza guy Saeran calls at supper time. He doesn’t notice anything until he gets a text from Yoosung.

[Yoosung Kim]: I asked Mina on a date.

#mystic messenger #Yoo7 #Yoosevem #Yoosung Kim #Luciel Choi #Mystic messenger 707 #Saeran choi #Counting stars

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kaesaaurelia · 7 years

Note

from your fic "never a lovely so real" - what did you think about when you wrote the first sans fight?

This got LONG AS FUCK, so it’s behind a cut. For reference, this is in response to the DVD commentary meme:

Sans’ countdown: 5, 4, pi, e, 2, square root of 2, 1, 0.

I had this in my head for like months, to the point where I would be out doing an errand for work grinning like a maniac, and trying to figure out if I should come up with a constant between five and four. I also kept trying to fit i in because Euler’s identity is neat, but that just isn’t how countdowns work.

Belmont takes his barrier down and Asgore throws his trident. It whizzes right past the personal barrier Corcoran has thrown up.

“You missed,” says Corcoran, sounding baffled and a little disappointed.

“Oh, no,” says Asgore. "I jammed the door behind you.“ He conjures another trident, and throws it at the door towards the rest of the building. "Now no one can leave.”

I really really wanted something to echo Asgore’s shattering of the Mercy button, since that’s such an oh shit moment in his fight, and it’s also pretty important that Asgore was Sans’ original boss and there’s a hell of a lot Toriel doesn’t know about any of this.

I think this is as good a time as any to stop for a couple stories about Papyrus, don’t you? I mean, what kind of wacko wants to hear all about all this depressing violent bullshit I’ve been talking about?

Don’t give me that look, buddy.

So! Let’s talk about my brother.

When I first wrote this bit, I was genuinely not sure what kind of reception this would get, given that by now a lot of people were really really looking forward to seeing Sans kick some ass. But Sans-as-narrator has motivations that don’t always jive with my motivations as someone who just wants to tell a story, and this is a part of the story that he’d want to stall for as long as possible, partly because he’s horrified by his abilities, and partly because he’s ashamed of what he’s done with them. I’ll skip doing commentary on the Papyrus backstory stuff here, unless someone else wants me to do that, but suffice to say Sans always seems more comfortable talking about Papyrus than himself.

So, where was I?

Oh, right, this asshole. I blip to stand on the ceiling as soon as everything goes topsy-turvy. There’s a brutal snap as Noyes makes contact with the ceiling headfirst, and he lies there at the top of the room in a limp pile. It’s too bad, because that means no more Noyes puns. Noyes will be silent forever.

I have so. many. notes. on who was killed when and how and by whom, in which scene, for this whole jailbreak plot arc, so by this scene I was really happy to be working with only two students and Corcoran. Having some cannon fodder was really important, though, because I had long since reasoned that for a fight scene with Sans’ powers to be interesting and not just impressive, to really show them off, you either have to have a character who can reset – not an option in this case – or a fairly worthy opponent. So I erred on the side of making Corcoran’s barrier magic more powerful, but I also really wanted to make sure Sans had a couple of other people to pick off first, to represent those first few times someone tries to fight Sans and gets instantly killed.

“He shot at everyone who tried to leave!” says Fullerton. He struggles and gets up, but I think I see him grab something first. Nice try, but no dice.

“Yeah, I guess you got a good point, kid,” I say. "C'mere and get your hall pass and you can go back to school, no harm done. We’ll shake on it.“ I walk over, real casual, and hold out my hand. But when he draws Corcoran’s gun, I’m ready. As six long bones pierce his stomach and chest, his body jerks backwards and he staggers and falls.

And obviously this is the part where Sans offers fake-mercy.

“How are you doing this?” he demands. He jumps, experimentally, and falls back to the wall. "This is the wall. If I broke through the wall would I fall to the ground, or –“

Partly this is just an excuse for the barrage of horrible gravity puns Sans unleashes but I’m gonna be honest, if someone was breaking the laws of physics while they killed me I’d be damn curious how they were doing it.

the old stories call ‘em “grotesques,” but Dr. Gaster and me always called ‘em blasters

I think in canonverse Undertale fic, Gaster is usually the originator of Gaster blasters, but since I wanted Papyrus to have a blaster (per canon hints) and since Papyrus is neither related to Sans or Gaster, nor was he involved in the mad science/time travel shenanigans, it kind of had to be a general skeleton thing. I’m still kind of figuring out my backstory for the blasters/grotesques, but I’m kind of thinking of them as something that most skeletons are capable of, in varying degrees, but they rarely bother to learn to do it.

He’s got his barrier up before it hits, and when I call the blaster off, he looks relieved – until his barrier goes a sickly purple color and starts to flicker. He’s looking as tired as I’m starting to feel; he’s breathing heavy, and his hair’s plastered to his skull with sweat. I kinda suspect his barriers ain’t up to the usual abuse.

I mean, Corcoran being the purple soul and all, I had to work Karmic Retribution into it somehow, it being one of two purple mechanics. (The other one, Muffet’s webs, are kiiind of referenced in Corcoran getting tangled up in wires, although I don’t remember if I actually meant to do that? Let’s pretend I meant to do that.)

Then, out of the corner of my eyesocket, I notice – oh hell. Sellers is creeping up, holding Noyes’ pipe wrench, and before I can tell him to stop he throws it at Corcoran’s head. Of course it bounces right off his barrier, hard, and goes flying into the air. Fortunately I duck before it knocks me out. "Nope!“ I say, pulling him back with magic. Corcoran rewards his incredibly stupid ingenuity by trying to fry us both, and it’s all I can do to blip out of the way of that flame. "Go find something to hide behind, kid, you’re a danger to yourself and others,” I snap.

“I had to do something!” says Sellers. "Everyone else is doing something!“

“Everyone else is a goddamn moron. Go!” I say, waving at him.

OKAY SO THIS PART. I remember writing this in the Yulechat IRC and consulting my notes and being like “wait, what is Sellers doing?” While Marty Szczepanski is not like, Mr. Self-Sacrificing, as written, I figured he’d be feeling kind of inadequate with all these weird magic things going on – even the useless-seeming Belmont has magic, and is working together with always-anxious Alphys, and he’s just not doing anything. So I decided that it’d be totally justified to have Sellers sit this one out but I just didn’t see him sitting it out.

The other thing you might notice, if you read it as soon as I posted it – I changed the dialogue, and I still kind of wince at this. The dialogue was originally Everyone else is a schmuck – schmuck, in the circles I’m in now, is a casual mild insult for a useless dumbass.

But see, then I sat down to watch one of the Presidential Debates with my grandmother, and she called one of the, uh, esteemed candidates a schmuck, and she pretty much spat the word, and then she apologized to me for using such language. And I remembered that in Yiddish it technically means “penis” but more accurately means “dick, but not just any dick, the most festering puss-filled godawful worthless dick you can think of, what a fucking asshole, I wouldn’t piss on him if he was on fire, that’s the kind of dick he is.”

Sans would probably not have known this at my age – his mother was vaguely Jewish in a secular way – but after years working in Vaudeville BOY HOWDY WOULD HE KNOW IT, probably because using That Word onstage probably got him banned from somewhere. (Also, Alphys’ family is actualfax Jewish and probably so are the Blooks. I hemmed and hawed about including this in the fic, but y’know what, fuck it.)

Corcoran’s not standing anymore. He’s on his knees, still breathing, but clearly having a hard time of it. His white coat is now blackened and charred. His skin also blackened in places; in others it’s a livid red. "I – I’ve changed my mind, I can, I can help you, I, I, stop, please!“ He throws his hands up wildly, and manages to stand and stagger backwards a few steps. "Patience! Please! You can’t – you can’t let him –”

I actually initially had Corcoran give in to death, but that seemed wrong, and then I remembered he’s the fucking soul of Perseverance and will continue at all costs. I honestly feel bad for Corcoran for reasons that probably aren’t clear from the fic just yet, but suffice to say he hasn’t had any enjoyment of life in a long, long time. And yet.

“I could be useful!” says Corcoran.

“Can you believe this guy?” I ask Asgore.

Asgore doesn’t say anything, but he looks very doubtful.

“Well, I don’t,” I say.

I was a bit anxious about writing Asgore in this scene, I guess – I hope I conveyed both that in Toriel’s absence, Sans kind of considers him to be in charge (until Sans has a better idea), but also that Asgore really does not want to be making decisions to kill people anymore and would rather Sans made up his own mind.

All that’s survived untouched are his ankles and feet, which is just disconcerting enough that I briefly consider wasting magic to fix that.

[…]

“Well, I guess that’s gotta be good enough, we can’t exactly wait around for the coroner, huh?”

OKAY IS IT JUST ME, or is that part at the beginning of the Wizard of Oz, with the Wicked Witch of the East’s feet sticking out from under the house just really disconcerting? Also how cool would it be to have a singing Munchkin coroner around to declare people officially dead when they get houses dropped on them? Like, not cool if you personally had a house dropped on you but tbh if I had a house dropped on me I’d be too dead to mind the singing, so I’d have no objections.

…….So, anyway. This image is probably a combination of too many Wizard of Oz viewings and my having only recently read waaaay too many Search And Rescue Woods stories on r/nosleep, wherein the author is fond of saying “and we only ever found half an inch of his kneecap and his left ring finger!”

“Um. Can we. Can we cut his head off and stuff his mouth with garlic? I just want to be sure.”

I would like to remind you that they never got a chance to do this.

“My mom woulda been so pissed off if she ever knew,” I said. "Conforming to speciesist stereotypes and all that.“

She snorts, to my surprise. "I think my parents would have a few things to say about my career choice as well.”

There is… backstory here, for both of them. In Sans’ case, his mother was pretty concerned that Sans did not present himself seriously enough and that no one would take him seriously in the real world. Never in her life would she have expected him to become a mob hitman, but in the present/future of this ‘verse, there are still a lot of really negative stereotypes about monsters, and skeletons in particular, and she has had to face a ton of them in her own job – she works in tech – so she tried very hard to make sure Sans didn’t give people the wrong impression. They didn’t have the easiest relationship.

In Patience’s case, she came of age in the ’60s, and so she had to work very hard to convince her parents to send her to college in the first place. She was very smart, and very ambitious, and very, very idealistic, and extremely naive, and they worried a lot about her – a girl! alone! in the city! – getting mugged or falling in with the “wrong crowd,” although by that they were probably thinking, like, hippies, not organized crime.

#anonymous #oh god so many words #i can write so many words about the many words i write #and yet i'm having trouble coming up with filler tags?#anyway #dvd commentary meme #undertale #ut mob au #sans #asgore dreemurr #eustathias corcoran #patience gorman #toby fox games

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candy-corps · 7 years

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Return

Astra belongs to @mygardenofmuses This one was never finished

Astra interlaced her fingers with his, and leaned forward to press a gentle kiss on his cheek. "You're still as cute as I remember." she whispered with a smile.

She pulled back and massaged gently his hands with her thumbs. "You know, I was taught to read the future in the lines of the hands. Do you want me to read the future written in your lines?"

Future reading? "Oh I don't ... I don't know if I want to know. Um ... can we still do that?" he wondered and opened up with wing invitingly. Its been some time, so it felt better to check.

"We can." Astra sat under his wing and leaned against his arm. His warmth was comforting. She enjoyed it. "If you lend me your hand, I'll read what every line says about your future. Though keep in mind this is no exact science - lines may offer possibilities, but at the end of the day, you decide your own future."

He decided his own future. Bruce thought aout that and didn't reply to Astra right away. He didn't want to be told that yes, he was going to be alone until the rest of his days. No one would truly understand him and even when he died and met Zagam, which, he guessed, would hardly show in his hand - the possibility of happyness truly didn't seem likely. Bruce shook his head. "I don't want to know."

"Well, that's OK. I can read you some of mine." Astra extended her own hand, showing it to him. She traced a line separating the mountain of her thumb from the rest of her hand. "Like this, see? This is my line of life. As you can see, it's thin, long and deep. This means that my existence is pretty much straightforward, and the things I do and say do have some impact in others. Wanna see more?"

As charming as it was that she shared these things with him, Bruce felt bad for it o be one-sided. "In a way" he admit, unsure just now. "But I'd rather see that for myself." He took her hand and covered her palm with his own. "How are you doing?" There were some things that showed, and others that didn't.

"Me?" Astra was surprised to receive such question. Most people never asked about her well-being once they knew she was a genie, so this was... Truly something special. "I'm happy to be here with you. I missed you so much, Bruce. Genies never forget who release them from the lamp. You saved me and gave me a chance to see the world... You're wonderful."

"I'm glad I could do this for you." He took her hand gently in his own and smiled. "Charles" It was his name, right. "He's treating you well?"

"He treats me well. Between food and sex, I think we're doing fine. I wish he wasn't so busy, though." Astra interlaced her fingers with his. "Like... I'd like some romantic stuff. Like courting. I think it's called 'dating' now, right?"

"Yeah" Bruce affirmed with a laugh. "You could go to the cabaret. I've been there with a ... date." He could say that. "Its romantic. It has candles, there's singing ... "

"Sounds lovely. And you didn't tell me there was someone new in your life..." Astra felt a bit ashamed of herself now. To think she had considered making a threesome with Charles and Bruce... Better to drop that idea now. "Who is he, or she?"

"He. Izaic" Bruce let her know. "We ... get to know each other." Nothing binding. Nothing serious. Nothing to worry about, Bruce repeated in his mind. It was his mantra.

"Aw. A lovely stage in any relationship." Astra smiled and patted gently his shoulder. "I wish you best of luck. And if you need some magical help to make your dates even better, just call me and I'll make sure to improve the situation as much as possible."

Now what would that include, Bruce thought. Astra had been good at 'improving situations' as she called it though, the last time they met. "Thanks for the offer. I'd like to help you, too. Maybe when I could talk with this Charles." He meant to anyways because of the bat aspect Astra had mentioned. In the meantime though, Bruce raised Astras hand and placed a kiss on her wrist.

"Ah, I'm good. It's kinda my fault for not poking him about it sooner. I should try to talk with him first, otherwise he'll feel offended because I told you before him." Astra replied, and blushed deeply when he kissed her wrist. "Bruce...?"

Hm? Bruce looked up at Astra, not understanding what she called him for for a second. He brushed his thumb over the spot. "As you like" he promised. He'd not mention then.

Astra was still a bit flustered. "You... Uh. I did like it, I'm just surprised."

Bruce huffed amused. "As you like with Charles. I'm not gonna mention" he explained. To get the Genie flustered with such a little kiss. "I can kiss you mre when you let me" Bruce offered. He felt like kissing her hand after she's been nice to him.

"Uh... Is it an OK thing to do? I mean. You got Izaic, I got Charles... I would love to get more kisses but I'm not sure if it is an OK thing to do. I don't want to cause you trouble." She answered, leaning against him. "I still need to learn more about how this world works."

"Don't worry" Bruce assured. "We take it slow. I don't know about Charles though" he had to admit. He didn't know if he'd cause Astra trouble with this.

"I can ask him with my magic." Astra smiled. "Hold on a moment. Magic for instant communication is something I haven't used in a long time."

Communication? This was interesting. Bruce waited, curious what Astra was going to do.

Astra waved her hands in the air, creating a magic tapestry that looked like a screen. After a moment fiddling with it, a image of Charles appeared on it. "Charles? Can you hear me?"

"You're so weird" it came from the other side. It was a rude thing to say, but Bruce couldn't help but notice a hint of ... appreciation ... in the voice. "What's the ... " Matter, Charles wanted to ask, when he saw a ear next to the Genie. She was in company, obviously.

"I found an old friend of mine, and I wanted to ask you if you'd be OK with him wanting to give me some kisses." Astra went straight to the point. She didn't want to steal much of his time.

Kisses. What? "Do you ask for permission?" Just so he got it right.

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm doing. You're my owner so my body is also yours. My friend can't give me more than one kiss without stepping into your property, so your permission is important." Astra explained.

Okay. It was a Genie thing, Charles figured. He frowned and considered with care what answer to give her before he spoke up. "Only when you want it" he decided, pointing at the screen.

"Well, I think kisses should be fine. When I get home you can kiss me too." Astra smiled, and looked at Bruce one second before looking back at Charles. "And maybe we could go on dates, too?"

W-w-w-w-what? Charles pointed at himself and then back at the screen. 'You? Me?'

"Of course, dates with my owner, Charles." Astra smiled innocently. "Only if you want, though."

Charles smirked. Then shrugged his shoulders in a 'I don't mind when you don't mind way'. "'lright."

"Alright, as you wish. See you later!" Astra answered to finish the transmission. She blew him a kiss before the magic tapestry vanished in the air.

"He really does look a lot like us" Bruce commented. He was quiet during the conversation, not meaning to disturb. He was glad Astra got the date she hoped for, too.

"He does, doesn't he? I think he might descend from the akirikos I worked for 1990 years ago." She commented, stretching her arms. "Then again, the akirikos share physical similarities with you too. But you're sweet and they were rude."

"I'm sorry about that" Bruce apologized for them. Maybe though, he could make it up just a little. He took Astras hand again and let his finger brush circles over her palm.

Astra smiled and winked him an eye. "Are you trying to give me a massage?" She asked, giggling.

"In a way?" Bruce huffed. He smiled to himself. "So I can kiss you. When you like to."

"Any place should be fine, given Charles gave us permission. And it can be anytime." Astra chuckled and leaned against him.

"Good." To think she belonged to another bat person he didn't know... gave everything a whole lot more meaning. When he'd treat Astra well, he'd do the other one a favor, too. It would be bonding. Bruce kissed Astras hand for now. It had been the first thing he meant to do.

"So chivalrous. I was starting to think things like this were no longer part of courting rituals beyond the frontiers of the desert." Astra smiled, enjoying the sensation.

"Courting" Bruce repeated. It was such a strange word. Was it what this was? He'd like to think of it like that - and of Astra approving, of course. He purred at the thought.

"Oh sorry. I keep falling into the words of the world I was born." Astra apologised and rushed to explain. "Back then, 'courting' is the name that we gave to the advances a man makes on a woman he's interested into, either romantically or sexually. The moment a father knew his daughter was being courted by a man, he often would fix the issue making an arranged marriage, either to that man if he was wealthy, or to someone else that he saw more fitting." Her smile fell for a second. "Arranged marriages are horrible if you don't love the man that your father chose for you."

"I can imagine. Can I keep courting you?" Bruce asked, drawing back for the moment. He used her word on purpose here. It must be strange for everything to be called different for her.

"I guess...?" Astra rubbed her chin in thought. "Courting is not physical usually, so Charles should be fine." she mumbled, before looking up to him. "I think nowadays the word for 'courting' is 'flirting'. Or was it something else? Pfff... I still have so much to catch up!"

"It will be fine eventually" Bruce figured. "Give yourself time. And not physical, you say?" He'd actually prefer her definition than the modern understanding of it which she tried to make hers fit into. He let his hand brush over hers again. He did desire her a little bit right now ...

"I guess? At least, that's what I know. Courting includes hand-holding, plenty of talking, ocassional hugs and kisses. Not that much physical, I think. As far as I know, that is very much the kind of love Plato talked about. That's why the love between family and friends it's called platonic." Astra rubbed her chin in thought. "I got to meet him. Actually a nice guy when he was a little drunk, hahaha!"

"Oh. I didn't know that." But it did make sense. Now, this wasn't exactly what he was after, though. Bruce leaned up and into her space to kiss Astra on the edge of her jaw.

A faint blush covered her cheeks. "Are you sure Izaic is good with this...?" she asked. Astra had asked Charles and she was relieved on her side - Charles wouldn't be mad. But she didn't want to get Bruce in trouble.

"I'm not Izaics." He'd like to, but he wasn't just yet. If anybodys, he was Zagams, and he'd encouraged him to do this for sure.

"...Alright." Astra smiled and lifted a hand to caress his cheek. Technically Charles had given Bruce permission to kiss her, but he hadn't say anything about herself. So she felt there was nothing wrong if she decided to caress Bruce's cheek. It was something still platonic, right? "You're really handsome, Bruce. You know that?"

"You made me feel that way the last time we met" Bruce remembered. His kisses got deeper and grew on intensity. He'd not bite Astra - he'd consider it rude - but kisses? Kisses were good.

"Really?" That sure was... something else. Shivering under his kisses, Astra couldn't help but notice her desire growing as well. She wondered if this was because Bruce was just so damn sexy, or because her Liking was linked to him. Maybe it was both. She squeezed her legs together. "Y-you are still such a good kisser..."

"Thank you" Bruce replied, accepting the compliment. He brushed his cheek against, therefore exposing his throat. "Do you mind ...?" he wondered as he invaded more of her space with an attempt to get on top of her.

"I guess it should be fine. Can I bite you? I remember akirikos enjoyed that a lot." she asked, giving a gentle lick to his throat before giving it a kiss. She wouldn't go further without knowing he was fine with it.

"Please." It felt like years since he's been bit. Bruce stayed where he was and purred encouragingly.

Astra slid her lips over his neck and bit firmly, adding the right amount of pressure so he could feel it, yet not bleed from it. She licked that same spot right next, and descended to bite his neck a little more gently in a new spot. "Does this please you, my Lord?"

"You cannot imagine" Bruce figured. But she could feel. He grazed his boner over her leg to let her know he liked it. "How did you - ah ... " How could she know? Apply the right pressure and lick over the spot to assure you meant no harm. He felt so understood without exchanging even one word. Bruce opened his wings, feeling his blood pulse stronger through them.

Astra shivered when she felt his desire. Her Liking was almost a mating call, telling her to rip those pants and ride his cock ... but she couldn't do that, not when she had an owner. Unless... unless she invited him over. After all, she had two holes. Three counting with her mouth. She could handle this. "I have a lot of experience." she answered, giving another firm bite and licking it.

"Aaah ... " Bruce whimpered. Zagam never bit him that often in a short period of time, but he could admit he rather liked it. "Astra ... When I could have the pleasure to ... " Fuck you wasn't exactly a polite expression, but he could not think of anything better right now. He let his hand wander down to her stomach, checking for a way to get between her legs.

"Aaahhh... B-Bruce wait..." OK NOW things were getting physical and Astra hated to interrupt him right here, but... she had to make sure Charles was OK with it. "Hold on just a moment. I must ask Charles... In fact, I was thinking... It would be fun to receive some intimacy from both of you, at once... I can take more than one cock..."

"When he's good with it ... " Bruce told her, not minding a thing in the world right now as long as he soon got to have sex with Astra. He leaned back to give her space, but kept his errection pressed against her to let her know matters were ... urgent.

"Let's hope he can join us." Astra created the magic tapestry once more and focused it mostly on her face. She didn't want to scare him... much. "Charles? Could you come here? My friend and me need your help with some... pressing matters!"

"What ... kind ... of pressing matters?" Charles asked. He was a little alarmed. Was the other not treating her well after all? But she was a Genie! She should be able to take care of herself ... right?

"As in... we're feeling a bit hot. And I was thinking you would like to join us. The more the merrier, I guess?" Astra was trying to soften things up, but there was no easy way to do it. "What I mean is... would you like to join us in a threesome?"

"Ummmmmmmmmmmmm .... " He thought about it, but shook his head the more the longer he did. "No. But you can."

Astra cocked her head, confused. "Wait... did you just give me permission to do it with him? Or in general, with anyone?"

"You can have sex with anybody you want to." Wait. Knowing Astra ... "When they want to, too."

"Alright. Thank you, my Lord. You're the best. When I get home, I'll reward your generosity, promise. Kisses!" Astra blew him a kiss and the magic dissolved once more. She turned to Bruce, feeling really happy. Giving in to her Liking was truly a wonderful experience. "Now you can do with me whatever you desire, Bruce..." she purred, leaning forward to give him a passionate kiss on the lips. Oh, how she missed his lips...

He may not know this Charles, but Bruce could tell he already liked that guy a lot. He leaned back over Astra again and returned the deep kiss she was giving to him. There was absolutely nothing to keep them from doing it right now. He liked that. Bruce opened the zipper of his own pants, his errection already too big than to feel comfortable inside.

Astra clicked her fingers and their clothes vanished. Right next, she took his hand and led it between her legs. She was already wet, so wet. "My body missed you too..." she whispered, as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Her mouth bit his neck once again, letting her tongue wander and lick all around. "P-please fuck me Bruce..." She was thankful that Charles was this generous. Once she got home, she'd make sure to prepare him a orgy with copies of herself and get him to cum all night long. Such generosity deserved to be rewarded.

She should have that. Bruce gasped as her tongue kept teasing her neck and just made him get harder and ready for her. But since she lead his hand to her entrance so nicely he introduced two finger for now. She really was nice and wet for him. Bruce purred, pleased with how smooth he could slide them in and out.

"Aahhh..." Astra clung to him and spread her legs, letting him work. Those fingers of his felt heavenly. She wondered if the Liking made all these feelings all the more intense. Resolved to test it, she moved her mouth to his and kissed him deeply, letting her tongue lick his even so gently. Oh yes. This felt so, so right... "Nnngh... B-Bruce... Feels so good..." she moaned, pressing her chest against his.

"Ready for more?" Astra. Already removed all their clothes, but it was good with Bruce, really. He drew out and lead his cock to push against her clitoris, but then right down and over her entrance. This was rushed. He knew it but he felt so, so horny, too...

"Please.... more..." she begged. Astra thought it was rushed as well, but given she counted with Charles's approval, she wouldn't leave this place until she could get a few rounds more with Bruce. This could be the practice round... they could have slower lovemaking later. This was to make up for the lost time. The feeling of his cock teasing her folds was already fantastic. She couldn't wait to have all of him. "I need you, Bruce..."

#Bruce RP #Bruce and Astra RP #Astra

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kindredconfectionery · 7 years

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In which Jake (@judgenexecutioner) judges John's soul. It goes about as well as they both expected. What a way to spend a Saturday night. Takes place Saturday 07 January 2017.

[07-Jan-17 17:37:49] judgenexecutioner: You'd been putting this off for a while. And you at least had good excuses to. Like preparing for your first trip out of the year. Something your brother had to prepare for, too. But you know you won't be able to get anything started until you get this part out of the way. Which... you really wish you didn't have to. You could go through the rest of existence without judging your brother's soul just fine. Even when your goal was to kill him, you always assumed his judgement would be left to someone else. Seeing as chances were high that killing your brother would utterly destroy your soul.

You didn't want to do that anymore. And you were afraid of what you'd find.

So on the day you decide to finally get it out of the way, you still spend most of the day dallying about. Finding near any excuse to keep busy and out of the way. Which was a little pointless, since you finally find your courage shortly after sundown. You seek out your brother, clearing your throat to get his attention once you find him. You doubt it's necessary, but it's polite.

[07-Jan-17 17:46:42] kindredconfectionery: You'd tried not to be too pushy about this. You know how uncertain Jake had been when you first brought it up. And then there's the whole question of whether it would even work, given the fact you're pretty sure you're not actually dead and don't know if it works on the living. There's also the holiness aversion issue, but you're old and strong and have sat through enough of his sessions you're fairly certain you can handle this.

You have no idea why he said to wait for this weekend, but you didn't question it when he did. You have the patience to wait centuries for something, so a few days is no big deal. When he does find you, which isn't difficult, you're down in the living room area, playing the piano for no particular reason other than you can. You'd noticed him walk in, but you're going to finish the piece, so his throat clearing is a little redundant but his politeness is appreciated nevertheless.

[07-Jan-17 17:55:57] judgenexecutioner: The music is beautiful. You know that Kent loved music, so you have no idea why it took so long for humans to come around to it. Song, sure. But instruments such as these.... You listen to your brother play his song, smiling as you move to the couch facing the piano and just enjoy the performance. You had no real reason to put it off until the weekend except that it'd be putting it off a little longer. You've never tried to judge the soul of a living person. And you don't even know if your brother applies as such. But what worries you is any pain it might cause him. And if it works, finding out for sure what you're already pretty sure about him.

[07-Jan-17 18:07:17] kindredconfectionery: You look over the instrument at him, smiling. It makes you think you ought to compose something specifically for him now, like you did for Gabriel's winter holiday gift. At any rate, you hold off on playing anything else just yet. "I hope I didn't disturb you. I just felt like coming down here and messing around since I won't be able to so easily once we leave."

[07-Jan-17 18:11:34] judgenexecutioner: You look surprised that he's acting contrite to you? "I... no... I'm the one that came looking for you. I'm the one doing the disturbing, aren't I?" It throws you off for a moment, but then you clear your throat. "Uh... well... it's the weekend." You say as if it's all you need to say for him to understand why you're here. And maybe it is.

[07-Jan-17 18:15:03] kindredconfectionery: It wouldn't be the first time someone had come and asked you to cut it out, or whoever was playing something at the time, so it's not an unreasonable guess that Jake might be doing the same. "Yeah, a bit, but I'm the one with the noisy activity when you're just sitting on the couch, so who knows?" You tilt your head curiously, wondering why it's important to note it's the weekend before it clicks. "Ah."

[07-Jan-17 18:19:25] judgenexecutioner: You laugh softly. "That you would call your beautiful music 'noisy' is nothing short of a tragedy, big brother. I'd ask when you learned to play, but there was so much time to learn, wasn't there?" You never learned to play anything. You duck your head when it seems to click with him what you meant. You nod. "Yeah... I... I don't know if you want to try this here, or maybe move downstairs?"

[07-Jan-17 18:22:57] kindredconfectionery: "It creates sound which disrupts the silence. Therefore, it's noisy," you argue, complete with your tongue being stuck out at him. "Yeah, I couldn't really tell you even if you did ask. I just picked stuff up from people here and there, and now I can just play. Mostly by ear and memory."

You get up, gently closing the cover to the keys to keep them nice, especially with little feline paws running about now. "You're the expert here. We do this wherever you think would be best."

[07-Jan-17 18:27:14] judgenexecutioner: "Tragedy..." You sigh with a small shake of your head. Then top it off by sticking your tongue right back out at him. "I've wondered about playing an instrument time and again, but... as beautiful as music is, it never holds enough personal interest for me to want to even pick an instrument to learn."

You hum softly. "I'd feel more comfortable downstairs... I don't want to create a disturbance with the light." It's not something you had ever thought about until John brought it up.

[07-Jan-17 18:34:37] kindredconfectionery: "That's okay. You can be my vocalist," you chirp back brightly. You got the instrumental talent in the family in exchange for zero vocal skills, and apparently Jake went the inverse. Although that's hard to prove if he's never even tried.

"Mmm. Probably would be best. Don't want someone coming in here with an extinguisher trying to put out the fire." You hold out a hand for him to lead him downstairs to the ballroom where he often does it anyway.

[07-Jan-17 18:39:51] judgenexecutioner: You immediately blush, shaking your head. "Now that would be noisy. And some very awful noise at that." You've sang before. Never in front of your brother. You don't think you sing well at all.

The mention of a fire makes you grimace. It's... one of your fears of what might go wrong with trying this. But when he holds out his hand, you take it, following him downstairs. You head to your usual spot, licking your lips nervously. "You... you can tell me if you change your mind..."

[07-Jan-17 18:46:18] kindredconfectionery: "I doubt that. I mean, it can't be worse than me. A deaf cat yowling into a tunnel is better than me," you tease, trying to be encouraging. You're sure he's nowhere near as bad as he claims. You had heard him when you were alive, and his voice isn't so different that you can't project what it would be like now.

You stand in front of him, taking a step forward to wrap your arms around him in a hug. "I haven't changed my mind. I want to know. I can handle it, and if I can't, we'll both know and it can stop. Unless you've changed your mind?" It only seems right to offer him the choice to back out, even though he was the one who had come to you about this.

[07-Jan-17 18:49:12] judgenexecutioner: You scoff softly. "You're not that bad." You doubt he can be. You remember in his prayers, psalms, that he wasn't the best, but he was far from horrible, too. Maybe you're just biased. Love can be deaf as well as blind, you suppose.

You automatically hug him back, though you can't help the way your muscles are just tense. "I've been unsure about this from the start. But it's what you want, and even if it ends up badly, it'll be worse for me, and that... That I can live with."

[07-Jan-17 18:59:24] kindredconfectionery: "Okay, so maybe the cat can hear, but it's still pretty bad." You know what you sound like. You've heard it. Other people have told you that you're really not good and should musically stick to anything that doesn't involve singing. So you generally keep it to yourself when you ignore that advice.

"It's what I want. And it won't be that bad. Stop being such a worrywart." You sound way more confident than you really are, but only one of you can be unsure about this. Jake cornered the market on anxiety, so you have to be the certain one. You kiss him before stepping back. "Whenever you're ready."

[07-Jan-17 19:05:14] judgenexecutioner: You snicker. "Well... we must be related in that area, too. I think I sound so awful. So awful, no one alive today knows how I sound for sure. It's a public service." You're just really, really self conscious.

You huff softly. "I won't until I see for myself how it goes." You normally wouldn't care if it was just about hurting you. But this could hurt him. This could hurt him badly. He already admits that your holy glow you give off us already uncomfortable for him. It could be much worse if it's directed at him. Still... you melt into the kiss, however short it may be. You take a deep breath and a step back of your own. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

You find your center, that heated core at your very soul that allows you to judge the souls of the living and the dead. You draw it out of you, and with it comes that bright, holy glow the envelopes you and pushes outwards. John has always kept himself outside of its center, but if he wants to be judged, there's no way he can avoid it.

[07-Jan-17 19:29:55] kindredconfectionery: "Mhm. We'll just have to see about that." At some point, you're going to do your best to make him sing. Not this particular point, but probably soon.

You huff. "Oh fine." You can only do so much in the way of reassurance. There really is only one way to know what this will do to you, and that's to just do it. Coincidentally, you are also more worried about this hurting him than hurting you. It's just how you are.

You watch him, watch the glow form from up close this time. It's hard not to close your eyes, but it's also impossible for you to not try, so you settle for a squint. Your fingers curl until tight fists are formed at your sides, nails digging into your palms. Every part of you wants to turn tail and run. But you know you can't. Even when it starts to bite at you, to touch you and cover you with its holy light, you rigidly remain in place, teeth gritted. You thought you knew what you were in for with this, but sitting off to the side across the room, and even going to the wedding in the church for half a day, hadn't prepared you for it. The only thing keeping you in place now is your sheer force of stubborn will, which anyone who knows you with any depth can testify to its formidability.

[07-Jan-17 19:40:35 | Edited 19:52:40] judgenexecutioner: "No we won't." You probably will. Your stubborn, but if anyone can wear you down quick to get what they want, it's John.

You no longer look human yourself, your entire form looking golden, except your eyes that open up as brilliant white. You feel his pain, worse than, really, but you don't show it. Can't truly show it in this form. You can see that he's in pain, though. You're not even sure if the sizzle you hear is real or just your imagination. So you try to make this quick. " *Cain, Son of Adam. Son of Eve." The voice is booming and reverberating, only heard to John himself, as the process is a near silent one to those looking in. The light flickers for a moment, and maybe in the flicker it could be seen that your skin was burned, raw, bleeding, charred blisters burst over your skin. But you don't show pain, can't show pain, and can't be stopped now that you're reviewing countless lifetimes worth of sins and virtues in one single being. There are many. For both sides. And the major ones flash through John's mind, his life flashing before his eyes. This didn't happen before his death, obviously, and not even before the death of the souls you judge, but not all sayings can be so accurate.

[07-Jan-17 20:09:38] kindredconfectionery: You just look smugly at him. The yes/no thing could easily go all night if you let it, but you have other matters to attend to.

The sight of him up close like this is completely and utterly terrifying. In another life, it might have been gorgeous to the point of awe-inspiring, but this is the only life you have, and it's very much not. You actually flinch when he speaks, half ducking down until you're not even properly looking at him. It's a reflex, immediately flashing back in your mind to when God used to speak to you, a voice coming from nowhere and everywhere all at the same time. At the flickering, you dare to look up again, but from behind your hand, the way someone blocking a too bright light might look around it to see. Are you screaming? You might be screaming. Or it might just look like it. You can't even tell anymore. Your injuries aren't apparent yet, still being internal, like you're being ripped into from the inside out. It's never felt like you're being burned either, but that must at least be part of it from the look of your brother.

You have a lot of life to go through, and very little of it comes as a shock to be seen again, even the ones you've buried so deep you never think of them ever. You're more worried about whether this is going to eat him alive before it finishes, eyes flickering between the mental images and Jake.

[07-Jan-17 20:22:09] judgenexecutioner: It might be that way on purpose. This is a god given gift, literally. An ability bestowed on you by God himself. And even though Kent had evolved to the point where he could hide himself among humans with no way to tell, it wasn't like that in your time, and unlike God, you weren't capable of that sort of evolution.

You're pretty sure your body is dead at this point, that all that's left of it is a burned out husk illuminated by the fierce glow of your own soul. Your internal organs nothing more than pulp, your bones broken in several places. It feels like lifetimes pass; it might have just been minutes though, when your lips part, your voice softly subdued. "Cast down..." And that was the answer. There was no explanation. Not to the souls, not to John, though you knew why. John had done some awful things in his life, some good things, too. But the good was because he was good. The... your brother has a tendency not to forgive himself, and to not accept forgiveness from others easily. That guilt, that weight on him is as much his undoing as the sins themselves.

The light fades, and your body crumples, smelling of burnt flesh and blood. You're not breathing, but that's not really a surprise at this point. This... this was going to be painful. For the rest of the night, you would come alive and die several times, painfully as your body healed more slowly than it took your soul to flicker life back into it.

[07-Jan-17 20:38:27] kindredconfectionery: The answer comes, and while you realize you'd never asked him what he says to them to know what to listen for, it doesn't take a genius to figure it out. It doesn't come as a surprise. You knew it. You'd told people you weren't a good person, and this just proved it. That and what your selfish need to be certain had done to your brother.

As it turns out, you had been screaming, and you keep screaming even as the light fades and reality seeps back in. You can't help it. Jake's body is an utterly horrifying sight. It's only moments later that your own injuries kick in, dropping you in front of him. Your body is discolored with massive internal bleeding all over, as if every blood vessel ruptured all at once. Some of it even seeps out from a few places where your skin has split open. You're not sure if all of your bones are quite the configuration they should be either. Between the two of you, that is going to be some nasty staining on the floor. It's a weird thought, but it passes through your mind. Anything to distract from the pain.

The next thing that does is how sorry you are. You manage to lay out next to Jake's body, doing your best to comfort and apologize to him each time he seems alive enough for it to make a difference. You're healing far faster than he is, but you're not intending to leave him even when you are healed yourself. It's the least you can do after putting him through that.

[07-Jan-17 20:47:28] judgenexecutioner: You want to explain to him. But even if you could at the moment, you're not sure you should. It'd be special treatment. And while John is subject to all sorts of special treatments, including this judgement of his soul before he even dies, explaining to him what his judgement means seems like overstepping boundaries you shouldn't.

It's a thought best left for later...

The truly messy part is how each time your body sparks back to life it almost seems as if you have a whole new set of blood to bleed out. And once your vocal cords are healed enough to make sound, each return to life that leads back to death is accompanied by screams that taper off to pained whimpers. But each time John apologizes, you shake your head, try to tell him it's okay. You'd agreed to do this. You knew what could happen. You're more upset that he was hurt at all. That this could have actually killed him if it took longer than it did. But you're both hopeless that way. Each time you live a bit longer until maybe an hour before dawn when you don't seem to die again. Your breathing is labored, wet sounding, and your skin still looks like that of a burn victim, twitches of pain racking through you, but your insides are healing enough to let you live, and when you realize that, you sigh. "D-don't... don't... look at the answer as concrete..."

[07-Jan-17 20:57:53] kindredconfectionery: You just attempt to quiet him. It's not okay. It'll never be okay. But you are receiving your punishment immediately, at least. Each scream, each whimper, each time Jake dies again, you imagine you can feel it. You know you can't. There's not a power you possess like that, but who needs powers when you have a mind to dream it up for you?

There's no real sense of time for you, and being below ground, no windows to judge the light by. Lucky you. By now, you've healed completely, minus a few lingering bits of pain, which may or may not still mostly be in your head. Heedless of what he looks like, you carefully press your lips to your brother's forehead. You know he's trying to make you feel better about the judgment, but it doesn't really help. "I know it doesn't count because I'm not officially dead yet, but it seems pretty sure to me. And you shouldn't worry about it anyway in your condition. It's not like I expected any different."

[07-Jan-17 21:04:39] judgenexecutioner: There was just no convincing either of you.

The press of his lips to your forehead is a little painful, but you manage to hide that fairly well, even offering him a smile. "It... it's not... it's not concrete... and even... even time in Perdition... I-it... It isn't permanent... A-and I will... I will worry... because I'll be okay. I'll heal. This... this is okay." And maybe it's messed up to you that you feel it's true. You agreed to this, chose this, and were ready to deal with these consequences. "You... you're a good person... w-who made bad choices..." You want to tell him how he can turn it around, but part of the punishment of Perdition was that each soul had to figure it out for themselves and hope that a demon didn't consume them in the interim.

[07-Jan-17 21:19:35] kindredconfectionery: "Please just stop talking already. This is not okay. I put you through it already knowing the answer. Like you were magically going to come back and say I was wrong?" It was one of the few times you'd been one hundred percent certain, and there is absolutely no vindication in it tonight. "This was a massively bad choice. And I'm sorry for everything you had to see on top of it..."

Tears streak your cheeks as it finally hits you that he knows your life now, or enough of it that the rest doesn't matter. It's not like you really knew the process going in, but you still wish you had never thought of it, let alone pushed him into doing it.

[07-Jan-17 21:24:27] judgenexecutioner: You press your lips together gently, then reach up a trembling, smeared hand up to cup his cheek. You want to tell him that it's okay. You want to tell him so much. You know he won't believe you. So instead you close your eyes before any tears can slip free and you breathe out long and slow. "I... it doesn't... change how I feel..."

[07-Jan-17 21:37:43] kindredconfectionery: You don't so much as flinch or make a face. You've been touched by worse. Instead, you lean into it, more tears flowing at his words. You don't understand how he can say that. You don't know if you will ever understand. But you won't deny the gratitude or relief you feel that he does. He's so much better than you. You only hope to be even half as worthy of him as he thinks you are.

[07-Jan-17 21:40:36] judgenexecutioner: You smile, a tear slipping down your own cheek. You take a deep, labored breath, and then you close your eyes. "I... I'm going to meditate through the pain until it passes... S-so you... you should take care of yourself..." You know that after healing that much damage, John has to be hungry, and while your blood is all over the floor, you doubt he'd want to drink it because that would be him benefitting from your pain. Your brother can be so needlessly complicated.

[07-Jan-17 21:57:37] kindredconfectionery: "I'm fine," you lie. You're not. You're practically starving, not that Jake has any way of knowing this, but you're also too stubborn to move until he can. It also actually never occurred to you to drink anything from the ground. It has nothing to do with how it got there. It's mostly old and dirty by now, and you're not that desperate. Probably. You'll live, at any rate, quieting down so as not to disturb his meditation.

[07-Jan-17 22:17:05] judgenexecutioner: "Liar..." Your voice is raspy, but that doesn't hide the fact that it's full of soft affection. Like you hadn't expected any other answer from him, but it doesn't upset you. Your breathing starts to even out, slow and deep, and if it's labored, you know how to get past that as well. You'll be like this for a while.

[07-Jan-17 22:35:21] kindredconfectionery: You just smile at the accusation, your only denial of it to shush him. He's not insistent on you going away to take care of yourself, so you don't, simply laying there with him, eyes shut in your own form of meditation to pass the while. It helps you as much as it does him, even if it's a different reason you need to do it.

#light gore mention #blood mention #death #ask to tag #judgenexecutioner #narrative log #jake does john

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thejunkelemental · 4 years

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Trash

I’ve thrown away my letters to you. One by one I’ve discarded them into trash or torn them into pieces. Why write into a void? Why feed silence with words? If you love me once, were in love with me once it is long gone now. I lay alone, reaching out in darkness for the shape of your compassion and finding it void. I call out for my closest friend, to whom all secrets could be revealed and I am left with silence. I am your mistake. I am your regret. I am your shameful tattoo you must cover with something else. I am not worth loving. I am not worth fighting for. I am not worth improving for. I am not worth trusting. You have taught me so many lessons on your departure you fought so hard to unteach me when you were with me. You coiled me up in your warm arms and you told me that I was worth loving forever, worth protecting forever. Our history is spread with your long and heartfelt words of devotion and commitment. I read them and I feel a small whisper of what it must have been like to trust that love, to hold tight to it amidst growing concerns and growing fear. But you have taught me many things. You have taught me that trusting people is dangerous. No one is more reliable than yourself and if you bare your back to a loved one, nothing stops them from stabbing it but their words...and words are weak and fragile things. I have learned that absence does not make the heart grow fonder, but weaker and more broken. I have learned that some people are capable of discarding others and moving on, outsourcing concern to others and washing their hands of people they once devoted themselves to. I am not that person. I have learned that love is foolish and pointless. What good are promises. What good are hardships if we do not grow and learn from them? What good are rings and vows if they are abandoned when things become too difficult? What good is friendship or years of sharing and closeness if it can be cut away...advised by others into silence. I do not love the way you love. The way I love will not abandon, will not stray. It will not betray and it will not forget. It stays, earnestly, and waits to be given a chance to be held and understood. It believes in human nature and the kindness and love in two souls together. It is a fragile and stupid thing. It should not exist in this world. I should not exist in this world. I have been told by some how horrible I made this life for you. How badly I fucked up. I wish I could find some way to show them that it wasn’t true...did you believe that? I know it’s all my fault. I know this is my fault. I know I could have and should have saved it. Do you even miss me anymore? Do you even miss holding me or singing with me in the car? Your messages to me are so detached. They lack you. They are not you. There is nothing to be proud of me for. There is no hope I am doing better. You will continue to be a phantom, a ghost waiting for me to be fun again and stable so you can have the parts of me you cherish without the responsibility of my darkness. I am your manic pixie dreamgirl and the movie ended. You no longer want the problems and the woes. I am no longer worth the investment and the excitement I used to provide. I am your insecurity made manifest. I am what you feared you would be. Does it not feel good to have me pine away for you and suffer to dust like this? You were never abandoned. You were never discarded or cast away. The thing you feared most. The thing you said you would NEVER do. That you would never discard me now that you’ve chosen me. That you had tasted what that had felt like before and you did not leave him the way you did to leave me too. I am that. In the end, I am nothing. I am discardable. I am not worth loving by you. I am not worth being married to. I am nor worth committing to. I am not worth fighting for. I am trash. I have learned so many things about you and what you needed and all those lessons mean nothing because you are never coming back. You will never be my close friend again. You will never come to comfort me from my sorrows. You will never hold me and fight with me against a world that is unfair. You will never laugh at my jokes or enjoy my ideas. You will drift and disappear...because everyone else you have discarded in your life remain discarded and I am no different than any ex you have ever had. I am equally detestable, equally crazy, equally worthless to your life now. You have grown past the need of me and you want something different. Why do you take the letters?

Why did you ever? Were they entertaining to you? Did you chuckle at them? Did you show them to others and point out how desperate I was, what a loser I was? Did you look at my suicidal struggles and roll your eyes? Did you decide I was just manipulative and stupid and not serious? You said we would speak soon but I don’t think you mean that. I think by speak you mean a text or two, something stiff and formal. I think you will ask me for something else or my participation on something to help you along. I do not think you will come to see me. I do not think you miss me. I do not think you love me any longer. Our pottery is broken and here I am picking up pieces and trying to fit them together. Here I am. In this ‘bump in the road’ this ‘gamble’ you defined our relationship as. How could you be so callous? How could you be so cruel? How could you draw close and then discard me again? Again. Again. Again. I do not understand. I could not do this to someone else. I do not know why you made this so painful, what I’d done to deserve it. I tried so hard as a husband. I worked so hard to be worthy of your love and commitment...love that I did not believe I deserved till you showed it to me. I write these letters to you. But you have so many you follow and so many followers I doubt you read anything I write. I am sure my letters are trash on your car floor. I am sure you chuckle at them. You laugh at what I have become. You wipe your brow and thank your stars you do not have to deal with me and my dramatic nonsense anymore. You’re free. You escaped. Or maybe...it’s different. I don’t know. I cannot know. You ignore me at every turn. I send you songs you never listen to. I ask about your day or your time to silence and nothing. I am the annoying Tinder match you ignore. I am not worth your time or attention. You think you are healing me and yet I edge ever closer to darker places, in and out of sorrow. My friends try so hard but I say only the same to them. I just want help to fix things. I don’t know how to fix anything. I just want to repair my marriage and live again. God, I want to live again. And they shake their head and say it will grow better in time.

But nothing gets better and your silence continues. My heart despairs and rips itself from my chest. Did you ever want this? Did you ever want someone so devoted they would dwindle to matchsticks in your absence? You so feared having someone who could discard you at a notion, to throw your life into disarray but deep down...I think you never wanted anyone to love and care for you so fiercely that they would not leave you. Maybe you always wanted a back door to bounce out of when the love had faded and when things got too hard. You once told me you used to cut and run from things a lot, always leaving yourself a way to retreat and reform. I am just another cut bridge. In the end i was no more important than any ex you had. I was treated no differently. I meant nothing extra.

I wonder...when it was that the devoted love you had for me faded away. How long did we both fool ourselves? How long did you lie to yourself and me that it was still ok? Before the marriage? Shortly after? I am a disease that kills the love I cherish most. I can arrive at no other conclusion and you draw away from me farther. I am sure if you DID read any of these you would decide to stay away longer...wait till the dust cleared and hope there was something worth talking to at the end. Something worth not feeling guilty over or pitying. I feel your pity. I am such a pitiable thing. So I have thrown away all your letters I have written. They were worthless anyways. You would not have liked them or responded anyways. Nothing I write has any value to you anymore. I cannot stop writing, but I will keep throwing them away. Who cares to read the nonsense I write? Who cares. I have 11 followers and they never respond. They likely see too much of this sorrow and pain and keep their distance. I do not think you read them. You never respond. You never reach out. You never return. God. I just want to fight for us again. Please. Let me fight for something worth dying for. Your love and our life together. Don’t let me go into the night honorless and abandoned. Please. Don’t make me trash not worth loving or fighting for. Please. You swore I would never be to you. I am so utterly sorry I have done this to us.

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joneswilliam72 · 5 years

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The 405 Meets: The Twilight Sad's James Graham

It’s always slightly jarring when a heritage artist releases a capital-G Great record. There’s the inborn implication that heritage denotes a greatness of the past, where greatness is epochally removed, so their contribution to music while Vital or Important is received as a time capsule. Think of Bowie’s Blackstar, or Dylan’s Time Out Of Mind, or A Tribe Called Quest’s We Got It From Here… Thank You For Your Service; excellent records on their own terms, but nominally judged through the lens of the legendary career preceding them.

Given The Twilight Sad have only existed for 15 years, labelling them a “heritage” band might sound facetious; but for anyone who grew up having their unrequited crushes and identity-fraught adolescence soundtracked by the Glasgow band’s debut Fourteen Autumns & Fifteen Winters, they’re intractable. They’ve put out good indie rock records since Fourteen Autumns, successfully evolving without compromising the exasperated sensitivity which draws new fans in like a trail of breadcrumbs, becoming one of those bands whose unshowy consistency has marshalled them towards that most backhanded of compliments; “underrated”.

Without denigrating the inbetween records in the slightest, It Won/t Be Like This All the Time is a different beast. It’s simultaneously a 2019 album and a timeless one, grappling with fiercely on-topic discussions of masculinity and mental health while tackling rock’s perennial burden of early-onset listlessness and the passage of time’s ennui. It’s an album which catalyses self-reflection and enables the listener to grapple with their own problems, joining the pantheon of other capital-G great rock records which extend genuine mental health support by virtue of existing.

But at what cost to the artist? That’s something Twilight Sad lyricist and lead singer James Graham knows better than anyone.

***

When I met Graham in a café in the south side of Glasgow the day after New Years, I was eager for him to break down the genesis of It Won/t; its inspirations and aspirations. Graham grounded me instantly: “This is our job now, we know we have to release albums.”

He clarified: “For me it's not a job like that really, I have to have a reason to write a song, to write an album even more so. We needed time to get home, to get back to real life because that was not real life, those tours. They were some of the best moments of my life, and the best moments for the band, but I've never been used to something like that before. It was such a grand scale, and everyday you're pinching yourself, ‘how is this happening to me?’”

The tour Graham’s referencing was a six month US and Europe tour with The Cure – a band he passionately confesses to be the Sad’s absolute favourite – where they, a group of softly spoken pals from the west of Scotland, were playing sold out venues of 10,000 people every night.

“Yeah, we're not used to 10,000,” Graham laughs. “It was also the way we were treated, Robert [Smith, Cure frontman] arranged a bus for us, we've never done a bus tour before as a band, we're like ‘woah this is mental’. Playing our music in those kinds of arenas, until you do it you don't know if your music's going to work. I know our music's big, cinematic, so you hope you could fill a space like that, but you don't know until you actually physically get up and start doing it. Luckily it seemed to connect."

Graham added: “For a band like us who work so hard, where things haven't always worked out, we've had some really horrible tours where attendance wasn't great, long gruelling drives, being away from home for a long time; to get to a point where our last record did connect, which was reflected by attendances, and then that [The Cure tours] to happen at the end of it, it was a big 'wow, how far we've come since the start – but don’t get used to this.'"

Those peak moments of perfect concord between the melody and the noise; those all-too-brief seconds of aural bliss which The Cure specialise in? It Won/t Be Like This has a good four or five those. The record began to take shape after the tour had finished, but Graham and Sad co-songwriter (and drummer) Andy MacFarlane derived plenty of ideas from their time with the stadium rock icons.

“Sitting watching them every night, watching the audience every night, I think subconsciously things were sinking in, and we knew what we wanted to do with this album after that tour. Andy did musically anyway, cause he scrapped everything; basically, we wrote the album [on tour] and then Andy scrapped all the music - though he kept all my vocals. He said when he sent through the new version, ‘you'll notice the music's different...’ aye fucking right it is. But it was for the better definitely, because he felt what he'd done wasn't good enough. We took on board that we can't just settle, not that we ever did, but we wanted to be better than we were."

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Once the tour was over Smith even volunteered his ear for a second opinion on the songs’ early drafts. “We gave the demos to Robert as well and he wrote back to us and rated them out of ten, which was pretty nerve-wracking. Sending unfinished demos to one of the greatest songwriters of all-time, then getting a response of ‘this is an eight out of ten, could be a nine’, that’s really fucking cool. He never said ‘do this, do that’, he said try this, try that, which was really cool. He gave options, suggestions. He was right 90% of the time; it wasn’t massive things, just ‘see this breakdown, try this’, which I think contributed to those peak moments on the record.”

The peak Cure-adjacent moments, that is. “All that only comes from working on it a million times, being patient. And I'm not a patient person! Normally I'm like ‘fuck it, next one’, but it was really satisfying to take our time without overanalysing it. I'm glad it has those moments, a new dynamic for us - and not just quiet/loud, because in the past we've been known just as the quiet/loud band, I think it's more layered.”

They’ve been known as a “quiet/loud” band, post-punk, indie rock, you name a rudimentary genre label and for certain at one point it’s been tossed at The Twilight Sad and unable to stick; Graham however, in an interview around the time of Fourteen Autumns’ release, described the band as “folk with layers of noise”. I asked him if he stood by this.

“I think it's down to the words. My lyrics are about me and where I'm from and things that have happened to me and my friends and family. To me that's what folk music is; not writing about politics, writing about very personal things. It’s also the substance of the music. Performing these songs acoustically, you've got to be thinking you've got a song beneath [the noise]. I think 90% of our songs you can take away all of the layers and there's a song there. We’ve went a bit more new wave, having synths and that, but I think the ethos of folk is at the heart of what our band is.”

Graham’s carefully enunciated Scottish accent has always been one of the band’s greatest assets, its guttural moroseness communicating the savage melancholy of his condition. A music critic cliché is describing the efficacy of someone’s voice as an instrument in itself; Graham’s accent however is more a natural vocoder, a conveyor of agony more clinical than any autotune.

“Listening to [Aidan Moffat, of Arab Strap] was the catalyst of all that. I grew up near Falkirk, and hearing his lyrics and remember thinking ‘well that's just writing about where's he's from, just going to the pub, being bored with his pals’, and he's singing how he would communicate normally in a conversation, and that was like ‘wow, you can do that?’, just relaxing and telling your stories as they're meant to be told. It'd feel dishonest if I sang in an American tinge.”

He elaborated: “I think more than anything it's not about being Scottish and glum; unlike in Trainspotting, I don't think it's shite being Scottish. I can't help being Scottish, and that's going to come through in my music. I'm not wearing a kilt or flying a saltire above my head, but I think the honesty is what comes from it; by singing that way, it is honest. We didn't go ‘alright, we're going to write this song and Jamie you're writing in a Scottish accent because Americans love the Scottish accent and we're going to sell shitloads’ whereas it's the opposite. It's just who you are, and unfortunately that is melancholy.”

Arab Strap and the Sad share plenty of DNA; while the former is more traditionally folky than its noisier cousin, lyrically they’re evocative of very specific contexts and characters, but expressed with such modest relatability that both transmute the intensely personal into the universal.

“Aidan is one of my friends now, which is mental, but he's still a massive influence. Did you hear the Christmas record he just did? There's covers on it that are funny but brilliant at the same time, but then there's this song about looking in the mirror and seeing this old man, seeing everything through old age, and it's just genius. I related to that, that was exactly how I was feeling that day. We've released three songs from the record now, and after we released ‘I'm Not Here’ people got in touch saying ‘I know you're talking about this as your own experience, but this is how I feel it’, which was nice because it was the most honest I've been, without the metaphors I normally use.”

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The Sad are synonymous with abrupt sensitivity, lyrics of candour and empathy interrogating depression, loneliness, deepest remorse and bitterness. When Fourteen Autumns came out in 2007 it starkly contrasted with the toxic laddiness which monopolised UK rock at the time. Mental health and masculinity are issues being more directly confronted by the scene these days, with Shame and IDLES both releasing worthy records last year which grappled with the noxious expectations placed upon the modern rockstar, and the modern man. As someone who’s sang about this for over a decade, what does Graham think of this fresh dynamic?

“I’m kind of the antithesis, or my music is, of that toxic masculinity, going on stage and greeting my eyes out every night. I was talking to my dad the other day, about growing up and how you were meant to act and think, and if you don't act that way you're different and weird, especially in the middle of Scotland. I'm very lucky I don't have a dad like that but I've seen where it comes from. When I was growing up it was ‘go and get a real job, get an apprenticeship, don't waste your life looking for these fancy dreams’. How is that a way to engage with anybody?”

“I want freedom from that as much as possible. I have a son and I want to teach him that that's bullshit, utter bullshit. My wife dressed our wee boy with pink trousers on and somebody in the street said "aw look at the wee girl" and I'm like what? Why does the colours matter? In the first song [‘10 Good Reasons for Modern Drugs’] there's a nod to that, ‘all wee boys look the same’, cause I was out one night in my local pub, looking around and thinking ‘what the fuck is going on’, and was disgusted by how young men were behaving.”

Graham continued: “I've got nothing against the bands in lad rock, sometimes it's not their fault. It’s more about how we can get away from that and just make it about everyone being able to go and enjoy their time and space at gigs. It's a basic solidarity really. That's what I want to promote. There's bands I've watched for years who as they've got more popular they've attracted that type of laddy audience. I have friends who don't go and see certain bands now cause they don't enjoy it, not that they feel threatened - well in a way they do, since their way of watching and enjoying that music is threatened.”

Fourteen Autumns came out through Brighton label FatCat Records, who in the late 00s oversaw something of a renaissance in Scottish rock. Complementing the Sad were Edinburgh’s harder-edged We Were Promised Jetpacks, and also the folk rock band Frightened Rabbit, who were, and remain, very close friends with the bandmates from the Sad, often helping with demos, tours, but also very essentially as supportive and considerate pals outside the music bubble. Frightened Rabbit’s lead singer Scott Hutchison committed suicide last May, a tragedy which broke the world for his friends and family, countless fans, and Graham.

I’m hesitant about pursuing a topic so delicate, but Graham insists “I'm happy to discuss Scott. I think we should discuss Scott, I think everybody should talk about Scott.”

When asked about that those few years at FatCat, Graham smiles: “Looking back it's weird, even before Scott passed me and him would talk about it quite a lot; we never thought that we were doing anything special, we were writing songs just for fun. There was a point when we were sending each other our demos, back and forth with Scott and Grant [Frightened Rabbit's drummer and Scott's brother] to see whether we each thought it was cool, that was enough for us. We weren't looking for any widespread acclaim, just wanting to make a record and have fun; even if the subject matter wasn't exactly fun. We were skint, playing shitty venues, struggling to get by, but we had the fucking best time together. This whole journey started with them, and we've constantly looked out for each other as time went on.”

Graham pauses before continuing: “We were really struggling at one point on the third record, and Scott asked if we wanted to come and support their tour in America, cause they were doing really well and saw we were struggling, but believed in us and wanted to get us in front of more people. He didn't have to do that. We kept releasing things together, even when they went to Atlantic [Records, the label Frabbit joined after the release of their third record The Winter of Mixed Drinks] we kept the connection. We were best friends, really.”

“There was a friendly competition too; when they released [2006 debut album] Sing The Greys we thought ‘fuck, we've got to get the finger out’. Then we released Fourteen Autumns, and I remember being at a party and Scott said ‘everybody into this room now’ cause I'd given him a copy of the album, and he said ‘we're all going to sit down and we're going to listen to this Twilight Sad album’, and I remember sitting there physically forced to listen to our own music, distinctly remember the look on his face where he's just *grimaces*; because we were proud, we knew we'd made something special for us, and I knew he'd love it as well."

"Then I could see the determination in his eyes, and he basically went; right, I see your Fourteen Autumns, and I raise you Midnight Organ Fight. So he came back from America, and we sat and listened to [Midnight] in his flat in the West End on a CD player, me and Andy sitting in front of *that* and turning to each other thinking ‘ah fuck’.”

“We always had each other's back. I only look upon those moments with love and fondness. I still get those feelings every time each of us released a record. This time is going to be weird though, cause every time one of us released a record we'd message each other congratulations, so on the day of [It Won/t’s] release, I'm going to miss that. I've been thinking about that morning a lot, what it’ll feel like when that text doesn’t come. I'll say it felt good back then; not because we thought we were making something influential or great, just because we made it for us. There's a lot of darkness that surrounds everything back then and also now, but that was a really positive, happy period of our lives, and nobody can take that away from us.”

Thankfully, part of Hutchison pulsates through It Won/t Be Like This, having contributed ideas to most recent single ‘VTR’, a lasting imprint and tribute to their friend.

“Him and Andy were wanting to work together, trading ideas back and forth, then Andy said ‘I started to work on something from what Scott suggested, and I started to like it, so thought I'd just keep it for the Sad album.” It's nice knowing that Andy produced the track, when Scott was on his mind. And that song has the most hopeful line in the whole record, it's nice to note there was still hope when we were writing that. I do follow it up with a line that doesn't have any hope, but it's nice to know there's that through-line, that connection to him. There will be in everything we do from now on.”

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When I saw the Sad at Primavera Festival a few weeks after Hutchison’s death, their first gig since, they closed their set with a cover of Frightened Rabbit’s ‘Keep Yourself Warm’, which was indescribably moving, and a vehicle for some desperately needed catharsis; for myself, the audience, and the band.

“I didn't know if it was the right thing to do,” Graham says, “but after the reaction from the crowd I thought ‘we've got to do this every night’, and though I've not been able to get through it without crying, we've carried on playing it. I was thinking that maybe after a while I would be able to finish without, but... I’m always thinking about whether it's the right thing to do, but as I say we should be talking about Scott, we should be singing his words, because he was brilliant. Doing it for the first time, it's very blurry for me now. I'd like to try and remember it, I do every night when we play it. That first time, hearing people clapping along to the drumbeat knowing immediately what we were about to do, it was really special.”

Has the band played Glasgow since?

“No, no we haven't. That's going to be... we played in Edinburgh and that was, I can hardly remember it was that blurry. When we play the Barrowlands it'll be... I don't want to put any expectations on anything, but I just know what people are going to be like; which is great, we're in that room together, and we'll sing it together. I think we'll get through it. I've seen him play that song so many times there, and it'll be fitting for us to play that song for the first time in Glasgow at the Barrowlands, in a place that holds so many memories for both of us.”

It's now something happens that even now seems surreal, the kind of ludicrous coincidence that’d be dismissed from the early draft of an indie dramedy for being too on-the-nose or sentimental. The café starts playing Frightened Rabbit’s ‘Loneliness & The Scream’, the first time either of us have heard their music since Hutchison’s death.

“I've sang [Frightened Rabbit] but I've not been able to listen to them. That coming on there, it took me a wee bit. I'm not a religious guy or believe in certain things, but stuff like this keeps occurring and it feels like it means something. The record was written and recorded before what happened. The connection through some of the words I'm singing and the themes on it, the coincidences are scary. I can't quite explain it, there's a feeling of Scott within this.”

A parallel between the Sad and Frightened Rabbit, or more specifically Graham and Hutchison, is their accented vocals, as alluded to earlier. Like Graham, Hutchison sung accented because it was honest, to help purge his demons, or try to.

“People are starting to see the reason I do it is to get something out. The reason Scott did it is to get something out. That's something that scared me after it happened. Without this I would be lost, and I'm lucky that I have this. But after everything that's happened it's made me think ‘is it actually good for me?’ Scott was doing the same thing, and it didn't... it did help him, but it didn’t.”

“I'm terrified about releasing a record, I always am, the pressure I put on myself. I wrote these songs for myself, and sometimes you forget that once you release them you're putting yourself on the line to get absolutely slated, and that would destroy me. If somebody slates the record you get another 100 people saying it's great, I'll look at that one who's slated me and it'll tear me apart, and is that good for me? Is the reason I do this in the first place actually helping me? It helps in the writing and recording process, but the releasing and putting myself out there I'm not too fond of to be honest. I enjoy talking to people who like our music, that's a lovely thing, but this process isn't what happens all the time, and you can't escape it now with social media. If somebody thinks you're shite you can't hide from it, and I'm the type of person who really takes it to heart, and it affects me in my everyday life. I know we're about to release a record and I should feel excited about it but I feel genuinely terrified and questioning if this is good for me anymore.”

Graham pauses again. “That's something that Scott and I spoke about regularly. How the release process and criticism affected us, and luckily people have been very kind about both our bands over the years but sometimes people can be really cruel and snidey and I don't know why. Obviously Scott and I are very, well emo, let's not get away from that, very emotional and you can tell through our songs we take things to heart. When you look at Frightened Rabbit's rise, when they're selling out big shows and seeing this guy smiling on stage people think ‘everything must be fucking great’; that life can be brilliant, but with those highs are crashing lows. Nobody gets to see that, and you're not meant to tell people about that in interviews.”

“I think that's something I find hard and strange, when you're going out promoting something you're meant to be confident, positive, ‘this album is the best fucking thing we've ever done’, if you don't say that then people maybe question you; ‘do they even like it, do they appreciate they're living the dream?’ When you're doing an interview on the radio or telly you’re told you can never comes across as tired, because people will think ‘fuck them then, they're tired, all they're doing is making music’. I found that tour we did for two months, I was singing new songs, singing Scott's songs, travelling for eight hours a day, I was emotionally and physically exhausted. I just couldn't play anymore gigs than what we played and I became a shell of a person for a couple of days, and that's never happened to me before.”

Asked if there’s any real provision or support for artists in the industry, Graham shakes his head: “none, not at all, if I feel lost I don’t know what to do. After that Cure tour, to a guy who's never experienced peaks as high as that, I came home and looked at the wall and thought 'what the fuck happened?' I love my life at home; I've got a wife and kid I adore to bits but coming back I felt completely alien from everything. The only support I would have is my close friends and family, but I didn't want to burden this on them. I didn't know where to turn, what number to phone, who to go to. I'm maybe not the best person to talk about this stuff since I'm not educated about it, but I have felt it, so maybe I am."

“I think that a lot of the feelings I have are in those songs. Writing started sparking things, and not in a great way, but I got it out, then the whole process starts again of feeling anxious about having my feelings out there. Not promoting the album title, but "It Won't Be Like This All The Time" is meant to be taken as both a positive or a negative; it won't be like this all the time so cherish this moment, it won't be like this all the time because things will get better. But we need coping mechanisms in case it doesn’t.”

from The 405 http://bit.ly/2TU2QXL

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