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talesofealdancynedom · 11 months

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The wall Scroll of Doi Veng; hours of Thai art and a scanner's inability to digitize red and blue.

Tale 43:The Small Apothecary (chapter 1 - The Wall Scroll 1/5 ) part 8. Stories of Dreams

Qilin Celestine was on a cushion, at the low dining table, eating reconstituted soup from the food bank. The white lights of the apartment flickered, emphasizing the sloppy white paint, and the decaying infrastructure. The light scent of drywall, and cooking, lingered. He stared into a painting of a Naga. Teal, red, and gold-leaf; Dapicted with unicorn, with vibrant simpor and Ratchaphreuk. This single scroll, was the only colourful thing in their unit. While he was lost in it’s beauty, Qulin’s brothers started fighting again, and his mother was soothing the toddler. Qinin gazed deeper into the scroll.

All four of the children had different fathers. The last ‘dad’, left to ‘work’ abroad eighteen-months ago. Qilin felt unwanted, in spire of his mother’s love. It left him wanting to escape somewhere truly enchanted. Somewhere with colour and whimsy. The painting was the most magical thing in the room, and thus a glimmer of escape. It was something that connected Qilin to his heritage; He knew little of the Eastlands, having been born in the Grand West. Sometimes, his mother would tell them stories from that distant land, and give proverbs from the Philosophy of Water. But it wasn’t enough; Qilin hated his cramped home: His mother sweet and desperate, no paternal figures, and his brothers beat him up after school for not doing chores.

On that day, when he was dazzled by the scroll, something in Qinin snapped.

“I want to be a wizard.” He said abruptly, in the middle of his bickering family. There was anger in his assertion. He got no response. Qilin simply slumped, and hopelessly attempted to get the bits from the soup with his chopsticks; Longing for the resurrection of their rice-cooker. and chili oil. Qilin sighed, as he left the table. In the next room, he unrolled his sleeping duvet, in their shared bedroom, and retired early. As the house quieted, Qilin heard his mother gather her things for a night shift. When the door creaked open, Qilin pretended to sleep. Then his mother knelt to his back, and kissed his cheek.

“I filled out an application for the International and Troubled Youth Academy. It’s across the isle. The only thing missing, is the field of wizardry you want to work in.” She whispered.

“We don’t have the money mom. Even if one of my three dads is paying child-support.”

“It’s a public-school, Lin. They can help you. Maybe you can meet someone to love, or find a friend from the Eastlands. There’s boarding, and you need space to grow. Even I will rest well knowing you’re taken care of and heading toward happiness.”

“Fine. Apothecary, maybe? I like flowers. Yellow ones.” Qilin sighed. Before she left, he rolled over to give her a soft hug goodnight. He drifted off in comfort. She was the thing in his was most grateful for.

Qilin arrived on campus alone, with a book of water philosophy poetry, a wand, and freedom from his low-income abode. He got excellent grades the first month. The second month he got detention for coming onto another gay student, and snapping back at a teacher. His sentence was helping fey professor Hara water the floral fey in the conservatory. Perverts the lot of them. Made Qilin smile; They understood him. It was as if each day, magic brought him joy in new ways. He felt being an Apothecary was the perfect choice.

“Master Fyrstan, the magic of Tree Kingdom’s gifts very, depending on if I ask or not; Is this garden where all the potion ingredients come from?” Qilin asked.

“No. Alas, we have to source from other nations. All schools do that. The Tree King shares her generous children with all; Normally by placing her said children, in the strangest and most random locations.” Hara shrugged.

“Professor, have you ever seen a Ruffled Dok Champa? Or Winter Blood Ceros? They make powerful S-Rank healing potions; I’ve always wanted to talk to one. Do you think I’ll ever be a good enough Apothecary to do so? What if they don’t like me, for asking for their gifts?”

“Don’t worry about that; They love to give. As for your enchanted flowers, I’ve never seen the first sort; They’re exclusive to Doi Veng Butte in the Eastlands. A self-sustaining magic forest I read. Nothing leaves that heritage site. It’s Grand Snow, but with less publicity.” Hara said. He was enthralled to have an engaged student,

“Regardless, you’re only in first year. Thing’s like that, are dreams awaiting you post graduation. And I bet you’ll make a fine Apothecary yet, Qilin. Fine enough to graduate right into the feild.” He smiled. Qilin took that as a challenge. It made him giddy to hear. As Qilin tried alchemizing water for the fey, he held onto Hara’s insight on his favourite healing flowers. Doi Veng was the grandest Magic Forest of The Eastlands. Of the kingdom of Vieticia. Hara done his duty as a teacher. Qilin was even more inspired; More desperately desiring the Golden Butte’s haven. Somewhere away from his home-life, and a place to belong to. The scroll could become reality.

In third year, Qilin’s pursuit of the adorable Far South boy, Rah, was abruptly halted. Not just because his flirting had resulted in punishment; Rah had became spoken for, by the Fish Kingdom. When she called, Qilin’s mother berated him about harassing people; She seldom got mad, and she was frustrated by his lack of character growth. It made Qilin sink. He was so far from her. Maybe he liked the idea of having a boyfriend, to just have someone to love him. Perhaps, it was the human need for attention, given his childhood. Qilin was left meditating in his dorm-room, with the unrelenting feeling of shame and loneliness.

By the next year, Qilin’s hard work made him the school’s top Apothecary student; Nearly S-rank in mid year. The prestige of an Apothecary, was indicated by the letter-rank of the potions they’d perfected: A to Z, where Z was the most complex and forbidden brews. Hours of fascinating books, and obsession with novel ingredients the professors gave him. Qilin’s competitive spirit thrived. This was better then his heart imagined. He ceased each chance, and persisted until he achieved perfection. Qilin let go of the idea of romance, and wed his studies.

Yet, being alone weighed on him. Qilin tuned into the Eastland station, on the radio, as a distraction, while he concocted advanced potions; for extra credit, or detention if the recipe was dangerous. Good or bad, all results fed his addiction to attention.

Like the scroll, that radio was all Qilin had for his culture. Even though his mother assumed an international school would have Eastlanders, Qilin turned out to be the only one. It seemed, there were peers from everywhere else. The scroll and a radio continued to be his only connection to the tropical far-off land; A place known for spicy food and mythical golden flowers. His mother and siblings always talked Modern Vietician at home, so he was the only one who understood the news and music. It became company enough. He was unable to make friends as school progressed. It truth, it made him aggressive, and his academic achievements made other students envy him.

When Qilin went home that year, the potions professor let him take the lab radio. He listened to it at home. As the high of an exciting school life wore off, Qilin found himself crying silently in the night. Being surrounded by supportive people at school, and a better quality of life, made him comprehend the extent of his poor hand in life.

The apartment was hot over the summer, and Qilin’s brothers were off working now. However, he couldn’t work in the summer, as Qilin had to babysit his little sister. But his mother was home a little more, to share time with him. She had a better position at work, and missed him over the semesters. But still, he could hear her shame for being unable to provide, in the quiver of her voice. Qilin sat on his cushion, eating instant noodles while drifting into the scroll again. After studying magic, he could finally recognize it; It was of Doi Veng.

Right before the next school year, there was news that Doi Veng had a mage. Qilin had met some mages in school. They were to nice for all the rumours of their dark powers to be true. Hara for one, seemed to glow of magic’s joviality. Qilin realized they were simply talented obsessed nerds. Like him. So when hearing he may work with one in the future, Qilin jumped over the low table to turn of the dial. He was in his pajamas, on all fours. Whitestead had ravished the legendary butte’s wonders, and their son, Aurum, found out he was a mage in a presentation. He was imprisoned, which is odd, as laws were loose in a nation of non-judgmental egalitarian culture. According to the news, Doi Veng’s community finally had an opinion; They protested successfully for Aurum’s freedom, and elected him as their Witch. Qilin gasped at the strength it must have taken, to stand up against such powerful wizards; Surviving persecution, and work to the bone to be a beloved sweet community mage.

“That mom! I want to be like that! I want to be in a community of magic users, atop the golden meditation labyrinths of Doi Veng! Strength and serenity among people like me! Flowing with the philosiphy of the water’s way” Qilin cheered. For once, no silence. His mother nudged the bowl of yesterdays rice at his arm.

“I warn against looking too far into your future, and being so invested in your aspirations. And assigning thoughts to people and places you’ve never known? Things may not be as perfect as you think. Now eat before you miss the boat across the isle. You have another year of school left.” His mother said calmly.

Qilin got stitches running to the marina. He felt his sweat. Fear instilled, not two years before graduation. What if it’s not what I imagined? Moving won’t fix my family, nor me. Qilin pondered. Deeply breathing the salty air, reflecting on his work and wayward soul: What if I’m not accepted as a local Apothecary, when they have a mage? And will the temple take me, and road be rough, because my stubborn obsession and thirst for love, made me stray to far to one side?

NEXT --->

#tales of ealdan cynedom #aurum #fantasy #short stories #art #naga

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wcmcink · 2 years

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how we are

it is through these binary positions that we navigate the real, that we find truth… the truth isn’t that one aspect is good & one aspect is bad, or so & so’s a hero & so & so’s a villain (the idea of the movie theatre is to walk out of it, not make the movie), the reality of these binary oppositions exists somewhere in the interstices. thats how they get you in the end— they make you aware of all these different options & demand that loyalty insists that you choose one & stick to that one. we have duality, we have more than duality, we have many different things living inside of us & we must honor that. we are plural. we must evacuate these things of all weighted definitions if we seek to come to terms with our life. the balance.

i woke up this morning with the presidents thesis on the ground…

i started my thesis on aesthetics & practice years ago & never finished it—

i read somewhere in an article “a naked exposure to the rage of the world…” maybe i am mad; but i ain’t stressing…i take too much prozak to be mad…i’m a big fan of western pharmacology…big narcotic titty… she’s a maniac, maniac, on the dance flooor… there is so much junk rattling around my brain… just for today i will try to resist the social programming of the system…don’t be an incel, get laid, be somebody…its not her fault she doesn’t like you bro…who hates you baby…you know what don’t make it up to me, make it up to someone else at this point…

i put some rites of spring on (not stravinsky), i don’t even know what happened to that t-shirt… i’m always losing my shit in my radical moves, could you imagine what it was like seeing guy picciotto dangle off the headboards in the school gymnasium screaming, “i, i, believe memory by memory no reflections on me…”? righteous bro.

i’ve been experimenting with new forms, new ideas, new poetry, capped my book, started a third one… busy…busy…busy… it approaches pop in a digital field… you know something on c-86 or the wedding present would sing about…

tales from the creator/ the third collect for peace

putting it down for bitches on the block the mommas its war, pig slime or whatever your nAme is jump that pussy wide open fuck a little bit get some i pose right & all the cup-cakes you can eat bro, have you ever seen frogs fight? i got this app on my phone 'cus... playing off i was taken away the sacrifices of god is a broken spirit more ministers than a deck of cards these are the wages of a broken heart prepare the dry lands & love sees through you real less than along & how to hide someone from memories the young lions on the bed... living with the man was never easy... watch my three & celebrate the days of the week dance in the fear & sleep in the madness/ it takes you

if you wanna know the truth i don’t believe in anything, most days i’m too busy in the politics of survival to believe anything. i have ideas sure, ideas i share & open to discussion; but beliefs are at odds with practice… if you believe something & are engaged in some kind of dogmatic ritual, you can’t change your practice when it no longer suits you, so to speak. change, change, change & change again until your expression has reached its final form (it never reaches finality, it continues… purposefully).

fear or hate thats all there is in the city. narrate yourself against it, remember your heart, remember your mind. the withered bones of a hateful man, perverted by fear…come on old man…i don’t want to understand, i don’t need to.

i hit a guy last night at a meeting. makes me think of an embrace lyric don’t “mistake hatred for courage…” where will i go now? i’m a changed man… i’m up early again 4:37, sometimes i get decent sleep but most days i’m awake, listening to the feed trail off into no-where in particular… you know “grilling on the feed again”… it sucks but its the way it is…something i wrote, something that got lost in the interstices…no more poems for the sky & i’m not better than making a few bucks…

when i would go out on the streets, lived is far fetched… i would make music, poems, & toss them around into nothing… it was my contribution to the universe; tell you the truth it would’ve been nice to see some dividends as opposed to the odd twenty bucks some citizen would throw my way…or being smoked out…i always called them poems for the sky…every-time i came in i would swear no more, no more talking to myself, no more grilling on the feed, no more push & pull, sanity, integration into a system that works for me… even anarchy is a system of ideas… not like i’m such a crusty, but anyway i digress…chimp & sneer, the battlegrounds…

i’m in favour of never learning your lesson…where life teaches no lessons, offers no wisdom but nature & the viccissitudes of…this isle is filled with noises…when the thought is in the action, i kind of believe “hey, you left it out bro…”

haven’t you seen anyone talk with their hands before? bullshit you’re throwing up…when even gentle words won’t do/

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randomshyperson · 3 years

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WANDA X READER - 10 THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU - Final

Gif is not mine.

Summary: Pietro Maximoff is handsome and popular, but he can’t date before his twin sister. The problem is that no one can get close to his sister, Wanda Maximoff. To resolve the situation, a girl interested in Pietro bribes a colleague with a mysterious past to go out with Wanda and, who knows, try to win her over. Or The one directly inspired by 10 Things I Hate About You.

Words: 11,620K (Complete) /// Read on AO3 too || Part I

Warnings: PG, fluff, language.

She doesn't answer your messages during the weekend. So you don't press her. But then you are on the field, in physical education period, and she is practicing.

You sit on the bleachers, trying to focus on the math homework you needed to finish, when Monica joins you on the bench.

- Hey, girl. - She says hello as she sits down. And noticing your gaze shifting from the notebook to Wanda, she comments. - What happened between you two?

You sighed angrily.

- I did the right thing. - You comment with irony, but seeing Monica's frown in confusion, you add. - She wanted to kiss me after the party. I refused because she was drunk.

- But the plan was working! - said Monica.

- So what, you called the whole thing off.

Monica giggled, and raised her eyebrows slightly.

- Yeah, I know, but it was...it was before what happened. - She said, and you looked at her with confusion. - Pietro kissed me.

You blink and then laugh, shaking your head. And then Bruce comes to join you two.

- I just talked to Wanda. - He says. - Look, she said she hates you with the intensity of a thousand suns.

You let out a dry laugh, running your fingers through your hair.

- Thank you Bruce, that's very comforting to hear. - You tell him wryly, and he nods uncomfortably.

- Maybe she needs a day to calm down. - Monica says, and the three of you look toward the field, where Wanda was training veritably.

- Maybe two days. - You comment as you watch her knock a girl down.

//-//

You managed to fix most of your motorcycle. And then you found out that your mother punctured the tires, and you stormed angrily into her room.

- Have you completely lost your mind? - You shouted, and she just took off her glasses and crossed her legs while looking at you. - You slashed the tires on my motorcycle?

- I told you that you were grounded.

- That's ridiculous! - you say. - You don't have the slightest respect for my things.

- Don't talk to me that way. - She warned, and you let out a wry laugh.

- Be damn sure that when my bike is up and running, I'm out of here!

You shout before leaving the room, slamming the door.

You were coming out of geography class when Pepper Potts came to talk to you again.

She pulled you into a far corner behind the closet, and held out a hundred dollars to you.

- Take her to prom. - She said. - It's all here, limousine, clothes.

She pushed the money in your hands, but you pushed it back.

- I'm done with this game, Potts. - You retorted, feeling extremely uncomfortable.

You started to turn to leave, but Potts stepped in front of you.

- Hey, hey, wait. - She asked, and then pulled three more bills from her purse. - Three hundred dollars, okay? Come on, it's just a date.

You swallowed dryly as you accepted, trying to push to the back of your mind how wrong it was. And Potts smiled mischievously, then left.

//-//

You went back to the same record store in front of the laundry room where you found Wanda that other day. And you tried not to be so nervous.

Looking around, you found her walking around the shelves, and she was admiring a guitar. You put your hands in your pockets as you watched her put on the headphones and try the instrument, sitting down on one of the stools in the store.

You moved closer, and could see her reflection in the mirror a few feet away, but Wanda didn't see you, as her eyes were closed while her fingers danced on the guitar strings.

You smiled at the image, she looked so peaceful and comfortable. You couldn't disturb her. So you just left the store.

//-//

You saw Wanda again the next day. You didn't give up talking to her, and ended up going to the only bookstore in town that you knew sold the poetry that Wanda liked to read according to the list Monica had given you.

And while you were browsing the shelves, you found her looking distractedly at a stack of books. You walked over to her, following her across the opposite shelf, and when the shelf was over, you ended up in front of each other.

- Excuse me, miss. I'm looking for an Avengers comic book, have you seen any around? - You joked, but Wanda didn't smile, looking annoyed.

- What are you doing here?

- I hear you like poetry. - You answer and she sighs impatiently.

- You're so...

- Charming? - You interrupt with a smile, Wanda rolls her eyes as she walks away from you. - wholesome?

- Inopportune. - She says irritated. You bite your lip and walk toward her.

- You're not as mean as you think. - You tell her.

- And you're not as bad-ass as you think you are.

- Oh, someone still has her panties in a twist.

- Don’t for one minute think that you had any effect whatsoever on my panties.

You let out a smug chuckle.

- And where did I provoke?

- You provoked my vomit, nothing more. - She retorts, then grabs a comic book from the stack of books in front of her and slaps it against your chest, walking away.

You stare at the Avengers comic book in your hand for a few minutes before handing it back, completely impressed by the dialogue.

//-//

At break time, the day after your argument with Wanda, Monica and Bruce approach you in the snack line.

- She's still mad at me, people. - You tell them as you put some noodles on your tray.

- Look, you embarrassed her, you need to apologize. - Monica said and you frowned.

- I'm not going to apologize for not taking advantage of her drunken state! - You retort. - It's not my fault she's stubborn, and would rather be angry than admit she's wrong.

You finish your lunch and get out of line, Bruce and Monica follow you to the table. They don't sit with you, but watch you sit next to Carol at one of the circular tables.

- Come on, Y/N, try to think of something to please her. - Bruce says, and you roll your eyes.

- You can sing your apologies. - Mocks Carol from beside you, making you laugh. But then Bruce and Monica have serious expressions and you frown.

- Not a chance! - You warn them, but they are already letting out excited exclamations.

Carol starts laughing next to you.

- I have the perfect idea! - Monica says. - You can sing a romantic song in front of the whole school! Any girl would love it.

- I'd kill anyone who did that to me. - Carol mumbles humorously, and you laugh.

- Can I at least finish my lunch in peace? - you say, and Monica and Bruce nod in agreement. You point to the free chairs at your table, and they are very happy to sit with you.

//-//

And then you ended up outside the school again. After infiltrating the upper booth of the soccer field and getting a microphone and access to the outside speakers. You also had to pay the band guy, but you figured it was only worth it.

- You're just too good to be true. - You sang into the microphone as you walked out of the booth toward the stands. Your voice echoing across the field - Can't take my eyes of you. - You continued as you walked. All the students were looking around trying to figure out where the voice was coming from. - You'd be like heaven to touch. I wanna hold you so much. At long last love has arrived. And I thank God I'm alive - You sing and finally become visible to the people in the field. - You're just too good to be true. - You look for Wanda in the crowd in the distance, and sing the last part while looking and pointing at her. - Can't take my eyes of you.

And then the band starts playing, and you follow the beats, continuing to sing the song, as the crowd claps their hands and enjoys your performance.

You keep looking at Wanda throughout the song, and even as the security guards pull you off the field, you see that she is blushing, and smiling.

//-//

You end up in detention after hearing from Principal Harkness that she was impressed that you did romantic acts, and you laughed before leaving the office.

And then Professor Thanos was walking around the detention room, and stopped at the desk next to yours.

- You look nervous. - He said to the student who was sitting down.

- A little bit sir.

- You are sweating like a pig. - said Thanos.

- Yes sir. - agreed the frightened boy.

- Your eyes are red. - He said.

The boy nodded nervously, looking down at the table.

- You have pot, don't you? - said Thanos angrily, and the boy turned pale. - Hand it over right now.

After confiscating the boy's weed, Thanos walked back around, and then the door opened. You raised your head when you heard Wanda's voice.

- Professor Thanos, may I speak with you please? - she asked, entering the room and walking towards the man.

- What can I do for you, Miss Maximoff?

- I have some ideas for improving the team. - She says.

- Great! But we'll talk about them later. - Thanos replies with a serious expression, and as he looks across the room, Wanda looks at you, and quickly signals the window of the room. You blink in confusion, and when she whispers "window," Professor Thanos turns to her again.

- As you know, we have an important match against the Panthers coming up. - She starts to say, clearly trying to distract the man. You rush to gather your backpack and sneak out of his field of vision. - Wow, your muscles are huge! - She comments with a false sweetness in her voice, pulling the professor along and enabling you to run behind one of the pillars. The floor is very noisy and Wanda is trying to keep the man distracted by talking about match tactics, and when you finally reach the window, there is a metallic clatter and you think Thanos is going to see you, but then Wanda is pulling you by the arm again, and lifting up her own blouse.

The whole room makes a celebratory buzz and you try not to blush at the image of Wanda's exposed breasts, hurrying out, around the building on the fire escape and out the side.

//-//

It takes a while, but Wanda joins you.

- I can't believe you showed your breasts to a professor. - You remark with a laugh when she arrives.

- I can't believe you sang in front of the school. - She replies with a smile.

You shift the weight of your feet, staring at the ground for a second.

- Do you want to do something now? - you ask, and Wanda smiles as she nods.

You sneak off the school grounds, avoiding being seen by any security or teachers.

You end up in the city park, on the pedal boats in the middle of the sea.

- I can't stop thanking you for getting me out of detention. - You say with a smile as you pedal along together. - That was really nice.

- No problem.

You are silent for a moment, before you decide to ask her what she wants to know.

- What is your excuse?

- For what? - she asks confused.

- For behaving the way you do.

- I don't like to do what everyone expects. - She says. - Why should I meet other people's expectations and not my own?

- So you disappoint from the start, and then you don't have to worry?

She smiles lightly impressed.

- Yeah, something like that.

You nod, looking away.

- So you failed.

- How so?

- You've never disappointed me. - You confess, and Wanda looks at you. You smile at each other for a moment, before you look away again.

A few meters from the edge of the beach there is a paintball field.

- Hey, are you in? - you ask, pointing to the place.

- Yes. - Wanda agrees, slightly excited.

When you get off the pedal boat, you race to the paintball field, and Wanda absolutely beats you to it. You are laughing as you pay the entrance fee, watching her excitement.

After you put on your protective clothing, and get the paint ammunition, she moves first into the field, and hides, causing you to lose sight of her. You walk around looking around, and then feel something cold hit you on your back.

- Cheater! - You shout cheerfully, as you grab some paint from your ammunition pouch, and run toward Wanda, who is laughing as she tries to run away. You hit her in the leg.

And you stay in this race for several minutes, throwing paintballs at each other while laughing and trying to dodge the shots. At some point between ducking behind one of the obstacles, you corner Wanda, but she looks so cute that you don't have the heart to throw paint at her.

So you just put your hand down and smile. But seeing your hesitation, Wanda laughs and jumps at you, knocking you into the hay as she falls on top of you. You both laugh but your laughter dies down when you notice how close you are. And then she gets that look in her eyes again, and you want to kiss her, so you do.

And you kiss against the hay for many minutes, the feeling of having her against you makes you absolutely satisfied. And you continue there, until Wanda sighs against your lips, and you are warm, and it is better to stop before you are thrown out. And when you part, Wanda hits you on the head with a paint ball, and the moment changes completely. Soon you are back to playing and running.

//-//

On the way back to Wanda's house, you talked about the most varied subjects. When you are arriving, you start talking about the rumors that have been made at school about you two.

- I've heard that you sold your liver on the black market. - She remarked, making you laugh as you turned off the car.

- Those things are lies. - You retorted sheepishly as you got out and walked towards her backyard.

- The parole story?

- False - You deny it laughing. - The fight that ended in death in the parking lot?

- Rumor. - Wanda says with a laugh. - The robbery in New York?

- Just gossip. - You say. - And the kick in Tony Stark's nuts?

- True, he deserved it. - She says. - I'd do it again, he tried to grab me in the cafeteria.

You nod in agreement.

- What about your accent? - you ask curiously.

- I thought it was one at a time. - She jokes, and you shrug. You sit on her balcony. - It's real. My family is from Sokovia, we moved here when I was eight. - You grumble in agreement, waiting for Wanda's question. - Where were you last year? Since the parole story is a lie?

You laughed, looking away for a moment.

- I was in Colorado, living with my father. - You tell, and then look at her again, tucking her hair back behind her ear.

Wanda looks at you with curiosity and tenderness.

- Tell me something true.

- True? - you repeat with a thoughtful tone. - I hate peas.

She laughs lightly.

- No. Something real. - She clarifies. - Something no one else knows about.

- Okay. - You agree by coming closer. - You're sweet. - You tell her by lowering your head to her neck and kissing. - And sexy. - You kiss the skin on the other side. - And you're completely crazy about me. - You say as you bump your foreheads together, and Wanda laughs, pulling away a little.

- You have a huge ego, anyone ever tell you that? - she scoffs.

- I tell myself that every day. - You smile back, before kissing her. - Come to the prom with me.

- Is that a request or an order?

- Come on, go with me.

Wanda sighs.

- No.

- Why not?

- Because I don't want to, it's a silly tradition. - She explains.

- Now, nobody expects you to go.

- Why are you so insistent about it?

You look at her in surprise, feeling your heart race. Then of course you get defensive, because Wanda can't know. At your lack of response, she asks:

- What's in it for you? - She sounds suspicious and irritated.

- Now I need a reason to be with you?

- You tell me.

You look away, feeling extremely uncomfortable.

- You need therapy, you know. - You say back. - Has anyone ever told you that?

- Answer my question.

- Nothing. - You exclaim without patience, looking at her. - I get nothing, just the pleasure of your company.

You look out into the yard again, and Wanda lets out an angry exclamation before getting up and walking into the house, slamming the door.

You run your hands through your hair, hating that you accepted the damn money in the first place.

//-//

You thought Wanda was angry, but she calls you the next day after school. And she accepts the invitation. You are surprised, and feel guilty, but you are also happy to spend time with her.

She says she will accompany her sister, and meet you at the dance. So you stand at the entrance to the party, wearing your best clothes and trying not to look so anxious.

Wanda doesn't see you as she walks up the stairs to the party, and you bite your lip, impressed by how beautiful she looks.

You approach slowly, and whisper a hello in her ear, which startles her slightly, but she smiles turning to you.

- You look stunning. - You say breathlessly.

- So do you. - She replies with a smile.

You offer your arm for her to hold, and she accepts. You walk together toward the ballroom.

- How did you get such a fancy outfit? - she asks with a slight irony.

- Oh, I had kept it at home. For situations like this. - You joke.

- What situations?

- A date with a pretty girl. - You retort with a smile, and Wanda laughs lightly.

You walk to the entrance of the photos, and you lean against the pillar.

- I'm sorry I questioned your motives. - she says when you stop. - I was wrong.

You swallow dryly, feeling guilty. But you try to cover it up.

- You are forgiven.

Wanda smiles.

- Are you ready for the ball?

- Yes, miss. - You agree with a light laugh as you turn toward the party.

You dance together for a few minutes. The songs are terrible, but with Wanda, it's fun.

You also see Pietro and Monica dancing together, and Wanda exchanges a pleased look with her sister.

- Girl, have you seen him? - asks a redheaded girl walking up to Wanda. You know they are friends, and that her name was Nat or something like that.

- Who? - Wanda replies, confused.

- William! - she replies. - He asked me to come here.

You and Wanda exchange confused and amused glances.

- Natasha, please don't tell me you're hallucinating.

You were going to ask what they were talking about, but then you looked toward the stage and understood. You signaled for the girl to look, and she cracked a big smile when she saw Bruce Banner dressed as William Shakespeare waving at her, and walked off in your direction.

- I'm not even going to ask. - Wanda remarked with a chuckle before she went back to dancing with you.

And then the music is ending again, for a romantic one to take its place. You turn Wanda in your arms, kiss her tenderly for a moment, and then dance again, feeling her rest her chin on your shoulder.

And you dance for several minutes, and then someone pulls you away.

- Girl, what is Pietro doing here with that asshole? - Pepper asked aggressively as she pulled you away. - I didn't pay you to go out with Wanda and get nothing for it.

It was as if a bucket of cold water had fallen on you. Your gaze returned immediately to Wanda, and she was already looking at you with teary eyes.

- You have nothing to gain from this, have you?

she retorted wryly before walking away, bumping into you. You gave Potts one last look before following her.

- Wanda! Wait! Please! - You shouted as you walked out of the hall. She then stopped walking, and you let out a sigh. - Give me a chance to explain.

- You were paid to go out with me by the person I hate the most. - She retorted. - I knew it was a trick.

- No, Wanda. It wasn't like that.

- How was it then? An advance, and the rest of the money when you sleep with me?

- No! - You denied it with a shout. - I didn't care about the money! I cared about you.

Wanda shook her head, incredulously.

- You're different than I thought you were.

And then she turns and runs outside, and you sink your hands into your face, trying to calm yourself down.

- Where did she go? - You hear a male voice, and take your hands away from your face to see Pietro standing in front of you.

- Away. - You retort, feeling your stomach clench. - I screwed up.

- We did. - He says upset, putting his hands in his pockets.

- At least you got the girl. - You comment wryly before turning and walking away.

You think you're crying, but you don't care as you leave the party.

//-//

Your first lesson is literature the next day. And you know you will see Wanda, but you are hating yourself so much right now that you don't care. You arrive early for the first time in the whole school year, and sit in one of the back chairs.

As the other students arrive, you keep your head down, trying to distract yourself with your cell phone, even though you know that all your attention is on the girl sitting two chairs in front of you.

When Professor Fury finally starts the class, he is all excited.

- I guess everyone had time to finish the poem I asked for. - He announces standing at the front of the room. - Except for Mrs. Potts, who has an excuse. - He scoffs lightly, mentioning the confusion that occurred at the dance when you left, where Monica punched her in the nose. And now she was wearing sunglasses to cover up the purple. The whole room giggles at Fury's words. - Okay, does anyone want to start the reading?

The room is silent, but then Wanda raises her hand.

- I will.

- Lord, here we go. - Comments the teacher as the girl gets up, and stops at the front of the room. Wanda begins to recite the poem:

-I hate the way you talk to me. And the way you cut your hair. I hate the way you drive my car. I hate it when you stare. - She narrates, without taking her gaze from the notebook - I hate your big dumb combat boots, And the way you read my mind. I hate you so much, that it makes me sick, And even makes me rhyme. - She pauses, taking a deep breath - I hate the way you're always right, I hate it when you lie. I hate it when you make me laugh. - She looks directly at you, her eyes filled with tears and her voice trembling. - Even worse when you make me cry. I hate it when you not around. And the fact that you didn't call. But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you, Not even close, Not even a little bit, not even at all.

Wanda lets the tears flow as she finishes, and the room was too shocked to react. She rushes out next, grabbing her backpack on the way, and slamming the door.

You are trying to hold back your own tears as you stand up.

- I'm going to the bathroom, Mr. Fury. - You grumble as you leave, without waiting for permission.

But you don't find Wanda, and you decide that you’re simply not in the mood for school today.

//-//

You sell your motorcycle. You hate that it has the parts for the money Potts gave you, so when it is fixed, you call Carol, and she finds you a buyer. This means you are stuck with your mother for a longer period, but it seems like the right thing to do.

And then you text Wanda, asking her to meet you wherever she wants. She says she won't leave the house to talk to you, so you end up at her front door, shifting the weight of your feet before you decide to knock.

Wanda's father looks stern, and he doesn't smile when he sees you.

- Are you the girl who made my daughter cry? - he asks with a serious expression.

But then Pietro appears at his side, patting him on the shoulder.

- My God, Daddy, don't be like that! - he asks, smiling at you. - Y/N, you are here to apologize, I imagine. Let her talk to Wands.

Mr. Maximoff takes one last look at you before entering back into the house, and Pietro smiles, nodding his head for you to enter.

- Thank you, Pietro. - You tell him, and then he takes you upstairs.

He drops you at Wanda's door, and you take a deep breath before knocking.

- Come in. - You hear her voice on the other side.

Entering the room, you are slightly overwhelmed by the amount of visual information. Wanda has many posters. And she is sitting on the bed, with a book on her lap.

- Hey. - You greet her, closing the door. You leave your hands in your pockets, deciding whether to stand.

- Hi. - She replies, placing the book on the bed and crossing her legs. - What did you want?

You swallow dryly, and decide to sit on her bed, keeping your distance.

- To apologize. - You clarify, and she looks away. - Properly apologize.

- I don't know what you want me to say.

- I just want you to listen. - You retort and straighten your posture, feeling your heart soar. - I'm sorry I took Potts' money, because regardless of my motives, it was wrong to put your feelings on the line.

- Wanda frowns slightly, as if deciding whether to believe you or not. You clear your throat.

- I never should have accepted it in the first place, but mostly I should have stopped when I realized I was falling in love with you. - You say, and Wanda looks at you, surprised by your confession. - But I didn't stop, and I lied to you and kept deceiving you, when I should have told you the whole truth. I'm sorry I hurt you, Wanda. I swear I didn't think all of this would happen.

You take a deep breath, running your fingers through your hair. Wanda just stands there, looking at you as if trying to read your mind.

- I just wanted to say that. - You tell her feeling flustered,

- Are you in love with me?

Wanda looks at you intently, and you just smile shyly.

-Very much so.

And then Wanda approaches you, and when she is close to your face, she says:

- I'm still mad at you. - And then she kisses you. You have missed her lips, and unfortunately the kiss doesn't last long.

When you open your eyes, Wanda has already moved away again, leaning her back against the headboard.

- When you are no longer angry, can we do something together? - you ask her tenderly. Wanda stares back at you, as if to say something.

- I received my acceptance letter today. - She tells you suddenly, and you blink in confusion. Before you can congratulate her, she adds. - In California.

You look at her in surprise, feeling your heart race. Wanda was leaving.

- Oh. - You swallow dryly, shake your head slightly, and smile. - I'm proud of you, Wanda. Congratulations.

- I thought you'd be upset.

- No, it's okay. - You give her a sad smile. - I'll miss you, but it's amazing that you're going to college.

Wanda lets out a sigh, keeping quiet for a moment.

- What did you need the money for?

You are surprised by the question, and look away from her, feeling slightly uncomfortable that this subject is back. But you decide that Wanda has the right to know whatever she wants to.

- I needed to fix my motorcycle. - You tell. - My mom is... hard to deal with. We had a fight and she broke some parts with a hammer. The next day, Potts was offering me the money I needed.

Wanda looks at you for a moment, seeming to be absorbing the story.

- Did you fix it?

- Yes. - You confirm, but let out a humorless chuckle. - But I sold it later.

The girl looks at you, frowning in confusion. And you shrug.

- I felt bad about everything. I decided to try to do the right thing then. - You explain. - I think I'm stuck with my mother for a while now.

Wanda looks surprised at your conclusion, and you let out a sigh, flopping down on the bed as you stare at the ceiling. You are silent for a moment, and then Wanda crawls over to you and lies down beside you, looking up at you.

- What if you leave with me? - She whispers, running her fingers across your face, and you blink in surprise.

- What?

Wanda smiles shyly.

- I have a car. - she says. - And you could work, and we could share an apartment.

You straighten your posture, leaning on your elbow and looking at Wanda in amazement.

- Are you serious? - you ask, smiling, and she nods slightly. You let out a happy exclamation, and move in, kissing her on the mouth. Wanda giggles against your lips, but returns the kiss.

You quickly let go and sit down on the bed when Wanda's father suddenly opens the door.

- Keep this door open! - He warns with a stern look, and you swallow dryly.

- Yes, sir. - Wanda says with humor.

When he leaves, you throw yourself on the bed next to Wanda, and she goes back to reading while you lie beside her.

- Any chance you have any comic books around here? - You joke, and Wanda giggles, denying it with a nod.

You don't mind though, her company is enough to keep you distracted.

//-//

You end up using the money from the motorcycle sale to pay the deposit on the apartment you find for yourselves, fifteen minutes from her college. You get a job the same week, and you finally read the poetry that Wanda likes as you both drive towards California.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda x reader #high school au #marvel imagines #wandaxreader #wandaxyou

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dreamiesdotcom · 3 years

Text

celestial | h.rj

Summary: To attribute full sight and still have the ability to describe things to someone who's never seen them means that you've felt the world deeper than anybody else.

Word count: 2164

a/n: idk whats up with me and midnights

Renjun's first question goes like this: "What does the pool look like?"

Naturally, Jeno panics; how do you explain a pool to someone who's never seen it? He's been so used to seeing it on a daily that he didn't even pay mind to the details. He debates on describing a rectangle, and then describing the waters, and then whatever the hell his 12-year-old mind could come up with. Naturally, he fails.

For him, you saved everything that day. You grabbed Renjun's hand, intertwining your fingers before grazing the water. "Do you feel that?"

"What exactly am I supposed to feel?"

"The water. Do you feel that constant flow and the relaxing cold?" you laughed then, patient even for the moody boy. He huffs out his cheeks and nods, you let go of his hands. "That's blue, Renjun. The water reflects the sky, and a pool is like a little ocean. An ocean is like a world filled with blue."

He tries to think of it, vast and endless fields of freedom. He couldn't, though; all he's known about the sky is that it was blue, and that blue is associated with sadness. He takes advantage of the fact that someone's willing to answer his question, and he asks again, "Is it scary?"

"Mhm, for some, it is. I'll let you in a secret, come here." You nod, and then he tilts his head to the side. He hears a splash, and doesn't expect it once he hears your voice after — "I'm actually scared of swimming pools."

"Didn't you just go in?"

"No, that was Jeno. I'm here." You poked a finger on his left arm, and he could tell you're wearing that cheeky grin. His stance softens. "I'm just beside you."

###

It was morning, the sun was shining and the scorching summer heat was kinder than everyone expected it to be. Somewhere around the room, Chenle and Jisung successfully trapped a sleeping Jaemin in a domino prison, Jeno's trying to convince them why this is such a bad idea and Mark is getting scolded by Hyuck. The TV fades to background noise, the plan of cooking extra pancakes long forgotten. Renjun leans his head on your shoulders, "What does the night look like?"

It felt like an odd question to ask as the sun is halfway to its peak, but Renjun's curiosity piques in no time. You hum for a bit to think, "The night is very different to a lot of people."

Very different for a lot of people... yeah, many things in the world are like that. He figured it out years ago when you told him about the swimming pools, and the airplanes, and the rollercoasters. He figured it out when you talked to him about books, when you taught him about colors, about shapes.

He still doesn't know what different looks like, and what importance it holds.

"Hyuck loves the night. You hear his laughter, right? He likes going on adventures and feeling the wind. I think, to him, the night looks like a harsh passing of the breeze you felt when we went out on a drive." He takes in your words. These days, he gets better with understanding metaphors — he learned that blue is not just a shade of sadness, and that sky doesn't always mean blue — he understands your words better. "But me... I just sleep. I don't like the night very much."

"Huh?"

"Have you ever been in a silent place, Jun?" you asked softly. "Not the silence you can fill with music. I'm talking about blank, emotionless silence; the one that echoes. The one that haunts you. The one that makes you feel alone. That's what the night looks like for me."

Renjun wanted to nod, and he wanted to say yes because he's been in that silent place for the longest time. It's all he's ever known, and it's all that he's ever seen; it's the only thing he sees — black, echoing, loud nothingness.

He didn't, though.

Instead, he asks a question, "What do you think about the night?"

"I think it's a question." comes quickly in a reply. "I still don't know how a nightmare town gives life to dreamers, but it does. It's a question I do not want to know the answer to."

Renjun knows of the stars and the sky, and you'd tried to explain their light by telling him what blinding comfort was — think of all your loneliest moments being washed away by the fire I told you about, and that's pretty much it, 'jun — and he knows of the big, gazing moon that changes shape now and then. It's what makes up most of the night, Jeno had said, so he knows that too.

What he doesn't know is why it seems so vicious to you, and what he doesn't know is that if he could see, would he have chosen to close his eyes to not witness such complex sadness.

###

It's at times like this when solace blooms in his heart. The rest of the world seems to be fast asleep, but he's so awake, so aware, so alive. You sit beside him, yet again brought him to the place you and Jaemin frequents in, and he ignores the jealous feeling in his chest. It's at times like this that Renjun realizes he's falling.

"Your smile must look beautiful," he wonders out loud. "Can you please tell me how your smile looks like?"

"Me?" You replied nonchalantly. Your chuckle passes as cold as the night breeze, and he wonders how the poet would write themselves as poetry. The blankness of your words dulls the hope in his eyes, "I... don't like it. My eyes... they always look tired. I always look tired. I hate myself."

For a moment, he dwells on his thoughts — Jaemin's brought you here, and you're more frequent here together, and he's seen how you looked against the glimmering stars. Did he fall in love? Did he want to keep you all to himself, like a little secret? Did he want to kiss you until all spite of yourself vanishes from your soul? Jaemin must've, Renjun knows. He knows because even blind, he's aware of how beautiful you truly are; not only he's heard it from his friends, but he feels it strongly. He couldn't see the city lights that he's heard of so many times, but he knows you shine brighter than them.

Hell, he couldn't even see you — he couldn't even see anything, but he knows you do. He knows you are. You think he's wrong, that he's more gorgeous, but he reaches for your hands.

He doesn't know what beautiful looks like. He just knows that it's breath-taking, soul-stealing, ethereal, and you.

"I think you smile like euphoria. I think you smile like the sound of music boxes, those with lovely tunes," he says, eyes closed and breathing fast. "I think... "

'I love you.' oh, how he wished it's easy to say those words. He purses his lips. "...you're one of the most beautiful people I've ever met, right next to my mother."

Beside him, you chuckled and held his hands. "You're sleepy."

"I am. Right now, I'm sleepy and I know you're beautiful." He squeezes your hands, looking at the direction he knows you're at. He lets out a shaky smile, "Tomorrow, I will be wide awake and I'd still think you're stunning."

It's at times like this that Renjun realizes he's falling. It's at times like this that he fears how much he can't wait to crash.

###

Renjun's biggest fear among many is that he'll never feel like this again.

He fell too hard. He fell too quickly and too harshly and he's only noticing it now when the impact makes itself known and he couldn't stand up. He knew that he was scared, he knew that he was afraid then, but only now did he know what it truly meant to be terrified; when he's sitting beside you on the roof, feeling the wind pass by, and he couldn't help but wonder what if it's not us, but I can never love the person meant for me because they're not you?

It's a silly thing, maybe. He did not believe in many things and fate is not one of the few he believed in. He thinks that love is something you choose for yourself — it's something you decide on your own. He thinks that the only problem in 'not being made for each other' is that you relied too much on what the stars wrote, and didn't write your story on your own. What even are these stars, aside from unknown giant speckles of light? Why should they decide someone's life?

He adores them, he knows, and now he can't help his curiosity: "How do the stars look like tonight?"

"They're bright. Very bright."

He swoons at the content sigh you let out before speaking, and he lets himself indulge. It's at moments like this when he lets himself feel, where he relishes in the adoration he nestles.

"They ought to be," he whispers to himself. "They gotta be bright if they're trying to outshine you."

Giggles fades to laughter, and genuine words burn forced. He could almost taste the bitterness of your words, "You haven't seen me."

Does he need to?

"I don't need to," he concludes. "There's so much more to you than what I couldn't see."

Because it's true. All those years you held this something in you, a piece of an old soul and an unknown heavenly something you ignored just so you could spite yourself. You had this way with words, this certain understanding of the world that he's never found in someone else. Renjun thinks that to attribute full sight and still have the ability to describe things to someone who's never seen them means that you've felt the world deeper than anybody else, and to know that the world is cruel but still choose to keep your eyes open is something that should be admired.

Right now, you're the closest to him you've ever been, and he bathes in the feeling of your lips hovering above his.

"I'm a mess, Huang Renjun."

"You're an art in progress," he whispers back, eyes fluttering shut as you close what little distance you have left. "But even half-made, you're a masterpiece."

###

If somebody asked Renjun if he ever saw this coming, he'd say "Why the fuck would you even ask me that question?"

Alright, jokes aside, never in his mind did he think life would turn out this way. First of all, a lot of unexpected things have already happened, but he's stubborn so of course, that doesn't convince him. He should've felt it coming, but of course, he refused to. After all, why would he even think of his best friend laying beside him on his bed, talking about random things all night in every way domestic? Why would he even think of you two being together, whispering sweet nothings to each other? He's guilty of doing those, yes, but that doesn't mean that he knows the answer. In a spur of the moment decision, he asks another question — "Why'd you choose me?"

"You're the only one who wanted me—IT'S A JOKE! Hey, hey, I was only kidding," you laugh, finding so many things entertaining about the fact that he's unamused. He preens at the soft kiss you placed on the edge of his lips, and then even more when you whisper, "You're the only one I wanted."

Normally, this is where his heart would do those weird flips and antics. This is the time where he'd feel like he's in another world, like he's invincible and oh so lucky to be thoroughly adored by the person he loves so much.

It's only that sometimes, Renjun feels unreasonable. He's sensitive and insecure and it's so much easier to find flaws in himself than to appreciate the things that made him who he is. Sometimes, he needs to ask some things he's not exactly sure of, things much like: "Even with... even with my eyes... like this?"

And it's you, and it's never dull when it's with you, everything is always beautiful and poetic. He doesn't know where that voice was coming from, but he hears it in his mind, and it tells him to trust you.

A butterfly kiss on each of his eyelids. A hand warm on the top of his hands. The rain pours heavily outside but it's muffled enough that it's calming, and all that he can think of is warm, so warm, so loved. You hold your foreheads close and keep them close for seconds, before you press a soft kiss on his lips, "Your eyes are beautiful, my love."

And for once, Renjun's not afraid to ask — "How do they look like?"

Beautiful and so much more.

"As if something straight out of a magical dream, because you are. You are magical," you whisper, breathing in slow intervals. "You are the closest to celestial a human could be."

#nct dream #nct dream drabbles #nct dream blurbs #nct dream scenarios #nct dream imagines #nct dream x reader #nct dream one shots #nct dream fluff #renjun #renjun drabbles #renjun scenarios #renjun blurbs #renjun timestamps #renjun angst #renjun fluff #renjun imagines #blind!renjun

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lambden · 3 years

Text

Here’s some belated Geraskier fic that I finally get to post, as last week’s flash fic challenge has wrapped up! This was originally published anonymously; kudos to those of you who guessed that I was the author. Head to the collection to see the picture prompt that inspired this, as well as view the other works. I've been having a great time participating in fandom events like this; I promise there's more on the way!!! (Read on AO3)

Up To Date

prompt: "You were so hot that when you asked if I was the blind date you were looking for, I lied and said yes. But then your actual date comes up to introduce themselves and I'm so embarrassed."

G, 2.3K words, modern AU, Geralt/Jaskier

It shouldn’t be this difficult to find inspiration. He never used to struggle like this in high school, finding his muse in everyone and everything. Even his mundane trip on the city bus to and from school would give Jaskier hundreds of ideas, for poems too personal to publish or lyrics too deep for his band to use. Back then he had thought he lacked discipline and experience, so the clear choice had been to take his interest in poetry one step further and go to university.

The problem, as he’s now discovering halfway through his second year, is that he maybe hates university. He loves it, of course; he loves the praise from his professors and peers, he loves learning about the history of literature and art. He even loves the academic rivalries that wax and wane every term, and the competitions that ignite a mean streak in him he didn’t know he had.

But his assignments are of worse quality than anything he’s ever written before, and try as he might, they aren’t getting any better. Putting words on the page just to meet a count is impossible for a poet, not when the space and thoughts and images are all supposed to be cohesive. Poems used to flow from him so freely he hadn’t been able to keep track and now his well of motivation has just about run dry.

That’s what led him here, for the third time this week. His creative dysfunction has forced him into the day-to-day habits of an elderly man who spends his days reading in public gardens. It hasn’t helped so far, but maybe this third time will be the charm. Jaskier finds his favorite place: right by the koi pond, next to a strange art installation with ivy crawling along it. He sits at the base of the giant question mark, dropping his backpack onto the bench beside him.

“This better fucking work,” mutters Jaskier to himself and the koi, opening today’s book to a random poem. He refuses to let his mind wander at first, gluing his eyes to the page and reading with intense intent. The first poem he sees is about love.

Groaning, Jaskier flips the page. The next poem is also about love.

The third poem is about war, and Jaskier thinks that might be alright, until he realizes what this long-dead poet is trying to tell him, which is that war is also about love. Because it is, of course, but also of course it is. Jaskier scowls deeply and flips through the book to a random page, hoping to find something to spark inspiration that won’t just make him feel hopeless and single and hopelessly single.

Before Jaskier can get through the title, someone speaks to him, startling him so badly he jumps. “Are you Yennefer’s friend?”

Jaskier scrambles to catch the book by its cover and nearly drops it. He hadn’t even heard anyone approach. “Sorry?”

The stranger audibly sighs, as if Jaskier has inconvenienced him terribly. With all the force of someone announcing their presence at their own death row, he grits out, “I’m here for a blind date she set up. With you.” Jaskier looks up at the man and sees him wearing a blank expression, pointing at the question mark in front of the bench. “By the thing.”

“Oh,” Jaskier says, still looking at the man. It takes a second for the words to sink in because the stranger is perhaps the most handsome person Jaskier has ever seen. He could write a thousand poems and still fail to capture his beauty. He has golden eyes, for one, and a sharply chiseled face. Even grimacing like this, his jaw is set in the loveliest way, and his stern brow is framed by platinum white hair, half-tied up. He’s wearing a fairly gloomy outfit for a blind date, but maybe he told whoever Yennefer is that he would be dressed in black. Regardless, he’s making it work.

The gorgeous stranger is still waiting for an answer, scowl worsening as Jaskier tries to make his decision about how the fuck to handle this. Really, there’s no decision at all— he just impulsively takes the leap. All his best ideas come when he’s stumbling forward blind anyway. “Yes,” he finally says, jumping to his feet. “Yes, um, I’m sorry, you caught me off-guard. I’m Jaskier.”

“Geralt.” They’re of a similar height, but Geralt is so much wider. Jaskier wants to climb him like ivy on a question mark. “I’m sorry I interrupted.”

“It’s fine! I got here a while ago. You know, can’t be too early!” Jaskier has never been early for anything in his life. He sits down again and shoves his books into his bag as quickly as he can. Geralt shifts his weight back and forth between his feet before awkwardly sitting on the bench next to Jaskier, looking out at the garden. “I’ve never done this kind of thing before,” he admits, which is true. His usual lies and schemes are much less chaotic.

Geralt doesn’t reply to that, leaving Jaskier to privately wonder about his dating life. He stares at the plants, giving the impression that he might be hideously nervous. Jaskier has no idea why someone like Geralt would be nervous about anything but it’s an awkward situation, to say the least. Right as Jaskier’s about to suggest they get out of here before Geralt’s real date shows up, the man asks, “What were you reading?”

“I was studying, sort of,” Jaskier says. “I’m a student.” Then abruptly he wonders how much Geralt knows about who he’s supposed to be, and he swallows, pulse racing.

Glancing over, Geralt’s yellow eyes meet his. There’s no obvious doubt there, just a curiosity. “What’s your major?”

“Poetry,” Jaskier grins as their conversation starts to pick up something resembling a rhythm. “What about you, are you in school?”

“No,” says Geralt, cutting his dreams of a normal date conversation short. “Are you any good? At writing poetry?”

What a weirdo. Jaskier’s heart thrums. “I’d like to think so!” This, at least, is something he knows how to talk about. Except, of course, it isn’t really the truth. “Well… recently, I’ve been in a bit of a creative rut. Just waiting for the right burst of inspiration to come along.” Perhaps this blind date that he’s stolen will suffice, but he doesn’t say that. “This place is great for that, actually. I mean, it hasn’t worked yet, but I’m sure any day those fish will sing for me.”

Geralt blinks. Jaskier feels a bead of sweat run down the back of his neck. He tries a different tactic, crossing his ankles and asking politely, “Are you a reader? What kind of things do you enjoy?”

“Nonfiction,” Geralt answers, slightly stilted. His gaze drifts over to the plants once more. “Not biographies, more like… encyclopedias and field journals. I like field journals.”

“Alright,” Jaskier says, shrinking into himself. This is going terribly. “I’ll have to go bribe some scientists for their field journals, then.” The corner of Geralt’s lip twitches, and Jaskier’s stomach flips. Gorgeous and weird and maybe, although he’s trying his best to hide it behind seven layers of nerves, maybe a little amused by Jaskier. Jaskier is going to fuck him right here in the garden. “Do you take journals of your own for work?”

A rather roundabout way of asking ‘what the fuck is it that you do’ but somehow, it lands. “I’m a… researcher,” Geralt mumbles. How very vague. “But I don’t publish my findings very often.”

Jaskier raises an eyebrow. “Do you work… for a company?”

“No.”

“Right. So you’re just keeping all your findings to yourself for no good reason at all.”

“No.”

“Then it sounds like you’re a pretty terrible researcher, actually.”

Geralt’s eyes flash as he turns to glare at Jaskier. “What?”

“Well, if you don’t share what you’ve found with anyone—”

“My… colleagues—”

“Aha! So you have colleagues!” Jaskier pokes Geralt’s side. “You aren’t just holed up in some depressing storage unit with months and months of research just for you.”

Once more, Geralt half-smirks. Not even half— more like a one-fifth smirk. “Years,” he admits.

“Years…” Jaskier tilts his head to the side thoughtfully. “Why do I have the feeling that you’re perhaps a significant number of years older than me?”

“I had the same thought when I saw you sitting here,” Geralt mumbles.

Jaskier snorts. “Seems like something Yennefer should have warned us about, perhaps. I would ask you directly how old you are, but I’m fairly certain that the only response I will get is a very gruff no.”

“No,” says Geralt, nearly smiling.

Making a show of pouting, Jaskier folds his arms over his chest. “Is that your favorite word?”

“No.” Geralt breaks into laughter as he repeats himself, and his whole face lights up with it. Jaskier laughs too, delighted by how joyous Geralt looks. He’s even more beautiful when he’s happy like this, and Jaskier wants very badly for this not to be their last date. “If I tell you my favorite word, you’re bound to judge me for it, as a poet.”

“As a poet, I swear not to mock you,” Jaskier raises his hand to cover his heart, barely restraining himself from grinning.

But before Geralt can share whatever it is, someone else approaches their bench. A second stranger— a woman about his height with short brown hair, wearing a pretty blouse. Jaskier notices her much more quickly than he’d noticed Geralt, and he makes the connection instantly. This can’t possibly end well.

“Oh, Yen wasn’t kidding,” says the stranger, eyeing Geralt. “You are very distinctive!”

Geralt stares back at her, slack-jawed for a moment. “What?”

“I’m Renfri,” Geralt’s date introduces herself. Jaskier wishes the earth would open up and swallow him whole, especially when she glances over at him. Her gaze slides back to Geralt, as does Jaskier’s, and yeah, he is very fucking distinctive with that white hair and those yellow eyes. Damn. “My friend Yennefer set us up for a blind date…?”

As Jaskier contemplates throwing himself into the koi pond, Geralt twists to stare at him. Jaskier can only imagine how mortified he must look right now; his face burns as both Renfri and Geralt look his way. Perhaps Renfri will figure it out before Geralt says anything; she looks like a smart woman.

But Geralt just gets up, dusting himself off and shaking his head. “No,” he tells Renfri, which would almost be funny if it weren’t the weirdest thing Jaskier has ever seen anyone do. Then Geralt leaves, turning to walk away from both of them, leaving Jaskier and Renfri alone together in the garden. Renfri frowns, watching him go with obvious increasing confusion. Jaskier also jumps to his feet, equally confused but determined not to lose sight of Geralt.

He chases the man— and it does feel like a chase, Geralt must be fucking speed-walking away— and finally tracks him down well outside the garden. Geralt is thundering down a set of stairs leading to a parking lot and he doesn’t stop at the sound of Jaskier careening towards him. Only when Jaskier desperately calls his name does he finally stop, slowing until he reaches the bottom landing and then standing there, still.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier calls down the stairs, breathless. He begins to descend them but Geralt doesn’t turn around. “Fuck, you’re fast! Shit. I’m sorry, Geralt.”

Without looking his way, Geralt complains, so quietly that Jaskier nearly misses it, “Yennefer is going to kill me.”

“I would have fucked off,” Jaskier says quickly, hurrying down the rest of the steps until he gets to the bottom. Geralt still doesn’t look at him so Jaskier slides none-too-gracefully into his space, demanding his attention. He’s hardly red in the face or anything, but he looks embarrassed. Jaskier crumbles. “I’m sorry. I— seriously, I don’t care, I would have fucked off. I should’ve left, I should’ve— You should go back there, she’s beautiful!”

Geralt’s nostrils flare but he doesn’t look away. “Why did you lie,” he demands, flat.

“Well,” Jaskier deflates. “Um. You’re beautiful.”

“Hmm.”

“I really am sorry,” he offers.

Geralt, still watching him closely, says, “You don’t sound sorry.”

“What do you want me to do?” Jaskier throws his hands in the air, breaking away from Geralt’s stare— in the greenhouse, surrounded by bright lights and open, manmade nature, it had been easy to sit under the weight of Geralt’s eyes on him. Down here, at the end of a staircase and the entrance to a dark garage, chest still heaving, it feels too intimate. He puts some distance between them, sighing. “You want me to go back there and explain the whole situation to poor Renfri?”

When Jaskier finally turns around again, Geralt’s gaze hasn’t left him. “I want you to come have dinner with me instead,” he says, slowly but purposefully.

“Oh,” breathes Jaskier. “That’s— well, if you want that.”

“I already made a reservation for two. My name’s on the list.” Geralt is fidgeting with the end of his sleeve at first but when he approaches Jaskier he drops it, striding forward without hesitating. “Table for Geralt and one young brunet friend of Yennefer’s.”

Jaskier chokes on his own surprised laugh. “I don’t actually know Yennefer,” he needlessly explains.

“She’s going to hate you,” says Geralt, half-smirking, and then he adds, “Well, she’ll hate both of us now.”

They get to the restaurant twenty minutes late, Geralt’s hair mussed up and lips a bitten red and Jaskier wearing his backpack and a shit-eating grin. The host sees them and immediately tells them their table has been cancelled, and they end up getting terrible two-dollar slices from a hole-in-the-wall pizza place. They eat on the way back to Geralt’s car and then he drives Jaskier back to campus, kissing him soundly in the door to his apartment until Priscilla comes home and yells at Jaskier to get a room. As they squabble Geralt apologizes, polite and nervous, and kisses Jaskier’s cheek and tells him it was nice to meet him.

Jaskier goes inside and spends the next thirteen hours writing the best poetry he will ever write.

#my writing #geraskier fic #geraskier #flash fic challenge #events

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starlight-starwrites · 4 years

Note

EZRA as a gold miner in the 1870s

okay honey. you asked for it. (ps i love red dead so much that is all) ((can i just say how much i love this au?? at first i was like ‘what’ and now i am YEARNING and i love the wild west, so yeah i went a bit feral with these))

also fair warning: unedited 4.3k. and there is public kissing omg.

-your family moved from the state of georgia to the state of california just before the war had started. you were too young to remember what it was like at the time, or the reason why. but you remember the hushed conversations of your parents, the way your older siblings shooed you away when you asked.

-you remember your mother packing up your many things, loading them into too many wagons, herding your four older brothers and two sisters before you. your father had smiled at you, handing over your doll and saying “it’ll be an adventure darling. we’ll go so many places, and we’ll get to see mountains. you’d like that wouldn’t you?”

-you had beamed back, showing off your teeth that had yet to fully grow in, and promised your father that you would be the best of his seven children and would follow him anywhere.

-you held true to your word, even as the youngest. you had weathered the trip with a positive attitude, and when a trunk of your things, including your favorite doll, had been lost, you still smiled and said you’d find better things in california. “all i need is the mountains and our family, papa”

-california had been every bit of the dream to your young eyes. as you traveled through open fields, watched the sun set to paint the country in a summer orange, even as it autumn ended, and the mountains stood tall on the horizon, you loved it. and as you grew, you loved it no less.

-when the war had ended, and your oldest brother returned, victorious and with his bride from chicago, your family was complete again. but as happy as you were, your heart still yearned for more.

-your father, a clever investor and a friend of the banks (or scheming businessman to your sour neighbors), had always been wealthy. your family lived well, you always had your pick of dresses, each of your siblings married to well-to-do connections, even with the move. except you.

-you enjoyed the benefits of wealth, but even at 21, you ran barefoot through the dirt of your father’s land, rode your proud stallion through town with a wide brimmed hat, and managed to wheedle your way into the hearts of every gentleman, gambler, and cowboy in new hanover.

-you were greeted with a ‘good day, miss’ and a tip of a hat everywhere you passed. the town’s people knew you by name, called you ‘young man holder’s daughter’ (your father had bought the land you lived on now from old man holder. now slowly advancing toward 60, your father was very pleased to ever be considered ‘young man’ anything, even if his name was not holder). in return, you knew the town’s people by name, greeted each as you rode in for another pack of gum, the shiny riding boots just come in from the factories, or for a drink you wouldn’t tell your father about.

-so when one day you pass by a man, maybe a few years your senior, and you don’t recognize him, a part of you feels obligated to introduce yourself. he wears faded overalls, a dirtied tan union suit underneath, and large brown boots that looked as though he had walked the entire transcontinental railroad in them. his cap covered his eyes as he leaned against the general store, but you could follow the curve of his nose to the pout of his lips as he held up a book.

-the cover was worn but you made out the word ‘poems’ along the binding. he certainly doesn’t look like the type to read poetry, perhaps not even the type to read at all, but he seems so invested that after you hitch Friday to the post, you walk past without greeting him, and enter the store

-when you leave, a parcel of things on your arm, he’s still there, reading the book, now much further along. you may have glanced at him already, but thinking it impolite to stare, you search through your bag to pull out a stick of gum, walking to where Friday waits patiently for you. when you reach him, placing your things in the saddle bag and popping the gum in your mouth, you accidentally glance over at the man again, only to find him staring right at you

-you notice first the warm brown of his eyes, and just the very fact that that he’s looking at you starts a flutter in your stomach. his mouth is quick to curve into a smile as he lowers the book, nodding to you

-“well good day, ma’am. don’t you look like right sunshine on a cool evenin’. a warmth i couldn’t turn away even in death valley itself”

-he says it so assuredly that you think that he practiced it, maybe he’s quoting directly from his book of poems. sure, you were wearing your plain yellow dress--it came above your ankles, showing off your new riding boots, already muddy, and the hem had been darkened with dirt--and you thought your light brown hat complimented it nicely, but no one had truly ever said something like that while you were dressed like this.

-you really didn’t know how to respond. so you laughed.

-he smiled back, smirk pulling back his lips to reveal straight teeth. he pulled off his cap and pushed back his hair with it, revealing a patch of blonde among the dark brown of his hair. he didn’t seem put off by your response in the slightest.

-“ain’t you something?” you finally said. wishing the heat on your cheeks was only due to the high noon sun. “i don’t believe i’ve ever seen you before, mister.”

-you were happy you were able to come up with that at all.

-“of that, i am sure, my lady. for i would never forget a face as enchanting as yours, and i could never go on living without speaking to you even if only once”

-christ alive, he’s cheesy.

-he’s pushed off from where he leaned against the building, stepping down to stand opposite you, the hitching post the only thing separating the two of you. Friday stands steadfastly at your side, huffing as he comes closer. you fight the urge to tell him to hush.

-“what? you reading all that from your little book?” surely he doesn’t speak like this normally. you try and fight the way it makes your insides flutter.

-“this?” he hold it up, showing you the worn pages. “no, ma’am. i’m afraid this reading is of darker matters and the mortality of the human heart. and it sure ain’t what i’d like to discuss with you.” he grins at you, leaning forward a little more.

-there are so many things you could say back. and what would you like to discuss with me? is at the tip of your mind. and where did you learn to speak like that?

-“really? poetry?” is all you ask instead. you ask it while wrinkling your nose, and he sees you don’t believe poetry is worth all that. you wish you were better at this.

-“you don’t like poetry?” his eyebrow raises and his mouth pouts again.

-you shrug. “i don’t think i’ve ever really read it, is all.” you don’t want to disappoint him for some reason.

-at your words he smiles again, holding out the book to you. “then you should. take it, i’ve found hours of enjoyment in this little tome on its own. surely, you will too.”

-your eyes widen and you try to refuse, you couldn’t take what little this man had in the first place, but he insists, i’ve read it many times over sunshine, besides, i want to know what your opinion on my silly little pastime. read it over, i’ll be in town. tell me what you think.

-and now suddenly as your hand curls around the book, pulling it to your chest, you realize you’re going to see him again. it doesn’t seem like an unfair deal at all. you’re only borrowing the little book.

-he offers to help you mount and you refuse, deftly hoisting yourself up and hoping he’s impressed. he nods his approval, coming to your side as you turn Friday toward the road. come find me here again, sunshine. i’d hate to have too many dark days while i wait.

-you return home with a smile too big for your face, it falling only when you realize you never even got his name. you sit through dinner with a bouncing leg, decide that you’re going to read that book just so you can find him again to learn it. and that night you sit up, burning the oil lantern by your bedside to read the little book cover to cover. you find it’s not just poems, but his own little writings too, scrawled in the margins and gaps. and suddenly its not just his name you want to learn.

-you decide you love poetry, and you tell him so when you see him two days later. he walks with you, until you reach the end of town, and then you both turn around and walk back.

-his name is ezra you find, and when you give your name in return, you shiver at the way it sounds in his mouth. you talk about nothing and everything. to what you had for breakfast to the fleetingness of life and you like it. you like him.

-too soon you’re parting, you have to get home, he has to get to work...and as you ride away you realize you don’t know why he’s in town. i’ll still be in town little birdie, come see me again, he said when you mounted Friday.

-“birdie? what happened to sunshine?” you laugh at him.

-“well just look at your dress today. looks like you could fly away into the clouds, my birdie.”

-and you can’t believe that the only thing you can think about is the way he said “my”

-two meetings turn into three, and next thing you know, instead of riding to town two, three times a week, you ride in every day. you learn he’s a prospector, brought here by an ambitious man hunting gold that was never found. you want to laugh, but the way he believes in the possibility makes you pause.

-you have a drink in the saloon when you’re up for it, take lunch with him in the parlor (he feels like he shouldn't be in here but you looped your arm around his and dragged him through the door, and the hostess nearly dropped everything to serve you two. he knows you must be important, but he sees how everyone loves you the same as he does)

-and you go on rides--ezra wasn’t sure about this one, he doesn’t have experience just hopping on a horse to go wherever he wants--but Friday is big enough for the both of you, and you don’t take no for an answer. he laughs as he clings to your waist, feeling like he should be the one leading you, yet never happier to see you in your element, and have the privilege to touch you at all.

-days have bled into weeks, and your family takes notice. you never were one to stick to a schedule yet here you are. the excuse ‘picking up things from the store’ only runs so far. your father is on to you, you know, but it has never turned from lighthearted teasing.

-the next day he insists you take the wagon with him to town, picking up groceries for the cook for the rest of the week. you can’t say no.

-ezra’s waiting where he usually is, looking for the dark chestnut stallion to come trotting up, you in a new dress sitting proudly atop him. Friday has gotten rather fond of him, he’s proud to say, and he was hoping you’d take him on a ride again so he could steal you away.

-instead he looks up from the new poetry book you ‘lent’ him--the pages are pristine, and he is sure that he is the first to read it--and he meets the eye of an older gentleman, dressed in a fine suit and driving a painted wagon. he nods to him, before his eyes dart to the woman next to him.

-he can’t hide his surprise as he meets your eye, wearing the finest dress he’s ever seen you in, and his jaw drops. each one he thought was nicer than the last, and each time he sees he is wrong. your eyes are wide and you mouth something to him, but he isn’t paying enough attention to make it out.

-he turns in place, eyes following you as who must be your father turns into the path beside the grocer, and pulls the wagon to a stop. he helps you down, and ezra can do nothing but watch. your father is talking to you, stepping to the door, but you’re staring at ezra, motioning behind your father’s back as though you want him to do something.

-he inches forward, hoping to catch you and not the ire of your old man. he knew your relationship with your family was good, that despite petty squabbles you loved all six of your siblings, and your parents too. but you had never talked about what they would think of him.

-ezra is a confident man, never concerned with being judged, never afraid to speak his mind. he knows he’s a charming man. somehow, you make all this different. he’s standing now beside the wall of the store, looking at the two horses of your wagon, disappointed neither are Friday.

-his heart beats faster when the side door opens, turning quickly, and only relaxes when he sees its you. you spot him quickly, lifting your skirts to rush down the stairs to meet him. he pushes off to grasp your hands when you reach for him.

-“ez, i am so, so sorry. i know i’m late but my father--”

-its not what he thought you’d say. he squeezes your hands to stop you, and then he’s teasing you. first that you’re embarrassed, then for how you’re dressed. “pretty as a sugar cream pie. you look like madam trelawny’s curtains suddenly breathed life and walked off on two legs”

-you hit him, but you’re laughing. of course he knows the best way to ease your panic. trelawny’s parlor was rather frilly. but you return to the matter at hand, worrying about your father and any ruined plans with the man in front of you.

-“it’s quite alright, flower. i suppose i was bound to meet your father at some point.” you look at him, nervous. “i gather from your contrite expression you have yet to mention me to him?”

-you fear how he would react, but he seems to accept it easily, as if he would be equally surprised if you did mention him. he’s disappointed you can tell, and you wish things were more different than they felt.

-your father emerges much sooner than you expect, and ezra tenses despite his brave words. he wishes he appeared different, had a suit of his own to wear. your father looks stately, crisp whites and pressed blacks, and ezra immediately pulls his hands from yours.

-or he tries to. one hand slips away, but you grip his other tighter, refusing to let go. it sets his heart going, that even if you had failed to tell your father about him before, you wouldn’t hide him.

-your father looks at the two of you with a smirk, and you know that means his only thought is i knew it. he comes to join you, saying “and you must be the reason my daughter has suddenly found such an interest in town.”

-he makes no remark otherwise, but gives his hand and a polite smile as he introduces himself properly. ezra relaxes slightly, releasing your hand for your father’s and giving his name. he’s back to his charming self, all yes, sir and intelligent humor. you can see how even your father is surprised by him, and you grin at the two of them as they talk, relieved at the turn of events. until your father asks what it is he does. at the word prospector, all your father can say is “ah.”

-the grocer has loaded the wagon while they talk, conversation pointedly ignoring the matters involving you. eventually your father insists you must be leaving, but you clear your throat, eyes darting between the two of them. “dad...ten minutes?” you hiss to him.

-ezra pretends to be distracted by something in the distance while you and your dad silently communicate.

-“five minutes, i don’t want the food to spoil sitting in the sun.” he relents easily, says his goodbye to ezra, and turns to walk to the wagon.

-you immediately take ezra’s arm and pull him in the opposite direction, walking quickly. ezra’s already prattling on about how that seemed to go well, and that your father was a good man, you’re lucky to have him, and he hopes that maybe--

-you finally get him behind the shop, out of sight from the road. you don’t hesitate to pull his face toward yours, planting a kiss on his lips. he’d only kissed you once before, it was sweet and gentle, an until-next-time-kiss you had dreamed about everyday since.

-never before had you kissed a man. but here, hiding in the shadow, with his lips on yours, nose against your cheek, hands coming to grip your waist, you knew you would be doing it again. it did seem the best way to shut him up, after all.

-too soon you’re back in the wagon, sitting in silence with your father. you want to know what he thinks, but with the feeling of ezra’s lips on yours still seared into your memory, you don’t trust yourself to start a conversation.

-your father does it for you. “so...he seems a decent fellow.”

-“yes.” what were you supposed to say? “he’s a good man.”

-“i’ll be honest, i would have expected him to ask to call on you.”

-you grit your teeth, trying not to die from embarrassment. “i suppose i’ve been more of the one to do the calling.”

-your father is amused at your discomfort, decides he’ll have this conversation now. and suddenly its how did you meet him, and where have you been going, and should i be worried?

-you sigh.

-but a couple days later you’re with ezra again, its been nice, he’s been to the house, your father does not seem to either approve nor disapprove, and you expect he’ll share his opinion soon. but you had expected it before ezra shares news of his own.

-the man he works for is ready for another job, undeterred by his lack of success, ready for bigger horizons. ezra intends to follow him. its a period of days of stiff conversation, sad goodbyes and even sadder hellos. you count the days until he leaves, unsure of what to do. he gives you promises, dreams of the future, and you’re not sure of what to make of it.

-your father seems to know whats going on before you tell him. and he sits quietly and listens as you wail to him. only when you finish, he says to let ezra go, to send him away with affection. he was kind while you knew him, but don’t expect him to return. you’re too empty to argue with him.

-you go to bed, still read ezra’s little book, and wonder if he sits awake with yours. he leaves the next day and you give him a small kiss farewell. he’s all smiles and hope and promises. you’re quiet and acquiescent and kind. he doesn’t seem to notice, talking about his next adventure.

-you watch him leave with his group, wearing the same hat when you met him, but new boots, sturdy and factory built. you hope he remembers you, still torn between his words and your father’s.

-you wait for him. thinking you may receive a letter, like he said he would send you. you do. the first letter arrives after he’s arrived in a new town, Poker Flat, up in the mountains. a few more come each week. and then they slow. its not even been three months when they stop. you don’t know what to make of it.

-you still ride into town, pick flowers in the fields, play with your nieces and nephews in the dirt. it feels more hollow now, this life you live. his little book sits untouched in the drawer of your bedside table.

-you’re not sure if it’s anger or sadness, but you pull away, searching around you, inside yourself for something with meaning. you still smile, you greet people, as though a sliver of hope still waits inside you. you think it was a line from one of his poems.

-it’s been over two years when you see him again. you’ve taken to driving trelawny’s wagons, transporting supplies between her parlor and the next town over. you’ve got pants under a single skirt, a cropped jacket over your shoulders, and a shot gun propped on the seat next to you. Friday took a long time to get used to the harness, and he still refuses to behave sometimes, but you believe you make quite the team.

-you’ve hopped down from the driver’s perch, adjusting the back of the wagon, when you hear a voice greet your horse. “well, look at you old boy. never thought i’d see you like this.” and you can’t catch the rest of the words. you only focus on the voice, once so familiar to you.

-you walk forward, in disbelief. ezra stands there, petting Friday’s long nose. he seems happy to see ezra. you can’t say the same.

-it was anger you felt, you realize. he’s standing here like he never left, only now he wears a full black suit, a ribbon tie around his neck, a short top hat on his head, and the scruff on his face you so used to love is now neatly trimmed along his jaw.

-he looks ridiculous.

-when he sees you he stops, then smiles. he nearly skipping around to grasp you by your arms already chattering. “i did it, sunshine! you should have seen what we’ve found. Poker Flat was a bust, of course, but the sheer magnificence, and oh the adventure, flower, if only you knew the precariousness of...” and so he goes on to tell you where he’s been. you hear excuses. to his credit, he stops himself sooner than he might have, noticing your silence.

-“what is it, my birdie?” his smile drops, his hands now merely hover over you. “did i take too long? have i--have you...” for once he’s speechless.

-you can’t say anything, the lump in your throat growing. he can see you fighting back tears, and pulls his hands away but steps closer, hovering over you as if he wants to comfort you but unsure how, unsure if he had that right.

-you take a deep breath to steady yourself. and then you slap him.

-it knocks the silly hat from his head, revealing that blonde patch of hair you used to love running your fingers through. he’s stunned, head still to the side, mouth hanging open, hands raised between you. you wish you knew what to do with your anger.

-but he did keep his promise. maybe he didn’t write, maybe he made you think he abandoned you, but there’s a reason you’ve been missing him for almost three years, still haven’t gotten rid of that little book in your drawer.

-you take him by the lapels of his coat--you have to admit, it fits him well, and the leverage it gives you is incredibly handy--and you pull him back to you into a heated kiss. your hands move up from his chest to his face to his hair, and he responds quickly. separation has made you needy for each other, missing the days when stolen kisses were taken for granted. his tongue dives into your mouth and you moan, your hands take in the way his suit fits, appreciative of the snugness of his trousers compared to the baggy overalls.

-your back hits the wagon, his hand pulls up your leg, the other gripping the back of your neck as though he needs you close and can never lose you again. its needy and commanding and you love it. he had never kissed you like this before.

-the shouting and the whistles pull you from your bliss, reminding you of the fact you are in the middle of the street, and you are being incredibly inappropriate.

-he drops your leg quickly, pulling his mouth from yours but still touching his forehead to yours as he looks around, ready to cuss out anyone who dared say anything more. you realize you’ve wrinkled his vest and shirt in your fists.

-you both glance back at each other, still surprised by the turn of events. and then you both laugh, breathlessly, just relieved that maybe things will be okay. his arm is tight around your waist, and he kisses apologies to the side of your face.

-you both know you’re not done talking, but you’ll be damned if you don’t finally have him at your side. then he’s tugging you away from the wagon, keeping you close, staring at you with a dark look in his eyes. your stomach flips at what he says next.

-“come with me, my sunshine. there’s a conversation i need to have with your father.”

#ezra x reader #ezra prospect #ezra prospect headcanons #ezra headcanon #are these even hc at this point anymore?#oh well #if you read closely #YES i did imply ezra likes it when you grab his ass #no i am not sorry #ask

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naerysthelonesome · 4 years

Text

Time spent together

Part 5:

Road trip

It was the morning after Apollo had sent Lit that email. The email that had revealed to him that his subconscious was trying to sabotage him. The damned email in which Apollo had given Lit summaries of a dozen Greek retellings, most of them chock full of piney love stories. Apollo felt like he could kick himself.

He truly hoped Lit wouldn’t read too much into them… Was Lit the kind of guy that noticed symbolism?

He told himself it didn’t matter anyway. There wasn’t any reason he should see Lit again. They could complete the rest of the project from the safety of their dorm rooms, thank you very much. Even so, he realized, the thought of not seeing Lit again hurt. He wanted to see him again. He wanted to joke and flirt with him, to push his buttons, and have him get snarky and mad. He wanted to tuck that stray curl of hair back under his bandana and cup his face.

Wait what?

Apollo buried his face in his hands and groaned. He’d have to figure out a way to keep talking to Lit after this project was completed.

The next day was mostly spent emailing Lit, reading his drafts, and editing. Maybe a little daydreaming also. And the day after that, they’d submitted their project. It was good, but apart from feeling relief at its completion, Apollo didn’t care much for it. His heart was hammering most irritatingly as he looked for Lit, after class.

He was just a little bit surprised that the boy had been waiting for him.

“Hallelujah we’re finally done”, Lit said grinning.

Apollo rubbed the back of his neck. Was Lit happy to be done with him?

“Um yeah”, he replied with a hesitant smile, “So I wanted to ask you for a favor…”

Lit nodded. “Oh?”

“My sister’s having a party this weekend and-”

“Wait! Please tell me she isn’t named Artemis”, Lit interrupted with a laugh.

“Uh… she is my twin, so”

Lit snorted. “Dear God. Okay, continue”.

“Right. So my sister’s having a party this weekend, and I was wondering if you could come along”.

“Oh”, Lit’s still smiling, but a little confusedly this time, “Why?” he cocked his head to the side, and Apollo wanted to kiss his neck or something.

“I love my sister. I do. But I really do need some company if I’m gonna have to deal with her ass”. This wasn’t a lie. Artemis loved to tease Apollo about him never bringing his dates over, despite being single herself. Except in her case, it was a choice and not cowardice, another fact she liked to tease him with. “She lives with some friends of hers, a couple hours away. We could make a road trip of it”

Lit looked hesitant, and Apollo’s heart dropped a little, but then he nodded firmly, “Yeah! Sounds like fun. When do we leave?”

Well that went well. Lit was even starting to look excited.

“Tomorrow?”

…..

Apollo found Lit waiting beside his car, a light backpack slung from his shoulder, and a book under his arm. Upon coming closer, he realized it was one he’d asked him to loan from the library. The thought that Lit was seriously reading his favourite books made him feel both warm and scared at the same time.

“Hey! You ready?”

Lit turned to reply, and Apollo saw his eyes widen a little when he saw him.

“Ready as I’ll ever be”, he said a little shakily.

Apollo knew he looked good that day, with his olive green polo shirt and ray bans, but damn he wasn’t expecting that reaction. He felt quite pleased with himself as he got into the car.

Lit tossed his bag into the backseat and climbed in, securely locking the seat belt in place. Then they were off. Apollo saw Lit sigh back against the seat as they made their way out campus.

On the way to Artemis’, they drove past a big field that Lit seemed to really like looking at, and a then over a highway that he did not care for at all. Lit was flitting through the pages of his book, chewing on a pencil. Occasionally, he’d very lightly underline something in the book. Apollo wondered why, as he wouldn’t get to keep the book anyway.

“So you also desecrate public property”.

“Hmph. At least it’s an upgrade to the pasta sauce I found two chapters ago”, Lit replied shutting the book.

Since the road was long, straight, and utterly deserted, Apollo looked over at him. He had intended to ask him about the book but was caught off guard by how beautiful he looked. Apollo was fond of poetry and felt the immediate urge to write some about Lit. He wanted to write, or maybe sing, about the delicate hair curling at the nape of his neck, the faint white tracery of old scars, the brown skin seeming to almost glow in the afternoon sunlight, his long, dark lashes hanging over the pools of dark coffee that were his eyes. Instead, blood rushing to his cheeks, he turned away.

Lit reached out to pick up his phone and change the music.

“Whoa what’s wrong with Lorde?” asked Apollo, now slightly offended.

“Nothing at all”, Lit replied with a shrug, “I just fidget with stuff when I’m bored”.

The car was filled with beat of Daydreaming by MISSIO, and Apollo found he didn’t mind the change in music.

“Maybe we should play 20 questions”, Apollo said jokingly.

Lit sat up. “Okay”.

“Wait I was just kidding”

“Nono, let’s do it. But please don’t ask stupid questions. Some asked me to read ‘Serpent and Dove’ a couple weeks ago, and I did because I hate myself. It had the most uninteresting sequence of 20 questions I’ve ever read, I don’t want that for us.”

For us?? There was an us?

“Cool. I’ll go first. Why do you annotate books that you aren’t going to keep anyway?”

Lit let out a little sigh, and said, “It’s like leaving behind a small piece of myself. Of course, the next person to pick up the book won’t know it’s me, but that’s not the point”. He breathed in as if this wasn’t an easy thing to share, and continued, “I don’t tell people much about myself. I don’t make a lot of friends, and I’m definitely not an open book. I think this is way for me to just let people see me, but… anonymously. I know that probably doesn’t make much sense, but it’s what works for me”.

Apollo sat stunned, but tried as hard as he could not to show it. For someone that didn’t share much of himself, Lit had shared a lot with Apollo, and he didn’t quite know how to feel about it. Maybe he was grateful. Maybe he was terrified of Lit’s trust in him. The last thing he wanted to do was let Lit down.

“Well that was definitely interesting. Your turn.” Apollo thinks he did well enough at playing it cool.

“Um”. Lit fidgets around, shifting his legs and squeezing his own fingers. Gods above! It’s making Apollo nervous. “So the books you asked me to rent out…” Apollo’s heart starts to speed up. Surely Lit hadn’t noticed! “Was there any… particular theme to them, or?”

“Theme? Well duh. Mythological retellings”, Apollo managed, with a laugh that sounded fake to his own ears.

An embarrassed blush crept up Lit’s cheeks, and Apollo almost regretted lying to him. “I know… but, anything… else?”, he asked, waving his hand about like it could explain what he wanted to say more eloquently than words could.

Apollo decided to play dumb. It wasn’t like he’d been lying anyway. He really hadn’t meant for all the books to be so damn piney.

“Not that I can think of…”, he said, feigning a look of confusion, “Why?”

“Never mind”, Lit said, turning away to hide flushed cheeks, “Your turn”.

Apollo cleared his throat. He hadn’t meant to ask this next question so early on. Maybe he was doing it because he didn’t like lying to Lit. Maybe he was doing it so Lit would be distracted from his embarrassment. Maybe he wasn’t doing this for Lit’s benefit at all. Maybe he just had to get this off his chest.

“So this is a slightly serious question. If, you know… hypothetically speaking, I were to tell you that you had to…” If he weren’t belted to a car seat right now, he’d be squirming, “I may or may not have told Artemis that we’re dating!” he finally blurted out.

Lit turned to stare at him.

“I mean, of course we aren’t, but would you mind faking it for the weekend?”

Lit just looked like he was in pain.

Then his face broke out in a cheeky smile, and he said, “Let’s do it. And let’s make it convincing”.

#litpollo #litpollo fanfic #lityerses #apollo #toa apollo #trials of apollo #modern day au #apollo's mind this time

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athingthatwantsvirginia · 4 years

Text

Not Joyce or Monet

PART THIRTY-NINE OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: major discussions of parent death/death in general, smoking, drinking, plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 6.3K

Summary: Jess publishes his second book and Ella receives a troubling call from Stars Hollow.

Flopping face-first down onto the bed, Ella breathed a sigh of relief. It would have felt strange not to have a little champagne at Jess’s book launch party. But, she was a lightweight. She was floating somewhere between tipsy, buzzed, and drunk. At least she was still capable of slipping off her shoes before making her way to the bedroom. She’d even managed to change into pajamas, brush her teeth, and wash her face. A far cry from the screwdriver incident at Liz’s baby shower. A heavy winter snow fell outside the windows and a touch of cold air seeped into the draughty apartment. Goosebumps rose lightly on her skin. In her state, they felt nice instead of uncomfortable. She was already dozing when Jess came in, having taken a quick shower. His hair was still damp as he climbed into bed next to her, the movement shaking her from her haze.

“Did you like your party?” she murmured, watching as he shut off the lamp and rolled over to face her.

His face was aglow with the bluish light of the snowy Saturday evening. “Mhm.”

She snickered a bit at his nonchalance. “I know you hate parties, but Chris insisted it was the best way to drum up business. And you do like surprises, Mr. Spontaneity. Matthew and I made it as lowkey as we could.”

“It wasn’t so bad, Eleanor. Really,” he said, shrugging. “You’re remembering that you whispered lines from Catch-22 in my ear all night, right?”

“I figured you’d need some Joseph Heller to make it through,” she explained, slightly sheepish.

Jess smiled. “Of course. And watching Chris and Leo get so drunk they do their acapella version of ‘Under Pressure’ could never be bad.”

“Leo does do a damn good Freddie Mercury,” Ella agreed, chuckling. “I didn’t realize the publishing agents would all go blackout level, too.”

“Oh, yeah. You should’ve seen what Chris did for the Subsect launch. It was like that scene where E.T. gets drunk. But if there were fifty aliens in the movie instead of just one,” Jess said flatly, begrudgingly.

“You must be a little drunk if you’re letting a cheesy eighties movie slip. Or have I finally converted you?” she teased, snuggling deeper into the pillow.

Jess smirked. “Not yet. Chris made me try his Manhattans to see if they ‘tasted too much like gasoline.’”

“I have a sneaking suspicion that they did,” Ella said.

“Someone give the lady a prize,” Jess shot back tiredly. “Good thing we walked there.”

“Yeah. And good thing I got to watch you catch a snowflake with your tongue on the way back.”

“Shut up.”

“Hey, don’t be embarrassed, cutie,” she said, forcing her laughter down. “I’ll be eating my words when you watch me fall on my ass while we’re ice-skating with April.”

She knew if he’d been entirely sober, he wouldn’t have gotten so caught up in his wonderment at the storm. But Ella had also seen him sticking out his tongue awaiting a snowflake in an old, yellowing photo album Liz had shown off during her baby shower. In it, Jess had been no more than three. Dressed in a raggedy winter jacket on some grimy corner of New York City. He and Liz were sticking their tongues out together. Seeing the photo had given Ella’s mouth a bittersweet taste. It was hard to imagine Jess ever feeling so relaxed around his mother. She saw the same rare awe from him on the walk home. Most of the time, he was so weighed down by the world he could barely come up for air. She thought she had never seen him look so young at heart before.

“Can’t wait,” Jess hummed, mocking. It was nearly time for April’s winter break, and Anna had somehow agreed to let her spend it with Luke, Lorelai, and Rory. Ella and Jess had opted to return to Stars Hollow for Christmas, after the bumps in the road on Thanksgiving. Two more days, and they’d be braving the icy roads on their way up to Connecticut. April had already called them to schedule a time for ice-skating. The proper, analytical way the little girl spoke never failed to amuse Ella.

“Me neither,” Ella quipped as her eyelids began to droop again. She could smell the minty scent of Jess’s shampoo.

As he watched her begin to drift off, he leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead. From what Matthew had said, Ella had essentially been put in charge of the party when Chris’s trademark irresponsibility made an appearance. Matthew had jury duty and couldn’t assume his usual role of organizer in the wake of Chris’s chaotic decision-making. What she’d managed to throw together, though, was one of the better parties Jess had ever been to. The publishers they knew usually sent younger employees to the underground press launches, and Chris had ended up making friends with most of the usual suspects at the launch for Jess’s first book. Ella had made sure the guest list only included familiar faces. If they just had to throw him a surprise party, which Chris demanded (normally, she wouldn’t have listened, but if it was a matter of getting his book better exposure, she was willing to risk it), she’d try to make it as comfortable for him as possible. Or, at the very least, bearable.

And she’d just gotten done with finals two days earlier. He could see how tired she was. Her nerves over the possibility of seeing her father during the winter holidays hadn’t helped her sleeping recently either. Though Jess wasn’t sure how it would actually pan out, she claimed she wanted an attempt at apologizing for what she’d said at Adam’s graduation. She was sick of family nonsense, she said. Maybe if she levelled the playing field, they could begin to understand each other again. Ella herself wasn’t sure exactly what had sparked her desire to try again with her family, but suspected it might have been Thanksgiving. Jess, simply put, was someone she admired. Seeing him trying to mend his relationships (even though he didn’t have to, even though it was difficult), made her feel just a little more confident. Maybe not everything turned out bad, after all.

Shutting his own eyes, Jess slipped his hand beneath Ella’s shirt, his fingertips ghosting over her back. She smiled softly at his touch, feather-light. A pleasant shiver rolled through her.

“Thank you for the party,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“Well, thanks for writing my new favorite book,” she answered instantly, sleepy and sincere. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”

. . .

There were still a couple hours left until lunchtime when Ella slipped through the door at Truncheon, but it wasn’t entirely uncommon for her to show up and work a little. Especially when she was on break from school and got antsy. Jess had debated giving her the easel he’d bought her for Christmas early, so she would have something new to focus on while he tied up the odds and ends at the book press. But, ultimately, he wanted to wait until the morning after they returned to Philadelphia. It would be far more surprising to wake up and find a Christmas present wrapped up in the living room on the morning of New Year’s Day than on the actual gift-giving holiday.

When he’d left for his last day of work prior to their trip to Connecticut, she’d still been half asleep. Her sketchbook was open on her bedside table, a pencil drawing of a child with hollow eyes having yet to be shaded. She’d been up late working on it the night before, on a roll. He hadn’t even shut the door to the apartment before she was out cold again. He’d been anxious to get back home, to pack and prepare for the trip. In his opinion, there was no use in only opening for a Monday and then closing for the holidays the rest of the week, but Matthew’s stickler spirit won out. Jess wasn’t going to be skipping around the store in merriment as the rest of the world took a vacation, but he also wasn’t moping around like Chris. He was in the midst of diffusing an argument between his two coworkers when Ella arrived.

He wanted to smile when he saw her, and almost did. But then he got a good look at her hazel eyes, and immediately he could tell something was wrong. It wasn’t that she was sleepy, though she looked a bit haggard in with her peacoat tied around her haphazardly and her hair wild, dotted with the snowflakes falling steadily outside. Instead, she looked almost unreachable. His Eleanor who was always so present and vivid and alive, even in the midst of drudgery. And she wasn’t daydreaming, either. She wasn’t off in her own thoughts, thinking of Emily Dickinson or James Joyce or Claude Monet. No; she was simply not there. Not really.

“Hey, honey. You’re early,” he began as she approached him, where he stood in between Matthew and Chris. The two of them didn’t even notice she’d come in until Jess addressed her, still too caught up in their argument over where to place the new books of free-form poetry.

Swallowing harshly, Ella gave a weak smile and raked her fingers through her hair. She walked up to them, wringing her hands together. Jess didn’t need to see her hands to know she had already bitten her nails down to the quick. At the interruption, Chris gave a frustrated huff and turned to Ella.

“Ella, please tell Matthew it makes zero sense to put the free-form poetry anywhere near the sonnets! They should be on opposite ends of the store, as far as I’m concerned,” he exclaimed in exasperation.

Matthew rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest as his jaw clenched. “I’m glad you’re here, Ella. Please tell Chris that we don’t only sell poetry, and free-form or not, it has no business anywhere near science fiction!”

Furrowing her brows, distracted, Ella shook her head. “Um...I don’t know...but I….”

“What?” Jess asked as she gestured slightly with her hands. Her face was pale, and she almost seemed confused, at a loss for words. It didn’t happen to her often, to say the least.

Blowing out a breath, she tried again, jerking her thumb back over her shoulder. “Back at the apartment...I just got a call from my brother. My dad’s dead.”

Jess’s heart dropped into his stomach. “What?”

“Yeah,” Ella said, nodding. As she continued, she took a hair elastic from her wrist and began pulling her locks into a ponytail. “Adam said he was in a car accident this morning. Driving home from some bar in Maryland. If I had to guess, he was still a little drunk from last night. No one else got hurt, which is good. He hit a patch of black ice, and he was going too fast, and I guess he just went right off the road. Into a tree. And he wasn’t wearing his seatbelt.”

Her speech became more urgent with every word, as they heard it sink in for her in real time. But she was never frantic, only determined and stern. The spacey fog was fading from her demeanor, though it remained in her eyes. Only in her eyes. She didn’t give them time to respond, just kept thinking out loud.

“Noah’s already on a plane from Oregon, but I don’t think he’s gonna be any help. And Adam said Fiona’s freaking out, so I’m almost definitely going to have to make the arrangements. I know you guys have work and stuff, but we need to pack up and get there before the rest of the family does, or everything will probably just explode on principle. Fuck! This is just like him. To die a week before Christmas!”

“Whoa, hey, Eleanor, just slow down for a second, okay?” Jess began, taking a hesitant step towards her and grabbing her hand. He squeezed once, hard, hoping to calm her down at least a little.

“Jesus, Ella-” Chris began.

“I’m so sorry,” Matthew said.

Ella shook her head, her face stoic. “Don’t, okay? Don’t be sorry. No one needs to be sorry. He was a fucking drunk, and it finally caught up with him. I just need to get back to Stars Hollow to take care of this, and then maybe Christmas won’t be completely ruined. Sound good?”

“Elle, just hold on. You should sit down and-” Jess said, but she cut him off.

“No, Jess. Seriously, I’m fine. Let’s just go and get it over with, and then it’ll be done,” she said, her hand never leaving his though she didn’t squeeze back. Her tone was tight, clipped, but she didn’t sound angry. He recognized it from the night on the bridge when she’d told him about the days following her mother’s death. The way she held it all together, and blocked it all out. Numb and headstrong.

“Do you want us to come with?” Matthew asked, watching with uncertainty as Ella began to tug Jess towards the door, grabbing his bag for him and handing him his coat.

“What? Of course not,” Ella said, insistent, as though it were obvious. “All I need to do is steal Jess for a few days. You need to do whatever it is you’re gonna do with Mabel. And Chris needs to do whatever it is he’s gonna do with Leo, and you need to tell me about it when we get back. I can pretty much guarantee your stories will be more fun than mine.”

“Are you sure?” Chris chimed in, brow heavy with worry. Her iciness surprised him. He had never heard someone react to a parent’s death quite so flippantly before.

“Yes. Jesus, Chris, keep up,” she replied, in a way which would have spurred a playful argument on a normal day. Again, her nonchalance unnerved all three of them.

Jess interlocked their fingers again instantly once he had his bag and his coat, almost heading out the door already. She was moving too fast for him to process much of anything, only reacting. He hadn’t seen her in such a frenzy in a very long time. “Eleanor, wait. Stop.”

“I can’t stop, Jess. I told you, we’ve gotta get there before my uncle has time to hit on Fiona and before Noah has time to piss off Adam. It’s fine. I promise. I’m fine.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but she pulled him out the front door instead. As they went, she shouted over her shoulder to Matthew and Chris: “Happy holidays! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

And then, she and Jess were gone. Chris and Matthew exchanged concerned, flabbergasted glances.

. . .

Flashback was the word that came to the forefront of her mind, as she stared up at the ceiling in the Gilmore living room. Luke and Lorelai were trying, and she appreciated it. They could both tell she didn’t want to talk about it, only wanted a bit of normalcy after the long day. And they’d obliged. After all, they’d had practice. Lorelai knew exactly what to do. She’d had Luke bring dinner home from the diner: turkey sandwiches and sodas. She’d suggested they watch a movie after dinner, something campy horror. Finally, they had settled on The Lost Boys. Ella knew how much Jess hated the movie, especially Kiefer Sutherland’s mullet, but he never complained once. A large part of her wished he would. She wanted it to be the way it was supposed to be. She wanted to have Christmas in Stars Hollow with the people who felt more like her family than her father did. Adam celebrating with one of his school friends in Boston, Fiona with her sister, Noah with his finacée in Oregon. But, of course, things never went as planned. Not in Ella’s experience at least.

At some point during the movie, she’d fallen asleep on the couch. No matter how much she wanted to stay awake until the end, she couldn’t keep her eyes open. Dealing with Fiona’s blubbering and Adam’s silence and Noah’s anger had pretty well exhausted her. Not to mention the business setting up the funeral at the church. She’d spent nearly two hours with the pastor, but the service was only halfway planned. She wished Aunt Julie could arrive sooner, but the girls were in school until Tuesday. Erin had some big recital she was pitching a fit about missing. Ella couldn’t blame her. She wouldn’t want to be there if she didn’t have to be. No, they would arrive on Wednesday morning. Two hours before the funeral, set for noon. At some point before then, Ella would have to sort out the flower arrangements and the music and the programs. At least Luke was providing the food. She assumed he would before he even offered. And she would have to write the eulogy. But she wasn’t even thinking about it yet. Every time the idea of writing it entered her mind, she would start humming a Stevie Nicks song and pointedly ignore it.

It was all too familiar. The planning, the writing, the consoling. Since they’d arrived in Stars Hollow that afternoon, it had been a non stop barrage of tasks and tears. None of it was surprising. And it almost made her want to laugh. The minute she heard that her mother was dead, she had burst out laughing, a nervous reaction she couldn’t control. Granted, the laughter came from deep inside her, and probably resembled a pained shriek more than an actual giggle. But it was laughter nonetheless, and her father had recognized it as such. He’d yelled at her until his voice became hoarse. She knew it wouldn’t happen again. He was the dead one now, after all. But still, she didn’t let the anxious laughter escape. She didn’t let anything escape. After the punishment she’d received for letting go last time, she knew not to do it again. No one was there to smack her, to scream, but she just couldn’t bring herself to forget how it had felt. Like she couldn’t even grieve right. And the best way to grieve became to not grieve at all.

She laid with one hand on her stomach and the other behind her head, analyzing the popcorn ceiling. She’d awoken with the room dim and the TV shut off. A quilt which she hadn’t fallen asleep under was draped over her, and there were hushed whispers in the direction of the kitchen. She hadn’t planned to wake up until morning, but she hadn’t planned to fall asleep there either. They were supposed to be sleeping in the apartment above the diner for the vacation, while Rory and April took the spare beds in the Gilmore house. But neither girl had yet to arrive, and Lorelai insisted Ella and Jess stay over after dinner. It was no use driving over in the snow, even if Luke’s was only about a minute away. Ella couldn’t believe how similar it all was to before. Sleeping alone on the Gilmore couch as others worried over her a few feet away.

She listened, in spite of herself. It was too tempting not to eavesdrop when she’d already heard her name so many times. Luke was concerned about her forgetting to eat. Lorelai was concerned about her shutting everyone out and being overwhelmed by the funeral preparations. And both of them were concerned about her coming to blows with Fiona at some point in the next few days.

Sighing, Ella ran her tongue over her teeth and remembered she hadn’t brushed them. She debated not doing so, but decided to just bite the bullet. With everything else on her mind, she thought it best to eliminate all the outward elements which might impede her from getting back to sleep. She rolled over on her side, preparing to sit up, when she saw Jess. She thought he’d be in the kitchen, talking with Luke and Lorelai. Instead, he sat on the floor with his back against the sofa. His head was near hers, leaned back. His eyes were closed, but he wasn’t snoring. She doubted he was fully asleep, but nonetheless attempted to get past him and rummage through the bag on the armchair to find her toothbrush. Her stealth proved lacking, however, when he began to stir as soon as she reached the bag.

“Hey,” he said quietly, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands and doing his best to seem lively. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she replied, fishing her toothbrush out from the sea of clothes she’d thrown into the duffel before they sped away from the apartment in Philadelphia. “I just forgot to brush my teeth.”

“Oh,” he said, nodding and hoisting himself up. His neck was already sore from the position he’d dozed off in, unwilling to follow Luke and Lorelai into the kitchen with Ella asleep on the couch. “Me too. I’ll come with.”

She nodded back, grabbing his toothbrush as well. The whispers didn’t cease until they made their way into the kitchen, Luke and Lorelai looking up at their entrance. Ella debated using the upstairs bathroom, not disturbing the two of them. But she didn’t have the energy to climb the stairs, and it would be the first time she could get a good look at the new half-bathroom they added next to Rory’s room. The smell of the diner food lingered, and it made Ella’s chest feel just a touch less tight. Lorelai broke out into a small smile at the sight of the two of them.

“You need anything, sweetie?” she asked, speaking only to Ella.

Though she felt a bit uncomfortable under everyone’s gaze, Ella smiled back. There was a warmth in her stomach at Lorelai’s voice. She focused on that feeling, and only that feeling. “No, we’re fine. Just brushing our teeth. The dentist would be pissed at me if I broke the pattern after over twenty years.”

“That’s true. Always best to avoid the Sweeney Todd dentistry possibility,” Lorelai agreed, nodding. Then, she yawned theatrically and looked at Luke, who only rolled his eyes at the dramatics. “I think we’re gonna head upstairs. It’s past our bedtime.”

“Still got those four o’clock deliveries, huh?” Jess asked sullenly, eyeing Luke. Many a morning when he was a teenager, he’d been awoken at half past three by the sound of Luke’s alarm.

Luke sighed. “For the business that housed and fed you for two years? Yeah, I do.”

Ella snorted a laugh, and nudged Jess playfully in the ribs. “Like you’re not always up before the sun, even on Saturday.”

“Where do you think that started?” Jess shot back, pointing an accusatory finger at Luke. “He screwed with my internal clock for life!”

“I think that’s enough fuel for future therapy sessions for tonight,” Lorelai announced, rising from the table, Luke following.

“Agreed,” Luke grumbled.

As they exchanged goodnights, Lorelai gave Ella a kiss on the cheek. Immediately after, she scrunched up her nose and smudged the lipstick from Ella’s freckled skin with her thumb. To Ella’s shock, Lorelai also gave Jess a short hug before making for the stairs. Luke hugged Jess, too. The two of them still had trouble showing physical affection for each other, as they probably always would. Ella had to stifle a laugh at the awkwardness between them.

When Luke hugged Ella, though, she felt tears prick at her eyes for the first time all day. She recognized his familiar smell, the soft feeling of his flannel, his strong arms around her. Somewhere in her mind, it occurred to her that the way it felt for Luke to hug her was what she had always wanted it to feel like when her own father hugged her. And she knew for sure she would never get it from him. She could finally be certain there was nothing left to do to repair her relationship with him. There was no time left for Jake to make her feel as safe as Luke made her feel. As he never had, even in her childhood. But by the time she and Luke broke apart, she had gathered herself enough. She cleared her throat and blinked away the glassy sheen in her eyes.

Luke ruffled her hair as he stepped back from her. If he saw that she was upset, he didn’t acknowledge it. “Don’t worry, kid. We’ll get everything figured out tomorrow.”

“I know, boss,” she replied.

. . .

The cigarette smoke made her a bit nauseous, but it was also comforting in a way she was slightly ashamed of. The winter air was crisp and biting, and her cheeks were frosted roses. Embers glowed orange in the darkness as she took a long drag, burning her lungs. She was already regretting it, but she simply felt too tired to think out the actual consequences of what she was doing. She had tried. She really had. But falling asleep, with Jess snoring softly beneath her as they lay on the couch, was absolutely impossible. Fatigue was weighing down her bones, and there was a perpetual ache throbbing behind her eyes. But each time she got close to sleep, the thought of her father would flash across her mind, and she would be wide awake once more.

Once she gave up, she had managed to sneak outside unnoticed. The wind whispered past her, hollow and haunting. But maybe everything was feeling spookier because death was at the forefront of her mind. Then again, when wasn’t it? Though the shock had certainly hit her with full force when she heard the news, she couldn’t bring herself to be surprised. The other shoe had dropped. She knew it would, just when she let her guard down. The moment she forgot to worry, the universe had knocked her down again. She flicked her cigarette and watched the excess ash melt a small spot in the snow below the steps.

At the sound of the front door creaking open, she startled only a little. For a wild moment, she wanted to put her cigarette out and hide it behind her back, pretending to be innocent. Especially if it was Luke. But she had to remember she was a grown up. And the feeling disappeared entirely when she saw only a disheveled Jess wrapping himself up in his jacket as he came out onto the porch and sat down next to her.

“You’re gonna catch a cold out here,” he remarked, holding her peacoat out to her.

She took it with a trembling hand.

“Thank you,” she said solemnly, breathing out a long stream of smoke as she spoke. The coat was old and cheap, and did little to help a Connecticut winter, but she shrugged it on anyway.

He nodded, chewing on his bottom lip. “Don’t mention it.”

They sat in silence, an owl hooting somewhere in the trees beyond the house. Ella didn’t put the cigarette out until it got so small it began to burn her fingers. After she’d discarded it, her breath still puffed out, along with Jess’s, in frigid white clouds. Flurries of snow fell in scattered sprays, but the night was mostly quiet and overcast. Jess crossed his arms over his chest, waiting.

She spoke, as he knew she eventually would, after a few more minutes. Gesturing down to the crushed cigarette, her tired eyes met his. “Do you want one?”

“No, thanks,” he said, shaking his head. “Where’d you get those in the middle of the night in Stars Hollow, anyway?”

A thin smirk ghosted over her lips. “Snatched ‘em off Bootsy’s newsstand.”

“Really?” he asked, laughing slightly, with eyebrows raised.

She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Don’t act so surprised, Mariano. I was sneaking out of my bedroom window long before you got here.”

“Touché.” His eyes lingered on her, hair glistening golden in the soft light and eyes still far off somewhere miles away. He hesitated before he continued. “Did you walk all the way to Bootsy’s without a coat?”

She shrugged, glancing down at the Doc Martens on her feet. “I’m fine. I had my good shoes on. Besides, it’s only like a minute away.”

“Alright.”

“Seriously, Jess. I’m fine,” she snapped after a moment.

“Okay. I get it,” he said instantly. “You’re fine. You’re not cold.”

Ella ran her hands through her hair. Her body shook as she yawned.

“You wanna go back to bed?” he asked.

“No,” she said with a heavy sigh.

“Are you sure?”

“Jesus, Jess! Stop trying to take care of me! Stop asking me questions! Just let me fucking sit here!” Ella exclaimed, huffing in frustration.

Jess recoiled slightly, and he nodded at her again. He ran a hand over his mouth and swallowed down the million other questions which were rising in his throat. The ones she’d refused to ask on the drive up, and the ones she apparently still wanted to avoid. “Sorry.”

She rolled her eyes, mostly at herself. “No, I’m...I’m sorry. I’m just tired. I couldn’t fall asleep.”

“We don’t have to sleep if you don’t want to. We could watch one of Lorelai’s cassettes in there,” Jess suggested, fighting hard to keep his tone light, bracing for whatever reaction she was going to have.

“I love that she still has cassettes,” Ella said wistfully, though not smiling. Her voice was low and raspy as she stared out ahead of her into the darkness and the lightly falling snow.

He nodded a little. “I know you do.”

Ella’s hands were itching to hold another cigarette, but she fought the urge. The pack which sat on the porch steps next to her would almost certainly be crumpled up and thrown in the trash the moment she reentered the house. Along with the lighter. But it was nice to have them there. If she wanted. They sat wordlessly, listening to the rustle of the wind in the evergreen trees. Jess didn’t make a sound. He was just far away enough not to touch her, almost in silent askance of whether she wanted space. She did. And she didn’t want to talk. She didn’t want to talk almost as much as she didn’t want to write the eulogy. She wanted to be able to push down the sorrow and the rage until they just dissolved and she was as happy as she had been just a day earlier. Yesterday, she may have even been hopeful. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt hopeful about her family. But, now, she had to stop herself from reaching for a cigarette yet again. And she felt herself wanting a drink. A drink stronger than champagne at a book launch. And then the words started flowing before she could overthink them, before she could lock them away in her heart forever.

She swallowed thickly, looking down into her lap at her nail-bitten hands. “This is just like it was the last time.”

“Oh yeah?” he whispered, shifting a bit closer to her.

“Yeah,” she echoed, so quiet he almost couldn’t hear. She sniffed. “I mean, last time my dad was the devastated one instead of Fiona. But Adam still got pissed at Noah, and Noah only got more pissed because Adam was mad at him.”

Noah had only made it to town an hour before Ella left to go back to the Gilmore residence for the night, but he and Adam were at each other’s throats pretty much as soon as they saw each other. Upset that his Christmas vacation was being disrupted, Noah had insisted on staying at a motel instead of at the little blue house in which they had grown up. Adam wasn’t happy about it, accusing Noah of acting as though he was too good for them. In turn, Noah asked Adam why he wasn’t mad at Ella for staying with Lorelai. Adam had shot back immediately, saying Noah had abandoned the entire family the minute he could, while Ella stayed behind. At that point, Ella knew there was no way to diffuse the situation. She’d only offered to walk back with Noah to the motel, leaving Adam to sleep in his old room. Luckily, Fiona’s sister was already in town for the holiday. So, it didn’t wholly fall to any of the three of them to console her.

Jess and Luke had both offered to go over to the house with her after helping with the arrangements, but she’d insisted on meeting her brothers there alone. The surreality of the moment didn’t dawn on her until she saw Adam’s teary eyes and Noah’s flushed face. It was like she had stepped into the past. She’d come back to the Gilmore house to find Jess sitting in the living room, halfway through the Russian novel he’d brought with. In the face of his questions, she’d only given him the liner notes and then fallen mostly silent for the rest of the evening.

“And Lorelai and Luke won’t let me brush my teeth without asking me if I need anything,” Ella continued, with a scoff in her words. “And, I love them. I do. And I’m so fucking grateful that it hurts. But, I’m fine. I’m totally fucking fine.”

“So I’ve heard,” he quipped.

“You’re hilarious.”

“I’ve heard that, too,” he said.

She laughed breathily, lifting her head to look up at the sky. “Shut up.”

“Will do.”

Then, after a moment: “I just wish...I wish it wasn’t like this. I mean, he was a shitty dad. But he was still my dad.”

He watched as she chose her words, carefully. Her voice had more emotion than he’d heard all day. Bringing his arm around her shoulders, he hoped to lessen the trembling of her hands just a little. She leaned into him, letting herself feel his warmth but fighting the wateriness in her voice. Of all the things she didn’t want to do, crying was at the top of the list.

“And now...I don’t have parents. I don’t even have a dad who hates me and never calls,” she continued.

“He didn’t hate you,” Jess interjected.

She shook her head. “Yeah, he did, Jess. He fucking hated me. Because I looked like my mom and I didn’t like Fiona and I wouldn’t quit talking back at the dinner table. But it doesn’t bother me. I hated him most of the time, too.”

He hummed in response, listening.

Her face crumpled for only a moment. But, again, she regained her composure. A couple silent tears threatened to slip over. “But at least I had someone to hate, y’know? Now, it’s just...no one.”

She took in a shaky breath, and Jess began to rub circles over her back. He recognized that her shivering was no longer due to the cold but from the sobs she wouldn’t let loose. Ella’s stomach did a flip, as she clenched her hands into fists. But she just couldn’t hold it in any longer. She let a single wimper pass her lips. And then, the levee broke. She put her head in her hands and finally began to weep, cries from deep within her escaping at last.

“I just...I don’t have p-parents anymore,” she spoke through sobs, trying to get her voice under control but failing miserably. “I’m not anyone’s daughter anymore. I don’t belong to anyone anymore.”

Jess shut his eyes for a moment, feeling a crack in his heart as he heard her anguish. But a part of him was relieved she was finally letting it out. He knew not all of her tears were for her father, but for her mother as well. He’d never seen her cry so hard before, so hard she couldn’t catch her breath and she was beginning to feel sick to her stomach. She stopped being able to talk after a while, only crying, folding in on herself.

“I...I don’t...belong to anyone anymore,” she repeated.

Gnawing on his bottom lip again, Jess smoothed an affectionate hand over her hair. He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. Though he couldn’t see her face, Ella felt her cheeks heat up at his seeing her sob so openly. Jess spoke in a clear, strong tone.

“Listen, Eleanor, I know it feels like you’re alone without them, but that’s not true, okay?” he said.

She let out a tearful scoff.

“Hey, hey, hey, I’m serious,” Jess continued, placing a hand on her damp cheek and turning her face gently so she would look at him.

She wanted to avoid his eyes, embarrassed, but simply couldn’t bring herself to look anywhere else. The sight of him almost made her physically relax.

An earnest crease stood out between his eyebrows when he spoke again. “You belong to me, and I belong to you. That’s how it’s always been, hasn’t it?”

She stared at him for a moment, stunned at his words, as tears kept rolling steadily down her cheeks. But then, her lip began to quiver and she closed her eyes. Jess was worried she was about to get angry again. But instead, she slumped weakly against him. He could feel her tears begin to wet the neckline of his t-shirt as she rested her head on his chest. Breathing out long and slow, Jess wrapped his arms around her. He didn’t know whether his words had helped, but he was doubtful. No amount of talking was going to make her feel any better. He couldn’t crack a joke or start a playful argument or do a magic trick. He could only be there. He simply sat and held her against the wind.

#gilmore girls #gilmore girls au #gilmore girls fanfiction #gilmore girls oc #jess mariano #jess mariano x oc #jess mariano oc fanfiction #jess mariano au #jess mariano x original character #oc fanfiction #luke danes #lorelai gilmore

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lipstickbisous · 4 years

Text

the rei brown series (2/3)

OUR LOVE REMAINS.

notes: here’s the second part!! one more after this haha. not much of a plot to these just meant to put you in your feels. butttttt, i did write this from the experience my mom had in the icu when she was a nurse.

this one is your p.o.v. and is a little bit longer but not much

i DID NOT KNOW if anyone would get offended by “latino” or “hispanic” so i used both im sorry.

LISTEN for better understanding.

also u guys REALLY LIKED the din fic so i guess...more of those?

pairing: javier peña x reader

summary: while rethinking all of the choices you’ve made in your life, memories of a certain person begin to flood in.

warnings: MORE ANGST ahahaha, childhood nostalgia, fluff ending

word count: 3.3k (these are not long chapters)

masterlist

you weren’t sure what time it was (you knew it wasn’t too late) and you hadn’t bothered to check as you stumbled through your doorway, one arm holding grocery bags and the other, your purse and papers from work. your hair had been stuck in the ponytail you threw it up in since the morning, but now, it was pulling at your scalp and giving you a headache.

managing to balance on one foot, you flipped the light switch in your entryway and watched as the first floor of your house illuminated in the night. the tiny dog you’d adopted a few months ago came padding out on the wood floors from the dining room, his tongue stuck out with loud pants to relieve himself of the texas summer heat.

with a small “hey, bub,” to your pet, you placed the groceries on the kitchen counter and slipped off your clogs, throwing them at the bottom of your stairs so that you could be reminded to take them to your room when you went upstairs. for now, you reached into the glass cabinet and grasped a dark bottle of wine. the label read a fancy word in french, but growing up in kingsville, you’d never bothered to learn the language of love. you grew up in that rich latino and hispanic culture.

this house had memories threatening to let it crumble, you knew that, but even after your parents had moved into a smaller apartment due to medical reasons and the fact that they couldn’t afford the house, you couldn’t bring yourself to move out of this town and just ditch them there--now the house was in your name. you didn’t know why it was so hard to leave--you’d been able to leave for university, but when you came back the summer after you’d graduated, something stuck. now, it had been twenty years and you had made no attempts to even leave kingsville.

you popped the cork of the wine bottle open and instantly met that musky historic smell of the red alcohol. you had seven wine glasses in your cupboards, but you never had any friends over. you might occasionally invite a few girls you knew in high school, but if you were to hang out with people, it would be at a bar on friday and saturday nights. you watched as the wine splashed around the glass and when it was filled to your satisfaction, you pushed the cork back into its place and left the bottle on the counter.

as you made your way into the living room and collapsed on the couch, the little dog you called yours jumped up onto the high furniture the best he could due to his tiny legs. you searched your couch for the remote, pulling over the cushions and pillows before finding it buried under the arm. you switched the tv on and and flipped through the channels before settling on fifty-one. your dog curled up next to your lap and closed his eyes to sleep.

you didn’t for what you were sure was the next two hours. the movie that had been playing before ended the beginning of a new one had started until you realized your glass was empty and dry and your eyelids were getting heavier. you leaned your head back before rethinking how the day had gone. you’d shown up to the hospital for work at the crack of dawn and spent the next twelve hours wheeling around patients, taking diagnostics, and carrying their dirty dishes.

it definitely had not been the job you imagined when you were ten. you’d played doctor with your stuffed animals and plushes before but in those scenarios, the patients had been obedient in kind. unfortunately, fate had not been so kind and, while sitting in front of the television with an empty wine glass in your hand, your fingers grazing over the sore spot on your wrist. it was sure to be bruised, the one on your calf had turned purple and yellow in the past few days. you hissed when you applied just a bit too much pressure.

i spent four years at a college i hated to have this. you’d put it all on the line to have this job. you thought that by being a nurse in the fucking icu, you’d be saving people everyday. instead, you were groped, spat out, and ignored by everyone there. you deserved a glass of wine every night.

you knew that this was not healthy at all and that you were intoxicating yourself with far too much alcohol but the way your back ached, your calf bruised, and your head pounded drowned out whatever warnings your brain sent you.

suddenly, you managed to catch sight of the atomic clock sitting on your kitchen counter. bright crimson letters read “1:30 am.”, and with a far too heavy sigh that awoke the small dog next to you, you set the glass on your coffee table (you’d grab it in the morning when you weren’t so sad) and flipped the tv off before sauntering up the stairs. even at your age, you had still been terrified of the dark--you could barely walk down to your basement without a flashlight and by yourself--but you found that you were perfectly fine walking in the pitch-black of your upstairs hallway. your dog was quick to follow behind you, jumping onto your bed and waiting for you as you emotionlessly entered your bathroom and looked at your reflection.

who the fuck were you? how much time had passed and yet here you were, in your fucking childhood home all alone? you’d found love with many men over the years, but you hadn’t expected them to last--and they hadn’t. what had you done? had you left some sort of imprint in the world at all? you were never one for kids, everyone you knew was well aware of that, but how were you supposed to live on even when you were dead? in reality, abandonment and loneliness was your worst fear along with--

oh god, you thought in a shriveled voice. you’re gonna be forgotten.

one part that hurt the most was the news. you’d gotten better at keeping up to date with pop culture and politics, and the pablo escobar situation had you worried for one reason and one reason only--javier peña. you’d seen him on the news, the DEA agent who had made it his responsibility and top priority to catch the famous drug lord. it was nice to see that he had gotten somewhere while the only time you’d ever really traveled was to paris for a christmas and then LA to see an old friend who you didn’t even talk to anymore.

this was your life now. mindlessly wandering around your house after work, eating microwaved leftovers and carry-out from the diner.

god, that diner. it had been one of your favorite locations in the shitty town you called home--had been. the first time you went, you were suspicious due to the fact that the actual building was a different restaurant owned by a criminal before it was a diner, but javier had practically begged you to have a late dinner with him after an afternoon spent skipping your last few periods and driving around the outskirts of town in his truck. the wind had been blowing through your hair and you hung your head out of his window, letting your arms wave around, and you could’ve sworn you had felt him looking at you.

that was the moment you were in love with javier peña.

you knew that you had been lying to yourself up until that moment because since the first day you met javier when driving past their ranch and stopping to look at the horses, you’d been in love. you couldn’t even think about how many days were spent writing poetry about him that now seemed stupid and childish. you’d told yourself it was an outlet for your feelings, but you had really written it because you were too much of a bitch to come out and tell javi. maybe that hadn’t been your fault--you’d witnessed, first hand, javier rejecting a girl in sixth grade. you watched her nod and tell him “oh, that’s okay” but then run away into the bathrooms. javier had continued on to tell you about a new foal on their farm.

you remembered the horses. you missed them too. if it hadn’t been them roaming about in the pastures, or the great stallion that caught your attention while on that family car ride, you would’ve never met javier. you weren’t sure if he judged you for it or not, but every time chucho needed help around the farm, and javier was too much of a brat and a teenager to do it, you had gladly offered. so, chucho peña had put you in charge of the foals. there was one in particular, a small one with a white coat, that had piqued your interest. there was a day, one in the middle of the summer if you could remember correctly, where you and javi had just run out to the fields while the rest of the horses stayed in their stables. javi had been excited since his father had gifted him with a new camera, and he had spent all day taking pictures of--and to this day, you still didn’t notice it--only you.

while brushing your teeth, carefully placing a small dot of paste on your toothbrush, you began to scrub in small circles. how long had it been since you and javi had last talked? even then, it had barely been a conversation. a simple exchanged of very few words, a goodbye that went misheard, and that was it. when you had called his home phone the next morning, instead of javi replying like he always did, it had been chucho’s voice instead, muffling an annoyed “hello?” but when he heard the exhaustion and lightness of your voice, he carefully explained that javi had already left.

you hadn’t felt heartbroken--not at first. in fact, there was barely any sadness in that tired head and upset stomach. you were infuriated. how could he? how dare he? he had been such a coward that he couldn’t even say goodbye and it angered you more than you thought it ever would--not that you had ever thought about javier leaving before because he said he wouldn’t even consider it. and now, he had left you alone your fucked up hometown that you’d always told him you hated so much. then, about three days alone without javier (which was something you weren’t used to) you’d realized that there was a large possibility this could’ve been your fault.

had you been a bad friend recent to his leaving? yes, you had been acting distant, but it was due to normal events, such as school and...the fact that you were hopelessly in love with him. it had been harder to talk with senior year ending and college coming up, but you hadn’t never thought he could just turn himself away like that. never.

and not once had javi tried to contact you. he, of course, knew your number by heart, but after all these years, he’d probably had hundreds of girls phone numbers--in fact, you were sure that if hadn’t been a DEA agent hooked with the most dangerous man on the earth, you would’ve expected him to be married already. you had gone to the wedding. you’d seen how the church was decorated, how each and every guest wore plastered smiles--just the idea of seeing javi made you giddy and you’d worn your best dress you could find. even after returning from university, javier didn’t visit or call. you also remembered hearing lorraine sobbing when her groom didn’t show.

javier was not the type of person to stand someone up. you didn’t know what he was like now, but as teenagers, if he ever had a date (which wasn’t often because even if you didn’t know it, he was hopelessly in love with you) he would arrive five minutes early.

the one time javi did have a date, you stayed home and watched one of his favorite movies while crying. you hated to admit that the next day, when he admitted to you he didn’t like the girl that much, you were excited.

suddenly, you remembered how this was completely your fault. you had always blamed javier for never calling or writing, but then you realized that you had never made the attempt either.

“fuckin’ hell,” you whispered and washed off your toothbrush. as a nurse, you didn’t normally cake yourself with makeup, but you did wear the average concealer, mascara, and lipstick or gloss. you took one look at your reflection and noticed that your mascara was currently running. when did i cry? you asked yourself and exited the bathroom, not bothering to remove your makeup.

your room was next door and when you walked inside, your dog was patiently waiting next to your nightstand and- god, did i leave the fucking light on again? you felt like slapping yourself until your head was straight because it wasn’t right to think about someone you haven’t seen in twenty years.

you slipped off your pants, leaving you in expensive panties you’d gotten for no reason at all. you threw off your scrubs, discarding them onto the floor with a light air sound and replacing your shirt with a tank-top. your bed had been so perfectly made that it almost annoyed you. you threw yourself onto your bed and began to rub your eyes. it wouldn’t matter if you messed up the mascara because there was nothing to mess up.

hoping the sleep would rid you of the horrible thoughts, you flipped the lamp next to your bed off and pressed a pillow to your cheek. the small dog at your feet curled up rested his eyes. you did the same.

it would’ve been physically best for your health if you had gone at least six hours of sleeping without any interruption, but one moment in the night, the phone on your nightstand began to blare its ringtone. your eyes shot open and began to burn slightly from a sudden awakening. the sound had scared your dog, who jumped to the ground in protection of whatever the source was until he realized it was the telephone. you groaned with heavy eyelids and looked to the clock. two-twenty five am. as soon as you went to answer the call, it went to dial tone.

more frustrated than before because you really just wanted to sleep, you groaned and flung yourself back into bed. of course, now you were awake.

but then, the phone began to ring again. it had seemed louder this time and your dog barked in the most un-intimidating way possible before you threw a pillow at the spot next to him to get him quiet. you held the phone close to your ear and spoke a tired, “hello?” the line was silent and at first, you were terrified because you could’ve sworn you heard someone breathing. another one of these. “hello?”

part of this was exciting to you. while it was extremely frustrating to be awoken a few hours before you normally rose to get ready for work, your mind was racing during the silent pause between you and this stranger. who could it be? perhaps it was chucho telling you that javier could be coming home, but you cursed yourself for thinking of that man and dismissed the idea. maybe it was your mom calling to tell you how your father had gotten better and, for now at least, the cancer was gone.

“(y/n)?”

―

while the reason behind it remained unclear, you had always loved airports. the cleaning-product smell, the diverse people, the small restaurants, even the feeling of the carpet--or the feeling of that when in an airport, you were going somewhere.

it had always been about going somewhere. javier knew this since fifth grade, that you had always wanted to just leave kingsville, texas. maybe you would move to new york, or philadelphia, or even go to london and paris. they had been silly daydreams due to reading too many of your mother’s travel books, but paris had always looked so nice. maybe even visit mexico--you’d already been well immersed in the culture.

but that wasn’t why you were here. you were here for something that was long overdue.

after the phone call that night, you javier had made sure to call each other every other day at ten o’clock pm. there had been some days where you had to stay late at the hospital or javi was chasing sicarios and didn’t get home until midnight--those nights, you would either fall asleep or just call the next day, but you both had made a good schedule. it definitely hadn’t been the same as when you were teenagers, and you didn’t expect it to be. his voice was much deeper and raspier (you knew it was because of the cigarettes, you could practically smell them through the phone) and his voice wasn’t as...lively anymore. you felt that you couldn’t say much, though, because the years had been rough to you as well.

he had told you everything. your thoughts on how he was living was wrong--he told you of the countless informants and prostitutes, how the colombian sun was definitely hotter than the texan sun and even to him it had made a difference. when you both had too much to drink and were passing back funny stories, his was that he had grown a mustache. you had laughed at that one because if you could imagine the clean-shaved, teenage boy that javier once was with a mustache, it was a hilarious thought.

all-in-all, it had still been painful to talk to someone you knew so well like they were a stranger. at first, you had asked yourself if he’d changed but you caught yourself in the stupid thought. of course, he had changed. it had been twenty fucking years and even you had noticed the faint lines starting to appear around your face.

it had taken almost half a year of phone calls, missed and attended, happy and sad to be where you were now.

the airport bustling had also been one of your favorite things too. the countless and various voices all coming together to make a white noise that was so distinct.

you were standing near the entrance, watching as families reunited, lovers embraced, and yet you stood alone. it had been over ten minutes since when javier was supposed to show. if you were being honest with yourself, what did you expect? he would just appear out of thin air in the middle of a crowd? you hoped the flight from bogotá had been peaceful and well. there hadn’t been any storms passing by, baggage loading problems, or anything that could possibly delay the plane, so there was no reason for javier not to be there.

unless...you began to think and it had been too late to stop yourself from completing the thought. maybe he just didn’t want to.

like when he rejected that girl in sixth grade. like when he left you alone in kingsville. like when abandoned his bride at their own fucking wedding.

suddenly, you felt angry. your blood was boiling, your hands felt hot, the hair on your neck became irritating, and the winter heat of texas began to scorch, even in air conditioning. you ran a hand down your face, feeling two beads of sweat trickle down a path to your chin. your foot, which had been tapping for the past now fifteen minutes turned on its heel as you made your way to the glass doors.

your car was just outside. you wouldn’t even have to walk that far, and then you could drive home, cry yourself to sleep, and call javier about this some other time.

“(y/n)!”

tags: @pascalisthepunkest @javierpenaspinkshirt @gummiishark @cyarikaaa @larakasser @pedropasscals @honeyedspace @talesfromtheguild @absurdthirst

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royalcordelia · 5 years

Link

I Fell Down and Saw Him Rise

Summary: Gilbert writes no letter and Anne doesn't speak with Winifred. An alternate take on the renowned 3x10 scene. (2k, Rated G)

This is based off of this prompt I received from an anon a few days ago! Hope this helps you enjoy quarantine a bit more, nonnie! ♥

-*-

Anne did not expect to enjoy Charlottetown as much as she did. It was a far cry from home to be true. Yet it could not be denied that the city air smelled so enticingly of possibility and promise, and as Anne marched down the streets in her new gown under the shade of her parasol, she felt more and more like a real lady. Gentlefolk she met eyes with no longer looked down their noses in classist disgust. Instead, some nodded politely and others offered appreciative smiles at her refined attire. The golden fields of Avonlea and the perfume of their wildflowers still followed Anne in her heart, and she lived along with - not in spite of - its memory. Her soul was wide and an adventure was hers for the taking.

Then, Anne’s eyes fell upon something that made her heart drop to her stomach.

The sight of Winifred was a harsh dousing of cold water. The calm of the day was broken and the early autumn air became bitterly frigid. The blonde beauty appeared as genteel as ever she did, standing with a sort of guarded sophisticated expression on her face. She watched as her servants loaded her belongings into a carriage, though something far away occupied her gaze, and she hadn’t noticed Anne.

Anne paused. Should she venture forward and say hello? Was Gilbert here? Her heart sank at the thought of him. If Winifed was loading her things into a carriage, did that mean that Gilbert was leaving...Leaving today?

It was then that one of the servants noticed the pale redhead standing in the gateway and whispered a few words to Winifred. Immediately, she fixed a sharp glare at Anne with such palpable disdain that it made Anne step back. Her grip on her parasol tightened. Had Winifred always hated her so much? Maybe Gilbert said something, told Winifred about the letter he’d received from Anne? If Gilbert despised her as much as Winifred seemed to, she wasn’t sure what she’d do.

Just let it go, Anne, she told herself. Let him go.

More dignified than she felt, Anne opened her parasol and rested it on her shoulder. She gave a polite smile, a short nod, and continued walking down the street.

The Blackmore House was a welcome sight. Anne’s walk home had been overwhelmingly occupied by thoughts of Gilbert as the last of her hopes tried desperately to cling to her. The optimistic side of her, the side that could so easily picture Gilbert appearing out of thin air and declaring his undying love, needed to be quieted. Soon, the Avonlea girls would be home to ease her thoughts, and in turn, the dull ache of her heart.

Her gaze fell down to the flowerbed along the edge of the house. The familiar blooms had begun to wear thin and pale with dryness.

“My poor friends, you’ve been neglected,” Anne murmured softly. She took the watering pail from the porch step and began to sprinkle what was left overtop the soil. “I admit, I’ve also been feeling a little like I’ve lost my vibrant colors. Still, you all are quite fortunate. How lovely it must be to entwine your roots with those beside you, to never be separated from them. I hope you’ll all enjoy this bit of rain.”

Above her, a cottony cloud split down the middle and drenched Anne and her flowers in sunlight. She swore it tasted like honey or sugar on her lips.

“Some sunshine will do all of us some good,” she continued. “It’s hard to linger on things that pain us if we’re sitting in the sun together, even if those things are wont to hurt excruciatingly.”

Caressing soft petals, Anne felt herself teetering on the precipice from which there was no return. If she opened up her mind to thoughts of Gilbert, she wouldn’t be able to stop. More and more, she was unsure if her heart would survive the onslaught, regardless of all her words to Diana that had been of healing and moving on.

Yet before she could venture down the path to thoughts of unruly, night-sky hair and melodiously deep laughter, she heard a pair of footprints race up the front path. Her head shot up, the sight before her causing her jaw to drop.

Gilbert Blythe was bounding up the path, aided by the wind at his back. He looked wild, dressed without his jacket and sweating through his white shirt. Anne’s mind raced - what could he possibly be here for? Had he heard that she was living in Charlottetown and come to see her before leaving for Paris?

Anne rose from where she knelt by the flowerbed, and when Gilbert finally saw her, he stumbled forward and jolted to a halt. His eyebrows were knit in a strange expression, causing a wave of self consciousness to come over Anne. She could dress in beautiful azure gowns and curl her hair into any fashion she wanted, but Gilbert had known her at her worst. He wasn’t likely to be distracted by the new change - she was the same Anne he’d always known.

“Anne-” he choked out, but anything else he wanted to say was caught in his throat. He was dissipating before her, his gaze desperate and his appearance disheveled beyond imagination. A tremor shook his hands and a pang of dread shot through Anne. She rushed up to him, searching his eyes and finding only desperation and something akin to wonder.

“Gilbert? What are you doing here?!” she exclaimed. Gilbert gaped, but no words came out. His eyes roved over her, a shaky sigh leaving his lips and grazing her cheeks. “What’s wrong? Is Delly ill or-”

“I’m in love with you.” Anne was stunned to silence, her cheeks burned scarlet and her world flipped upside down on its axis. Gilbert himself was caught off guard by his own admission, but he pressed on. “I’m so enormously in love with you and I’m going to Toronto.”

Anne blinked, trying to clear her mind, but it was full to the brim with his confession. Her knees gave out their strength, and she lurched in a rising tide of bliss. Misinterpreting her reaction as fear, Gilbert took a step forward and searched her eyes.

“Please don’t be alarmed. I would never pressure you to feel or be anything you refuse to be. But the things you do want, Anne, I want you to have them. Still more than anything, I want you to want me.” He reached for her hands, finding them already open to him. “I had no hope of it when I left Avonlea, but then Diana found me on the train. I knew I’ve been acting like a fool, but I had no idea how much. Anne, you need to know I’m not engaged. I won’t ever be - that is, unless one day...”

Anne whispered his name, a soft plea to give her a moment to process, but Gilbert shook his head, taking her quiet tone as trepidation.

“I don’t expect your favor - wouldn’t dream of expecting it since I’ve done nothing that warrants I should deserve it,” he added with a self-deprecating scoff. With a deep breath, he let his honesty show on his face. “I just came because I need you to know that you are exquisite . I’ve always thought so and I always will.”

All Anne’s words were gone. In a blissful instant, all that was left was an overwhelming, incoherent hurricane of feeling. It turned her insides to nectar from the head down, tempering down time and making the slow moments sweet.

Gilbert wasn’t sure what to make of her silence. He searched her wide eyes for any reason to hope and waited several moments into the quiet before dropping her hands. He gave a stiff nod and began to turn away.

“That’s that, then.”

But for Anne, it was far from over. Her euphoric haze dissipated the second his warmth was gone, but her fingers brushed his sleeve out of instinct as he moved. Before Gilbert could even take a step, she seized his face and kissed him soft and desperate.

Gilbert dissolved. Out of instinct, he let his hands tangle into the curls of her hair and gently pull loose the knots. His lips were soft as they moved beneath hers, yielding and honeyed. He was the first to pull back, an awed grin turning his face gold in the sunlight. It was his turn to have a mind of jumbled words.

“Diana said...but I thought she might be mistaken...but you-” Something in Anne’s eyes changed that silenced the words on his tongue. “Anne, I have to know. Do you truly have feelings for me?”

Anne had half a mind to kiss him again, but she was a lover of words and a lover of him. If there ever was a time to string together poetry and use the lavish words of her heart, it was now. Yet, she found the songlike verse that swelled in heart articulated itself much simpler than she expected. Reverently, Anne uttered, “I do. I love you.”

His reaction was everything she was hoping for, everything hers had been moments ago. With a cry of delight, he took Anne into his arms and pressed her against him. Her arms found their way around his neck and she laughed in delight.

“I never got your letter,” he confessed into her hair, running his fingers along the soft curls. Anne leaned back enough to peer up into his face, delighting in the lovesickness she found there. “I should’ve written a letter or my own. Maybe then we would’ve faced less misunderstandings.”

Anne hummed. “A small part of me believes I still would’ve found a way to complicate matters. What would you have written?”

“Dear Anne, thanks for the pen and good luck at Queens .”

She laughed, fighting the urge to lay her head back on his shoulder.

“No, really!”

Gilbert pondered this for a moment. His hand reached for the constellations on her cheek, caressing each freckle as if they were tempered flecks of gold.

“Dear Anne, I write to you a fool in man’s clothes for mistaking everything for so long. You are the true, the only object of my affection and my desire . And then I might say something about how you couldn’t have possibly known that smacking your slate over my head would be the start of me falling hopelessly in love with you.” He embellished his statement with a kiss at the corner of her mouth. “What would you have replied?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t have replied anything,” Anne answered. “I would have rushed across the fields between our houses to see you, and then I suppose the following events would’ve been much as they’ve been today.”

“And if I were already gone?”

“Then I would’ve even taken a train to Toronto to see you.”

Gilbert’s expression dimmed slightly.

“Toronto is much more far away than it sounds,” he lamented.

“I know where Toronto is, thank you very much,” Anne teased. “You’ll write?”

“Every day if you want me to.”

He might’ve said more, but the clambering of a carriage up the lane of Mrs. Blackmore’s house interrupted him from progressing further. Gilbert squeezed Anne’s hand with a regretful expression. It was not the parting either of them wanted, but the pain of saying goodbye was soothed by the knowledge that it would not be the last goodbye. A mere week until delivered letters, a few months until they could be reunited - the time would pass like seconds when there was so much life to be lived.

With one last smile, Anne kissed the inside of Gilbert’s palm and whispered, “Come home someday, Gilbert Blythe.”

His eyes were all the colors of Avonlea blended together.

“I will.”

#anne with an e #anne of green gables #shirbert #shirbert fic #anne and gilbert #tessa writes #much looooove to you all!#*sprays you in lysol*#*but lovingly*

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ruensroad · 5 years

Text

for the rest of forever

I’m sappy today and wanted to write weddings, thanks to this show and gifset. SO, here’s a Jinyi wedding for @this-solaris-life. Set in a historical-esque au in a Song-inspired Imperial China.

---

He’d known since he was thirteen that he’d be marrying one Lan Jingyi. Ever since the day he’d pleaded with his mother to break his engagement to a girl, because he’d seen a boy stand up for another in the fields and proclaim, loudly, that any bullies had to go through him and had felt that moment go right to his heart, it’d always been Lan Jingyi, the very boy who’d taken a punch from a bully and given one back, muddy faced and utterly grinning. He still wasn’t sure how he’d gotten so lucky with such understanding parents, or with a matchmaker who’d tracked Jingyi’s family down with their courtship offer, but he was lucky, so lucky, and he’d long ago stopped wondering how.

Especially on this day of all days, auspicious with sunlight and a sweet smelling breeze. With his home draped in reds and a gown to match, his family laughing outside the door as they tested Jingyi’s mettle with too hot soup, swordsmanship displays, and very loud, gushy poetry that made his cheeks flame to hear. With laughter outside and cheering, with Sizhui at the door biting his lip in good humor, and Zizhen at his side, smoothing down his hair.

This day of all days, where he was not an Imperial Guard, not a soldier or son of a powerful family. He was just Jin Ling, a grumpy, yet glowing bride, and a man in love.

“I think Lady Jiang is making him hop on one foot now,” Sizhui laughed just as Jingyi’s voice rose again, breathless around what had to be the sappiest love poem Jin Ling had ever heard.

Zizhen snickered and adjusted the hem of Jin Ling’s robe, where it was currently hiding one of his wedding shoes. Jin Ling’s idea, that. “Probably for the best. The only good way to stomach your Xian-ba’s soup is by sweating it out through physical exertion.”

Sizhui nodded in amused sympathy. “Shu-shu said it was so hot it could melt steel,” he said, wincing. “I hope hopping and talking is helping him, not making it worse.”

“It’d better be helping,” Jin Ling huffed, impatient. He hated this bride business for all the waiting. Waiting for Jingyi to cross from his home to Jin Ling’s, waiting for Jingyi to get through his crazy family’s games. Waiting so many years for this day, only to wait more. It was infuriating. “If you lot make me a widow before he even gets in here I’ll break all your legs.”

“Yes Mistress Jin,” Zizhen huffed right back, far too used to his moods to be properly threatened. Unfair. “He’ll make it. He loves you, after all. So he’ll make it.”

Jin Ling blushed to his toes, but merely scowled in response, not that his traitorous friend and cousin cared. Sizhui, thankfully, went back to listening at the door, and lit up just a new round of cheers sounded outside. “He’s coming now. Get ready!”

“Oh, we’re ready,” Zizhen laughed and tossed the veil over Jin Ling’s head, letting it drape just so over his hair and shoulders. Jin Ling immediately hated the way it obscured his vision and told him so, but the damned veil was not moved. “Patience, A-Ling. You’ll appreciate this, i promise.”

“I’m still stuffing it down your throat later,” he complained, squinting hard to see through all the red, and could make out the shadowy shape of the door, as well as the gleaming white robes Shizui was wearing. “Let him in. I’m done with waiting.”

“Not even going to wait for a bribe?” Zizhen gushed, sounding ready to float away. “How romantic you are, A-Ling. I had no idea.”

“Did I say later? I think I’ll stuff this down your throat right now.”

“A-Ling.” Sizhui this time, in his gentlest voice, which always made Jin Ling pause and calm, if begrudgingly. “They’re getting the paper money ready, it’ll be under the door soon. Just a little more patience.”

Jin Ling bit his tongue and couldn’t stop the singing of his heart when Jingyi called for entrance from the opposite side. Sizhui and Zizhen teased him, per tradition, until the packet of money passed to them, then finally, finally, the door opened and footsteps moved towards him.

He could not see Jingyi’s face, or any part of him, but the smell of his favorite incense clinging to his robes had Jin Ling grinning and a tremble shooting down his spine. He heard Jingyi’s breath hitch and felt his own heart jump, even before two hands gripped the end of the veil and lifted.

There were few things in Jin Ling’s life he remembered with utmost clarity. The sight of Jingyi in wedding red and gold, awe plain in his face and dark eyes wide with love… he would never forget it, he was sure, for the rest of his days, even if he wanted to die from embarrassment.

“Jin Ling,” Jingyi’s voice was hushed and hoarse and that too went right to his heart, making it skip in place.

“Stop staring and find my shoes,” Jin Ling huffed, cheeks aflame under such an intense stare. He was a soldier, for Gods’ sake, a warrior. To be reduced to a true blushing bride…

Jingyi chuckled at that command, that same wild grin flashing over his face, and he obediently started searching the room. “My Mistress Jin, are you so ready to be mine?”

“Maybe,” Jin Ling gave him the sass right back, and stuck his chin in the air in full challenge. “Depends on how stupid you look climbing the bookshelf.”

“Sizhui’s idea, I take it,” Jingyi sighed as he reached for the barely visible toe of red at the top of the upmost shelf, but even with a jump only managed to bump it back out of sight. Jin Ling laughed in victory as Jingyi was indeed forced to climb the bookcase to retrieve it.

“Sizhui’s idea, Zizhen’s placement,” Jin Ling said and stuck his foot out at him expectantly. Jingyi sighed, but his smile was all fondness when he slipped the shoe on.

The second shoe, like a well hidden treasure, took much longer, and Jin Ling laughed the whole way through. Given the shoe was between his thighs, Jingyi got his revenge with a quick pinch, but even that was not enough to dull his mirth. Jingyi barely managed to get the second shoe on before Jin Ling was pulling him into a quick, secret kiss, grinning wide against his mouth.

“We haven’t even gotten to the vows yet,” Jingyi admonished, but there was nothing but laughter and love in his voice.

“I don’t care,” Jin Ling huffed, because he didn’t, and stole one kiss more. “I’m tired of waiting. You’re here and you’re mine. I can kiss you now whenever I like and no one, not even you, will stop me.”

That had Jingyi blushing, laughing, and smiling that toothy grin that had captured Jin Ling so completely, so many years ago. And as Jingyi turned and knelt before him so Jin Ling could be carried on his back to the waiting carriage, Jin Ling knew it was forever. This laughter, this trouble they could and would make together.

Because today was his wedding day, the start of the rest of his life, and he had never been so blessed. And he had the rest of his life to make sure Jingyi felt it too.

#ruenwrites #jinyi #chinese wedding #i love them #i am soft #jin ling #lan jingyi #lan sizhui #ouyang zizhen

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royallyjoon · 5 years

Text

red light magic

i don’t want to set the world on fire...

i just want to start

a flame in your heart.

as someone who’s always been on the outside looking in, the social aspect of college felt almost as daunting as the academic aspect. you meet seven certain men that revolutionize your life and its meaning. what would start out as a completely innocent friendship would develop, move crude and black, into something so sinister.

—

A medical career hadn’t been your first choice.

Ever since you were little, reading and writing were in your blood. Books were your escape from teasing classmates, and there was nothing more enjoyable to you than coming home and powering through one YA novel after another.

You loved reading so much so that it, along with summer school and class assignments, pushed you to start writing short stories yourself.

When high school came along, you were fairly well known for your love of books and your writing/poetry.

You knew all too well how much dedication and time it takes for an author to be successful. Your parents never failed to remind you, either.

Your mother pushed you to recognize the fact that a career in the medical field would not only allow you to give back to society but pay your bills as well.

You could improve your writing on the side and not have to worry about living in a cardboard box after graduation.

Ultimately, when the time came to choose a college, it was this conversation that made the decision for you.

Karu University, your home for the next four years, was known for its myriad of majors as well the diversity in its subjects.

You lived in a standard dorm room with relatively nice roommates. Your student loans weren’t too cumbersome and your mom bought you all the school supplies you’d needed.

Your first day of classes began with a Psychology course; one the rest of the people in your major wouldn’t be taking until next semester. Due to a scheduling error, you would take Psych this semester and the other class the next.

You arrived rather early, by about half an hour, and sat in the middle of the lecture hall. With one earphone in, you took out a notebook and pencil. Then you fooled around on your phone.

People slowly started filing in. The two seats on either side of you were empty, but only one held your bag.

Just as the class was about to start, a young man ran in. His eyes quickly scoured the room for a seat. You saw him turn his head towards you and moved your bag to between your legs in preparation.

On your left, another man sat next to you. He smiled, one you quickly returned before taking your headphones off and putting them in your bag. You put your phone on silent.

As you stuffed your phone in your pocket, the guy from earlier plopped down on your right. You smiled at him as well, and he grinned.

The professor started his lecture. Halfway through, there was a small tap on your shoulder. You stopped writing notes and turned to the one on your right.

“Hey, sorry to bother, but do you have a pen I could borrow?” He whispered.

“I think so...” you muttered. You dug through your bag and handed him a Sharpie pen.

“Thank you!” He smiled again and scrambled to write the class information the professor was sharing.

“First things first: Sigmund Freud was wrong about a lot of things, but contributed greatly with his psychoanalytic theory of personality.”

“Really?” The voice on your left quietly snorted. “I thought his theory on the Oedipus complex was right and true.”

You giggled and glanced at the man next to you. He smiled and shook his head.

Throughout the lecture, you wrote little notes and laughed at his comments. He seemed to know so much about Psychology already; it made you wonder why he was there.

At the end of class, the man on your left finally introduced himself.

“Hi, I’m Namjoon.” He stuck his hand out.

“Nice to meet you, I’m (Y/N).” you smiled back and shook his hand.

Those dimples are adorable.

“You’re a freshman, right?” You nodded. “Ah, cool! I’m a junior; I just took the class because I had the elective time.”

“Really? I was thinking you seemed pretty learned about Psychology; now I know why.” You said.

He blushed. “I’ve gotta go to my next class, but I look forward to talking to you more.” Namjoon picked up his bag and walked away with a wave.

Meanwhile, the one on your right tapped your shoulder. You turned to face him.

“Thank you so much for the pen! I’m Hoseok.” He grinned and handed it back to you

“Ah, it was nothing. I’m (Y/N), nice to meet you.” You stuffed it in your bag and smiled back. For some reason, his happiness felt infectious.

Maybe it was the first day jitters.

“You too! I’ve gotta run, but see you next class!” He jumped up with his bag and waved goodbye as well.

You waved and sat a while before collecting your books to go explore the campus. At the very least, you had two new friends. The thought made you smile.

The campus was pretty empty, although it was still early in the morning so students were probably sleeping or in class.

The walks between campus were absolutely scenic, as Karu covered so much ground for its different schools. There was a pond to study by, and you intended to sit there after getting your way of the land.

When you reached the pond, you sat underneath an old willow tree that hung over it and pulled out your book. You only started reading for about half an hour, however, before someone’s shadow stole your attention.

You looked up to notice a tall, pale man in front of you. He looked much too old to be a freshman, older then Namjoon even. You guessed he was a senior.

“Listen, I’m pretty sure you’re new here so I’ll just tell you. Tradition states that the willow is a senior hangout only, and I’d really like to sit down. I’ve had a long morning.” The voice quietly lectured you.

“I don’t have a class for the next forty-five minutes...can we compromise?” You scooted so that your back was to the sunny part of the tree.

He looked at you for some time, but eventually, his exhaustion prompted him to sit.

“Wake me when you leave.” was all he said before he lay his head on his bag and knocked out.

You continued to read and slowly got accustomed to the sound of his breathing and the water in the pond moving.

With fifteen minutes left to go, you started packing your things. You didn’t want to be late for your class.

You stood, patted at your pants and legs, and shook the senior awake.

“My class starts soon, so I’m going to go now. I hope you have a good day.” You smiled at him as he quietly grumbled before taking off.

Your official classes finished for the week, and any breaks you had were spent traveling the campus in search of relaxing studying/reading spots. However, you could not head back to your dorm yet.

Every year at the end of the first week of school, Karu held several activities over the weekend for incoming freshman to get to know each other.

Forming unbreakable bonds, getting into relationships--because these are the plusses to college, were they not?

You headed towards the Roleste Center, where the majority of activities would be held.

The sophomores, who spent the past year planning these events, stood excitedly at the doors. They welcomed students by handing them a name tag and a little necklace with a plastic square to slip it into.

You hefted your bag over your shoulder and took a Sharpie, necklace, and name tag with a smile. Once prepared, you headed into the room.

Your heart was pounding. You hated and loved these events with a passion; it was difficult for you to start talking to people but once you did, you opened up a lot more.

Let’s make some friends, you thought and delved into the crowd.

The rest of your day was spent awkwardly trying to get to know people. You chatted with a few, but the second the leaders gave you all free time, they ditched you for others they’d met earlier. You were at a loss with who to hang out with.

Groups formed quickly as students left the building in waves. You didn’t want to walk outside, clinging to friend groups hoping they’d call out to you so that you could join the conversation.

They never did.

And it was too bold for you to just walk up and join the conversation as if you’d been there all along, wasn’t it?

You pulled out your headphones, plugged in, and sighed.

I came here to make friends; yeah right.

You felt a presence near you and looked up. A boy now stood in front of you, his hand outstretched.

“Hi! I’m Jungkook.”

You smiled and shook his hand. “I’m (Y/N), it’s nice to meet you.”

“You too.” His grin reminded you of a bunny. “So, what are you majoring in?”

“Nursing.” You replied. “What about you?”

“Nice...I’m majoring in arts in game design.”

“Wow! You must be really talented!” You gushed.

You chatted with Jungkook for the rest of the break, and the rest of the evening. He switched seats to sit next to you, and your heart warmed in excitement. Finally, you’d found a friend in your year.

When the activities were over and the sophomores bid everyone goodnight, you stood up to go but hesitated when Jungkook didn’t.

“Hey, are you coming?” You asked softly.

“Ah, no. I”m staying behind to help the sophomores clean up. I know a couple of them and we live together, so it’s easier.” Jungkook replied.

“Oh...well, do they need any more help?” You asked. You didn’t want the night to end so soon...

Jungkook smiled. “Sure! I’ll ask just in case, but I know they’d appreciate the help.” He jumped up and ran to the back.

You sat down and watched as the other freshman left boisterously for their dorms, planning meetups and exchanging social media.

You felt a bit disappointed that you’d only made one friend, and here you were clinging to him like a newborn.

Jungkook came racing back. “They said you can help; come on, let’s get started.”

You put your bag on the floor next to him and started folding chairs and tearing down decorations. The sophomores goofed around as they cleaned and you gazed upon their closeness, wondering if you would ever belong to a group like that.

You all finished cleaning about an hour before curfew. You knew your dorm was closing at midnight, so as much as you didn’t want to say goodbye to Jungkook, you had to put an end to this night.

After collecting your bag, you walked over to the raven, who was speaking to two sophomores. The taller male had bright red hair and grinned a boxy grin when Jungkook said something to the smaller male. His pink hair somehow fit his personality.

Their conversation slowed as you approached, and you took the opportunity to cut in in fear of interrupting them.

“Hey, Jungkook!”

He turned and smiled. “(Y/N), there you are! I wanted to introduce you to these two; they helped plan the whole event.”

“Hello, I’m Taehyung! This is my best friend Jimin.” The redhead gestured to the pinkette.

“Ah, hello! Thank you for working so hard to plan the event, the games were really fun.” You said.

“Thank you for saying that (Y/N), that’s so sweet.” Jimin smiled and all you wanted to do was pinch his cheeks, but you held back.

“So, what did you want to tell me?” Jungkook asked.

“Oh, I wanted to say it was really nice meeting you today. I was so worried I wouldn’t have anyone to talk to, but you swooped in and I had a great time talking. I hope we stay good friends in the future. But I’ve got to back to my dorm before the close the doors. I really hope to see you around campus more.”

Jungkook’s face brightened at your words but fell when he heard you were leaving. “You have to go? Here, why don’t we exchange numbers so we can keep in touch?”

“Sure!” You handed your phone to him and took his in turn, putting your name with a couple silly emojis.

Once the exchange was over, you promised to stay in touch and bid your goodbyes to Jimin, Jungkook, and Taehyung. However nice it was to meet them, you had a long day and all you wanted to do was shower and go to sleep.

Taehyung opened the apartment door with a shout. “Kookie met a girl!”

“He what?” The sophomore was rewarded with a shout from the kitchen.

Jungkook shoved his way in and slapped Taehyunh on the shoulder. “Hyung, it’s not that serious!”

Jimin strolled in and closed the door behind them. “I mean, she was beautiful. And our Jungkookie already got her number.”

“Oh-ho!” A loud shout from upstairs. “I knew we were raising him right!”

“I raised him if anything; the lot of you sat back and watched me.” The man entered the living room, apron on and spoon in hand. “What’s her name?”

“(Y/N).” Jungkook blushed a little thinking about their evening.

“He’s got it bad.” tsked the college graduate.

“Jin hyung, I’m hungry,” whined Jimin.

“Then get your lazy brothers to come downstairs so we can eat.” He said as he walked back into the kitchen.

The youngest ones raced upstairs and ran to the respective rooms. Jungkook pulled Namjoon from his room, Taehyung got Hoseok from his studio, and Jimin dragged Yoongi out of bed.

Once the seven were seated and eating, Jin asked them what they thought about starting the new semester.

“I think it will go well.” Namjoon mused. “I met this nice girl in my Psychology lecture--she actually laughed along with my jokes.”

“And she lent me a pen!” Hoseok said. “She’s super nice. I don’t think she would have even asked for it back.”

“I met a girl under the willow tree,” Yoongi muttered. “She’s the only other person I know that isn’t afraid to sit under the tree. I told her it’s a senior privilege to sit there, but we just ended up sharing the space.”

Jin shook his head. “I’m amazed you all actually found someone to talk to for once. What did she look like?”

“She had (s/c) skin and (e/c) eyes; she was wearing a yellow hoodie and jeans,” Namjoon said.

“That’s what the girl I met was wearing,” Yoongi said, pausing his meal.

“That’s what (Y/N) was wearing,” Jungkook added.

The dinner table remained silent for several minutes.

“What a coincidence?” Jin tried.

“I don’t think so,” Jimin said. “Must be fate. It’s too weird.”

“We’ll see what happens in the future.” Hoseok shrugged. “You never know, we may never see her outside of classes again.”

Little did they know, the universe was up to something grand.

#yandere bts x reader #yandere bts #jeon jungkook #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #college!au

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hpdabbles · 5 years

Text

The Benefits of Marriage

“Want to get married?”

Remus jerks his head upwards distantly aware of the crack that comes from his neck. Across from him, Sirius bounces Harry on his knee not even looking at him. He’s making faces for the toddler who giggles in glee, clapping his tiny hands at his godfather.

Did he...image that?

The werewolf’s hands shake as he tries to act casual. He reaches for the sugar container fingers curling around the ridiculous glass bulldog set Sirius insisted on. It's a familiar weight, so familiar Remus often wonders when Sirius’ house became home.

Sometime after the Potters’ funeral maybe. Marlin did that thought still hurt. It burned, in a deep aching open-wound way. James was one of his best mates, maybe the first of the Marauders to try to break through Remus’ walls. Certainly, the first of all his classmates to offer a nervous shy kid a smile, curled with mischevious intent but friendly and inviting.

Sirius and Pettigrew came afterward, trailing behind the then Potter heir and the best years of his life began. When the War broke out and the Order of Phoniex rose Remus was terrified they wouldn’t be able to get off the battlefield together, that while he was fighting for his life one of the Marauders would fall.

He wanted them all to see the end of that awful war. Wanted his family to live. His parents cared for him but he knew deep down they hated his wolf side, knew they could never get past it. Remus didn’t feel as loved as he did with the Marauders, they may not have been blood but they were family, pack.

He was closer to them then he ever was to his parents. He mourns James more than his own father, wasn’t that just sad?

He just wanted them to see peace, to watch Harry grow up without the fear of raids, disappearances or bloody battles. They almost did, made it through nearly all the years when the Potters had to go into hiding and a suspected spy broke the Order’s sense of security.

Remus hates himself a little for suspecting Sirius, to have the nerve.

In the end, James and Lily didn’t get to see the peace after the war. Pettigrew betrayed them, and the couple will never see Harry grow up. Luckily Sirius would be there for the boy, but a small part of him knew that his best mate would never be over James’ death.

It was a secret the two shared, one night after James recited some poetry of Lily’s hair. Sirius had clapped his back, grinning ear to ear but entirely fake, when he finished reading. Remus hadn’t been the only one to notice but he was the only one that knew why. Padfoot had climbed into his bed later that night when the other two were asleep and confessed his secret: He was in love with James.

Remus had told him, in turn, he liked females and thought of smooching males sometimes, maybe when the lighting hit certain guys just right. Sirius had a laugh with tears streaming down his face claiming it was not the same thing but thanks Lupin.

It was their secret.

The one they kept all throughout Hogwarts, through James and Lily’s wedding and through the funeral. Remus wasn’t sure if Sirus ever told someone else but he got the impression he was the only one who knew about the pureblood’s feelings for James.

Now a year after, the two had been slowly rebuilding their lives. There not be a week where Remus wasn’t around the Black household. It really was home in a way, he supposes.

“Remus?” Sirius says finally getting Harry to eat his carrots. The three-year-old munches on them while pretending to be a dragon and Remus’ heart melts a little.

“Yes?”

“Want to get married?”

The werewolf blinks “What?”

Harry throws a hand up, always eager to join in conversations with a cheerful question “PadDad? Will Moonpa be your wife?”

Moonpa? When did Harry start calling him that!? He knew about PadDad since Sirius nearly broke his ears with the screech he released the first time Harry uttered it but he never heard the little pup give him a nickname.

His cheeks are turning a rapid hue of red he knows it but he can’t seem to get his jaw to get off the floor nor get his tongue to work.

Sirius rubs Harry’s hair, ignoring Remus’ little flattered embarrassment “Well not a wife. Moonpa would be called my husband.”

“Why?”

“Remus is a man, and when a man gets married, he’s called a husband.”

“Why?”

“I’m not too sure. It’s just how it is.” Sirius shrugs taking Harry’s question seriously as he struggles to think of an answer. “I think it’s so they can tell if someone is a boy or a girl.”

“Oh. That’s stupid.” Harry is quick to say wrinkling his nose “They can just ask if someone is a boy.”

“It is” The older man laughs. At that moment the light hits him just right, reflecting off the blue cabinets of the kitchen, highlighting his features. Sirius home is very muggle with small barely there hints of magic, sort of reminding Remus of his own childhood house, but it’s warm and wild as the man who owns it.

This, right here, is why Remus often finds himself coming over so much.

The pureblood is so patient with the little one, so caring and attentive. He’s a good godfather, loves Harry like his own, and sometimes just watching them is worth all the struggle he goes through.

The invention of Wolfbane made things easier, sure, but he was a second class citizen. There are some days where he wonders if he will ever be able to find a job. He is qualified but he can’t be caught as a creature, he would lose so many rights and thus he’s reduced to searching for low paying, hard working odd jobs.

“So Moonpa will be your husband?” Harry asks bitting his little carrot sticks with wide green eyes. “Does that mean he will live here?”

“Well...” Sirius starts eyes catching Remus’ startled ones. There is a strange emotion in them, one he can’t identify. For a moment neither say anything until Sirius gently tells Harry to bring the drawing he made for the werewolf.

Recently the toddler has gotten into art and shoots off to his room eager to show the newest piece. As he runs up the stairs Sirius calls out a quick “Careful! No running!” before he rests his chin in his hands studying the man across from him with that Black intensity that makes any person uneasy.

Remus has yet to speak because that intensity usually makes him hot under the collar. Makes words hard in his youth when he first notices the lighting on Sirius, makes them harder now when the spotlight never seems to move away from his best mate nowadays.

He only ever wants to kiss a bloke when the lighting hits them just right doesn’t he?

“So the silence is not a yes but it’s not a no either Moony”

Unbelievably, this makes him irritated, breaking him out of that dazed admiring. “What do you want me to say Padfoot? Marriage? Out of nowhere? We aren’t even dating!”

“We’re not.” Dark locks bob in a nod and the werewolf curls his hands on the table. Otherwise, he would do something stupid, like reach out and pat down the little patch that sicks up. “But no one knows that. We act like we do anyway. What with you spending so much time here, going to eat with us in public, the way Harry adores you and the fact we’ve been attached to the hip since the second year. It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if we married I reckon.”

“People talk,” He says heart hammering away and utterly off balance “doesn’t mean we jump into a marriage if that’s all they assume!”

Sirius flashes him a smile. “Since when have I ever cared what people say? No, I want to marry you. No one is peer pressuring me into this.”

Oh.

Something must have shown on his face because his friend cools his expression into something more serious. Upstairs they can hear Harry padding around, likely distracted with a toy or unable to locate the drawing. “Remus I thought this through the other night and realize something that’s been staring at me since the fourth year.”

Heat pools into his stomach and Remus can barely breathe. He knows. He knows about his feelings for him. How? The half-blood has always been careful, tip-toeing around the urges to reach out and touch, to look away before the affection in his gaze turn too big.

Sirius leans forward like he’s about to go over the table. Remus wonders if he’s planning on kissing him, and the brown hair man wishes he could have at least check his breath.

Teenager Remus would have died if his crush had kissed him while he had bad breath. Hell Adult Remus may as well self combust.

Did this mean Sirius liked him romanticly too- “Tax benefits”

“What?”

“Tax benefits” The other repeats “We would get good ones. You get citizenship too.”

“What?”

Sirius shakes his head as if it’s Remus being odd. He’s not the one that throws a normal light lunch into the gutter without of left field marriage ideas! “We get married, by Pureblood laws that would take you off the Creature Listing, especially if it’s into a Noble and Acenint house. I get a break on my taxes and Harry gets a second guardian in case anything happens to me. Everyone is happy.”

“Wait, wait, wait” shaking his hands, he tries not to pay attention to the utter anguish that rips through his chest. “You want to get married for the benefits?”

“Yeah.”

There is a lure in the conversation before a hissed “Fucking dammit Black.” breaks the air.

Remus isn’t sure if he’s going to cry or punch the idiot across from him. Sirius looks utterly confuse, what fucking nerve. He stands so quickly his chair falls over, rage gripping his insides into something raw. “Did you seriously think I would marry for benefits!?”

“Wait you didn’t hear all of them” Sirius tries to say backpedaling when he realizes he upset him.

“I don’t care-”

“One of the benefits is my love.” And just like that, the wind in Remus’ sails die as he gapes. Sirius turns a bright red, flustered in a way he’s never seen before but he keeps eye contact. “I do. Have for years but it’s been more..intense this last one. I love you, Remus. I want to marry you. I want to build a life together. I want to raise Harry together. Maybe we can even blood adopt later on too. I love you and I think you love me...so please...marry me?”

Oh.

“I also want tax breaks”

Oh, he’s going to hex him.

It’s no surprise that two months later Remus is staring in a mirror at himself wearing a white suit wondering for the life of him, why he didn’t demand a better proposal. Sirius gave in to a Muggle-style wedding maybe he would be okay to be more romantic.

At least Harry was happy to be the ring bearer. Cute, pup walking around in his little suit and waving at everyone who looks his way with a bright smile. Now, he’s charming. Unlike his godfather.

“Grow up to be a heart breaker, Harry. Better one then your PadDad.”

The little one nods his head, seriously taking the command at face value. “Okay, Moonpa. I’ll be better”

That’s his boy.

#Harry Potter #wolfstar #Raising Harry togther #Sirius had been working up the nerve for weeks #Remus secertly loves the propsal #Benifts of Marriage Au #In which they are actaully married and don't know it #But Harry is happy with his PadDad and Moonpa

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authorgreybrooke · 5 years

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Red Daughter (The unsung hero of Kasnia)

Kasnia was a cold place, an extensive woodland with patches of snow decorating its wild landscape. The villagers were poor and wrapped in scratchy attire, always pulling their thin scarfs tightly around there necks. The stalls of food were old and rickety, manned by staving people, desperate for their wages.

The soldiers were brutal but honest, fuelled by their anger, at the Americans and their Hollywood, and their fancy chefs, and fancy clothes, and comfortable beds. They pushed around the populace and protected them at the same time. Kasnia had a mandatory military program, a type of conscription, that meant every male citizen had to do a minimum of four years of service before the age of thirty. The hatred was trained into them, beaten into them, it made them strong, hard, fierce, it made them warriors.

In a dirt field, on the edge of the market, some kids kicked around a dirty soccer ball. A blonde-haired woman with a broad smile, and a grey and red uniform ran around with the group, pretending to be bad at the game and laughing at herself with them.

Close to dusk, a loud whistling noise pieced through the ambients, and Snowbird grimaced at the familiar call. The General was summoning her back to camp, using a device that emitted a high-frequency sound that only the woman could hear, similar to a dog whistle. She waved goodbye to the children, who begged her to stay for just a little bit longer, and took off into the sky.

. . .

The base was metal and brick, void of colour. The guards patrolling never smiled at Snowbird. The only person who would look her with affection was Alex, and he seldom visited, though he sent her books. She loved The Great Gatsby, it sparked her imagination, told her about a fantastical world of music, colour and grandeur. It was meant to be a learning tool, from Alex, to educate her about the American's selfish lifestyles, their disregard and greedy natures. Still, Snowbird kept it close like a child with a teddy bear.

Snowbird obediently entered her room, the door locked behind her, and the sharp metal sound of the lock hurt her ears. She knelt by the pile of books in the corner and pushed a few aside, philosophy, Shakespeare, poetry, dark fiction, biography's -- her favourite was romance. There was not a lot about love, family, friendship, what she uncovered twinged something painful inside her chest, something she hadn't found the words her to describe.

The story of Gatsby was tragic, a missed loved, a series of unsatisfied grand gestures. The copy that Snowbird had was beneath her pillow, it had been read the most, Snowbird cherished the novel, keeping it close for comfort. The pages held secrets, scribbled between lines and on edges, her sporadic thoughts and feelings, confessions and wishes on stars. She used to write about Alex. slowly, the idea of him she had in her head faded and transformed into something else, like a mentor or a father figure, the term "family" did not quite mesh with the words he said and the words she had read over and over again in her books.

When Alex spoke of his sister, an unfamiliar feeling threaten to consume her spirit, she felt it when she read about Daisy, the untouchable love, the unrequited, the missed, the unreachable, the unobtainable. Photos, images of the Americans were pinned to walls of Snowbird's tiny room, faces she was supposed to observe and learn, expression to mimic for when the time came.

"Lena." Snowbird practised the name, replayed it in her mind, spoke it with different accents, the sound was somehow imprinted within herself long before she had even known Lena Luthor existed. She traced her fingers over the images, unexplainable angry when she looked at Kara Danvers, smiling, with her arm around Lex's sister.

She'd met Lena, briefly, when she was Imitating her counterpart in America. The L-Corp CEO appeared discipline and compassionate, powerful and kind, beautiful in a way she had only read about but never personally witnessed.

Kara Danvers's journal had revealed many things, such as Kara's deep, seemingly unrequited, feelings for Lena Luthor. Kara spoke of her alien biology and her fears of hurting any human she loved too hard, she talked about their friendship and how she couldn't risk anything more beyond that, afraid that she would lose her best friend ultimately, she talked about being too scared to tell Lena about Supergirl, afraid of losing the one person who made her feel as vulnerable as any human.

There was an article within Kara's diary that she'd had the urge to steal, it was written by her counterpart and was about Lena Luthor and her company. It spoke of her charity and innovation, Lena had the potential to change the world, and Snowbird hoped that the younger Luthor would join the Kasnian people, hoped that she could see the beauty of the Kasnian land as Snowbird saw it. It was a fantasy, a dream, to stand firm for her people with Alex and Lena at her sides, she shook away the vision as sleep pulled her under.

. . .

The morning came slowly, it was cold and dark as the new day began. The boots stomping outside Snowbird's door woke her from a restless sleep, the blanket wasn't warm enough, and the room seemed to hold the cold air inside, never circulating or warming. The room remained stagnant and devoid of anything homely. Snowbird ran her hand over her face, trying to push away her half-asleep imaginings, she was a soldier, she didn't need friends or family, she had Alex and Kasnia, and that was everything.

The days passed, and Snowbird trained, she played with the kids, explored the wildlands, read about people doing things she could never dream up. Snowbird was content, happy even, ever since she had introduced Lex to Mikhail, feeling a warmth in her chest as the pair interacted -- like everything was coming together, she may not have the type of family written in books, but she had one, sitting around a broken table, laughing about simple things. Life in Kasnia may not be glamorous, it never needed to be, Kasnia was magical and peaceful all on its own.

The extra time in between training sessions gave Snowbirds mind the chance to wonder, she thought about things, imagined other things, mainly what her counterpart was doing in America. While Kasnia carried on, Snowbird slipped away, her curiosity taking over once again.

. . .

National City was loud, Snowbird cringed as she entered the busy, messy place. Kara Danvers' apartment was empty when she flew near enough to look in through the window. She didn't want to visit that place again, it made her irrationally angry, and she could fathom why an American apartment would evoke such a feeling.

She found herself hovering above the L-Corp building, watching Lena Luthor bite her lip and type furiously at her computer. Without much thought, driven purely by instinct, Snowbird floated down onto the CEO's balcony. Lena's heartbeat was loud in her head, pushing violently against her own pulse. Snowbird pressed her hand to her chest, trying to slow the powerful beats, it was dizzying, distracting, overwhelming.

"Supergirl!"

Snowbird felt a warm hand against her own and flinched back, stumbling.

"Are you alright?" Lena had moved without a sound, she stood before the Kasnian, watching her closely.

"I'm fine," Snowbird croaked, it wasn't loud, it wasn't even a proper American accent, it was fragile and broken.

"You don't look fine. Why don't you come inside," Lena pushed open the door and tried to reach for the fracture Kryptonian.

"I shouldn't."

"Why not?" Lena tilted her head slightly to one side.

Snowbird knew nothing at that moment, only that her feet would step wherever Lena Luthor wanted them to travel. She staggered over to the couch and sat, trembling and unsure.

Lena sat beside her, calm and so undeniably beautiful. "Did something happen?"

"You hate me..." Snowbird recalled the fallout Lena and Supergirl had over the creation of Kryptonite, how Supergirl had sent Guardian to infiltrate Lena's private laboratory.

"I don't hate you. I don't trust you. There's a difference." Lena's voice was steady, soft, soothing.

"I understand."

"I like the new uniform. It looks warmer."

Snowbird looked down at herself and remembered that she was not in disguise and that she should not be in Lena Luthor's office. Alex was going to be so mad. "I should go."

Lena nodded. "Maybe you could stay for a bit. I have some work to do, and I would like the company. Just for a bit."

"Just for a bit..."

"Yes. Please."

Snowbird realised in that instant that she could not deny Lena anything. The CEO stood and returned to her desk, glancing over to the alien on her couch every so often with a small smile. Snowbird just sat and waited, and watched Lena in return as she slipped on a pair of glasses, sipped her warm coffee, stretched her arms above her head and rubbed the back of her neck.

The night moved slowly into dawn, and the Kasnian listened to the city folk stir, the traffic grew more intense and the buildings awakened. It wasn't until she heard Eve enter the floor from the elevator that the Kasnian snapped out of her daydreaming.

"I have to go!" Snowbird stood and made for the balcony. The last thing she saw before she jumped into the air was Lena rushing to her feet, almost as if she wanted to stop Snowbird from leaving.

. . .

The Kaznian market strip was a flurry in the late afternoon, children rushed about, catching the last of the sun while the women and men bartered for there dinners. A military jeep, the old rusted kind, sped down the main dirt road, forcing the crowds to disperse in a panic. The soldiers aboard screamed at the scrambling pedestrians, angry that they couldn't move out of the way faster. One woman, frail in her old age, tripped over nothing, dropping her bag of overly ripe fruit onto the ground. Torn between forcing herself to her feet and reaching for the food she desperately wanted, she didn't move out of the way fast enough.

The soldier driving pushed down harder on the accelerator, intent on not letting the human speedbump slow his vehicle down. There was a shout, and then the sound of the engine zooming passed. The old woman stood shocked, confused and holding her bag of fruit, safely away from the military convoy.

"Are you okay?"

The woman spun around to see her saviour smiling down at her gently. The older Kasnian rushed out a few gratitudes in her own tongue and insisted that the hero take some fruit for her next meal.

"No, I couldn't. Please. Keep them."

The woman insisted, pinching the blushing blonde's cheek and forcing fruit into her arms.

Snowbird laughed and thanked the woman, earning another pinch and a pat on the arm.

The people of Kaznia had never feared her presence, she was a strange woman in strange clothes who spoke their language and helped them when the soldier would kick them.

Not all of the soldiers were bad, but Snowbird was exceptional, she played soccer with children and built them a school, she raced people to doctors and dove into frozen lakes for lost things, she found lost pets and used her heat vision to start fires when her people were freezing. It wasn't glamorous or even exhausting, it was just how she helped.

. . .

Snowbird sat in a tree, resting on a thick branch, obtaining a wondrous view of the sun disappearing behind the treetops. The sunlight flickered in orange, purple and blue, before dimming away. A sweet juice ran around her smile and down her chin as she feasted sloppily on the yellowish mango, it left her fingers sticky, but she was happy. It had been a good day. Even though she still missed Alex, regretting the things she had said to him.

The American's had attacked, and she wasn't around to save her people, she had been distracted, and it had cost her everything. Mikhail was gone, murdered, and she had let her feelings dictate her actions, she sought revenge for his death and almost ruined all of Alex's plans, she had disappointed him, genuinely and it broke Snowbird even further.

She'd accused Alex of being controlled by his emotions, whether she was projecting or not, she couldn't know for sure, all she knew was that she had dropped Lena's name in the heat of their fight and it had ruined everything between them.

The General called her back, using the sharp whistle that always made Snowbird flinch, and so, she hopped down from the tree, landing too hard, making the ground shake a little.

Before she zipped all the way back to the military base, Snowbird levitated above the blackened crater that was now Mikhail's grave. The anguish that she had felt the day that he'd died was unlike anything she had ever felt, the pain itself lingered, in her limbs, in her chest, gnawing away savagely at her innards.

Everything ached, the weight of it manifest and she dropped to the ground beside the destroyed soccer ball, she watched it, waited for it to no longer be broken and when it refused she angrily snatched it up from the ground.

Snowbird held onto the punctured, charred soccer ball, closing her fist around its torn skin. Since the attack, her people had been afraid of monsters across the ocean and the Kasnian soldiers who patrolled with itchy fingers.

Alex had left Kasnia, and Snowbird stood in the wreckage, angrier than she had ever been before, alone and full of self-loathing. Alex had taught her, saved her from Kryptonite and she had failed. It was time to prepare, to train, it was not the time for distractions. Mikhail deserved better. Kasnia deserved better.

She tried to imagine what it would be like to lose Alex forever and a sick feeling crept along her gut. The ash got swept up in a breeze forcing its scent onto the visitor. Snowbird cough and cringed and flew away in a desperate hurry, eager to be locked away safely in her room.

. . .

That night brought twisted nightmares of Mikhail's face, his sweet smile, melted away by the volatile American weapons. Alex, vaporised by a missile, as he sat at his desk, scribbling notes. Lena, typing and relaxing, then being dragged away by faceless terrorist as she cried out for Supergirl's help, cries that went unanswered.

Snowbird gasped and screamed, throwing herself out of her bunk and onto the cold ground. She had been angry before because people told her to be angry -- but she had never hated, never so purely. She hated the Americans. She hated everything Supergirl stood for, all of the lies, Mikhail's murder, the typical American way of life. The pictures of Kara Danvers' picture-perfect life mocked her from their places above her bed. Supergirl defended the people who had murdered Mikhail, she protected them.

Snowbird didn't notice at first, that she was getting weaker, the first nose bleed never worried her although it did worriy the General, he watched her with narrowed, cold eyes and frowned. He would call Alex -- she knew that he would, and so she waited, she was ordered to halt her training and to rest. Alex would come soon, and he would make everything okay again.

Except, she wasn't sure that Alex would return. There had been no new books, no letters, no new orders, and Snowbird felt the absence deeply. The General made her rest and had the doctors run test after test. The sun wasn't helping as much as it used to, it didn't give her the strength and energy it did when she stepped out of the bunker months ago.

It took a lot of her reserves to push up into the sky, she told herself that she wanted to find Alex, even as she crashed into Lena Luthor's office.

. . .

The lab below L-Corp smelt of chemicals, it was cold and bright, the light reflected off the clean white surfaces. Lena had a laptop that she typed on, a machine that analysed things and safety glasses on top of her reading glasses.

"Do you feel any tingling?"

"No."

"Is your vision blurry?"

"No."

"Do you feel nauseous?"

"No."

Snowbird had awoken on a gurney beneath a giant sun-lamp, and since then Lena Luthor had been the motivated scientist, determined to diagnose the problem that made the Kryptonian crash land into her office.

As the warm radiation seeped into her veins and energise her muscles, Snowbird watched the dark-haired woman she obsessed over, obsess over her instead. Lena Luthor fussed about her temperature and her EKG readings, her hands turned her head and checked if her skin was clammy, her eyes frantically scanned Snowbirds body for signs of anything.

It was a selfish pleasure, the Kasnian enjoyed the attention, the worry covering the other woman's face. She enjoyed having Lena entirely to herself, if only for a moment.

Lena flashed a small torch into her eyes. "How are you feeling? Headache?"

"No." Snowbird reached up and let her fingers slip into the soft dark locks that had been hurriedly pulled back into a messy bun. Lena's eyes locked onto her own. "Glass. There was glass," she mumbled, letting her hand drop away again.

"Well, you did destroy my window. It was supposed to be shatterproof. Three inches thick."

"Sorry."

"Ripped up my carpet too."

Snowbird grinned. "Sorry."

"I don't know how I'll explain it to Eve."

The Kasnian looked down at her own hands, suddenly very, honestly guilty. "Sorry."

"Hey, it's okay. I am a billionaire."

"I have betrayed you. I fail everyone."

"You're not Supergirl. I know."

"But... How? I don't. I'm sorry." Snowbird shook her head, angry with herself for thinking she could deceive Alex's sister.

"It's okay," the CEO assured.

"I need to go!" Snowbird stood up, but hands quickly pushed on her shoulders.

"Relax. I won't hurt you."

Snowbird scoffed at the absurdity. "Aren't you afraid I'll hurt you?"

"No."

"Why?"

"You kept me company." Lena shrugged, nonchalant about the whole situation -- as if she were often visited by Supergirl copies in the middle of the day.

"What?"

"Besides, you're very weak right now. I think I could take you." Lena smirked and winked.

"What? I... Um... I don't understand."

"Rest. I have a few more test."

Snowbird would have argued, but Lena looked at her in that way she looked at Kara in those pictures, and Snowbird was stuck, frozen in her place on the gurney. Lena order food, piles of food, bags of greasy, unhealthy food and each new flavour was a revelation. Lena watches with a fondness as the weak alien in her lab consumed mountains of noodles and pizza.

They talked, sparingly. Mainly Snowbird avoided questions, avoided eye contact, avoided breathing too loudly. Lena noticed and she was clearly cautious in the way she approached the creature in her lab, she circled around but never stood too close. Snowbird could feel her everywhere in the room, she didn't need to look at her, no matter how much she wanted to.

Eventually, Lena could no longer hold her beneath L-Corp, though she did ask her to return soon, once all of the results were back. They walked slowly back up to the shattered balcony, and Snowbird took off into the sky after begrudgingly promising to visit again soon -- the whole experience left the Kasnian feeling uneasy, and for the first time, she was thankful that Alex wasn't around to learn about her city visits.

. . .

The General had cleared her for training again. Snowbird didn't tell him how lethargic she had felt the last few days, like always, she kept her weaknesses close to her chest. A full night under a sunlamp with light conversation from Lena Luthor helped her energy levels somewhat, but Snowbird wouldn't tell the General that either.

She was stronger, and that was all the General cared about, she did attack drills, and soldiers threw grenades at her to test her resilience. The first ten didn't hurt, but the last five gave her a headache. The ringing in her ears made her dizzy, and she messed up her evasive flying technique. Scientist scribbled things down in their notebooks and asked her to repeat specific actions.

By the end of the day, she was exhausted. She had never felt so tired, and when she retired to her room, she fell asleep instantly and dreamt of nothing.

#supercorp #supergirl #red daughter #linda lee #lena luthor #lesfic #fanfic #kara danvers #fanfiction #supergirl fanfiction #WLW #wlw love #lesbian fiction

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