#wrote this on a flight but i reread it again and was like ????? girl what so i made some changes lol | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bqstqnbruin · 3 years

Text

Priceless

Ok so here I am somehow with a second fic in a matter of, what, two ish days? Anyway, this is one that I wrote and posted last year but I reread it and it sucked so I took it down and rewrote it. Hope you like it!

Word count: 5.5k

Warnings: none? swearing? Typos for sure.

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You loved him with your whole heart; there was nothing that you wouldn’t do for him, and you knew that he felt the same about you. At least, that’s what you used to believe.

Ever the one for dramatics, a three am alarm was what made you question not only your whole relationship but your whole existence. The witching hour was an ungodly time to be waking up and getting ready, no matter what the reason was. Even when it involved flying off to Europe for a destination wedding that involved Jake’s entire team.

“Babe?” you call to him, the shower just turning off. He pokes his head out, hair wet, droplets of water rolling down his face as he waited for you to answer, “We’re going to have time to stop at a Dunkin’, right?” you whine, doing everything in your power to not pass out then and there instead of finishing your packing.

“Maybe?” he says, ducking back into the bathroom before coming out with just a towel on, hanging on his waist. If you weren’t so exhausted, the things you could be doing right now, your mind wanders as he continues talking, “We have to get through TSA and I don’t think they would allow you to bring that through security, would they?”

“Fucking hell,” you mutter to yourself, throwing the last of what you needed into your suitcase, trying to find anything of Jake’s lying around that you knew he would forget. “What if I finish it in the car before we go through security?” you beg, hoping he’ll cave.

“Y/N,” he sings, “then you’re going to have to use the bathroom a million times and it’s going to be my fault.”

“Do I have to be pleasant before I get coffee in me?”

You hear him laugh from the bathroom as you lean back on the bed and close your eyes. “You wouldn’t be you if you were pleasant before your coffee, babe.” You do everything in your power to try to stay awake while he gets ready, him saying random things as he runs around getting dressed, you murmuring weak responses in return. “Hey, come on, sleepyhead,” he says, pulling you off the bed, “We’ve gotta get to Logan.”

You drive there in silence, praying for the moment you get coffee in you as you still struggle to stay awake while Jake keeps talking. The car stops, Jake pulling down the window when you finally open your eyes, seeing that you were sitting in the drive-thru line at Dunkin. “God, I love you,” you say, leaning over and kissing his cheek, a smile covering his face.

“Who’s paying, you or me?” he asks, not letting you answer due to the voice of the cashier inside coming through the speaker to take your order. Two small coffees, enough to hold you over for the drive to the airport before you get more coffee once you’re through the gate. He looks at you as you stare down at your phone, having to check your bank account to see if you even had the money to begin with. “I’ll pay for both,” he says, a calm tone covering her voice.

Money for you was tight. You had never really struggled to pay your bills and your share of the utilities, but you definitely didn’t have the amount of extra cash that Jake did because of the seemingly never-ending student loan payments you were making. “I’m sorry,” you say, taking the coffee from him so he can get to driving again. You hated having the money conversation; no matter who you talked to, they always seemed to bring up the fact that your NHL player boyfriend made more money in a single season than you had seen in your entire life. It always left things awkward, as the implication of you being a gold digger hung in the air between you and the person you were having a conversation with. “I can probably transfer some money from my savings for extra stuff, but I had really only planned on buying a few meals and a few other trinkets for my family,” you admit, staring at the low number that showed in your checking account.

“Hey,” he says, resting his hand on your thigh, not taking his eyes off the road, “It’s fine. Anything you want, I’ll pay for it.” You smile at him, hoping he couldn’t tell from the corner of his eye that it wasn’t sincere. That was another thing you hated: other people covering for you. You grew up being taught that if you didn’t have money for it, you either didn’t pay for it until you had the money yourself, or you forewent it entirely. Having to worry about paying someone back was unnecessary stress in your life. Or, if they were like Jake, then they would insist it was their treat, not taking the money you owed them no matter how much it was.

You look out the window, the empty, tree-lined highway lighting up as the sun rose over it, the sky turning from the dark purple night to a brilliant orange right in front of you. You had never been one to wake up for the sunrise, taking in the sight for what was probably the first time in your life. “It’s so beautiful,” you say, taking a sip of your coffee, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it this calm and quiet before.”

“I’ve seen one thing more beautiful than this,” he says, a huge smile on his face.

“What?” you ask, bracing him for the cheesy comment you knew he was going to make.

“You,” he says, proudly, trying to find your hand without looking away from the road, bringing it to his lips before connecting his back to the wheel.

“God,” you moan, both of you laughing, “That was so corny.”

“Well, they call me Chef JD, gotta have some corn sometimes,” he says, resulting in you screaming.

“I will in fact leave you if you say something like that again,” you tell him.

“Yeah? Where would you live, then?” he teases, immediately regretting his words, “Fuck, sorry.”

“I’d figure something out,” you tell him, trying to match his teasing tone so that he doesn’t think you took it the way you did. The rest of the ride to the airport is in silence, you both finishing your coffee as you pull up, seeing some of the guys getting their stuff out of their car at the same time. “Hey, aren’t international flights normally at night?” you ask Jake, Charlie, and Matt coming over to help you guys get your bags.

“Bergy booked the flight for all of us and we don’t question him,” Charlie says, pulling Jake away from you, the two of them wandering into the airport with Kylie trying to keep up with her own boyfriend

“It should be more concerning to all of you that he has to act like your father,” you say to Matt, walking with him to security. Besides Jake, you were closest to Matt. He adopted you as a pseudo younger sister, the one who knew just as much, if not more about you than your boyfriend.

Matt shrugs, watching Charlie and Jake mess around with each other in line in front of you, “It just kind of happened that way. None of us ever questioned it, like Chuck said.” The two of you watch the boys, bickering about something as they seemingly all forget their girls were standing right around them. You and Matt fall into a mundane conversation, watching Jake and Charlie together as they pass through security. The five of you gather your things, trying to find which way your gate was so you could meet the rest of the guys before boarding the flight.

Matt figured out that you were supposed to head to the left, so naturally, Jake and Charlie veered right, leaving you and Kylie with all their stuff to lug to the gate. “Where are they going?” you ask Kylie, dumbfounded as you struggle to carry Jake’s bag along with your own stuff.

“Charlie mentioned he was hungry on the way here, so I’m just hoping that’s where they’re going,” she mutters, “Dealing with all of them together is like herding cats,” clearly as cranky as you were earlier that morning as you try to stifle your laughter. Just like you, Kylie was not a person to interact with before she had caffeine in her, one of the reasons the two of you got along so well.

You get to the gate, Jake and Charlie nowhere to be seen even though you were suddenly surrounded by the rest of the Bruins roster. From the looks of the waiting area, the flight was mostly the guys and their families, and thankfully so: you would hate to be on a plane with the Bruins organization if you were outside the organization itself. You loved the boys, but god, they were loud and annoying sometimes. Everyone else on the plane would definitely hate the group, but they didn’t care. The city was fueled by the hate of everyone who wasn’t them.

Jake and Charlie finally reappear, more coffee and now food in hand. Jake hands you what he got you as you reposition yourself so you’re sitting cross-legged on the seat, slightly uncomfortable due to how scrunched up you were so you could face him. You lean over, kissing his cheek before you start eating

He turns his head to smile at you as you catch him off guard and kiss him again. “What’s this for?”

“I don’t tell you enough that I appreciate you,” you say to him, taking a bite of the breakfast sandwich he got you.

Jake smiles at you, turning himself so he faces you. He wraps his hand around the back of your neck, gently pulling you towards him so he can kiss your forehead, mumbling something you can’t quite make out against your skin. Charlie starts chirping Jake over something, resulting in him leaving you to go argue with his teammates. You can’t help but smile as you watch Jake and his teammates. You knew he loved them, just like they loved him.

“You didn’t have coffee in you when I was talking to you before and you were actually pleasant?” Matt plops down next to you, taking your attention away from Jake.

You roll your eyes at him, even though you knew he was right, “Shut up, Gryz. Jake and I stopped for coffee on the way here. This is round two,” you say, raising the cup to him. The two of you watch some of the younger guys aggregate around Jake and Charlie, Jake telling them some story while they hang onto every word of his, laughing their heads off with every sentence. “God, he loves you guys.”

“Yeah, but you know he loves you more,” Matt says, nudging your shoulder.

“I think he loves Oreos more than he loves me sometimes,” you joke, knowing that it’s not true. Hoping that it’s not true, more like it.

“Trust me, JD loves three things in this order: you, hockey, then Oreos. He loves you more than he loves hockey. Nothing you can do will change that.”

You both laugh, the announcement for your flight to board interrupting the noise the rest of the guys were making. Jake rushes over to your side, picking up the bags both of you were planning on bringing onto the plan, practically pushing Matt out of the way. He kisses you on the cheek, a soft smile on his face.

“What?” you ask him, linking your arm in his.

“I love you,” he says, getting in line behind some of the guys.

“I love you, too,” you say, leaning your head against his arm.

“Ready for seven hours on a plane with these fools?” Jake asks, using his other arm to gesture to the rest of his teammates.

“I’m only ready because you’re with me,” you say to him in a sing-songy voice.

“Woah! So you can be corny, but I can’t?” he jokes, sending you two into a flirty bickering match as you board the plane with everyone. You get settled into your seats, resting your head on his shoulder to hopefully fall back to sleep despite the amount of caffeine coursing through your veins. You can hear the guys talking around you, probably annoying the rest of the passengers on the flight more than they intended.

You end up in that half awake-half asleep state while on his shoulder, the sounds of the rest of the guys fading in and out as you did. You could feel Jake occasionally kissing the top of your head, resting his on yours in an effort to go to sleep like you were. Both of you were woken up by the sound of the flight attendant coming through with food, the long flight warranting a hot meal, you and Jake being handed something different than the rest of the people around you.

“What is it?” you whisper to him once the flight attendant has passed by you.

“None of the free meals looked good so I got us something different,” he says, taking a bite of what looked like chicken covered in some sort of sauce.

“We could have just done the free meal so you wouldn’t be paying for me again,” you mumble, a little annoyed that he didn’t even ask when paying for food made things awkward earlier that morning.

You sit there in silence, eating the food that Jake bought you. Honestly, it was airplane food, not something that you had even wanted in the first place but you couldn’t let it go to waste now.

“I think I’m gonna go sit with Charlie,” Jake says, getting up without saying another word once the food is gone, leaving you to sit there by yourself with the other people in the row.

You try to find something to watch on the screen in front of you, only to be interrupted by Matt appearing and Jake’s seat, startling you as you rip out the headphones you had on while the first movie available was starting to play. “Your boy just kicked me out of my seat by sitting on top of me.”

You can’t help but laugh, picturing the other passengers' reactions around then as the grown men that were Jake and his teammates acted like absolute children. “I don’t know what’s worse: the fact that he did that or that fact that I’m not shocked that he did that.” You watch him with Charlie, your smile fading as his grows.

“Hey, what’s up?” Matt asks, pulling your attention away from Jake.

“Same argument that we haven’t really fought over yet.” Matt was the only one on the team that knew about the seemingly never-ending awkwardness that surrounded you and Jake when it came to money. “It’s not getting worse, but it’s more frequent. I’m just worried we’re gonna end up blowing up at each other and losing each other in the process,” you tell him, fixating on the screen in front of you.

You hear him exhale, looking over to see a sad look on his face. A single lock of hair falls down in front of his forehead, moving along with the rest of his head, “Couples fight. I don’t want to tell you that you should have this argument this weekend, but you have to talk about it. And I mean really talk about it, not just the vague undertones you two constantly have dancing around the subject.”

You stare at him, slightly confused at how something like that came out of him, “I don’t like how you said that so eloquently,” you laugh, Matt throwing his head back to join you.

“But you know I’m right,” he says.

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” you huff, waving him off.

Without another word, he hands you his other earbud, starting a movie on his screen that would hopefully last the rest of the flight. You rest your head on his shoulder to get a better view of the screen, picturing Jake in his place.

You didn’t remember falling asleep, but you must have at some point because the next thing you know, the movie is over, the plane is about to land, and Matt is trying to get you off his shoulder so he can get back to his seat. “Hey, Y/N,” he whispers, nudging his shoulder gently. “Jake’s coming back,” he says, acting as if he didn’t want to get caught with you asleep next to him.

“Hi,” you yawn, rubbing your eyes as he plops back down in his seat, him kissing your cheek as you now struggle to stay awake. “It’s like, the middle of the night now, isn’t it?” you ask him, having no idea the time difference between Boston and where you were.

“I think it’s like 10 pm. I didn’t realize I was dating an old woman,” he jokes, pulling a laugh from you.

“You wear me out, babe,” you say, everyone getting up from their seats, the boys making more noise than anyone on the plane as people anxiously waited to get off.

“And you keep me young,” he says, giving you a quick peck before handing you your bag.

You hear someone groan behind you, turning to see Matt standing there already waiting for the two of you to move out of his way. “I’m not going to hang out with you if you’re like this the entire trip” he teases.

You can’t help but scoff, playing into the teasing nature of his comment. “Sorry, bubs, you’re the only one who didn’t bring a date so that makes you our third wheel.”

“I could third wheel any of the guys here and you know that,” he tries to defend himself as Jake grabs your hand and starts to pull you off the plane.

“That’s a weird thing to brag about,” you tell him, the three of you walking in a line to go get your bags, you and Matt carrying a conversation while Jake stands off to the side, not paying attention to the movement of the unfamiliar airport around him.

Everyone waits outside for whatever transportation Patrice had arranged to the hotel, still unsure how he swung any of the details he did. The guys had way too much energy considering how many hours they spent cooped up on a plane. You were exhausted, the coffee practically gone from your system as you tried to convince Jake to just go back to the hotel room with you and spend the night in. “Please?” you beg him, draping yourself on his arm as he waited to get your room keys.

“But the guys want to explore the city,” he whines, jutting his lip out to you.

“I have no more coffee in me,” you whine back. He pouts at you, contemplating whether or not it’s worth it to try to convince you to stay in or go explore with the guys. “I will do anything you want.”

He raises his eyebrows, pulling you close to him, “Anything?” he asks, forgetting the guys surrounding you as he kisses you, his grip around your waist tightening as his teammates start teasing the two of you.

“Hey, JD! Save that for the bedroom!” Matt chirps, your face turning bright red at his words.

“Ah, fuck off and let me love her,” he says, his forehead against yours. “I think I like the sound of the bedroom.”

You ignore the chirps from the boys as he kisses you again, the heat in your cheeks not subsiding until the two of you get to your room. “Are you sure you don’t want to go out with the guys? Apparently, the nightlife is supposed to be awesome in the city,” Jake says, flopping down on the bed. You had been there all of two seconds, and he was already starfished on the mattress, staring up at the ceiling.

You sigh, sitting down next to him. “I told you I don’t want to go out,” you repeat, a little more annoyed than you intended to sound. “I’m tired, and when we go out, we’re going to end up spending more money and-” you stop, cutting yourself off as Jake sits up.

“Hey,” he says, taking your hands in his, “I told you I would pay for you. It’s not a big deal.”

“It is, though. To me it is. I don’t need you to keep paying for me for everything. I don’t want you to.”

“What’s the big deal?”

Were you really about to have the fight you and Matt talked about on the plane in your hotel room? “Don’t you get it? You have so much money while I’m constantly struggling to make ends meet because of fucking loans. Do you know what it’s like to be a grown adult and live off someone else's money, the constant looks from people when I talk about you that say they think I’m just dating you for your money? That unless you’re home and go grocery shopping for us, I have to choose between food and gas until you get back? All I am is a fucking burden.”

“What, you think I don’t know about all of that? Why do you think I pay for you? So you don’t have to worry about food and gas,” he says, getting up.

“And I hate that you do that!” you snap, “That you feel like you have to. It’s like a slap in the face that I can never pay for anything and you have to pay for everything.”

“So what do you want me to do? Stand by and watch you struggle when I have the means to help you?” The volume of his voice matched yours, hearing doors in the hallway opening and closing, praying that it wasn’t other guests trying to figure out what room the screaming match was coming from.

“I don’t mind if you help out once in a while when I really need it but it’s stuff like the second round of Dunkin’ when I could barely get the first, the meal on the airplane when they give out free ones, or when you keep asking to go out, knowing that we’re going to spend money after I told you no.” Jake rolls his eyes, pushing past you and out the door. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going out with the guys. You want something, you can get it yourself, see if I care,” he hisses, leaving you standing there with the door propped open by your foot, watching him walk away. Matt gets off the elevator when he tries to get on, saying something you can’t make out when the elevator door closes.

“What the hell happened?” Matt asks, looking between you and the elevator.

You shake your head, trying to hold back the tears that were forming, knowing that there were other people in the hallway that had just witnessed the end of whatever that was. “Remember the fight you said we would have? We just had it,” you tell him, flopping down on your bed with your hands over your face. You let out a long groan, feeling the weight of Matt’s body sink the corner of the mattress down. You knew he was giving you that sympathetic look that was going to make you more upset, feeding into your already upset nature just that much more.

“What happened?” Matt repeats.

“We just finally snapped. God, of all places to have a stupid fight like this, we have at the night before your teammate is supposed to get married. I mean, fuck, we’re in Barcelona, for god's sake and you and I are here watching me mope instead of exploring like we should be.”

“Well, who says we can’t?”

“My bank account.”

Matt pries your hands off your face, forcing you to sit up despite you clearly not wanting to. “There’s so much to do in Barcelona at night that doesn’t involve spending money. We can find the guys no problem, probably doing something free.”

“And how do you expect we do that?” you ask him as he tries to drag you off the bed, grabbing the room key on the way out the door.

Matt waves his phone in the air, a smug look on his face. “I have the location of everyone on the team, past and present, on Find My Friends.”

You hesitate for a minute, your wallet and bag sitting right there by the door for you to grab to go join your boyfriend and his teammates and try to enjoy the night despite the fight you just had. “Matt,” you try to protest, your eyes darting back and forth between him and your bag. You didn’t want to worry about Jake on the night out, but you knew you couldn’t be spending a lot of money. You had been out with the guys too many times before when Jake promised they wouldn’t be big spenders, only to go home and have to worry about how you were going to survive to the next paycheck.

“If you want anything then I’ll pay for it and you pay me back with food or something. Y/N, Jake is wandering Barcelona with Charlie right now, probably just as upset as you are,” he tries to reason with you. “There’s no point in sitting here alone in your hotel room when you’re in a city that you’ve been talking about visiting for as long as I’ve known you.”

You let out a groan, knowing that he was right. “I can’t stand you,” you mumble, grabbing your bag and heading out the door with him.

Matt had his phone pulled out, trying to navigate the city based on a little dot that showed your boyfriend’s location. You had no idea where you were going, and, to be honest, you weren’t sure that Matt had any idea either. You had never been in a situation where the two of you had to wander through unfamiliar territory before, but something told you it was going to be a while before he figured out how to get to the rest of the guys.

“Matt, this is useless. We’ve been walking around for over an hour already,” you tell him, sitting down on the bench that was just off the path you had been taking.

“It hasn’t been an hour, you’re being dramatic.”

Matt sits down next to you as you pull out your phone. “We left the room at 10 pm. It’s 11. That’s an hour,” you snap at him, clearly hating that you can’t find them. “I just want to see Jake,” you mutter.

“Have either of you calmed down enough to have an actual conversation with each other? You know, not a screaming match?” Matt asks you, watching the small dots that represented his teammates move around his phone screen. “If you want to try to figure out your way around here, when neither of us speaks the language to ask for directions, we can. If not, we go back to the hotel.”

You stare at his phone, seeing JD, CM, TF, two JS’s, and a DP altogether, somewhere off the road where neither of you were able to figure out how to get to them. You shake your head, thinking about Matt’s words: you weren’t sure you were cooled off enough to talk to Jake rationally, and you had a feeling he was still the same. “Let’s just find our way back to the hotel,” you tell him, getting up off the bench.

You look at Matt, the look of sympathy covering his face as he follows you back the way you came. You probably could have easily found Jake and the rest of the guys, working out whatever the hell you needed to before the wedding tomorrow. If you couldn’t work it out, what did that mean for your future, though? If you didn’t live with Jake, you would be struggling way more than you were now, probably living paycheck to paycheck without the luxury of everything Jake did for you.

Were you wrong to be mad that he was trying to help?

The two of you get back to the hotel, the empty lobby eerily echoing with your footsteps on the marble floor. You hadn’t even noticed it before, the hotel you were staying at was probably the nicest one you had ever set foot in. You were tempted to sit on one of the chairs in the lobby, wait there for Jake and the rest of the guys to come back despite the fact that they would probably be drunk off their asses when you saw them.

Matt puts his hand on your arm, snapping you out of your thoughts. “Do you want to stay down here and wait?” he asks you, reading your mind, “Or, do you want to go back to either your room or mine?”

“I don’t want to impose,” you try to protest.

“So, you’d rather go back to an empty room and wallow alone instead of sitting on my bed, eating ice cream, and watching a movie,” he tempts you, raising his eyebrows with his offer.

“I don’t want ice cream.”

Matt scrunches his nose, letting out a laugh. “I never said the ice cream was for you. It’s summer, I can cheat on the nutrition plans a little more right now.”

He manages to pull a laugh from you, the two of you heading up to his room. You plopped yourself on his bed, your hands behind your head while you couldn’t take your mind off Jake. You really didn’t want him to be as miserable as you felt, but part of you also did want that. Was that bad?

You knew you had to set boundaries. You knew you couldn’t live without him, both financially and in life in general.

“You know,” Matt says, pulling you out of your thoughts yet again, “The guys are back here at the hotel. If you wanted to go back to your room, I’m sure you could talk to him now.”

You roll over, your back facing Matt. “I don’t think he would want to talk to me.”

Matt sighs, lying down next to you and staring up at the ceiling. “Like I told you in Boston, Jake loves you more than anything. If I know anything about him, he’s just as miserable as you are, probably back in your room panicking about where you are.”

You turn to him, narrowing your eyes. “This is your way of trying to get me out of here before the ice cream comes and you feel like you have to share with me, isn’t it?”

You both laugh, sitting up to get ready to go. “Oh, of course.”

You head out, opening the door, caught off guard by who was standing there. “Jake?”

He shoves his hands in his pockets, looking down at his feet. “I thought you would be here.” You nod, both of you standing there in an awkward silence as you held the door to Matt’s room open. You didn’t know if you should speak first or wait for Jake to do it, and apparently, he felt the same.

“As much as I love just staring at you two,” Matt breaks the silence. “Would you be able to do this with my door closed? You can be in here, but,” his voice trails off. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear whatever it was you were about to talk about even though he already knew.

“We’ll see you tomorrow,” you tell him, letting his room door close behind you as Jake took your hand in his, leading you down the hall to your room.

You don’t say anything until you get into your room, both of you sitting at the foot of the bed.

“I’m sorry I got mad,” he says, his hand still in yours but unable to look at you.

“I’m sorry I got mad,” you repeat, for lack of better words to say. “We need boundaries. I get that you want to pay for things, but I need you to ask me before you do, especially if it’s something we don’t necessarily need.”

“Ok,” he draws out, trying to figure out how to frame his words. “Would you be ok with asking me for help when you need it? You know I can help you, and it kills me seeing you struggle when I have the means to make this stop.”

“I just want you to ask.”

He smiles at you, raising his hand to cup your face. “I will,” he says, his lips finding yours for a soft, sweet kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

You spend the rest of the night together, trying to figure out boundaries of what and when Jake can lend you money, what should be paid back, what he doesn’t want back, everything. It was the conversation you should have had years ago, yet never did.

The next morning, you get ready for his teammate's wedding, slipping on the dress, your back towards Jake while he put on his suit. “Can you zip me up?” you ask him while he adjusted his sleeves.

He comes up behind you, his fingers holding the small zipper and slowly pulling it up your back. Jake wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you in front of the mirror hung on the wall of the room, his head nestled on your shoulder. “I can’t wait until we get married.”

You laugh, craning your neck to kiss the side of his head. “That’ll be an expensive day, won’t it,” you joke.

“Yeah, maybe. But spending the rest of my life with the girl I love? That’s priceless.”

#jake debrusk #jake debrusk imagine #nhl #nhl imagines #hockey #hockey imagines

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flying-elliska · 3 years

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Headcanons for ADHD characters Masterlist

I was asked for this a while ago and I feel this is a good discussion subject because the canon representation for ADHD is kind of abysmal and is often a caricature or a joke.

usual disclaimer, I'm not a therapist, this is not a diagnosis tool, just for fun, etc etc...basing this on my own experience/knowledge with ADHD and meeting a lot of ADHD people IRL. I'm going off the main symptoms first (inattention and/or hyperactivity, restlessness, impulsivity, problems with emotional/focus regulation, daydreaming, messiness, hyper-focus, fidgeting etc) and then looking at character traits that are not a necessary symptom but often associated (substance abuse and addiction, need to please, sensitivity to rejection, compassionate and creative, thrill seeking, very imaginative, charming and witty or withdrawn and shy or angry and irritable, whimsical and fun and a bit child-like, out of the box thinker, self esteem issues, unstable life, comorbidity with anxiety and depression, very intense feelings, functions better with adrenaline/in an emergency, disregard for rules and problems with authority OR extreme compliance, codependency, perceived as weird, clever in an atypical way, problems in school, extremely good at one specific thing, etc)

Also I found this list with actual canonical representation

BOOKS :

The 'fits to a T so I'm seeing it as my personal canon' list :

note : doesn't mean that the authors actually meant to create representation but it's very likely they at least got inspired by people who did have ADHD (even when the diagnosis itself did not exist) and explained it with 'it's just their personality' OR the story happens in a setting where the label doesn't exist as such. also not meant to be exhaustive.

- Helen Burns (from Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë) One of Jane's school friends from the start of the novel, fits the inattentive type to a T : she can't seem to focus or learn her lessons, is constantly daydreaming, describes herself as messy and careless, forgets rules, and is easily distracted. She talks constantly about her own 'defective nature' and seems very sensitive to criticism but incapable of changing. She doesn't defend herself against the nuns' harsh punishments as she thinks she deserves them. She's presented as kind-hearted and compassionate, almost too good for this world, and hyperfocuses on her faith. Apparently sb even wrote an academic article on this. She dies so it's not super fun representation but it is interesting to see in an older book, to push back against the idea that ADHD was invented yesterday by Big Pharma lol.

- Grantaire (from Les Miserables, Victor Hugo) Part of the student revolutionary group Les Amis de l'ABC and resident skeptic, does not believe in the cause but is fixated on the group's idealistic leader (and yeah it sounds very gay, they die holding hands, there is a lot of Symbolism). He spends his time ranting about things that are only vaguely connected, is described as brilliant but incapable of sticking to any one profession or hobby, is an alcoholic, has a creative streak (was a painter at some point), likes wandering around the city, has massive self-esteem issues and is a general mess but does seem to care about his friends. This is not a very flattering portrayal as Grantaire is described as morally deficient but again, interesting in an old book. ADHD!Grantaire is a popular take in the modern fandom (i was in it before I was diagnosed it brought up a lot of Things) and it's very cathartic to see him get actual therapy in fic lmao.

- Luna Lovegood (from the Harry Potter series) JKR sucks but this is probably the most high profile case of a possible inattentive ADHD character so I didn't want to leave it out. She's a daydreamer, she is a big space cadet and seems to live in her own world, she has a very out of the ordinary sense of style, she's bullied for being weird, but she's also very kind and perceptive and cares a lot about her friends, and good at coming up with out of the box solutions. I wouldn't call it good representation, she's described as a wacko whom a lot of characters find cringeworthy but she's also pretty heroic, so. And she does seem to hyperfocus on magical creatures. Plus her father could also have it (and it runs in families).

- Jasper Fahey (from Six of Crows duology, Leigh Bardugo) Part of a young group of thieves with a heart of gold, he's a charmer and a compulsive gambler who quits college and incurs debts so massive he stops talking to his father out of shame. He's also an extremely talented sharpshooter and the scenes where he describes how the whole world slows and the rush of adrenaline when he is shooting sound like hyperfocus to a T. He's a loyal friend but also quite dependent on Kaz, the leader of the group, to keep him in line. He's witty, messy and he likes danger. His boyfriend later in the series, Wylan, is dyslexic and the way they learn to accommodate each other's issues honestly makes them one of my favorite couples ever. I need to reread these books and I am so stoked for the series I hope they do Jasper justice.

- Julian Diaz (from Cemetary Boys, Aiden Thomas) Love interest of the book, introduced as the 'high school resident bad boy', energetic motormouth who can't sit still and actually very endearing, has issues in school and gets bored easily, main problem is that he's a ghost...sort of. The whole thing was very cute and I love that Julian's personality is described as fun and attractive instead of annoying (which is, if you haven't noticed already, a pattern).

- Evie O'Neill (from the Diviners series, Libba Bray) She's a flapper in 1920s New York who ran away from her boring little town to make a life for herself ; she's a party girl and an impulsive thrill-seeker who hates standing still and is always looking for excitement to 'fill the void'. She craves fame and attention and pretty things, she can be a loyal friend but is also frequently self-centered and forgetful, she's street smart, resourceful and very charming and witty. She's also grieving, drinks too much and is definitely depressed. She's obviously meant as an archetype of the era, caught between trauma and excess, but it does come over as very hyperactive ADHD as well. Her powers to read objects also really pinged me as a good metaphor for the ADHD tendency to be overwhelmed by details.

The 'bit more of a reach but there's a vibe' list :

- Emma Woodhouse (from Emma, Jane Austen) Frequently cited as a character with ADHD, I didn't come up with this one but she fits. She's daydreaming, easily bored, has flights of fancy and hyper-focuses on matchmaking, is a bit impulsive and thrill seeking, clever in an unconventional way, described as a bit immature, mix of caring and self-centered.

- Ronan Lynch (from the Raven Cycle, Maggie Stiefvater) Ronan just has Neuroatypical Vibes, even though it's not entirely clear what, and I've seen people label him all sorts of things which is very valid. As for ADHD, he's restless, impulsive, likes to Go Fast and do street racing, he has very strong emotions he doesn't know what to do with, and big self esteem issues esp. at the start, is very all or nothing with people, snarky, drops out of school to be a magic farmer, problems with authority, looks like a scary mean goth but is actually a big softie (but like, with a few people), pulls shit out of his dreams. Is kind of dependent on his best friend at the start too.

- Sherlock Holmes (from the eponymous series by Arthur Conan Doyle) Again a character who has been diagnosed with all sorts of things. The biggest ADHD vibe for me is 'my mind rebels at stagnation' and the way he needs drugs to function outside of the thrill of a case, and the way he hyper-focuses on information he needs to be a detective while completely ignoring common knowledge. Also sort of dependent on his best friend Watson and isn't great at social interactions. Doesn't care much about upholding social conventions either. The RDJ adaptation is the one that has the most ADHD vibes to me.

- Harley Quinn (DC Comics/Movies) Big codependency issues (that's arguably the thing she's most known for) and sadly people with ADHD are often prone to getting into abusive relationships. It depends on the story too but she's very energetic, zany, impulsive, she likes shiny things and bright clothes, she's fun and chaotic and likes to break the rules, she's a criminal but she does seem to have a heart, she's also frequently immature and rash, etc.

What are your headcanons ? I would love to hear if you have some so I can add them to the list. I'll make a TV/Movies list soon.

#adhd #actually adhd #adhd representation #neurodiversity #media representation

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drakewalkerfantasy · 3 years

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Please stay (Tatum x F!MC)

Summary: The second goodbye of two friends doesn’t hurt any less. The first goodbye of two lovers does hurt even more. The issue is he doesn’t want to leave, and she doesn’t want him to leave either. If all this misunderstanding could be avoided? And would she be able to convince him to stay?

Words: 2234

Rating: PG

Warning: a bit angsty

Authors notes: Dear anon, thank you so much for the request first part. This is a second part for them reuniting I really hope you will enjoy this. I’m not particularly happy how I wrote Tatum’s POV, but I just couldn’t think of anything else even after multiple times rereading this. Sorry if this is not what you expected. @jamespotterthefirst thank you so much for asking for second part. Love you. Hope you will like it.

“Tatum wait!” He heard a familiar voice calling for him. The voice with notes of desperation and panic. The voice that sounded so out of breath that it seemed that the girl who it belonged to was running and he stopped dead, slowly turning to face Claire. The girl he didn't want to leave behind. The girl, who ran as quickly as she could toward him, scanning every gate and open seat before her eyes met his, and their hearts stopped for a moment before starting to race even faster.

“Claire? Demarco? What’re you doing here?” he asked, feeling how his heart thumped the chaotic melody, while he was standing in line to board the plane, watching the two people he didn’t expect to ever see again to approach him, stopping just a few steps away from him.

“I came... to ask you not to go,” breathed out Claire, and her voice hitched inside her throat, while she still tried to catch her breath after running.

Her lips parted, and her cheeks rosy. Her eyes like a dark chocolate bordering with obsidian stars and he felt like he started to drown in her gaze until he shook himself out of her spell.

“But last night you said..." he whispered, not sure if he could trust his own voice, while his eyes hold onto her gaze, waiting for her reply with a bated breath.

“I only said it because it’s what I thought you wanted. I didn’t want you to feel like I was standing in your way,” exclaimed Claire, her eyes widened.

“Oh, of course...,” said Tatum. Realisation slowly dawned at him, but his expressions sobered as soon as another realisation hit him, thinking that if only he would know that earlier... if only he wouldn’t complete the forms... if only he knew. If only...

His heart is a cacophony of beats and sounds, harsh and jarring, trying to beat out of his chest, and his mouth opened before closing again, but he needed to tell her... needed her to know that she was already too late. That now her confession will not change a thing and unless some kind of miracle does not happen, then he will need to leave, no matter how difficult or painful it was for him. No matter how much he would want to stay.

The words that left his mouth next are strangled and quiet... and painful… and raw, the kind of raw that will shred their hearts to pieces, the final statement and the final nail to the coffin. The last goodbye to something that never could be. “But... Winston’s already sent off the paperwork. They know I’m coming. I have no choice but to leave. I must leave.”

And the next words she says are painful and stings him as nothing else ever did.

“Aren’t I more important than that?” said she in a mere whisper, the tears at the corners of her eyes and he knows that it hurts her, that even now he is unwilling to defy the system for her… the paperwork be damned.

But instead of reply the first thing that came to mind is the panicked thought that flashes in his head, before the words could leave his lips. Doesn’t she know...

“Of course you are,” is the only thing he could say, after a moment of deafening silence, after wanting to scream and punch something. How could she not know... not feel how much more important than everything else she is. That if he only could he would do anything for her, that is how important she is for him. Whatever she needs is hers. He is hers. But instead of that another words, more cold and impassible, left his dried throat as if it wasn’t him uttering them. “But I can’t just defy an entire system of protocol,” hoarsely spoke he in defeat, his eyes locked on hers hoping that in them she will be able to see all the emotions and pain he felt in that moment. That in this single gaze she will see how much she means to him and what he feels. Hoping that in that gaze she will read everything that she needed to know, while his words failed him.

“Not even for your oldest friend?” Claire asked, making his eyes widen, watching him hesitate for a moment with unreadable expression put on his face, but he knew... he knew that she knows him well enough to see that his thoughts were whirring just beneath his mask. Knowing that the only thought that she misses is the most important one. The one he wants her to know, but at the same time the one he isn’t sure he is ready for her to know... just yet...

“Listen. I appreciate you coming out here and finding me, I really do, but...”

“Then stay. Please.”

“I want to, Claire. But…,” he hesitated for a moment, searching her eyes for any sign of what that would mean for him... for them. Does it mean that somehow she feels the same way for him and that wasn't just a friend asking, but something more, something what he would want to have... with her? Wondering if all what happened between them during these past few weeks meant more for both of them. But before he could ask or say anything else, she started to speak again.

“But nothing...,” she fiercely said, grabbing his hands on an impulse. “I think I’m falling for you,” her words just a whisper, but he heard them anyway and his heart stopped, wanting to close the distance between them, to grab her into his arms and to kiss her... to kiss her senselessly until they both would gasp for a breath and then... then finally tell her how he felt for so long... how he still feels about her. But before that he needed to be sure, needed to make sure that she really meant it. That this wasn’t his mind playing a trick on him, turning what she said into something what he wanted to hear her to say.

“Claire...,” said he, his voice just a raspy whisper, while his heart thumped erratically and his thoughts whirled. Does she mean it... does she really... “Do you mean it?” He asked finally with a bated breath, feeling how his heart squeezed missing a beat and his pulse raced waiting for her reply even though he could see that in her eyes. In the eyes that were holding his.

“Of course I do...,” she whispered softly, taking a tiny step closer to Tatum, and he could hear how her heart raced, beating louder against her rib cage, when she uttered her next words, the ones that made him stand rooted to the spot. “After everything we’ve been through... How could I not fall for you?”

And he could think of a million reasons why not... but in that moment he didn’t want to. I rather believe you, he thought, taking a step closer to Claire until he felt her soft breath against his lips when he leaned closer to her. But despite how close she was or her confession he was still battling with himself. Tatum’s eyes searched hers and his lips so close that she could feel how his breath hitched every time when she exhaled, making a mixture of conflict and desire play across his face.

“Does that mean you’ll stay?” asked Claire, while he studied her face, not missing the hopeful notes in her question before finally letting his reply slip from his lips.

“I’m not sure,” muttered he, closing his eyes just for a second before meeting hers with a harsh exhale, feeling that he was holding her back, that all that time he was a burden to her. The one who wasn't worthy her and the one who made her life go by waiting for him. The one who was letting her down and the one who wasn't keeping her safe. The last thought made him almost physically sick, and he knew that he would rather die or let himself be killed than to let anything happen to Claire, but he still wasn’t sure if he was good for her... if he was worthy her.

“Why not? I’m asking you to come back. Begging you, even. And I know my mom will approve this. There’s nothing standing in the way of this, Tatum.”

“Sure, the logistics are handled, that’s great. But... I don’t know if I’m... good for you. I feel like I’ve been nothing but a burden to you ever since I became your bodyguard.”

“A burden?” exclaimed Claire and he could see how her eyes widened and her lips parted, while she stood on her tiptoes closer to him. Her hands dropping gently to his shoulders, making him lean closer to her. “Never. Not even if you tried,” she murmured, her breath fanning against his lips, and his eyes dropping to them, swallowing heavily, when she utters her next words. “You’re too important to me.”

“Even though I made you chase me all the way to the airport?” he asked with a soft smile, his hands dropping to her waist with familiarity, while his forehead pressed to hers, inhaling her sweet scent of flowers.

“You didn't make me do anything. I made my own choice. And that’s why you’ll never feel like a ‘burden’. Because I’m always going to choose you,” whispered she.

Her lips fleetingly moved over his, while she spoke, caressing them with a featherlight touch before finally she leaned back. Her deep chocolate eyes met his, and he couldn’t do anything else but listen, while she spoke softly to him, hoping that this would be enough to convince him to stay. “Point is... I need you. A lot. More than I can say in the five minutes you have left before your plane leaves. So will you trust me and come back?” But even then his eyes moved away from hers, needing a moment to think, watching as the flight attendant made a last call for boarding. His hands dropped from her waist only to feel how hers slid from his shoulders finding their way into his hands… and he finally knew what he wanted to do... knew what he needed to do.

“...Yeah. I’ll stay,” said he with a rush of air, his eyes meeting hers, losing himself in the depth of the chocolate orbs looking back at him with hope that he would say something more... something that she wanted to hear. “Turns out I need you too… And I… I fell for you more than you even can imagine,” he whispered, lowering his head to hers, caressing her lips with his while he spoke.

“Oh, thank god!” exclaimed Demarco, both so deep in each other that they forgot completely of another man standing next to them, jumping simultaneously at the sound of his voice. Catching a small smile on his lips, while he looked at them, still standing close, still holding hands. “Sorry, I’ll just... go patrol the perimeter, now that Agent Mendoza is back on duty.” The happy grin that Claire couldn’t hide contagiously found its way to Tatum’s face and he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, while grinning at her.

“I suppose we should be heading back soon... I have work tomorrow, after all,” he said, his heart beating wildly in his chest, and his eyes dropping to her lips again. Thinking of how much he would give away just to feel her soft sinful lips against his, just to kiss her one last time before coming back on duty.

“Sure,” whispered Claire, tiptoeing closer to him, while his eyes followed her every movement with the bated breath, and she used it to wrap her arms around his neck stretching up to press her lips to his, whispering quietly against them. “But just as soon as I give you a kiss...”

“Claire...” huskily murmured Tatum. His eyes closed, and his hands tightly wrapped around her waist. The whisper of her name against her lips sent a shiver down their spines, while her lips parted, making him deepen the kiss as the world around them faded into just the distant rumblings of planes taking off overhead.

“I’m never leaving your arms again and I will never let you leave mine,” murmured Claire, letting him kiss her deeper and passionate, moaning slightly into their kiss, while the only thought that beat in his mind was how lucky he got.

“As you wish,” whispered he, kissing her over and over, making Claire gasp as he guided her backwards, until she got trapped between his firm body and the wall. His lips capturing hers in another fiery kiss, coaxing her mouth open so his tongue could sweep inside, both losing themselves into each other's embrace, blissfully unaware of anything around them. It took them another couple of minutes and a familiar voice besides them to pull them away from each other.

Both breathing heavily. Both reminded that they weren’t alone. Both blushing furiously. And both, happy. Feeling how their hands reached for each other simultaneously and their fingers intertwined before leaving the airport side by side. For the first time confident and ready for anything that life would throw their way. For the first time open in their feelings for each other.

Tagging: @choices-bound @jamespotterthefirst @mercury84choices @k2624 @thefrenchiemama @choicesreal @starrystarrytrouble @boneandfur @walkerswhiskeygirl @sophxwithers @ramseysrookiex @suitfer @gardeningourmet

#tatum mendoza #tatum x mc #tatum x f!mc #foreignaffairs #choices foreign affairs

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gloriafc · 4 years

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Paul imprinting on Emily's best friend -Part 1

You met Emily in high school. She's older and took you under her wing. When you decided to join the military she wrote to you once a week, sending you pictures of the scenery and occasional recipes for you to try.

You took the advantage of going to school with military resources, earning your medical degree and becoming an on-base doctor but also gaining the skills of a marine.

While in the military you were attacked by someone with a knife and now have scars running down your thigh, just like the ones on Emily's face. Emily hates the story, but Sam finds it cool

You've met Sam, from the occasional trips you managed to take home during your deployment, and he'll joke around calling you a troublemaker and say that every time she goes somewhere with you, the two of you end up in trouble. But he loves the friendship you have with her, and thinks of you as a sister, he's happy she has someone outside of the pack to hang around with, someone normal.

"I'm not going to get her in trouble." "Last time you said that, I had to pick up two drunk messes from the bar. Then you proceeded to kick me out of my bed so you could finish your girl's night." "Well yeah it's called girls night, not girls night plus the boyfriend."

Despite being Emily's best friend the only pack members you've met are Seth and Leah, only because they're her cousins. The guys have seen pictures of you around Emily's house, but that's a given, you have pictures of her around your house as well.

You've heard stories from Emily about the boys, and nicknamed them Sam's children.

Since you had a couple days off from work Emily talked you into a sleepover at her house, she banned the boys from coming over knowing that they can get loud and would ruin her time with her best friend.

Sam ended up calling them to meet up for a patrol the next day warning them to be quiet. You and Emily were passed out on an air mattress in the living room, having fallen asleep at five in the morning after a night of talking, watching movies, and Sam can only wonder what else you two got into.

Despite being told to be quiet, they walked in like they usually do. They all stopped when they saw Sam's face, "I told you to be quiet. Now they're waking up." Sam can only gesture to where you and Emily are starting to stir, Emily just rolls over but you push yourself up onto your arms with a glare directed towards Sam, "Do you know what time I went to sleep?" "Too late o'clock." You can only throw the pillow you're using, hitting him square in the face before flopping down on the mattress.

Sam can only shake his head and continue drinking his coffee as he tosses the pillow back on the mattress, it landing on your head making you grunt. When he turns to look at the boys he freezes seeing Paul frozen and staring at you.

When everyone comes back from patrol around noon, you and Emily are barely finishing getting ready and making lunch. You can only stare at how much food she pulls out before helping her. She has you make your special potato salad, knowing the boys will absolutely love it.

As everyone returns you're grabbing your purse to head to work, Sam can only grin as he throws his arm over your shoulder smelling the potato salad on the counter, "You know sometimes I don't hate you Y/L/N." "Oh please. You love me all the time Uley." You wave bye to Emily, not stopping to catch names of the new faces, but hug Seth and Leah on your way out.

As Emily's finishing putting the sandwiches together for everyone Sam starts piling a huge helping of potato salad on his plate, they boys all look at him, noticing it isn't Emily's. Finally Jared speaks up, "It can't be that good. It's not even Em's." Emily just smiles and shakes her head pushing the bowl in the center after taking some, "Who do you think taught me how to make potato salad. I've never been able to perfect it, there's just something Y/N does and I can't figure it out." Each boy takes a bite before groaning in happiness, Jared looking at Paul when Emily is out of earshot, "Your imprint can cook. We can keep her." Jared gets slapped upside the head by Sam.

After a couple days of going back and forth of who should tell Emily Paul imprinted on her best friend, Sam can only roll his eyes as he approaches the woman who's talking to you over the phone while reading a recipe book.

"I'm borrowing Emily." "What! No! I need help!" "She'll call you back." "ULEY! DON'T YOU-" Emily can only look at her phone before looking at Sam and the boys behind him while crossing her arms, "You have about five seconds before she calls back, or five minutes before she's on the front porch." Sam can only chuckle before looking at Paul then back to Emily. "Paul imprinted. On Y/N"

Emily can only stare in shock before it starts to register in her head, "Y/N Y/N. My Y/N. Best friend Y/N. With Paul." Sam can only shake his head, "Yup."

Emily found a way to get you to meet the guys, more specifically Paul. In a way he was grateful, but he also wanted to be able to talk to you without Emily meddling.

Eventually he did work up the nerve to ask for your number, with the help of Sam distracting Emily. After a while the two of you began talking. He was dead set on trying to make you catch feelings for him before you found out about the legends and the imprint, but he quickly found out that wouldn't be possible.

The pack walked in on you desperately trying to get Emily to open the door to the room. "Come on Em. Don't make me pick the lock. It's only for a couple months." "You just came back! You can't leave again!" Everyone can hear Emily's voice crack, like she's been crying, making Sam instantly try to open the door as he looks at you, "What happened?"

Before you can say anything Emily rips open the door with tears streaming down her face, "She's leaving." Sam's quick to pull her into a hug as he looks at you. You finally notice everyone staring at you, your eyes fall on the man you've quickly started to fall for and spend all your free time texting.

You quickly turn your attention to Sam's questioning eyes and answer the question everyone wants to ask, "I'm getting deployed. They need more medical staff on base in Afghanistan. Sargeant personally came down to inform me. He said anywhere between 3 months and 2 years. I. I leave within the next week or so."

Feeling everyone's eyes on you starts to feel like it's suffocating you. You've built a bond with everyone, some stronger than others, so you can't help but push past everyone to head outside and climb into your car, leaving.

Paul found you at the beach, staring at the waves with your toes in the sand. He sat himself down next to you in silence for a couple minutes. He ran his finger down one of the scars on your thigh, "Tell the story."

You spoke without moving your eyes off of the water, "My first tour. We were on our way back to base, checking a few things, making sure it was safe. A guy we missed. Jumped out with a knife, I was the closest and the smallest so he went for me. Didn't think he expected me to fight back. He got a couple good ones in, before he was knocked off. Had to stitch myself closed before I bled out."

Paul doesn't say anything when you finish talking, you just sigh and put your head on your arms and close your eyes, "She does this every time. She knows it's my job. It's what I love doing." "She just doesn't want you to leave. No one does."

When there's only a couple days until you leave Sam and Paul show úp at your door, "What are you doing here?" "There's something you need to know."

They proceed to tell you about the legends, how they're real and goes on to tell you about imprints. Sam proceeds to tell you, "It's why Emily's so upset. She feels that the imprint would keep you here, with her."

You stare at the ground in silence with your arms crossed, not knowing what to think. It's obvious you're being told, well one because they just flat out said you're Paul's soulmate, but because you're leaving and there's a small chance you won't return.

Sam leaves saying this isn't a conversation he needs to be in, before showing himself out.

"Say something." Your eyes break away from the floor to Paul's face, who is searching yours for... anything. "What does this mean?" He's taken back, he never thought about what the imprint would mean to the two of you, most imprints get together almost immediately, but that doesn't seem possible for the two of you. "I. Don't know."

The two of you stay up until almost 3 in the morning trying to figure out what to do. Finally deciding on keeping the same relationship you already have, and if it moves forward, that happens on its own.

When the day comes for you to leave, everyone wants to send you off. They're all so used to seeing you in regular clothes that they almost can't recognize you in uniform. There's a big feeling of sadness above everyone's heads, everyone hugs you before your flight gets called. Paul and Emily's hugs last the longest, and you almost don't let go. "Captain, it's time to go." "I'm coming lieutenant."

You can't even bring yourself to look back as you board the plane. Knowing if you do, you'll go against orders and stay.

Every week you get a giant envelope filled with smaller envelopes with letters from everyone. You laugh as you look at the pictures, sending back some of your own. Occasionally you're able to FaceTime with everyone but that's rare.

As more time passes, through letters to and from Paul, your bond strengthens. You hear from almost everyone that he snaps more but is quick to apologise, no one blaming him since his imprint is in a different country. When it hits 7 months of you being gone, you become his girlfriend. When you're homesick, you reread that letter and push through, counting the days until you get to go home.

After almost a year of you being deployed, you finally get to go home. You don't tell anyone except Paul about when you get to go home. Anytime Emily asks, you tell her you're not sure, but you know sometime soon.

As soon as you walk through the gates, you're swept off your feet. You and Paul stand there for what feels like hours in his arms, finally feeling like you're home before you separate. He's quick to pull you to his car, so he can take you home, knowing you want to shower before heading to Emily's to surprise her and eat.

The whole ride you make small talk, his hand never leaving yours, smiles never leaving your faces until you're in your house and grabbing clothes to change into.

You take a quick shower happy to use your own soap and scented lotion. You happily skip into your living room feeling so comfortable in your skinny jeans and crop top. You slip on your sneakers before pulling Paul out of the house so you can see your best friend.

When you get to Emily's Paul goes in first, everyone noticing he's in a better mood. "Did you FaceTime her? Without us!" Paul can only shake his head before you burst in and tackle Emily to the ground, it taking her a second to register what just happened before Paul points, "That's why."

It takes a second for it to register in Emily's head, what just happened. As soon as it does, she immediately starts squeezing you so tight Paul can practically feel it. "YOURE HERE!" You can only smile down at her while nodding. The first words to leave your mouth, "Please tell me you just made food. I've eaten MRE's for almost a year."

#paul lahote x reader #paul lahote imagine #paul lahote #twilight #twilight imagine #emily young #sam uley

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jennycalendar · 3 years

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my top ten calendiles fics (that i wrote)

this rec list took me a solid chunk of time to compile, because my fics are my babies and i honestly wanna throw quite a few of them up here. but EVENTUALLY i stopped being indecisive and finally managed to get this sorted, so here goes! if you wanna read some of my stuff, this is the stuff that i am the most proud of/in love with/would cry if someone asked me leading questions about it + drew me fanart of it. these are not ranked except for the top two, because the first one is my baby and the second one is still very beloved to me.

under the cut, because i have loving commentary!

1. as day follows night (multi-chapter)

Looking for a safe place to stay after her accidental murder of the Deputy Mayor, Faith Lehane allies herself with a mysteriously powerful witch—and stumbles into a fairytale mystery that's bigger than anything she could have anticipated.

(this fic is my goddamn baby. this fic is my C H I L D. this fic is the fic that i took extensive notes for and spent most of my freshman year of college thinking about and ended up as this terrifying love letter to fairy tales and jenny calendar and the complexity of the way she chooses to love people. i love this fic with every fiber of my being and always will.)

2. i still want to be your girl (multi-chapter)

Five years ago, Jenny Calendar ran from Sunnydale and didn't come back. Now, with the First threatening Sunnydale and the Slayer line, she's returned to help stop the apocalypse--but Rupert Giles isn't the man she remembers, and he isn't exactly delighted to have her back in his life again.

(i have a very persistent soft spot for later-seasons giles, but this was one of the few fics where i went “okay but what about battle-hardened jenny” and i’m very proud of the result. it was really fun to think about what might have changed about jenny over the course of five years, and now that i’m thinking about it, i might be really interested in writing a giles pov of this fic at some point? that’s totally a concept to come back to at some point. anyway.)

3. kind of like hydrogen peroxide

Here was the problem: Ripper had no idea how to talk to Jenny without somehow managing to make her want to kill him.

(i do NOT deserve rights if a fic from the ripper au doesn’t make its way onto this list, and this one is my very favorite. i love thinking about dumb teenage giles who pretends to be a rebel but is actually very very soft and very very in love with his equally dumb and genuinely rebellious girlfriend.)

4. spirit-touched

“Thank you, Buffy,” Giles said, “but I would prefer to conduct this research on my own. I’ll be looking into some rather…” He felt himself blushing, and resented it. “Some rather intimate details of ghost-human relations.”

“What does that—oh god, you want to figure out how to have sex with Ms. Calendar,” said Buffy.

(making this the first smutfic i posted was still the most cursed power move i have ever pulled off. anyway that influx of asks in 2016 about ghost jenny and human giles and their sex life inspired this and it ended up being SO funny and SO sweet and i am SO proud of it.)

5. very really married

Giles and Jenny's flights to Sunnydale both stop over in Las Vegas. On the same day. Naturally, a chance encounter leads to a drunken marriage, one that they mutually agree to keep up for appearances.

Which is to say: Giles is going to have to figure out how to hide his fake marriage from his new Slayer (and everyone else) while also hiding his new Slayer from his fake wife (and everyone else). And his complex feelings for Jenny aren't helping anything.

(EVEN NOW, THIS FIC MAKES ME GIGGLE TO THINK ABOUT. i am saving my reread of this particular gem for a rainy day, because it was my love letter to season one and my daydreamy fantasy re: what it would look like if giles and jenny had silly odd-couple energy that really just came from them being fake married and badly hiding it as they fall very deeply in love.)

6. days in goodness spent

This feeling—whatever Giles is feeling—this is bone-deep. He’s never felt it before. He’s been in love before, he’s admired someone before, he’s respected someone before, but this feels like all of those three things held together by something else he can’t quite name. He searches, desperately, for the words that will tell Jenny this, but nothing that has been written can describe the way it feels to be held by her right now.

(In which Rupert Giles gets the chance to fall in love all the way, and it changes him just a little.)

(this one didn’t immediately come to mind when i was drawing up the list, but my brief rereads led me to conclude that it is an underappreciated gem! i’ve written a lot of different takes on giles and jenny’s relationship, but i particularly love calling giles out for idealizing jenny. also i like that this is more abstract than some of my other older pieces, where i really get into the nuts and bolts of wanting to depict Every Single Part of giles and jenny’s relationship trajectory. this one has more fun with the flow of the story.)

7. no one else could heal my pain

“Friday,” Giles echoed.

“Yeah. As an overnight weekend trip to hunt down some books I need.” Ms. Calendar smiled playfully at him. “Isn’t that the kind of thing you’d do for fun anyway?”

(this one was SO recent and SO fun! it’s kind of my love letter to the standalone longfics i consumed voraciously when i was fourteen, because there are some really great older calendiles fics that are just long and winding adventure-y narratives about the two of them goofing off and falling in love. i wanted to echo that here a little bit and it was a delight to write.)

8. myosotis latifolia

Years and years ago, the truth would spill out, and Rupert—in his endless romanticism—would take her hands and tell her she only needed him by her side to feel welcome and loved. But it’s been over a decade since they’ve been that close, and those years have created a distance between them just as insurmountable as the distance between them, now, on the steps leading into his lavish gardens.

(Rupert Giles is an esteemed member of the Watchers' Council, as well as a happily married father. Jenny Calendar knows that that's never been what he wanted.)

(ahaha this one is a big ouch moment but i really love it regardless? i think that giles and jenny are kinda fundamentally incompatible in a lot of ways, and part of the intrigue of their relationship is watching them try and figure out how to compromise and adjust after years of being rigid and inflexible individuals -- giles intellectually, jenny emotionally. so this fic is a lot about that.)

9. the grieving process

After Buffy's death, Giles makes his way to Jenny in LA.

(i don’t know why this one still sticks with me! it just! does! it holds up and i love it and if you wanna read about giles and jenny falling in love in a way that is healthy and authentic without any secrets -- but also obviously very sad -- definitely pick this one up.)

10. decently clothed

“Jenny, are you selecting my wardrobe based solely on what is and isn’t easy to divest me of?”

“…no,” said Jenny.

“That’s not even remotely convincing.”

(i wrote this one during a particularly difficult time in my life, and it was a really special moment for me, because i’d just come out of a period where it had been difficult for me to find the time or emotional energy to write. whenever i return to it, this fic is suffused in that warm and hopeful joy i felt when i posted it and realized that i had not, in fact, lost my touch. so it’s always gonna mean the world to me.

plus it is very silly and sweet! my specialties.)

#fic #calendiles #so i stayed up till 3am for this. i do not deserve rights anymore

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punksarahreese · 3 years

Text

Letters | A Chance Meeting (Twice Over)

Nosdecember day 12 | @neworleansspecial

Teen!au; Sarah and Ava’s struggle to keep in contact

CW: narcissistic abuse, gaslighting, need-panic and PTSD themes from said abuse, drug/alcohol/gambling mention, homophobia

***

Ava,

I know I haven’t answered your texts in a while. By the time you get this it will probably be a couple weeks since I last messaged. I promise I would never ignore you, what happened is out of my control.

Mom and her boyfriend broke up. Since then, she’s been adamant that we forget our trip ever happened. She threw out all our things from South Africa already, including the t-shirts we bought together. She said I can’t text you anymore.

It’s not fair, I know. I tried for a couple weeks to keep in contact through messages, I didn’t want to worry you, but she found out. She takes my phone at night now, she reads all my texts. I’m sorry, Ava; I don’t want to ignore you, I promise.

If this letter gets to you, send one back if you wanna. My friend said you can mail things to her address, she won’t open them, just so my mother doesn’t take them from me. I’ve attached the address and her name too, if you wanna write me back. I understand if you’re upset with me, just know I didn’t mean to cut you off.

I miss you,

Sarah

Sarah did her best to be subtle as she crept down the stairs, purple envelope burning a hole in her pocket. She hoped her mother was asleep so she wouldn’t have to answer any questions. She did have an alibi in mind though, her school bag hanging over one shoulder and library card on the lanyard around her neck. She had long since mastered the art of lying to get out of her mother’s manipulation, which Sarah feared would progress to her becoming a narcissistic liar like the woman who raised her. Still, that was a worry for future Sarah; right now she just wanted to get to the post office.

Luckily she had been asleep, wine glass abandoned on the kitchen counter and ¼ of a bottle left beside the couch. Sarah didn’t want to think about what kind of a mood she would be in when she got back. The drinking wasn’t always a problem, it came and went as boyfriends left or she lost jobs due to her unaddressed issues. Sometimes it was too much wine, other times she turned to marijuana or spending rent money on scratch lottery tickets. Sarah never knew which one of her mother’s coping mechanisms would appear during an episode, she just knew better than to mention it when it happened. The narcissism never left though, that was something Sarah had been accustomed to since before her dad even left the picture.

Nevertheless, she made it out of the house and to the post office. 30 minutes later, Sarah had mailed her letter, though she did have to pay a bit of a ridiculous fee to mail it where she wanted. That was another feat that made her painfully aware of the distance between her and the best friend she hadn’t seen for months.

Three weeks after that, Sarah’s friend pulled her aside at lunch. She pressed a cream coloured envelope into her hand, not saying a word but giving her a soft smile. Sarah didn’t open the letter until she was on the bus ride home, but the fact that Ava had actually responded to her had the other girl giddy all day.

The replying letter was longer than Sarah expected, two pages of Ava saying she was so glad to hear from her. Ava was sorry that Sarah’s mother was being so cruel, stating that she wished things could be different. What got Sarah the most was the lilac scent wafting from the paper, Ava’s favourite perfume. Of course Ava would be the kind of person to spritz her stationary with her signature scent, just as much as she was the person to fold her letter into threes and seal it with a little anatomical heart sticker. It was the little things like that that made Sarah miss her even more, the little quirks that she would always associate with the other girl.

This started a bit of a routine. The letters took about a week to get to Ava and hers took a bit longer to make it to the US, for whatever reason. Their communication was not the greatest, slower and less frequent than either would like, but they made it work for a while. There was one day that Sarah’s friend, their in-between for correspondence, dragged her to her locker. She gave Sarah a teasing look when she passed her the small package along with a letter, saying that her mom had been confused about the mail since it was less conspicuous than usual. Still, it made Sarah’s day and she spent her afternoon in the corner of the library, going over Ava’s words.

The gift had been a dainty silver necklace, the charm attached to it making Sarah smile widely. It was a dopamine molecule, a neurotransmitter responsible for feelings of love. It was also appropriate because a lack of dopamine causes anxiety, which they both knew plagued Sarah greatly. While cheesy, the gift was so Ava and it was the first gift Sarah had received in a while. It made Sarah’s heart ache as much as it made her happy; what she wouldn’t give to hug her best friend at that point.

After putting the necklace on, she reread the letter. There was one portion that made her want to cry, to drop everything and figure out how to book a flight to South Africa even as a minor.

You’re always on my mind Sarah, as much as I’m embarrassed to admit it. Even though we’ve only spent two weeks in person together, I think you might be my favourite person. These last few months of letters have been a blessing and a curse. I miss your voice, your laugh, and I miss staying up until 4 AM just to talk to you. I miss you more than I thought I would and I’m so sorry things turned out this way. If I could, I would bring you here to live with me in a heartbeat. Forget parents and manipulation, you don’t deserve this. I’m worried, Sarah, You’re so far away and I don’t want to lose you. I know it's childish of me to say, but I just want to run away with you.

That, paired with the love signoff etched into the sweet, lilac scented paper, was enough to make Sarah weep. Ava cared about her, a lot, and Sarah couldn’t properly convey how important that was to her. She hadn’t felt truly loved in God knows how long, so the fact that she was so far away from and so cut off from the one person who made her feel special was so frustrating.

She read Ava’s letters over whenever she had bad days. It was her escape from her mother’s constant manipulation and gaslighting; a reminder that someone out there did love Sarah. She let herself get lost in Ava’s words, the scent of her perfume, and the feeling of her necklace under her fingertips. It wasn’t the same, it didn’t heal her like a hug would have, but it was enough in the moment. She didn’t want to admit how many times she had cried over those letters, though the tearstained paper would be indicative enough. She missed Ava so much and she so badly needed to hear her voice, just one more time. Hearing her speak those words, the promises she made, in that low accented tone would have been Sarah’s breaking point. Still, it was the one thing she wanted more than anything.

They exchanged letters for almost six months, to the point where they had their respective postal systems memorized. Over those months, despite everything, they even became closer. At some point, Ava admitted she had feelings for Sarah. Her letter was filled with apologies and promises that it shouldn’t ruin their friendship. Sarah wrote back and shyly admitted her own feelings, in an emotional note that ended up being smudged from tears. They weren’t dating, they never actually said that explicitly, but they knew they loved each other. The contact was so hard, it strained their relationship so much, but it was what both girls needed. As time went on Ava had no qualms with saying she loved her and every time Sarah read those words she felt her heart swell. Ava loved her, she really did. It made Sarah feel like the luckiest girl in the world, as cheesy as it was.

Sarah had just returned home from school, another envelope tucked carefully into her day planner, when her world flipped upside down. Her mother was in her room, reeking of alcohol, and she had Sarah’s hidden shoebox on the bed. All of Ava’s letters had been saved in that box, tucked away in the back of her closet so she could reread them when she needed to feel loved. The letters were strewn across the floor, some ripped to shreds already, and Sarah felt her heart drop.

“What did I say?” Her mother’s bleary eyes focused on her angrily, “Why do you think you can disobey me like this?”

“Mom, please-”

“No, Sarah,” the letter she had in her hands was tossed at her feet, “I don’t need any excuses. You think you own this house and my rules don’t matter? You’re planning to leave me, aren’t you? You’re going to run away to that little bitch and leave me. Just like your father did.”

Sarah was already crying, shaking with panic because it was all too much. Her letters were almost all destroyed, her mother’s anger palpable. It didn’t matter that Sarah knew she was drunk, it didn’t matter that her brain was telling her she was being manipulative and gaslighting her again. Her words stung regardless, the weight of everything crashing down on her. Sarah couldn’t breathe, was already flinching away from the woman who was supposed to love her unconditionally. Her brain was screaming at her to run but all she could do was sob out apologies because fleeing wasn’t an option.

“You’re just as bad as he is, as bad as all of them. You all want to hurt me, after all I’ve done for you? How ungrateful are you, Sarah Reese? Do you even love your mother?”

The fighting went on for what felt like hours. Sarah was beyond terrified, panic overrunning her system as she took every insult and lie her mother threw at her. She watched as she ripped up the remaining letters, tipped Sarah’s backpack upside down and found the one she hadn't even had a chance to read yet. She followed after her begging as she took the scraps of paper to the woodstove in their old kitchen, trying to reason with her even though there was no point. Her mother just sneered at her as she tossed the papers into the fire, shoving them under the burning kindling with the poker.

“Your phone and laptop are mine,” her words were hissed out, “You don’t leave this house for anything but school. That friend of yours who helped you send those disgusting letters? You will never speak to her again, you hear me?”

“Mom,” Sarah sobbed, “Don’t do this to me.”

“Sarah, I’m trying to help you. You don’t need them, none of them are your friends; they will only hurt you. That little Ava bitch doesn’t love you. No one loves you but me, baby; they all lie.”

Sarah’s stomach turned at that, wanting to throw up and scream at the same time. She shook her head fiercely, Ava did love her. She did, she told Sarah so.

“Mom, I love her,” she whispered brokenly, “Please. This isn’t me trying to hurt you. I love her and she says she loves me too.”

“Baby, no. You’re sick; this isn’t okay. You may think this gay thing is normal and okay but it’s not. It’s ruining my little girl and I won’t stand for it. You will stay here with me and that is final, you understand?”

The pet names were said in a sickeningly sweet way and Sarah knew she would never win in this argument. Her mother’s word was law and Sarah had to accept that. She would have to obey or she would get sent to yet another summer camp trying to brainwash her into liking men. The mood change was evidently another manipulation tactic, to make Sarah believe her mother was the only one who did love her. The cutting her off from everyone was one too, it was the same reason Sarah wasn’t allowed to have a job. She had to be completely dependent on her mother; that way she could never run away. It was horrible, made Sarah feel like a prisoner in her own home, but at the same time she was used to it. She couldn’t breathe, didn’t know how she would cope with this anymore.

“Go to your room, Sarah. We’re not speaking of this any longer.”

Sarah rushed back to her room, which was still an absolute disaster. Her things were overturned and broken, her clothes torn out of the dresser and her mattress half off the bed frame. All she could do was sob as she collapsed onto the floor, shaking like a leaf. She didn’t know how to calm down, didn’t know what would happen now. She needed Ava, she needed to hear her voice. Her brain was overrun with her mother’s words, the claim that Ava would never love her and that Sarah’s love was in some way disgusting. She just needed to hear her say it out loud, to promise that she did care about Sarah and her mother was lying.

It was all lies; everything was a lie. Sarah didn’t know what to believe anymore. All she knew was she was suffocating and she couldn’t live like this anymore; not without the girl she loved.

#HI THIS IS SAD IM SORRY #this is what happens when you’re the daughter of a narcissist #Sarah can have some more trauma... as a treat <3 #anyway... this sucks but whatever it’s one in the morning hsjskdk #my aus #my-writing #ava bekker #sarah reese #reesker #teen!ava #teen!sarah #teen!au #a chance meeting (twice over)#nosdecember #userglow #mutuals #neworleansspecial

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choiceskatie · 3 years

Note

6 & 10 from writers ask game! 💕

Let the records show that I attempted to start writing my answer two hours ago and then ended up telling dis girl about the remaining 10 chapters worth of Gone Girl condensed into a short story lmao (and then I got distracted lol but here we are)

6) What is a favorite scene of yours that you’ve written, and why does it stand out to you?:

Lmao honestly, with you asking me this, the first scene that comes to mind is the Thomas smut🤣

Why does it stand out to you?

Because it made me horny as fuuuuuuck?

Hahahahahaha I jest, I’ll try to keep it PG lol. Another scene that comes to mind is Anna going in on Sam in the first chapter of The Blessed Unrest. Although Anna did finally grow a backbone and stand up for herself in TNA, I don’t think there were enough opportunities for her to lay her cards on the table and display how she really felt to Sam until it blew up in the penultimate chapter. And even then it was because she was trying to do right by him and the twins, not because she’d had enough of his shit. So, writing this was almost purifying lmao.

She closed her eyes as she exhaled a shaky breath. When they opened again, she was pure fire. Blazing in her eyes and coursing through her veins. “You. That’s the fucking problem.” Her eyes narrowed as she tore his hands from her jaw. “When I agreed to come on this trip, I was still living on empty notions of you getting us out of this situation! Do you remember what you told me at the High Line? That you’d find us a clean way out of this mess. You promised. I was so high off your affection and blinded by goddamn libido that I foolishly believed every word you said! Then reality set in on the flight here. You waited until I was trapped in a 9 hour flight for a trip with no return date to drop the bomb you were waiting on. That, in no uncertain terms, you would be going ahead with the wedding, cornering me whilst in fucking post orgasmic bliss! I hate to break it to you Sam, but me hanging around as your mistress for years is not a clean break. Was it your plan all along to do it here, in Italy? Are you on some sort of power trip that you want to see the face of the girl’s heart you’re breaking as you stand at the end of the aisle, waiting to marry someone else?”

10) Is there an ending that you wrote that you wish you could go back and change?

Lmao people finish series? Wuuuuuut?

I don’t know, I guess it would have to be no! I think for me, it’s more that I wish I’d changed certain things throughout the story so I could end up with a different ending. If I ever reread my fics I’m always like ‘damn, it would have been much better if that had happened’ hahaha.

Thanks for the ask, angel! 💛

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jasperwhitcock · 4 years

Text

equinox | chapter 06 –– “open book”

here is chapter chapter six of my bella as a vampire and edward as a human fanfic inspired by an au that @bellasredchevy posted. you can read the new chapter on AO3 or here. i post updates on AO3 or on tumblr using the #equinoxjw tag. but sometimes it doesn’t work. so. um.

the last time i wrote for this, it was BEFORE midnight sun came out. and now, midnight sun has been out for two weeks (oops...now FOUR weeks), i’ve finished it, i am miserable as a result, and finally, SHOOK. here’s why: in the last chapter, i mentioned esme’s aversion to having her floors ruined by rain. in midnight sun, edward mentioned that multiple times. MY MIND.

everyone reading this is thinking like, yeah, sure “your mind” OR you’re dumb and should not be finding any humor that your lizard brain came up with the same basic idea as smeyer, known racist. maybe esme was just written with hardly any personality so it wasn’t that difficult to end up concocting the same idea. and… okay, you’re right. but in those moments, let me tell you, i was really feeling something. smeyer, you reading this?

to catch up since i’ve been busy, i reread my other chapters. and i really need to go back and edit them. so thank u for being here & bearing with me. hehe

also… the beige… that’s for y’all.

just a lil baby warning: there are conversations revolving around religion in this chapter. i wanted to mention that as a warning for the sake of anyone who has had negative experiences with church/religion (like me!) whom this topic makes uncomfortable. the local doctor and his children are VAMPIRES. you have been warned.

It was entirely unrealistic –– the possibility of running out of time –– but still, I expedited through the forest, the greenery blurring by me in long unfocused streaks. Although if I paid attention, I knew I’d still be able to see every microscopic detail. The fluffy moss growing along the trunks of the ground, the iridescent droplets of rain dotting the ferny leaves, the patterns in the wood of the trees. But I cared little to as I barreled forward, hurtling over uprooted trees and bounding over large pools of rainwater nestled in the muddy forest floor.

I lost a shoe leaping over the last fifty yard stretch of river, so I kicked the other off carelessly in midair. The shoe fell into the water with a powerful splash from the height. Alice could bite me later. I was in too great of a hurry to deal with her chastisement now. If she really cared for this pair of shoes, she could dive for it. Alice! The thought of my sister made me realize a reason I could actually be late. I needed a change of clothes.

As I fell back to the earth, reaching a hand forward to grasp onto a convenient branch, I focused, envisioning my arrival at the house, the flight of the stairs, and the knock on the door of her room. I pictured asking her my request, and though I had no intention of actually following through with these steps, I hoped the thought was enough for Alice to see what I wanted. It should be, because if it wasn’t, I’d have to go into the house anyways, but I really didn’t want to waste time.

I swung lightly onto the bough of another spruce, and nimbly travelled this way from branch to branch, juggling the journal all the while by throwing it into the air between trees and catching it again. I could run fast and delicately enough to avoid muddying my feet, but with how unfocused I was in my hurry, I didn’t want to risk needing to stop to wash off.

If they hadn’t been concerned already, now would really be the time that my family genuinely considered my descent into insanity, seeing me wildly and maniacally swing through the trees towards the house like Tarzan after having only melodramatically left hours prior.

I knew it wouldn’t last, but I felt somehow liberated by the realizations that I’d come to in my wintry jungle. After hours of considering the right way forward navigating my now complicated future, I’d decided to face it head on. To stubbornly confront the problem. I was tired of feeling unlike myself and feeling distanced from my family, though my new resolution might encourage the rift I’d only just mended with Rosalie. Even with my grievances, I still enjoyed this life, the strength I’d found in it. The sense of rightness and belonging that contrasted how I’d felt so weak and out of step as a human. I wanted to bask in that again. I wanted to take action.

I decided the best way to reattain that freedom was rather than leave the boy alone, I’d challenge the vision. Seek him out this morning. Return the journal to him. Sit beside him. And in my ability to do so, I’d then prove his irrelevance to me, his powerlessness over my self control.

And although it was still a ridiculous thought to entertain, if I did find in me some concern or care for him, then that’d be even better. It’d certainly be strange, but it’d also strengthen my resolve to leave him be with his own life rather than make any choices he couldn’t even be knowledgeable enough about to consent to. Then, once I’d done so, I could truly leave him alone for good. I’d toyed with completely ignoring him from the beginning as I said I would, but then I decided that outcome wouldn’t develop from inaction. I was far too headstrong to leave this alone without trying to face it.

I will admit that a part of me was curious about Alice’s vision, curious about a friend or even a partner in this life… But the thought of Edward as that partner made me recoil. He was too irritating –– not the ideal candidate to spend an eternity with.

He was smart, though. And kind too, I noted, thinking of the way he’d cheered up the girl in the hospital… But definitely irritating. I’d have endless time to decode what had made him so relentless and smart-mouthed, but once I’d made the discovery, what then?

I had spent hours turning the little brown journal in my hands over and over, studying the worn leather, the folds and creases, tempted to open it and uncover his secrets. During an hour where I’d been resolved to go forth with pretending he didn’t exist, I’d even considered sneaking back to his house and finding my way in to leave the journal by his side so that I wouldn’t have to give it back to him myself in person. But that –– and also privily reading it without his permission –– seemed indefensibly invasive.

I didn’t mind being a vampire if that’s what I was. But that didn’t mean I had any desire to fulfill some of the creepier of the tropes.

Once I reached the tree closest to the garage, I tightroped onto a thin branch. Then, cautious as to not break it, I gently pushed down and sprung off, diving like a swimmer seventy feet down, the journal clasped between my outstretched hands. The distance was very short, and I landed softly, focusing greatly on doing so in a cautiously tactile way that wouldn’t cannonball me through the building and barreling into the ground. I rolled like a bowling ball to a stop on the vegetative, vine-covered roof in a cluster of silky honeysuckle and tickling lavender wisteria.

Even now all these years later, I felt kind of giddy at the impossible physics of my body’s capability for control, so I couldn’t help but laugh a little. I even laughed a little more thinking again of how my family might see my behavior –– me laughing here in the flowers –– as lunacy in how drastically it differed from the darkness of the personal rain cloud I’d been carrying over me.

From the house, I heard a deep chuckle and the sound of a scoff, confirming that I did have an audience. It must be Emmett mocking the impressiveness of my nosedive. I smiled, feeling very much like myself again.

I hopped off the roof to the ground and entered the garage. Sure enough, Alice had laid out a small pile of clothes for me for the upcoming school day. I stripped, unceremoniously dropping the garments I was wearing into a pile on the floor and reached for the clothing. Then, I groaned.

“Alice!” I hissed her name like an expletive. I thought we’d moved past my sister’s insistence on using me as her personal doll, but it seemed this was her attempt for a revival. Maybe she was determined to punish me for the way I’d destroyed my shoes. Rather than a sensible sweater and jeans, Alice had taken advantage of my hurried need and elected to pick out a cropped turtleneck sweater and a mini skirt, both black. The sweater wasn’t awful in that the crop wouldn’t be exposing with the high waist of the skirt, but the bodycon fit of the skirt, the crocodile print of the polyurethane, and the ludicrous split up the side… Alice was deranged. This had to have come from her own closet.

She had the good sense to include sheer black tights to hide some of the disconcerting flawlessness and freaky whiteness of my skin –– not that that would matter much in how off-putting and contrasting I’d look in all black anyways –– but I’d have preferred converse over the matching black boots. At least the heel of the boot was more reasonable than I’d expect from her. Not more reasonable than converse, though.

I imagined showing up to Edward’s house. Hey, Edward! Here I am to drive you to school, pale and ridiculous. Also, I’m a vampire. Here’s your journal.

I considered the short run to my room in the house, but again, I was already running late…

I tugged the clothes on and hopped into the pearly white car, throwing the journal into the passenger seat. As I reversed out of the garage, I felt thankful for the engine upgrades Rosalie worked on that allowed for the instant rapidity of the acceleration.

I spun sharply, letting the car spin out with an obnoxiously loud screech until I was facing the long drive away from the house. In the rearview mirror, I watched as Rosalie entered the garage, her golden eyes shocked and her mouth open as I sped away.

My reckless driving only warranted a few irritated honks on my way to Edward’s house through the morning traffic –– one dark green Honda specifically gave me a long piece of their mind when I cut them off –– before I was whipping around the corner onto his street.

Just as I pulled in front of the lonely house, I watched as Edward casually jogged down the steps of his porch, his sleek backpack hanging carelessly off one shoulder and an apple in his hand.

His tangle of bronze hair was like a low burning flame against the muted monochromatism of the grey house and the grey sky and the grey pavement. Today, he wore a light tan turtleneck that clung tightly to his chest, slim beige trousers, and a long black coat that ended above the knees. His fancy belt, his long socks, and his suede boots were all black too. I didn’t particularly consider him to be someone who cared much about what others thought about him, but he seemed pretty meticulously dressed. I wondered if he dressed to impress others or dressed for himself. Neither decision particularly mattered, but it’d been so long since I thought about something so human –– the thought process of selecting what to wear and considering how you wanted to present yourself.

The clothes I wore ceased to matter long ago. I never particularly had an interest in fashion, so it was easy to allow Alice to select my wardrobe. And for the most part, she got it right. Only when I found her selections to be impractical, such as today, did I really care. But it was a rarity that she tried to push me too far out of my comfort zone anymore. She’d given up on me, or maybe she had just become more clever about finding the right opportunities to dress me in something absurd… I liked things that I could easily move around in.

Alice would approve of his outfit, I thought. Maybe if he liked fashion, they really would get along. But that didn’t matter because I had no intentions of involving Alice and her freaky little visions in my experiment.

Seeing me parked there, he froze for a moment, before his lips curved into a huge smile. Edward laughed, throwing his apple up in the air and catching it again. He half-jogged forward to meet me. I took a deep, clean breath full of the leather scents of the car’s interior and rolled down the window, leaning forward towards him.

Edward bent over so that his head could duck down to see my face through the window, and he shook his head again, chuckling.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Hello, Edward,” I smiled pleasantly, trying to play nice.

He eyed me suspiciously, but the glint in his pretty green eyes was teasing, the grin that lit them up never fading.

“I’ve come to bring you this, fresh from the scene of the crime––“ I grasped hold of the leather bound book in my hand, raising it up to wave it before setting it back down, “––and to offer you a ride to school. I’m sure it’d be a humbling experience for you to walk, but I felt bad about your pretty car being flattened like a pancake.”

“You’re not irritated with me?” Edward asked, slightly cocking his head to the side.

“Are you irritated with me?” I countered.

“Never,” he beamed.

“Well, then we can call a truce,” I half smiled. “You’re not curious as to why I’m forcing you to carpool, making your getting to school my business?”

“The wasting of finite resources is everyone’s business. But of course, I am curious.”

“As usual,” I mumbled under my breath. Hesitantly, I breathed in. It was like pulling the chord on a hot-air ballon with the way his scent ripped my throat into flames. I was grateful for the distraction of someone grumbling to themself as they turned onto the street, because instead of spiraling, I was able to instead laugh as I realized who I had cut off a few traffic lights ago. I looked in the rearview mirror and sure enough recognized Sara, the sandy blonde, driving the ugly green Honda.

“Hmm… Well, I wouldn’t want to upset your girlfriend––” I bit my lip momentarily to keep myself from laughing, “––so I wouldn’t be offended if you said no.”

“Who?” Edward asked, but his smile had faded as his eyes watched my lips intently.

He looked back into my eyes after a second, blinking as he realized I was staring at him staring at me, then up at the car awkwardly pulling in behind me.

“Oh,” he chuckled as he realized who I meant. “I’ll be just a moment.”

I watched in my side-view mirror as Edward approached Sara on the drivers’ side.

“Hey, Sara,” he said as she cranked her window down.

“Hey, Ed,” she grumbled, kind of irritated. I should have felt guilty for disrupting her plan, but her irritation with Edward instead provoked my nerves. Also, the fact that she called him Ed bothered me too. “I guess you made it out alive. I’d have been here sooner, but Cullen cut me off. I got suck at a red light.”

“Did she?” Edward laughed. “Well, I’m really sorry, Sara. This is so nice of you, but Bella offered to drive me to school today. I’d cancel now that you’re here, but after she saved my life, I’d feel terrible doing so. Is it alright if I see you at school?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” she snapped, trying to seem unbothered despite the tightness of her jaw and the edge in her voice.

“I’m sorry again, Sara. I really appreciate that you came here,” Edward smiled a dazzling smile.

“No big deal. I’ll see you at school,” she lifted the corners of her lips once before turning away, her mouth in a tight line.

He sighed watching as she drove past me and away before a crooked smile reappeared on his face as he walked back to my car. I didn’t have time to wonder if he would have preferred to ride with her. It didn’t seem likely.

“…Ed?” I asked as he crossed back to the passenger side.

“You heard that?” Edward chuckled. He slid his backpack off his back, opened the door, and dipped his tall frame into the car. He picked up the journal before settling into the passenger’s side, adjusting the seat to make room for his legs and backpack. “I’m not particularly fond of that nickname. Or any, for that matter. My mother called me Teddy sometimes. I prefer Edward.”

“I do too,” I agreed, breathing in the potency of his fragrance. I clutched the steering wheel tightly and swallowed dryly.

“So,” he began once he was comfortable. “Are you feeling more open today?”

“No,” I answered as I began to drive towards the school.

Edward sighed, but he shook his head, amused. Clearly, he’d decided to play nice too. “Do you ever get tired of ambiguity, Bella?”

Yes.

“No,” I teased, rolling my eyes. “I enjoy being mysterious far too much.”

“Mysterious enough to keep me up at night,” he egged on.

“I’m sure you slept just fine.”

“How’d you sleep?” Edward asked. I looked over at him, ignoring the tingling of my tongue in anticipation of the taste of his sweet blood. I should have thought of a response, but I was too busy fighting off my instincts to think of a lie. His pretty eyes narrowed in thought as he analyzed my face and the dark circles beneath my golden eyes.

Suddenly, I froze, my muscles locking down as he reached forward, his hand gently touching my hair. I didn’t dare breathe as the heat of his skin enveloped me in warmth. His hand lingered for a moment before it pulled back, holding up a broken piece of fern.

“You had a leaf in your hair. How’d that get there?” Edward almost whispered, his lips curved into a half-smile.

A strange electricity throbbed through my body, and the sensation was so odd. Like my heartbeat should be thrumming loudly in my ears. Deafening. But my heart was frozen and dead, so I only heard the beat of Edward’s. We sat in silence for a moment as my mind spun in the dizziness.

“Maybe I should have accepted Sara’s offer,” he joked after a moment, laughing, but I wondered what he made of the affliction I was trying to hide on my face. Around him, no matter my attempts at subterfuge, it felt as though my face was an open book in which he could read all my secrets. I refocused my eyes on the road, too distracted by the warmth of his pale face and the prettiness of his green eyes as the forest flew by in the window behind him.

“Maybe,” I agreed, smiling softly, smiling sadly. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe you should jump out of the car and run before I accidentally kill you.

“But,” he mused gently, trying to keep the mood light and playful. “She probably doesn’t have heated seats.”

His effort to comfort the conflict raging within me that he didn’t even understand worked. I snorted.

I continued driving, thinking of ways to bring up the journal.

“You look lovely today, by the way,” he smiled, appraising me. “Which is not to say that you don’t on any other day, but you do look very pretty.”

I felt oddly incomplete as I waited for reactions my body was no longer capable of. Reactions I’d forgotten. There was another strange sensation in my cheeks as if they should be very warm.

My head whipped towards him in surprise, my eyebrows pulling up.

“What?” He immediately asked in shock, his heart beat picking up. My reaction didn’t totally alarm him though, because his lips were still pulled up at the corners. Edward seemed to always be smiling. Or maybe smirking was the better word. “Do you not get compliments often? I find that rather hard to believe.”

“No, it’s not that,” I relaxed my face. “I was just caught off guard. Lovely…That wasn’t particularly something I’d expect a seventeen year old boy to say.”

“Oh,” he relaxed, easily grinning again.

“Are you even seventeen?” I found myself smiling in return.

“Are you?” He countered.

My mood darkened as my lips dropped immediately, but I fixed the smile back onto my face so he couldn’t see how exposed I felt.

“You know, my mom used to say that I was born thirty five years old, and that I get more middle-aged every year.”

“Hmm…” Edward nodded, his eyes narrowed again as he scrutinized me. I wondered if this clarified some assumption he’d made about me.

I turned into the school parking lot. I saw the gleaming cherry redness of Rosalie’s ostentatious car and desperately hoped she was already inside one of the brick buildings.

“So,” he prompted, his tone mysteriously patronizing. “Did you read this?”

I glanced over to see the accusation in his eyes as he held up the journal, but he didn’t seem angry whatsoever. They were still light. Still playful.

“What? No, of course not,” I defended myself. But my voice was unpersuasive, the pitch coming out a little too high to give my words any credibility.

I parked beside Rosalie. The car was luckily empty, so I relaxed my grip on the steering wheel. Ha! As if my sister would have confronted me here, and I’d have driven away, effectively kidnapping Edward… I scoffed at myself. I clenched the hand Edward couldn’t see into a tight fist, concentrating all of my strength in my fight against temptation into the way my fingers dug into my palm.

I turned my face to look at Edward, whose face was condescending, his thick eyebrows pulled up in disbelief.

“I’m serious! Maybe I look guilty because I considered it, but I didn’t actually follow through.”

His face relaxed into a crooked smile. “Okay, I believe you. I’d have forgiven you anyways.”

“Does that mean if I ask you about the contents, you’ll share?” I asked eagerly. I’d read so many books in my life that this new mystery novel easily became just like another book I was dying to read.

“Absolutely not,” he shook his head, chuckling. Edward reached for his bag, winking at me, and opened his door, ducking his head to get out. I swiftly undid my seatbelt and was out beside him probably much too fast, my backpack slung onto my shoulder. For a moment, I wondered if my siblings needed their useless backpacks too since we typically drove this car to school, but I figured Alice must have rescued them from the trunk after seeing my plans for this morning.

He blinked, looking down at where I suddenly appeared.

“Why?” I inhaled through my mouth, grateful for the influx of fresh rainwater and firs that helped dilute Edward’s scent.

His heart thrummed in his chest, and being so close to him, the sound was like thunder surrounding me as I listened, becoming attuned to it. The splash of puddles as tires hightailed through the parking lot, the slam of locker doors as students got their books, and the chatter of kids as they entered the school all seemed like irrelevant ambiance now.

“Because,” Edward breathed. His breath was shaky, but his face remained cool. The sweetness of the smell washed over my face, and I clenched my fist again. “That wouldn’t be fair whatsoever.”

“And why not?” I demanded.

“You expect me to entrust you with all of my secrets when you won’t trust me with just one of yours?”

He wasn’t wrong. But I couldn’t exactly divulge anything about the accident. I was already breaking too many rules. My own rules. My own promises I’d made to my family.

“How about…” I considered, though my thoughts were headed in a dangerous direction. “If you happen to have any theories, you can share one, and I’ll either confirm or deny it.”

“Just one?”

“Yes.”

“How is that worth the very much intimate documentation of my entire mind, Bella? That’s hardly sufficient.”

“Fine, I don’t care about your stinking journal,” I snapped, stubbornly poking my chin in the air a fraction.

He surprised me by actually throwing his head back to laugh.

“Are you done?” I asked.

“You’ve got a bit of a temper, don’t you?” he considered this for a moment, beaming. “Okay, I’ll accept these conditions. But later.”

“Later?” I demanded, feeling a sense of injustice as I froze in place. He continued forward and took a bite of his apple. The juice spilled out sweetly into the air, but the fragrance was unappetizing and certainly not as sweet as Edward’s blood.

“Thank you for the ride, Bella. I’ll see you in biology.” Again, he winked, walking backwards. He saluted me, waving once with the journal in his other hand and then turned around, clearly enjoying having the upper hand as he and temptation disappeared into the crowd of students.

I stood there, my mouth propped open. The sensation of being watched started to creep up on me and sure enough, I turned to find Rosalie ten yards away outside of the building to her first period. Her eyes were dark, cold, and fierce with betrayal. Guiltily, I looked away and headed off towards my first class.

Throughout my morning classes, I tried not to think about my family’s –– or rather, Rosalie’s –– opinions on my decision this morning. At this, I failed miserably. As I imagined explaining how really if I didn’t stay away from the boy, it would prove that I actually could leave him alone and exercise control against Alice’s visions, I started to find my logic extremely flawed and unbelievable. Maybe I was making a mistake. Maybe I was just too pigheaded. I tried not to think about this too.

Instead, I thought again about the secrets of his journal. Wasn’t this essentially the symbol of everything I’d been obsessing over? All of my wonderings and curiosities as for why he was so annoying and his eyes so perceptive could all be unraveled in that little book. I wondered if I’d be disappointed once the mystery was unveiled. Maybe the journal –– and by extension, Edward himself –– was not as interesting as I thought. I may have just been fixating on this because it was something different. But I told myself it’d be better for me to be disappointed. The sooner I could move on with my life.

Throughout the day, a couple of the braver students asked for details about the accident but became disappointed when I didn’t offer up the dramatics they were hoping for. I felt too shameful to discredit Edward’s accounts, so I irresponsibly dismissed the opportunities to ensure the accident yesterday hadn’t exposed anything unusual about me or my family. Eventually, as my monotonous account of the events spread through the tiny school, kids stopped asking.

I was impatient to get to biology, but before then, I’d have to face my siblings at lunch. When the bell rang after fifth period, I walked much too quickly to the cafeteria, dreading arriving but very much eager to get it over with. As I weaseled my way through the hallway –– which wasn’t difficult because even in the familiarity of the school, we were typically provided a wide berth –– I overheard the conversation of two other juniors. I froze in place as my plans shifted for the day. They discussed the difficulty of today’s biology pop exam, and I realized I wouldn’t have the hour of the day the school allotted to speak with Edward, the excuse I could provide my family in my defense. A freshman nearly rammed into me from behind, not expecting my sudden stop. Whoever it was recoiled immediately.

Well, I wasn’t going to miss out on whatever explanation he planned to provide because of some trivial pop exam. I rearranged my lunch plans, appreciating the excuse to postpone another family confrontation. We could battle it out at the long oval table later if necessary.

I entered the cafeteria and was second in the lunch line, only selecting a glass lemonade bottle so that the emptiness in front of me wouldn’t be unnerving for Edward. I figured it’d be more disconcerting to leave a tray of food in front of me untouched. I headed to a round table in the corner that was typically empty. This wouldn’t surprise my family when they entered. Alice would warn them.

I sat waiting as students filed in, either joining the growing line or meeting at their usual tables with their friends. I avoided Rosalie’s eyes when she entered the room, but I could still feel the iciness of her stare. I listened for Edward’s deep and soft voice to indicate his arrival, then when I couldn’t find it, instead listened for Sara’s to see if she may be with him. Sara was a loud, babbling talker, so it was easy to find her voice in the crowd of the hallway. She seemed to have gotten over her irritation from this morning as she animatedly spoke about some research she’d done the night prior into some potential colleges she might apply to.

I found that although I may feel some irrational resentment of her ability to be so close to Edward, I liked Sara. Maybe we would have even been friends if I was a human. And if her proximity to him didn’t bother me. She was prattling on about her dream of becoming a veterinarian, and her goals seemed so sincere that I almost felt guilty finding any enjoyment in having stolen Edward from her this morning.

But that didn’t mean I didn’t have intentions to do so again.

As I suspected, when Sara walked through the double doors, Edward was by her side. He was actively listening to her words –– always so polite to anyone who wasn’t me –– but once inside the lunch room, his eyes immediately flashed to the table in which my siblings were settling into. His thick eyebrows pulled together in confusion –– and maybe even disappointment? –– at the realization he didn’t find me there.

I was impatient as he purchased his lunch. Once he’d left the line, he still hadn’t noticed me sitting here. Maybe he was less perceptive than I gave him credit for. I felt a moment of awkwardness as I thought about having to get up, walk across the cafeteria, and ask him to join me in front of my family. I would still have done so, but I was immensely relieved when Sara noticed me.

“Are you eating lunch with Bella too?” The sandy blonde asked, her tone suddenly indignant. This time, I felt no pleasure in my thievery. Sara was right to want to reserve Edward to her human world, but I was too entranced with the mystery of his journal and the mystery of his mind to care.

Edward looked up, searching. His sage eyes were bright and animated once he found me here at the table. He held his tray in one large hand while combing the other through his untidy bronze hair. The arrogant confidence in his face made me smirk, and I rolled my eyes, lifting my hand to beckon him forward twice with my finger as if I was reluctantly pacifying a child.

“I guess so,” he laughed a little as he sauntered forward towards the table, leaving Sara behind gawking. I braced myself for the onslaught, inhaling one last fresh breath of air. How habitual this was becoming.

“I’m being gifted your presence outside of our biology class twice in one day? What did I do to deserve this?” He teased once he’d arrived, standing behind the seat across from me.

“Nearly die. I guess that’s a fair enough price to pay for my company,” I played along. If only he knew how true that still was. He grinned, his perfect teeth white and shiny. “Oh, don’t look so smug. I’m only here to uncover a mystery.”

“As am I,” he reminded me. I winced.

“Are you going to sit down?” I asked. He still stood behind the seat, tall and lean, a giant like my brothers. Not quite as towering and much slimmer, but still, I felt small in my seat looking up at him.

Edward leaned down to carefully place his tray on the laminate before comfortably settling into his seat as if we’d done this before. I glanced at his tray, curious as to his selection. A bottle of water, a grilled chicken salad, and a bag of dried fruit. I stared at the food for a moment as if this would provide me any clues about his mind.

“So,” he began. I looked up to meet his eyes and though I knew he’d be looking at me, I felt a jolt pulse through me. He caught something about my reaction, and a crooked smile appeared on his face.

“So,” I continued. “You were going to tell me about your journal.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “But I believe we agreed on a condition, did we not?”

“We did,” I admitted. “Go ahead.”

“Hmm… I’m not sure I’m actually ready to, Bella,” he pondered, and I felt odd again hearing him say my name.

“Why not?” I demanded, restless. Of course I was interested in the book, but I was also definitely interested in his theories. I couldn’t believe it had only been yesterday that the accident occurred. It felt like a lifetime ago. The same way that first day in biology did.

“I’ve only been given about twenty four hours to come up with any explanations.”

“And have you?”

“Maybe, but I have a feeling you’ll be very firm on only allowing one theory, so I want to hold out for the theory I’m most confident on.”

I frowned, and Edward laughed.

“Don’t worry though. I’ll tell you about my journal anyways. As long as you promise–– no, that’d be letting you off too easily. As long as you swear to me that you won’t forget your end of the deal.”

“I swear,” I promised, smiling at the silliness of his command. I took this moment to breath in his powerful scent, to wrestle with my desire.

“Hmm… I wonder if it’ll upset you,” his forehead crumped in thought. My patience was wearing so thin that the inexorable cloud of lust for his blood had little impact in comparison to the sudden aggravation at his procrastination.

“Oh, Edward!” I groaned, exasperated. “Would you just tell me? What could possibly upset me?”

For whatever reason, Edward burst into laughter at my outburst and couldn’t seem to stop.

I glared at him, and he tried to choke back his humor unsuccessfully. The irritation in my eyes didn’t deter him or instill any sense of fear in him. Briefly, I wondered if he was mentally sound.

“Okay, well, you can just go eat lunch with your little friends, and I’ll stay here and talk to myself.”

“Don’t be mad,” he pleaded as another laugh escaped. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself. You’re just so impatient. And for what? My uninteresting little journal?”

“You’re annoying, did you know that?”

“Maybe, but you’ve chosen to sit here with me, so you must like me for some reason,” he pointed out. For some reason indeed. Once again, he was right on target. My mouth gaped open.

“Okay, I’m getting up––”

“No, please, Bella. I’ll behave myself now. I’ll tell you about my journal. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” His smile was dazzling, and his eyes were fierce, sweet, and sincere. I was mesmerized, stuck in the seat across from him.

“Okay,” I said stupidly.

“My journal,” he began seriously, “is sort of a Bible.”

I waited for him to laugh again.

“No, really,” Edward did laugh but not as though he’d told a joke. “I know that’s kind of strange.”

Religion had never been a major facet of my life. A dozen memories flickered through my mind of the times as a human where my mother Renée had gone through impassioned phases where she attended church, trying on multiple denominations and religions for size. But just like the rest of her sudden and fleeting interests, her spiritual high wore off, and we never spoke about God or church again. Only when I became immortal did religion take a more permanent place in my thoughts. But it was only the proximity to Carlisle that made me consider spiritual beliefs, and even then, it was simply another topic to devote thought to in all the endless space in my head and all the endless time in which to fill it.

I didn’t know particularly what I believed nor if I cared much, but I did know that if Edward was religious enough to tote around a bible at school, he’d definitely not be pleased to know he sat across from an actual vampire.

“You carry around a bible?”

“Well, don’t make any judgments yet, alright? It’s not exactly a bible. It’s kind of difficult to explain.”

“I think I can keep up,” I said simply, feeling slightly awkward but still curious. I glanced down at his untouched food. “But you should probably eat.”

“And what about you?” He asked, eyeing my full lemonade bottle.

I unscrewed the tin cap for his benefit. Following my lead, he opened the plastic container of his salad. I waited impatiently as he slowly ate his food.

I watched him as he ate, but when his eyes flickered curiously up to me, I fixated my attention on the lemonade bottle, tracing the mouth of it with my pinky finger.

After a few moments, Edward spoke up. “What are you thinking?”

I looked up to meet his light green gaze and felt stuck there again, compelled to reveal everything.

“I’m trying to figure out what you think I am,” I admitted only one of my concerns, though even this was much too honest. I thought of the inspiration he could draw from his religious text. The second beast. The Nephilim. Cherubim. Demons. Even though I didn’t have a true understanding of the contents of the book, some of Carlisle’s paintings had provided me with enough of an idea.

“I’m not having much luck with that yet,” he answered.

I laughed, relieved. “Well, you have only been given twenty four hours.”

“What else are you thinking?” he asked again, sensing there was more.

I sighed, feeling uncomfortable under his analyzation. The weight of his watchful eyes was too penetrative.

“That a boy who carries around a bible probably wouldn’t like me very much.”

“Why? Are you a sinner?” He smiled teasingly, but his eyes were soft as he tried to pull me again from the gloominess that seemed to steal me away.

“Something like that.”

“Well, aren’t we all?”

“Not all dogs go to heaven,” I answered. He chuckled at how I butchered the expression.

“Hmm… I’m not sure if I absolutely believe in a heaven, but if I do, I think the prerequisites to make it in are much broader than the Christian faith teaches.”

“You carry around a bible but don’t believe in heaven?”

“I said I’m unsure. And I said it was difficult to explain, didn’t I?”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“I hardly understand what you mean the majority of the time either.”

We both laughed, and the synchronicity of the moment made me forget my intentions with bothering him in the first place. It made me realize that in a way, I actually did feel fondly of Edward.

“Here, I’ll explain. I’m done eating anyways.” He used a napkin to dab at the corners of his mouth, then pushed it away on top of his lunch tray.

“My mother was very religious,” Edward began. “She wasn’t pious or bigoted or forceful about her beliefs. She was kind… devout. She believed in goodness. Her entire life had been dedicated to caring for other people. She wasn’t someone whose true intentions were to condemn others with the hope to save them from hell. Rather, she seemed more focused on saving someone from unhappiness. A lot of other believers have been known to connect with someone only for the end goal of forcing them to change the way they live for the sake of feeling as though they saved them. She had always been offended by this insistence to control another’s lifestyle, believing that any Child of God should truly only be concerned with loving others.

“I have pages of verses ripped out from her bible stuck throughout my journal. It may seem sacrilegious to destroy a bible in that way, but she’d read through it so many times that it had completely fallen apart. I tried to save it when she died, but there was no hope to. It was too dilapidated and tattered. So in my own journal, I have all these notes I’ve written on the notes she wrote in her bible. All these confusing erratic writings, these scribbles, I’ve been trying to sort out, just trying to figure out how to be a good person.”

At the end of his speech, my mouth dropped open. Quickly, I closed it again.

“So, do you believe in a god?” I asked after a few moments of silence.

“I’m not sure what I believe. If you don’t believe that all this world could have just happened on its own, which is hard for me to accept myself, then a god seems to be just as reasonable an answer as anything else. But I do believe in science as well. And once again, I don’t believe that any higher being who created the entire universe would be so particular and unyielding on such frivolous, harmless human matters as to what you do…or who you love… I’m hesitant to speak about god publicly, not because I fear any kind of persecution for my complicated beliefs, but because I know that the church has caused a lot of damage to a lot of people. And I don’t want anyone to think I support any of that harm. But for innocent believers, I see nothing wrong with wanting a reason to hold onto hope if that’s what religion is for them.”

“Neither do I,” I agreed, thinking of Carlisle.

“I think at the core of any religion –– and I definitely am interested in studying other religions as well –– is the same message. To do good by others and yourself. Of course, historically, religion has been weaponized as a means to take control over innocent people, but in considering people like my mother… I sincerely hope that there is a god. For her sake.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“Don’t worry.” Edward smiled his crooked smile. “I’m not about to try and sell you some religious propaganda. At no point will I sit you down and ask, ‘do you mind if I take a moment to speak about our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ?’ That’s never been my mission. I’m not entirely certain whether or not I even consider myself religious.”

“So what is your mission then with the journal?”

“Perhaps this will sound a little pretentious, but it’s not so much that I’m curious about the chicken or the egg scenario… Evolution versus creation… I don’t care very much as to how we got here. I guess because my mother believed so profusely, and I consider her to be such a great person, I’m curious as to whether our morality is innate as people, or if all goodness is because we have some kind of spirit within us leading us to want to do right by other people. I think overall, it is innate. An atheistic individual can do wonderful things for the world just as someone who claims to love Jesus can do terrible things. I don’t think anyone who doesn’t believe chooses to do good for God, but I wonder if that innate sense of morality, sense of compassion is ingrained into us because of the fact we do have souls. So the question I’ve been trying to answer all these years is… do we? Does my mother die, fade to nothing, with her body? Or did she live on because she had a soul?”

“Those are big questions for a seventeen year old.”

“Those are big questions for anybody, no matter their age. And questions humankind has been trying to answer for thousands of years,” Edward chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t expect to be the one to stumble upon the answers. More so, I’m really trying to find some purpose in my mother’s life. I do want to honor her, and maybe if I can understand all the things she wrote about people and about God, then I can.”

“So what do you write?”

“I write my thoughts on what she journaled about. And I write about all the good things I see someone do. About the reasons why I think they did them… I study people a lot.”

“Do you ever feel creepy?” I asked.

“Sometimes,” he laughed. “I mean, it’s not that I’d be the type to watch someone while they sleep. But if someone comforts a friend, picks up a stray piece of trash off the ground, smiles at a stranger… I try to take notice. I want to notice people.”

Edward sighed. “I know this must sound arrogant, but I really do believe I’m very sensitive to the thoughts of other people. At least, I try to be. For example, I know Sara must not be very happy that I chose to ride with you this morning, or that I am sitting with you now. I’m not oblivious to her feelings for me. But it’d be very ungentlemanly of me to accuse her of those feelings if she prefers to keep them secretive, so I’ll define a boundary if needed to protect her feelings whenever she chooses to come forth about them. I’d like to retain our friendship, but I still make my own choices.”

“So…” I began, ignoring his point about Sara. “Let’s say we all did have souls. Could someone lose that soul by any chance?”

“Hmm…” he thought, his eyes intent, piercing into mine as though he were trying to read my mind. “Now, that’s a big question for a seventeen year old.”

I laughed along with him.

“Well, I’m not sure whether or not you can lose your soul –– if we have them, of course. Perhaps you could damage the integrity of it or compromise it somehow. Could it be lost in death? If there is something of a heaven, does that automatically imply the existence of a hell? What purpose does hell serve in torturing one’s soul for eternity? Justice? Do some people perhaps deserve that fate? I want to say no, but then you think of awful, malicious people who have done awful, malicious things. Murder. Genocide. Rape. Isn’t the losing of your soul in death, fading into nonexistence too easy of a punishment? Do those people warrant a judge, jury, and executioner? I would hope that there are consequences to evil actions, but I don’t understand the idea that if such a place exists for the most vile of humanity, nonbelievers and sinners would go to the same place as well according to the Christian faith. I would say on that front, the Bible must be profoundly off. That aspect has to be invented by man for a means of control. What creator would wish such a fate on someone so innocent as to simply be uncertain about a god? So does a nonbeliever or sinner simply cease to exist, therefore losing their soul? Or is there some kind of alternative? Like a purgatory in the Catholic faith. That too seems a cruel fate from what should be a loving God.”

I felt slightly uneasy, wondering what he would think of my non-life, if he would consider this to be the alternative for innocent sinners. I wondered if he would believe I had a soul.

Edward softened his expression at my discomfort. His eyes were gentle and kind.

“But I don’t think I believe that. Like I said, I think the division between good and bad, right and wrong, is less black and white than most religious people believe. I think it’s gray, and I think any higher power would realize that too. So if you’re making that face because you’ve sinned a little here and there or murdered somebody, maybe you can make a comeback.”

Edward winked, and I forced myself to laugh.

“So would yesterday earn me some points?”

“Oh, definitely. You’ve practically merited an angel status.”

This time I did genuinely laugh at the thought of me as an angel.

“But again, as for what’s considered sin… I don’t subscribe to the majority of what’s considered biblical canon.”

“You don’t have to continue with the disclaimers. I believe that you’re not judging my sinful ways.”

“Correction, I don’t believe that God themself is judging you for your sinful ways. I never said anything about my judgment of you.”

I bit my bottom lip to keep from smiling at the smirk on his face. “I’m not at all surprised that you have a god complex. That seems about right –– you do come off like the type to be very judgmental.”

“I’m notoriously difficult to impress,” Edward half-smiled. “Are we continuing this conversation in Biology, or are you growing tired of the dark and the heavy?”

“Not yet,” I answered. “But I overheard that we have a pop quiz, so you’ll have to save your pretty boy disciple thoughts for later.”

He chuckled as I stood up from the table, reaching to grab my untouched lemonade bottle and cap to throw away, then stopped me.

“I’ve got it,” Edward placed the bottle on his tray to dump into the garbage. I watched curiously as he pocketed the bottle cap.

“I’d say thank you, but I know you’re only trying to win points in the eyes of God.”

“Anything to get into heaven,” he laughed.

* * *

y’all know i had to make edward a lil christian boy. u know edward is the i wanna church girl who go to church… and reaaaad her biiiible vine. i do want to clarify again… unlike stephenie mormon, i have no agenda in speaking about religion in this fanfic. i’m not particularly fond of labels, but i am more agnostic than anything so… i’m not tryna convert anybody to anything. it just seemed very “classically edward” as rosalie would say.

i hope u enjoyed! i also wanted to say i really, really appreciate the comments! i haven't replied bc... i'm shy but i read them & truly feel very flattered. ♡

#equinoxjw #twilight fanfiction #twilight renaissance #twilight au #twilight #midnight sun #edward cullen #bella swan #edbella

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cotton-buds-writing · 5 years

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Love Letters - Chapter One

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20815151/chapters/49477481

Word count - 2632

The Forbidden Kiss. We knew that it was wrong, that he was betrothed to my sister. But if this wasn't what he wanted, then why did he come to the field of desire? It was fated that we should meet like this.

“Hey!” A pillow flew across the room, colliding with a face, “Are we hanging out or what?” A small boy, no older than eleven, Leslie Jacobs, stood in the doorway, dressed in a green button up shirt with his hair gelled back, he looked smart, but that seemed to be a running trait in the Jacobs family. He looked at the teenage boy, about seventeen, David Jacobs, who was led flat on his made-up bed with his legs up against the wall, hair messy and a book in hand, “I just want to finish this chapter,” David replied, not even bothering to look over at his brother, At the distant sound of clattering pots and pans erupted from downstairs and a loud “Oh!” , he looked up from his book at the younger boy across from him in confusion, He quickly marked his page and swung his legs around to face his brother, “Should we go down and help him?” David asked him, Les just shrugged but a girl, their sister, Sarah Jacobs, a few years older than David, came from down the hall, stopping at the door frame. “He wants to do it himself, but please come and help me set the table,” She asked, leaning against the frame, she smiled, almost smug but still gentle and friendly, Les dropped the pillow on the floor, following her downstairs, sighing, “I hate when dad makes food, it always tastes like butt.” “Regardless, whatever dad puts in front of you, I want you to take a bite and say 'Mm, just like mum's!' okay?” “I was still eating smudged peas when mum died!” He answered back.

Finally reaching the empty dining table, just as David and Sarah went to grab an array of cutlery and dishes, there was a knock at the front door, and without a response, whoever was outside opened it, “Hey!” A tall boy walked in, Jack Kelly, sporting a pair of headphones around his neck and his hands and face covered in different coloured paint, “Hey,” Sarah walked up to him and greeted him with a smile and began walking over to him once she had put the dishes and such down on the table, “I’m not too late, am I?” He began kicking off his shoes, dropping them just next to the shoe rack lazily, “I was, uh- trying to mediate but I ended up falling asleep,” David glanced over from where he was at the dining table, just as Sarah bought Jack into a quick peck, “Smells good, Dr J,” He turned his direction towards the older man, Mayer, in the kitchen, who was currently taking a dish out of the oven, “Hey, Jack!” Mayer said back quite joyfully as he set down the food on the kitchen counter. "Davey,” Jack hastily made his way to the table, giving David a nod then a high five with a smile once he was close enough, Jack left David dazed, smiling like an idiot, and went over to talk to Mayer, “So, uh… what's cooking?” he asked.

-- ❀--

“Usually, if you just rock this thing back and forth-” The man glanced at the lump of burnt meat that lay in the dish, trying to slice it, having little luck, “It's supposed to fall off the bone.” Les muttered, leaning on the palm of his hand, on the table, earning him a “Shh,” from his sister, Mayer looked up to Jack, “Hey, Jack, come hang on to this while I saw, would you?” Sarah began to stand up, pushing Jack back down, “Hey, you know what, the electric knife is in the kitchen,” She hurried around to where the dish was, “And it'll have that thing ready to eat in two seconds, looks great, Dad, I'll be back.” She took it away and disappeared behind the wall divider and into the kitchen. Les slumped back into his chair with a huff, “I can't believe we're not going to see her until Thanksgiving.” “Hanukkah actually, Scotland's too far to come back for Thanksgiving.” Mayer corrected, sounds from the electric knife in the kitchen could be heard, switching between on and off, “Wait, are you kidding?" David said, shocked, mouth agape, "We're not gonna see her till Hanukkah?!” He looked upwards from where he was previously slouching in his chair and fiddling with the hem of his jumper, “Look on the bright side, Sarah won't be taking the car every day, you can practice your driving, and you can take Les to school,” “I forgot I had to drive with David now…” Les complained, rolling his eyes. David squinted his eyes at Les," Feel free to take the bus.” “If you ever need it, I can give you a ride. I'm not disappearing, I'm next door.” Offered Jack, making eye contact with the two siblings, Les cracked a grin, “Or I can drive, and if we get pulled over, we'll switch places real quick!” He suggested, starting to sit up again, “Top-notch idea, son.” Mayer gave a smile, “What'd I miss?” Sarah wandered back in, she was carrying a dish containing meat that was noticeably different, less burnt and more edible, “We were talking about what a bad driver David is,” Les explained, grinning directly at David, “Yeah, we were, but we were also talking about airplanes, which speaking of… I have a surprise for you…” Jack spoke up, taking a folded up piece of paper, handing it to Sarah once the dish was sat on the table, “Oh…?” She hummed as she started to dish up the meal, once everyone had their plates she unfolded it and began to read it over, “You couldn't come home for Thanksgiving, I figured I'd bring home to you. It's a plane ticket, I'm coming to Scotland.” “Look at Jack stepping up!” Mayer said gleefully, giving Jack a pat on the back, “You... You already paid for this?” “Yeah, I had a Google alert set for flights as soon as you decided you wanted to go to school there.” Jack smiled up at her from his chair, “Why?” Her expression fell, but she tried to keep a smile on her face, even if it was fake, a frown tugged at Jack's lips, he stayed silent, not exactly sure what to say, Les coughed, “Mm... Just like mum's…" He tried to clear the awkward silence that had just drifted over the table.

-- ❀ --

I guess I should tell you a little bit about Jack. He and Sarah have been together for the past two years, but before Sarah even cared that he existed, he was my first boyfriend. Well, space between the words… boy who was a friend. I could talk to him about anything, we just really understood one another.

“Okay, would you rather only drink water for the rest of your life, or you can drink whatever you want, but it has to have a drop of pee in it?” David asked Jack, they were both sat on the bleachers, probably their first or second year of high school, spots dotting they’re faces and David sporting a pair of square rimmed glasses. “Clear or yellow?” Jack added on, screwing the lid of his water bottle back on, “It has to be a little yellow.” "I mean, pee. Definitely pee. I can't give up Mountain Dew.” “Yeah, definitely. Pee's the only answer.”

We didn't stop being friends when Jack and Sarah got together, it was just... different.

“Water. Definitely water.” Sarah was sat between the two of them, “Yeah, me too, Definitely ” Jack agreed with her, the same question as before, but a different answer, whether it was a change in thought over the year or because of an influence, it was unknown to David, although he had his suspicions.

They didn't want me to feel left out, so they invited me everywhere, even on dates. They tried to make it as normal as possible, but I still felt like a third wheel. It's not that I wanted to steal my sister's boyfriend or anything. I was super happy for Sarah. She deserves a great guy like Jack. And so I wrote him a letter. I wasn't going to send the letter, it was just for me to understand how I was feeling. But really, I guess it was mainly about how sometimes I imagined what it would've been like if I'd realized how I felt about him sooner.

“…Making me look like the bad guy!” David’s ears pricked up, he was sat at his desk, a plain box sat on the surface, containing five letters, one of which being addressed to Jack, the sound of yelling could be heard from just outside the house, on the pavement in the street, the scene illuminated by the few streetlights that decorated the street, “Do you know how hard that was?” Jack yelled back, just as loud as Sarah, throwing his arms out in frustration. “You shouldn't have in front of them!” The girl retaliated, almost immediately storming away and back into the house, leaving Jack alone in the glow of the streetlights.

My letters are my most secret possessions. There are five total: Romeo from camp, Katherine from seventh grade, Racetrack from Homecoming, Specs from Model UN, and Jack.

I write a letter when I have a crush so intense I don't know what else to do. Rereading my letters reminds me of how powerful and how all-consuming my emotions can be, Sarah would say I'm being dramatic, but I think drama can be fun…

“ What are you doing?” Sarah’s voice pulled David out of the void that was his thoughts. “Nothing.” He replied, peaking his head out from where he was sat, on the floor beside his bed, David stuffed the letter he was holding back into its envelope, then back into a small cardboard box, it was plain, just a pen-written ‘Davey’ on, and he shoved the box underneath a pile of blankets that were just beside his un-made bed,

Just as long as nobody else knows about it.

“Your room's a mess.” Sarah strolled in, leaving the door ajar, there wasn’t a smile sporting her face, nor the same glow in her eyes as before, she sat on the bed, bringing a pillow to her chest, hugging it David moved from the floor to his bed, sitting opposite his sister, cross legged, squinting his eyes a little, “Are you okay?” “Yeah.” There was something about her tone that didn’t seem quite right to David, her avoided eye-contact and the way she tried to hide half of her face in the plump pillow in her hands, “Well…?” Davey encouraged, trying to keep direct eye contact with her, she was probably the only person other than Crutchie that he would willingly hold eye contact with. “I don't know, I just broke up with Jack.” “You did what? Why?” He leaned back, putting his weight on his hands, not sure whether to be confused or surprised more, "Before Mum died, she said I should never go to college with a boyfriend.” “But you love him.” “I know.” “So, do you think you might change your mind?” “No. No, never." She glanced around his room, changing the subject, "When I was packing for college, I had Dad make a box of things to take to Goodwill. I think you should do it too, I made you a box.” “I don't really think there's anything I can part with at the moment.” “Davey, I'm leaving tomorrow. That means you're going to be the oldest sibling. You need to set a good example for Leslie, no gorging on chips before dinner and you really need to clean your room…” “Can we go back to talking about how you're sad?” David sighed, staring up at the ceiling.

Sarah says when something is no longer useful, you either donate it, recycle it, or throw it away. I always knew she felt that way about objects but… I didn't think she could feel that about a person.

-- ❀ --

“...Will depart from Gate 39.” A voice announced from the speaker, signalling the arrival of Sarah’s plane, David glanced towards her with sympathetic eyes, a few tears welling up, “Come here.” Sarah opened her arms, embracing him tightly, “Hey, you need a magazine.” David pulled back, wiping his eyes with his sleeves, sniffling slightly, “We'll be right back.” Les spoke up, nodding his head, pulling Mayer off with him towards the newsagent in the corner, “You gonna be okay?” Sarah waited for the pair to leave before turning her focus to David, “Did you have to pick the furthest college you could think of? Who am I supposed to eat lunch with?” He pulled back completely, trying to lighten the air, “I think you should look at this as an opportunity to branch out and make new friends.” She suggested, “No.” “You never know what could happen.” “That's what I'm afraid of.” “If you need me, I'm a Skype call away.” “Until you start going to pubs and eating haggis with your Scottish friends, and forget about us.” “I can promise you, I will never... ever eat haggis.” “We couldn't decide, so we got you all of them.” Les and Mayer appeared again, holding about ten to fifteen magazines, holding them out to Sarah, “That's Road & Track, it doesn't sound that interesting, but if you stick with it…” Mayer handed her the magazine, another announcement sounded, so he pulled her in for a hug, “Come here.” “Alright, I gotta go.” She said, trying to hold back tears of her own. Sarah turned to give each one a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek, taking the rest of the magazines, stuffing them in her bag, then began walking towards the gate, dragging a small carry-on suitcase behind her, “Think she'll turn around?” Les asked hopefully, “No, that's not Sarah.” David answered truthfully, though secretly wishing that she would, “Can we have a dog now?” Les asked, “No, but that's a nice try.” Mayer ruffled the boy's hair a little, nodding his head as if to say that they should get going at this point.

The journey home was felt off to David, for a reason unknown to him, Sarah’s absence was something that he would have to get used to, but in his mind he couldn’t exactly see anything good happening, of course, fitting in some driving experience would be one thing, but even then, just the thought of having to drive to and from school every day made him anxious, and Les’ insults probably wouldn’t help, though the boy only meant them as a joke, not seriously, and from previous experience, he knew when to stop, he knew where the line was and he never crossed it. David fiddled with his sleeves, pulling gently at the fraying seams, though, being careful not to fully wreck it, he made a mental note to himself to buy another sweater at some point within the next week seen as messing around with the fraying threads seemed to be a habit of his. He glanced out the window for a moment, noticing how the street lamps and traffic lights reflected off of the wet concrete, creating a mixture of yellow, red, and green, he could hear Mayer and Les bickering, something about whether they bought enough magazines for Sarah, he managed to crack a smile, still sniffing and having to dry his eyes every so often.

Take a deep breath, Dave You'll be just fine.

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matildainmotion · 4 years

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An Encouraging Blog about Despair

Recently I have been in despair. I notice as I write this that despair is like love – it’s a feeling that you do more than feel – you are in it. In love. In despair. Something larger than you, in which you reside, an atmosphere, a weather.

I am not good at being in despair. At Halloween I wrote a blog about fear, about being good at feeling afraid. I’m experienced at fear, paradoxically comfortable with the discomfort of it. This is not true of despair, at which I am terrible. Fear is energetic. It makes my heart go fast, ready for fight or flight. Despair makes me want to lie down and never get up again, and I don’t know how to manage this, how to carry this wish for an absolute lack of action, a kind of anti-wish, a wish for no more wishing.

I had an afternoon of despair in John Lewis in Kingston. It was one of the last shopping days before Christmas – crowds of people, multiple storeys of multiple mounds of stuff. I had to steer the children past the gold-wrapped chocolate boxes and giant gingerbread men, walk them through glossy, mirrored aisles of carefully coloured lipsticks and nail varnish. We made it to the lifts. We were headed for the bed linen department: displays of patterned duvets covers; shelves of fitted sheets; a choice between foam, feathered and other kinds of fluff-filled pillows. My son and I had a disagreement about which duvet cover to purchase for my husband. My son wanted the blue, stripy one. I wanted the one in black and white with a pattern reminiscent of trees. I thought I should get to choose what I bought for Daddy. He was okay with that, he said, as long as I agreed with his choice. He got angry and tried to kick me. His little sister meanwhile was running up and down the shiny floors and veering off to press her nose against the glass of the balcony that looked down over the many other departments. In that moment, for many reasons, I wanted to lie down and never get up again. Not on one of the display beds. Right where I was on the department floor, between the balcony and the start of the shelves of sheets. It was not because of the kids – they were my best reason to keep standing. But I couldn’t do it, because I am not good at despair- I’d rather be scared or angry. So I got more angry with my son, which wasn’t fair, and we all ended up in tears, and Daddy got more sets of duvet covers than I had intended.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine, writes Mary Oliver, who died this year, in her poem Wild Geese. Let me try to do that, to tell you about my despair, in an attempt to get better at it. This is the time of year for writing lists – lists of things achieved in the last year, lists of things to get done in the next. Hopeful lists. Lists are generally hopeful – they imply possibility. I don’t think, out of all the lists I have written in my life, I have ever made a ‘To Despair List.’ Let me do that now.

Here are some things about which I am in despair:

- My impatience with my mother, which comes from not wanting her to be nearly 80 and ready to sit down sometimes, or to focus on the small things – what kind of wood to put on the stove- when I am screaming quietly about the big things (the melting ice, rising seas) which I know she cannot fix but still, like a little girl, wish that she could.

- How often I do not stop to give someone who is homeless money, either because these days I pay for everything by card and so have no change, or because I am not brave enough to get over the awkward, uncomfortable gap of me, upright, walking past, and the man or woman, sitting, propped up outside Tescos with a paper cup.

- How when I do have the courage to stop and give money a part of me believes this makes everything okay.

- The election result and Boris Johnson. How I do not allow the children to call each other names but do allow them to call Boris Johnson “a stupid idiot,” even though I know this solves nothing and, long term, makes the deep divisions, that are the real problem, worse.

- Climate change, of course, but also how I am too cowardly to read the literature that would make my despair better informed.

- Consumerism, how many duvet covers I could choose, how gross are the inequalities of rich and poor, and the many ways in which I participate in the system that creates this disparity.

- The number of emails I get every day from people doing good work and asking for money to support their work and how I do not know to which to give or how much because it is all good and all critically important.

- How often I end up shouting at the children or making threats to them despite having read numerous conscious and alternative parenting books.

- My ability to sleep soundly through the night.

- Brexit, what it will mean and how I keep on putting off getting my daughter a passport.

- My children staying seated at the kitchen table and eating a wholesome supper I have made them – an image of motherhood I daily fail to fulfil.

- The big things – racism, poverty, refugees, rape, war, starvation, environmental destruction - and knowing that under all the big things are a million little things, specific people, animals, habitats, details, and a million moments of exact and awful loss.

I could go on, but that will do, for now, because writing this list has reminded me of when I was 7 and rather religious, and the lists I made back then. I used to go in secret to my room every day after school and pray. I felt simultaneously embarrassed about this- too shy to tell even my mother- and yet also that it would be shameful not to do it. I had decided that to be a good person it was necessary for me to list, on my knees, every day, all the people and troubles that I knew – it took me a good hour and I remember worrying about how to explain my absence to everyone during this time. Even back then I felt furtive about despair, about my sense of inadequacy in the face of all that is troubled and all that needs care in the world.

You do not have to be good, writes Mary Oliver. You do not have to walk on your knees/ For a hundred miles through the desert repenting./ You only have to let the soft animal of your body/ Love what it loves./ Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine./ Meanwhile the world goes on…

Meanwhile the children, those soft animals, are growing up. My son turns eight next week. What to do? How to go on, caring for him and my daughter, whilst despairing? I can’t lie down and weep whenever I wish. Punishing prayer is not the answer either, but I do find myself coming round to a word that has religious connotations: faith.

I am finding that being a mother requires me to have faith in the future. I realise as I write this that faith is different from hope. I can feel hopeless but be faithful. Hope has expectations. Faith does not. Hope involves trying to guess what the future might look like. Faith involves embracing genuinely not knowing. I am in despair, I can live in hope, but with faith, I am not ‘in’ it – rather it is something I must actively put into other things no matter how I am feeling: I must have faith in the children.

When my husband and I got married we wrote our own wedding vows. The ending of my vows to him went like this:

I don’t promise never to have crazy crushes, or even fall in love with other men, women, books, landscapes, ways of life….but I promise to be faithful to you, for you to stay as my centre, my home. A final word on being ‘faithful’ - not sleeping with anyone else seems like the least of it. Faithful, full of faith - faith is a belief not based on proof: I promise to believe in you and in our togetherness for the rest of our lives, even at the times when there is no evidence, no proof that it is a good idea.

Rereading this vow helps me now. I hope my children may live long and joyful lives, but I often despair that this is possible – there is no proof that it will happen. Meanwhile, I can still have faith in them and in my act of caring for them. I can believe in this process – the process of them growing up and me witnessing and supporting them to do it, however imperfectly it unfolds.

As has become my practice, I find it useful and affirming when I align my mothering and my making. I am writing a novel. I have been writing it for a long time, for the same length of time as I have been a mother. I hope it will be brilliant. I hope it will get published. Some days these hopes seem ridiculous. However, every day I have faith that it is worth my writing it whatever happens.

The first gift my husband ever gave me was a book called The Gift by Lewis Hyde. In it Hyde describes the act of making and the act of giving as inextricably connected. You make something, then you give it away so that you can make something else, and then you give that away too, and on and on. When you make and give in this way it is an act of faith because you have to let go entirely of whatever you have made – you do not know and cannot control what will become of it. Like being a mother to a child. And maybe this is what despair has to teach me, because being in despair, like being in love, involves a kind of letting go, a relinquishing of control – no wonder I’m not good at it.

Meanwhile, as the children bounce on the bed, with its new duvet cover, I read others online discussing how much to share or not with their children of the woes of the world that are present and coming, and of climate change in particular – do we bring them up to be aware? Or protect them from the anxiety of it for as long as possible? It is a good question but there is something in it that, for me, is often missing from the conversation. It is this: the future is theirs, not mine. My son learnt to read by studying danger signs and the exact instructions to be followed in states of emergency – I suspect he and my daughter both understand more about the future already than I do. To quote from another poet, Kahil Gibran, “Your children are not your children…For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.” I can tell them what I know about climate change but my knowledge is necessarily limited, no matter what I have or haven’t read. I can’t tell them about the future – I can’t even visit it in my dreams. But I can continue to have faith in them and in their tomorrows. I can continue the process of mothering and making, of giving away whatever I have made, including them.

“Meanwhile…” Mary Oliver says again, “Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,/ are heading home again./ Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,/ the world offers itself to your imagination,/ calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -/ over and over announcing your place/ in the family of things.”

Meanwhile, the world keeps on offering itself to you, whoever you are – the world, the geese in it and everything else, carry on gifting regardless. Isn’t that amazing? And my job, I think, in despair or in love, has to be to keep on offering my imagination back to the world, regardless. I will do that, even if all I can offer right now is a blog about despair.

One thing I offered to the world a few years back is a thing called Mothers Who Make. It is a grass roots, peer support network, growing across the UK and overseas. It is about announcing the place of two activities- mothering and making - in the world, over and over, keeping faith in their value no matter what, no matter how lonely or despairing any mother may feel.

If you are a mother and a maker, of any kind, you can come to a hub meeting and tell the other women there about your despair, and they will tell you about theirs. You can also tell them about what you love. And you do not have to be good. You can find out if there is a meeting near you here.

And if you cannot make it in person to a group, you can connect online - we have a lively Facebook community.

Mothers Who Make is currently unfunded and so if it feels like a good kind of gifting to you, an act of faith you can make, you can give us £3 per month, so that we can, meanwhile, go on – go on making and giving, making and giving, for now and for the future which we cannot visit, but which our children will.

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canimal · 5 years

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Every Time Hermione Cries in Canon

One of the most frustrating (and frequent) criticisms I got while writing The Minister’s Secret that I absolutely did not understand was the insistence by some readers that I had somehow written Hermione as “unstable” because “she cries too much”. It was confusing because I didn’t believe these readers read the same books I did. Even super unobservant Harry noticed Hermione crying A LOT in the books.

So, to prove my point, I reread all seven of the canon books and wrote down every single time Hermione cries or is believed to have cried. Because the list is actually very long, you can read them (and therefore see that I did NOT write Hermione “out of character” because she cries) by clicking the “Keep Reading” button below.

While I won’t guarantee that I was perfect and got EVERY single instance, I found plenty. Seventy-one instances to be exact. (Please let me know in an Ask or a reply or a reblog if I’ve missed one.) SEVENTY-ONE times that Mr. Unobservant actually witnessed her cry. That’s a lot!

I understand that there are a lot of readers in this fandom (and some writers too which absolutely blows my mind honestly) that have never read the canon books. Honestly, I don’t think there's an excuse not to. They’re wonderful books. But, if you’ve never read the canon books, don’t tell me or any other writer that they’ve written a character OOC ... because chances are very good you don’t actually know what you’re talking about.

And now I’m curious to do the same thing with The Minister’s Secret just so I can compare how many times she cries in that story with the books. I think they’ll be pretty comparable. Lol!

Every Single Time Hermione Cries in Canon*

*Cursed Child is not canon. Don’t even start with me on this.

Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s (Sorcerer’s) Stone

Chapter Ten: Halloween

Someone knocked into Harry as they hurried past him. It was Hermione. Harry caught a glimpse of her face - and was startled to see that she was in tears.

On their way down to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast, Harry and Ron overheard Parvati Patil telling her friend Lavender that Hermione was crying in the girls’ bathroom and wanted to be left alone.

Chapter Sixteen: Through the Trap Door

Hermione’s lip trembled, and she suddenly dashed at Harry and threw her arms around him.

Chapter Seventeen: The Man With Two Faces

Hermione buried her face in her arms, Harry strongly suspected she had burst into tears.

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

Chapter Twelve: The Polyjuice Potion

They heard the lock slide back and Hermione emerged, sobbing, her robes pulled up over her head.

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

Chapter Nine: Grim Defeat

Hermione went very red, put down her hand, and stared at the floor with her eyes full of tears.

Hermione made a small, squeaking sound. Her eyes were extremely bloodshot.

Chapter Eleven: The Firebolt

“Harry, please,” said Hermione, her eyes now shining with tears.

Chapter Thirteen: Gryffindor Versus Ravenclaw

Hermione burst into tears. Before Harry could say or do anything, she tucked the enormous book under her arm, and, still sobbing, ran toward the staircase to the girls’ dormitories and out of sight.

Chapter Fourteen: Snape’s Grudge

“Because her cat acted like all cats do,” Hagrid continued doggedly. “She’s cried a fair few times, yeh know.”

“No,” said Hermione. She was holding a letter in her hands and her lip was trembling.

Chapter Fifteen: The Quidditch Final

“Malfoy’s dad frightened the committee into it,” said Hermione, wiping her eyes.

Hermione flung her arms around Ron’s neck and broke down completely.

“Ron, I’m really, really sorry about Scabbers…” she sobbed.

She was usually last to leave the common room at night, first to arrive at the library the next morning; she had shadows like Lupin’s under her eyes, and seemed constantly close to tears.

Chapter Sixteen: Professor Trewlawney’s Prediction

Hermione, who had been rummaging in Hagrid’s cupboard for another milk jug, let out a small, quickly stifled sob.

Silent tears were now streaming down Hermione’s face, but she hid them from Hagrid, bustling around making tea.

Chapter Seventeen: Cat, Rat, and Dog

To his right, Hermione gave a dry sob.

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

Chapter Eighteen: The Weighing of the Wands

Hermione let out a whimper; her eyes filled with tears, she turned on her heel and ran, ran all the way up the corridor and out of sight.

Chapter Twenty: The First Task

Hermione burst into tears.

“You two are so stupid!” she shouted, stamping her foot down on the ground, tears splashing down her front. Then, before either of them could stop her, she had given both of them a hug and dashed away, now positively howling.

Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Madness of Mr. Crouch

“Ow!” said Hermione, tears starting in her eyes as she tried to rub the pus off her hands with a napkin, but her fingers were now so thickly covered in painful sores that it looked as though she were wearing a pair of thick, knobby gloves.

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

Chapter Four: Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place

“Harry, we’re really sorry!” said Hermione desperately, her eyes now sparkling with tears.

Chapter Twenty-One: The Eye of the Snake

Hermione had tears of fury in her eyes now.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Christmas on the Closed Ward

“I never knew,” said Hermione, who looked tearful.

Chapter Thirty: Grawp

“But why?” asked Hermione, who sounded as though she wanted to cry.

There was a pause in which Harry glared at her, and her eyes filled slowly with tears.

Chapter Thirty-One: O.W.L.S.

“I suppose so,” said Hermione, who looked tearful.

Chapter Thirty-Two: Out of the Fire

And Hermione began to cry weakly into the back of Millicent Bulstrode’s robes.

(All right, so technically she was fake crying, but still. There were several more mentions of her fake crying in this chapter as well that I didn’t feel needed to be included because you get the point.)

Chapter Thirty-Three: Fight and Flight

“You said you didn’t hurt the innocent!” shouted Hermione, real tears sliding down her face now.

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

Chapter Fourteen: Felix Felicis

“You go!” said Hermione, blinking back tears.

“Gerremoffme,” he yelled, but with one last look of vindictive fury, Hermione wrenched open the door and disappeared through it. Harry thought he heard a sob before it slammed.

Chapter Fifteen: The Unbreakable Vow

Hermione laughed unkindly at Ron’s disastrous first attempt, during which he somehow managed to give himself a spectacular handlebar mustache; Ron retaliated by doing a cruel but accurate impression of Hermione jumping up and down in her seat every time Professor McGonagall asked a question, which Lavender and Parvati found deeply amusing and which reduced Hermione to the verge of tears again.

“Oh yes,” said Hermione in a choked voice, taking her things and turning away quickly to hide the fact that she was wiping her eyes on her pencil case.

“She’s a bit upset,” said Luna. “I thought at first it was Moaning Myrtle in there, but it turned out to be Hermione.”

Chapter Nineteen: Elf Tails

Hermione gave an almost inaudible sniff.

“Then the poisoner didn’t know Slughorn very well,” said Hermione, speaking for the first time in hours and sounding as though she had a bad head cold.

Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Phoenix Lament

“Outside Snape’s office yes,” whispered Hermione, her eyes sparkling with tears, “with Luna.”

Chapter Thirty: The White Tomb

Tears were falling thick and fast into both Ginny’s and Hermione’s laps.

Hermione’s face was glazed with tears, but Ginny was no longer crying.

Ron, he saw, was now holding Hermione and stroking her hair while she sobbed into his shoulder, tears dripping from the end of his own long nose.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

Chapter Six: The Ghoul in Pajamas

“Don’t!” squealed Hermione. Startled, Harry looked over just in time to see her burst into tears over her copy of Spellman’s Syllabary.

“C-constant vigilance,” said Hermione, mopping her eyes.

Hermione’s eyes were swimming with tears.

Chapter Seven: The Will of Albus Dumbledore

She held the book in her lap and gazed at it. Harry saw that the title was in runes; he had never learned to read them. As he looked, a tear splashed onto the embossed symbols.

“He… he knew I liked books,” said Hermione in a thick voice, mopping her eyes with her sleeve.

“No, I didn’t,” said Hermione, still wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

She suppressed a sob.

Chapter Eight: The Wedding

Hermione turned and beamed at Harry; her eyes too were full of tears.

Chapter Nine: A Place to Hide

“Ron! Ron!” Hermione called, half-sobbing as she and Harry were buffeted by terrified guests.

Chapter Ten: Kreacher’s Tale

“Oh, Kreacher!” wailed Hermione, who was crying.

Tears flowed down Hermione’s cheeks as she watched Kreacher, but she did not dare touch him again.

“Harry, Kreacher doesn’t think like that,” said Hermione, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand.

Chapter Eleven: The Bribe

“Remus!” whispered Hermione, tears in her eyes.

Chapter Fourteen: The Thief

Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears as she nodded.

Chapter Fifteen: The Goblin’s Revenge

The rain was pounding the tent, tears were pouring down Hermione’s face, and the excitement of a few minutes before had vanished as if it had never been, a short-lived firework that had flared and died, leaving everything dark, wet, and cold.

Harry stood quite still and silent, listening to her sobbing and calling Ron’s name amongst the trees.

She threw herself into a chair, curled up, and started to cry.

Chapter Sixteen: Godric’s Hollow

Hermione’s eyes were puffy and red; she looked as if she had not slept.

The instant they arrived, Hermione dropped Harry’s hand and walked away from him, finally sitting down on a large rock, her face on her knees, shaking with what he knew were sobs.

Harry was determined to never mention his name again, and Hermione seemed to know that it was no use forcing the issue, although sometimes at night, when she thought he was sleeping, he would hear her crying.

Chapter Seventeen: Bathilda’s Secret

She was biting her lip, and tears swam in her eyes.

Her face glazed with tears, Hermione handed over her wand, and he left her sitting beside his bed, desiring nothing more than to get away from her.

Chapter Eighteen: The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore

Her face streaked with tears, she crouched down beside him, two cups of tea trembling in her hands and something bulky under her arm.

“You’re still really angry at me, aren’t you?” Said Hermione; he looked up to see fresh tears leaking out of her eyes, and knew that his anger must have shown on his face.

Chapter Nineteen: The Silver Doe

“After you left,” he said in a low voice, grateful for the fact that Ron’s face was hidden, “she cried for a week.”

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Deathly Hallows

Harry looked at Hermione, whose eyes were full of tears.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Malfoy Manor

“We only met him tonight!” Hermione sobbed.

Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Final Hiding Place

Behind him, whether from delight or fear he could not tell, Ron kept swearing at the top of his voice, and Hermione seemed to be sobbing.

Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Missing Mirror

Hermione’s face was wet with tears, and Ron was almost as pale as Aberforth.

Chapter Thirty-Two: The Elder Wand

She was crying too, and she wiped her face on her torn and singed sleeve as she spoke, but she took great heaving breaths to calm herself as, still keeping a tight hold on Ron, she turned to Harry.

#hermione cries #get over it

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bangtanoneshotsx · 6 years

Text

A Few More Minutes-Suga

Request- #2 for Yoongi(You know it’s not like that)

Your hand covered your mouth as you let out a high pitched, heart wrenching sob. You doubled over, allowing yourself to slide to the floor, your knees against your chest. Yoongi didn’t speak, his own tears flooding his cheeks. He took a seat in front of you, lightly pushing the small dog he got you, away from him, focusing his attention back on you. The next two words he spoke came out as a whisper, his voice breaking halfway through.

“I’m sorry.” For someone well known for writing lyrics, Yoongi couldn’t find the right words. His mouth drying up and his mind drawing a blank when he told you what had happened. His hands shook as he tried to fight the urge to take you in his arms.

“You’re sorry?” You repeated, finally looking up at him through blurry vision. “Yoongi you can’t be sorry. If you were sorry you never would have done it in the first place.” You watched as the rapper crumbled, his loud sobs echoing in the hall. Your dog had scurried off somewhere, trying to hide from the confrontation. You wanted nothing more than to comfort the broken man in front of you. His hair was a mess, bags were under his eyes, his face pale. You weren’t sure if his lack of sleep was because of his mistake or work. Whatever it was, you could tell it was eating him.

Yoongi furrowed his eyebrows, his head tilting sadly as he took a deep breath. He slowly parted his lips, trying to think of a way to explain his actions while you were gone, only to be interrupted by you speaking once more.

“Four weeks I was away Yoongi. Were you waiting until I was gone? Get ‘rid of the foreign girlfriend so you can find someone your parents approved of?” Yoongi gasped, reaching outward before drawing his hand back.

“You know it’s not like that.” You rose your head quickly, tears streaming down your face as your calm facade broke as you shouted,

“Then what is it like Yoongi?! Why?” Your voice broke halfway as choked out sobs, your voice high pitched as you asked the question Yoongi never wanted to hear from you. “Why was I not good enough for you? I thought we were happy, I thought you loved me. Why did this happen?” Yoongi could say nothing in return, instead he pulled you into him, ignoring your fists against his chest as you weakly tried to fight him, only to give in, allowing Yoongi to comfort you for the last time. You knew this one last moment of contact was as comforting to Yoongi as it was to you. You could feel wet drops landing on your forehead as Yoongi hugged you closer to him, afraid to let go. He knew once he let go, he would lose you forever.

“Yoongi.” You whispered, trying to ease yourself from the rapper’s strong grip.

“A few more minutes.” He begged, whispering into your hair. “Please Y/N, I know I don’t deserve it, but please give me a few more minutes. A few more minutes to pretend everything is okay, before I have to face reality.” You let a shaky breath escape you as you gave a small nod, whispering, ‘okay.’

You didn’t know how it happened, you only meant to stay for a couple of minutes. Yoongi and you had fallen asleep in the middle of the living room, still in each others arms, both tears slowly stopping as you found enough comfort in each other to fall asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your heart was heavy as you quickly wrote a note on a scrap piece of paper, your suitcase next to you. Before your signed the note you wrote the three words that were still true, ‘I love you.’ Placing the note on the kitchen table, you gave one last look around the room that held so many memories for you. Letting out a quiet sob, you walked through to the living room to see Yoongi still asleep. You lightly placed a blanket on him, crouching beside him to move his hair away from his face, placing a soft kiss on his forehead. He grumbled, batting the air as he tried to find the person who disturbed his sleep, before turning over, his back to you. Slowly, you made your way to the front door, dragging your suitcase behind you, giving Yoongi one last look before you walked out for the last time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“He’s a mess.” Namjoon commented, receiving a hum from the eldest, watching as the eldest rapper sat in the dressing room, his face in a blank stare as he focused on the wall in front of him, his mind obviously somewhere else. A bowl of now cold, untouched food sat in front of Yoongi, having not moved since Jin set it on the table in front of him. The leader had heard of Yoongi’s betrayal soon after it had happened.

Yoongi had called him, panicking. He woke up in his bed with a girl that wasn’t you. That was the only information Yoongi gave and it was the only information Namjoon needed to make a conclusion. The leader was the one who begged Yoongi to tell you, to come clean and maybe salvage the relationship. What the leader didn’t predict was you walking out and disappearing. Namjoon sighed, tilting his head back, closing his eyes as he remembered the morning it happened.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Namjoon I need your help.” Yoongi whispered through the phone as he stared at the letter, your messy handwriting covering it. It now had small wet spots randomly placed on the page as tears fell from Yoongi’s eyes as he listened to the leader. Yoongi could hear the younger’s voice but he didn’t listen to the words, instead he reread the last three words you wrote, his mind racing.

Namjoon let himself in, finding the rapper in the living room, the letter on the coffee table in front of him, a top you had left behind in his hands. Namjoon sighed, sitting down next to Yoongi, pulling him into him.

“What happened?” He asked as Yoongi gave a whimper, tensing before letting himself cry.

“She’s gone. Namjoon, she’s gone.” Yoongi sobbed, his grip on your shirt tightening. “I did what you said but it didn’t work. Why did I have to betray her Namjoon? Why did this have to happen?” Namjoon didn’t speak, instead he let the elder sob, forgetting about his pride for those few minutes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You have to tell him.” Jin stated, watching as Namjoon’s eyebrows furrowed before he ran a hand over his face, sighing.

“She told me not to.” Namjoon grumbled, keeping his voice low.

“Yeah, but I think it’d be good for him. For both of them. This is their chance to say goodbye properly. Think about it Namjoon, he has so many regrets about the way it ended, this is his chance to make it right.” Namjoon let out a deep breath, giving a small nod, knowing the eldest was right.

“Yoongi.” He spoke, breaking the silence that had fallen over the room. Slowly, Yoongi turned to face them, a tired look covering his face. However, that instantly changed as Namjoon spoke his next sentence.

“I know where she is.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yoongi’s heart raced as he sped through the car park, narrowly missing cars and earning some angry shouts in his direction. The one part of him he tried to keep calm was the shaking hand that held a bouquet of flowers.

Entering the airport he instantly scanned the crowded area, trying to find you. His heart skipped a beat and his mouth dried up as he finally spotted you.

“Y/N!” He shouted, making you look up from your phone, recognising the voice. Tears started to well up in your eyes as you spotted the black haired man who stood near the entrance, a bouquet of roses in his hand. Racing towards you, Yoongi knew this was it. He couldn’t screw this up.

Stopping just in front of you, Yoongi broke into a small, unsure smile.

“Y/N.” He whispered.

“What are you doing here Yoongi? You’re not supposed to know I’m here.” Yoongi frowned, lowering his head. “Yoongi. If you’re here to talk, the least you can do is look at me.” Your stern voice made him look up, gulping as he looked into your eyes for the first time.

“I’m sorry Y/N, I truly am. I love you, I love you so much it’s scary.” As Yoongi started to talk, his prepared speech going out the window, tears started to roll down both of your cheeks. “I know I made a massive mistake, I can’t take back what I did. I wish I could, but I can’t. But I need you Y/N, I can’t imagine being without you.”

“I have to go Yoongi. You may regret what happened but I don’t think I can be with you just now. I need time away, back in my country. I love you, but I can’t do this Yoongs.” You forgot you were in the airport, probably creating a spectacle for the other passengers, all you could focus on was your breaking heart every time you looked at Yoongi.

“Y/N.” Yoongi whispered, his voice breaking.

“I can’t Yoongs. I love you but I can’t be with you knowing another girls been with you, while I was missing you.” He gave a sigh, giving a small nod.

“I understand.” Yoongi lowered the hand that held the flowers, allowing them to fall to the ground. “It’s just....” Yoongi sighed, looking up to you, tears streaming down his cheeks as his bottom lip quivered. “Can I hold you one last time.”

“I’m going to be late for my flight.”

“Please Y/N, one last time.” Yoongi begged, hiccuping. You sighed, your wall that you had built up in the past couple of days falling.

“Okay. One last time.” Yoongi gave a sad smile before stepping forward, wrapping his arms around you, and pulling you into his chest. Slowly, you allowed yourself to relax and hug him back. Your heart swelling at the comfort you had been searching for ever since you left him.

“I’m so so sorry.” Yoongi spoke through choked sobs, his voice high pitched. “I’m so sorry Y/N.” You gave a small whimper before running your hand through his hair, whispering an ‘it’s okay.’

A loud voice over the intercom announcing your flight brought you back to reality. You tried to loosen Yoongi’s grip, saying,

“Yoongi I have to go.” Yoongi stubbornly shook his head, letting out more sobs. “Yoongi please, I’m going to be late.”

“A few more minutes. Please Y/N, I won’t bother you again. Please give me a few more minutes.” You sighed, giving a small nod before falling back into the rapper’s arms, allowing you to forget what would happen after those precious minutes were gone.

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