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novelconcepts · 4 years ago

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Not sure if it’s Drabble worthy. What if Peter and Rebecca don’t die and therefore Bly doesn’t need a new Au Pair. Do Jamie and Dani still meet somehow?

There is a woman in the pub. Not, strictly speaking, an oddity--there are people here every night upon Jamie’s return from the manor. People with drinks and conversation, taking up space she doesn’t have the energy to deal with.

This woman, though. This woman is strange simply because she isn’t. Because there is a look about her, too normal, too put-together. Because her eyes are too bright, and her hair too shiny, and she is--most important of all--not of Bly.

Not Jamie’s problem, either, she thinks, pushing past the woman’s table with little more than a glance.

Blue eyes, she registers. Blue eyes, catching hers for a bare moment.

Jamie keeps walking.

***

The woman is back again. Still looking a bit too clean, a bit too bright to be allowed in a smudgy place like this. She’s seated at that same table, nursing a drink with her eyes on a book, and she is...

Just a woman, thinks Jamie, whose day has been marked by Miles’ attitude and Flora’s perfectly splendid’s, and whose head is in all honesty ringing just a bit more than she can stand.

She could use a drink tonight. Could use a bit more than a drink, really--could use a long rest, a long break from memories of Peter fucking Quint moving about the house like he owns the place. Tonight, she’ll settle for the drink. It’s cheaper than therapy, easier than talking to Hannah or Owen about the whole business. Certainly easier than cornering Rebecca, pressing her toward sense.

Problem is, there is a woman in the pub.

At her table.

She drinks at the bar instead and finds her eyes searching out that woman’s face in the mirror. Finds herself coming back time and time again to the curve of the woman’s cheek, the angle of her nose, the way she bites the edge of her thumbnail as she turns the page.

Her eyes never raise, never seek Jamie’s in return, though Jamie is certain--judging by the insistent tap of one boot under the table, the fidgety quality of her fingers around her glass--she knows she is being watched.

***

The woman, she supposes, has nowhere else to be. What must that be like? What cart must have overturned, tipping her onto the pavement of Bly, to this pub, to this dark corner of the world?

Jamie can remember all too well what it feels like to have nowhere to be. To just stumble into whatever place will hold a person up. This woman, with her tailored blouse and her hoop earrings, doesn’t much look like Jamie had, living that sort of life. But what does Jamie know?

Blue eyes. Shiny hair. Very little else.

Jamie has taken in a drink every night this week, less for the value of the alcohol, more out of curiosity. Could the woman really be here each time she walks through the door? Could this same woman always set up shop at her table, alone, peaceably making her way through a battered paperback?

So far, survey says yes.

And the week has been long, it’s true: Rebecca, growing agitated as tensions between Peter and the rest of them wind ever-higher. Last night, Hannah had gripped her steak knife as though considering plunging it into Peter’s thigh. Tonight, it had taken every ounce of Jamie not to take a swing with the expensive wine bottle he had produced from thin air.

Deserve better, chick, she’d thought as Rebecca had soothed Peter’s glower with a kiss. You have to see that.

Rebecca, predictably, does not.

Jamie, sitting here with yet another drink, watching the strange woman at her table in the mirror, isn’t sure who she is to talk.

***

Someone is trying to talk to the woman tonight. Someone--a bulky man in his mid-thirties who Jamie has already marked as endless trouble--is trying to take a seat at the woman’s table.

Jamie watches with hackles raised, glass poised at her lips, waiting. The woman looks like the sort to make polite conversation, to smile warmly, to find herself in a bad situation before she realizes. Not that it’s any of Jamie’s concern. Not that Jamie ought to be making noise in the pub above which she sleeps.

The man is leaning across the table, his huge hand reaching for the woman’s book. His grin is sloppy, his eyes ale-muddled, and when he moves toward the woman’s hand, she recoils. Glances toward the bar.

Glances directly at Jamie.

Hell, thinks Jamie tiredly, because this isn’t the way. This is never effective, never wise. Keep to yourself, keep your bloody head to your own bloody business, that’s the trick.

The woman’s eyes are so goddamned blue.

“Saved me a seat, I see,” Jamie hears herself say, cocking her hip against the man’s chair with a fuck out of it smile. He squints up at her, clearly trying to piece together some bleary vestige of memory.

“You’re,” he slurs, “upstairs.”

“Seem to be down among the locals tonight,” Jamie says cheerfully, and gives him a single jerk of the head in warning. He frowns, pushing himself clumsily to his feet.

“Borin’ conversation anyway.”

Jamie watches him go, raises her glass to her lips, smiles when he shoots a dark look over his shoulder. She does not look at the woman, not until she hears a soft voice say, “Thank you.”

American, realizes Jamie.

Mistake, realizes Jamie.

“Hang a jacket over the seat next time,” she suggests on her way back to the bar. “Dissuades the stupider ones.”

***

The woman buys her a drink.

She seems, Jamie notes with some alarm, to have registered Jamie’s schedule. How Jamie seems to walk in around eight every evening, her shoulders tense with a day’s battles still hanging tight. How Jamie has long given up trying for her usual table, sacrificing it in the name of pretty blonde Americans.

There is a drink waiting for her--her usual, though in a place like this, it isn’t hard to guess.

“That one,” the bartender--tonight, a fiftyish woman with a smirk--says, and points exactly where Jamie expects. She glances over, finds the American with her own glass raised. Eyebrows arched. Head gesturing for Jamie to come on over.

Mistake, she thinks again, even as she’s obeying.

“Wanted to thank you again,” the woman says, as Jamie hovers beside the second chair. There is, she notes, a denim jacket tossed over its back.

“Not a problem.”

“Sit?” the woman suggests, and Jamie finds she can’t locate a reason not to. She settles awkwardly, trying not to dislodge the jacket, all-too aware of the filthy floor beneath her boots.

“Really don’t think,” she begins, but the woman is saying something. She blinks. “Sorry?”

“Dani,” the woman says again, touching a hand to her chest. “Dani Clayton.”

It’s a bad idea, Jamie thinks distantly, because the woman is so goddamned pretty, it hurts. She’s pretty, and she’s smiling, and there’s something about her eyes that makes Jamie’s pulse do tricks she hasn’t entertained in years.

“Jamie,” she replies, and allows the woman to clink a half-finished glass against her own.

***

Dani, as it turns out, actually works here.

“Just started,” she says, almost sheepishly, when Jamie makes blustery noises of surprise. “On the early shift. Just to have something to keep me busy, until I figure something else out.”

She’s in England, she says, on a sort of personal retreat. A finding myself sort of adventure, she adds with a laugh that rings in Jamie’s ears like the best kind of music.

“Better places to do it in,” Jamie points out, “than a hole in Bly.”

Dani shrugs. “I like it. The people are nice, mostly. And it’s quiet.”

“Home wasn’t quiet?”

Dani doesn’t answer. Dani doesn’t seem to like to talk about herself all that much, Jamie is noticing. She likes, instead, to talk about the town--the strangers, the clients, the newness of it all. She’ll talk about the beer, about the book resting at her elbow, about the weather. Most of all, she asks after Jamie.

“Not much to tell,” Jamie says--a lie, if you go back far enough, but honest enough for now. “Groundskeeper, over at the big house down the way.”

“What does that entail?” Dani, unlike most, actually sounds interested. She is the oddest bird, Jamie thinks, and is startled to find a sense of light affection behind the notion.

“Gardening, mostly. Keep up the grounds, like I said--minor repairs about the house, too. Make sure everything keeps moving.”

“You like it?”

“Love it,” Jamie says honestly. Dani smiles.

“That’s what I want. Something I really love. Thought for a while it would be teaching, but...”

“Kids,” Jamie says. “Take a lot out of a person. That why you’re here?”

Dani thinks on it, seems to step right up to the edge of a reply before changing her mind. “Couldn’t be at home anymore,” she says instead. It’s a non-answer, Jamie recognizes. A too much truth answer.

“Fair enough,” Jamie tells her, and doesn’t push.

***

“So--he lives there?” Dani is three drinks in to Jamie’s two, her hair falling across her forehead as she tries to piece it all together. Jamie shakes her head.

“Nah, not most days. Hannah, she lives there--full-time, I mean. And Rebecca, she moved in couple of months back. Kids love her. Quint, though, he’s...” She can’t find a nice way to put it. Isn’t sure why she’s even bothering. “A cockroach. Hard to kill, harder yet to wish away.”

“Sound like you’ve tried,” Dani says with a faint smile. Jamie shrugs.

“Waste of everyone’s time. He’s Henry’s fuckin’ lapdog. Long as he’s pulling at the leash, we all just need to make do.”

Dani mulls this over with the interest of someone who has not a single face to put with any of these names. “Rebecca really likes him, huh?”

“Likes him. Stuck into him. Not much of a difference.” Jamie leans back, pouring the remainder of her drink into a single swallow. The idea of it, of Peter’s hands on Rebecca’s waist at dinner, still makes her stomach sour. “You ever just--you ever meet someone who is like a human pair of handcuffs?”

Something flickers in Dani’s eyes. She nods once. Jamie sighs.

“That’s Quint. Fucker never met a woman he didn’t try to win--and I do mean win. Like a prize. Like women are little more than trophies to be locked behind glass.”

She watches Dani rub absently against her lips with the back of one hand, unable to tear her eyes away until Dani says, “I don’t understand.”

“It’s like,” Jamie begins, trying to find the best way to explain, “like he thinks she’s property, right? Like he thinks any choice she makes without his say-so is a fucking--”

“Not that,” Dani says quietly. “I mean I don’t understand how people can do that. To each other. When they say they love--I mean. It’s the wrong way around, isn’t it? Trying to own someone out of love? You can’t do it. That’s...they’re not...”

“They’re opposites,” Jamie finishes. Blue eyes skip up, hold hers, don’t so much as waver. Dani’s lips turn up at the corners, her head giving a single nod.

“Yeah. Exactly. How do people mix that up?”

“No idea,” Jamie says, and swallows against the clamor of her own heart.

***

Peter tried to pick a fight this afternoon, out among the roses. Would have succeeded, Jamie thinks with no small amount of shame, had Miles not been lurking just behind him, watching everything.

She is vibrating when she reaches the pub, every motion just a little more exaggerated than she likes. She slams down into her usual seat, hands clenched into fists against the table.

“Bad day?” Dani asks, sliding a plate toward her. Half a sandwich, carefully set aside as if for Jamie all along.

“Not great,” Jamie agrees. She softens, looking Dani over, reading the tension behind her smile. “Look like you can say the same.”

Dani glances over her shoulder, eyes finding the mirror behind the bar and darting jerkily away again. “Hard to explain,” she says.

“Do you want to?” Jamie asks. Dani’s eyes land on her with all the abrasive surprise of an explosion. Jamie taps light knuckles against the tabletop. “Just sayin’. If you want to get it off your chest--”

Dani shakes her head. “It’s...really hard to explain,” she says, almost apologetic. “It--it makes me sound...kinda crazy.”

Jamie has never met someone who looks less crazy. Someone who holds herself with such steadiness, though her hands are twitchy and her smile doesn’t always reach her eyes.

“If you want,” she says, knowing she will, in a moment, let the moment slide. “I don’t mind.”

There’s silence between them, a great comfortable swell of it that shouldn’t exist in a small pub, on a night like this, between two women who barely know one another. Jamie lets it ride, taking a bite of sandwich, watching Dani read her expression with tentative interest.

“I had a fiancé,” Dani says at last, and Jamie feels something in her stomach turn over. And then a second time, when Dani adds, “He died.”

“Dani. I’m so--”

“He died,” Dani says, staring grimly ahead as though trying with everything in her power not to glance toward the mirror again, “and I had just--I had just told him I couldn’t--”

She hesitates, pressing her face into her palms. When she lifts her head, her eyes are blazing.

“I’d just broken--up with him. Broken the engagement, broken the whole--because he wasn’t what I--and then he died. And sometimes, I...I...”

Jamie waits. Dani sucks in a ragged breath.

“I see him. Sometimes. In mirrors, mostly. In--and it’s insane, I know, but I can’t stop.”

“S’why you came here?” Jamie guesses. Dani nods.

“Crazy, right?”

Jamie shakes her head slowly. She’s not much for ghost stories, for fairytales, for dreams made flesh. Loss, though? Grief? Missing who a person was, who they could be? Those aren’t the marks of a crazy person. Those are just...

“Sounds like a rough time,” she says, and lets herself reach across the table. Dani’s hand is soft beneath her own, and she is suddenly too aware of her own callouses, of the skid against Dani’s skin when she turns her hand over and squeezes Jamie’s fingers in return.

“Thank you,” she says softly, and looks once more toward the mirror. Jamie watches her: the tension in her brow, the way her eyes seem to narrow. “I think I...needed to tell someone. Finally.”

She’s still holding Jamie’s hand, even as she turns the subject to the day’s customers, to Jamie’s plans for tomorrow. She’s still holding Jamie’s hand, and doesn’t even seem to notice.

***

There is a fight, but it isn’t Jamie who starts it. Isn’t Jamie who finishes it, even.

Jamie is only stupid enough to step in the middle.

“Your eye,” Dani says in greeting, standing briskly up from the table. Jamie, who is aware she is no longer bleeding, aware that the glass thrown could have done significantly more damage on a less-fortunate occasion, waves her off.

“Bit, ah. Messy at the house tonight.”

Bit messy is a gentle way of putting it. In truth, it had been a horrorshow: Hannah already furious with Peter for having barricaded Rebecca in the bedroom all afternoon, Peter furious with Owen for having enlisted Rebecca’s help with dinner, Rebecca wound tight with the rising pressure of a situation primed to go bad for days. When the glass had been thrown--by Peter or by Rebecca, Jamie still can’t say; she suspects it had really slipped from a gesticulating hand, regardless, given momentum by a moment of frustration more than genuine violence--it had been the bomb they’d all been waiting for.

Rebecca had stormed off to her room. Peter, out of the house. Hannah had collected the kids, both of whom were sobbing, and Jamie had pushed Owen’s helpful hand away and cleaned her own wound.

“Theater,” she says now, aware of Dani’s eyes on her, of the abject concern in Dani’s face. “S’all it was.”

“Not good for the kids,” Dani says quietly. Jamie sighs.

“None of this is good for ‘em. Miles, he keeps...picking up shifty habits from Quint, and Flora’s enamored with the whole rotten mess. Thinks it’s romantic.” Jamie shakes her head, winces when her head rings back in answer. “Like there’s anything fuckin’ romantic about the way he talks to her.”

Dani is quiet a moment. She reaches across the table, presses her fingertips very gently to the place along Jamie’s brow where the glass had landed.

“Lucky it didn’t break,” Jamie murmurs, almost unaware of leaning into Dani’s hand. “Shouldn’t have gotten in the...”

Dani is gazing at her with eyes too blue, an expression too meaningful. Jamie reaches up, closes her own fingers around the hand gingerly exploring her brow.

“I’m okay,” she says. “Really.”

Dani seems not to believe her. Dani, whose palm slides across her own, thumb working a swipe along Jamie’s skin.

“Do you,” she begins. Clears her throat. Tries again. “Do you want to go somewhere?”

Dani nods.

***

She leads Dani upstairs, and even as she’s unlocking the door, she thinks, Mistake? This is, she knows, the kind of thing a person can’t take back. The kind of give that can’t be explained away.

Dani has not stopped looking at her since leaving the pub. Dani has not let go of her hand.

Dani, she is sure, feels it, too.

She’s aware of all the bits of the flat that feel wrong when set alongside Dani Clayton: last week’s shirt tossed over the back of the sofa, last night’s cup on the counter, last month’s dust painting the bookshelf. All the little merits of a life lived alone, she thinks. If she’d known--if she’d planned--it would look different.

Not much different, maybe, but enough.

Dani is looking around with an expression Jamie can’t read. It isn’t unease, or polite interest, or even amusement; it is, Jamie thinks, genuine awe. It is, Jamie thinks, a hunger to belong.

She’d fit in, she catches herself thinking, watching Dani walk slowly around the flat with the faintest smile at her lips. In that house, with the rest, maybe better than I do. She’d fit right in.

“This is yours?” Dani asks, not gesturing at any one thing in particular, and Jamie nods slowly.

“Serves its purpose.”

“I’ve never had this,” Dani says. Her eyes linger on Jamie’s face, and she adds hastily, “A place of my own. It seems...quiet.”

“It is,” Jamie says, and wonders if there isn’t more to it. If I’ve never had this is reaching for more than four walls and a bed Dani wouldn’t have to share.

***

They don’t really talk about it, as Jamie’s flat commandeers the pub’s place in line altogether. Sometimes, Jamie even finds Dani seated on her steps, book propped upon on her knees, waiting patiently to be discovered. It never feels like expectation, Jamie notes with feelings too big to look at for long. It only ever feels like Dani, warm smile and easy hand accepting Jamie’s for balance, has belonged here all along.

“D’you ever just,” Jamie begins, cutting herself off before the rest of the words can spill out. Dani, curled on the sofa with a blanket half-tucked around her, furrows her brow.

“What?”

“Feel like someone was always there,” Jamie finishes after a moment’s deliberation. It’s too much, probably, but she walked in on Peter and Rebecca screaming at one another again, and Flora spent the whole day in a sulk, and Hannah’s got a weariness around her eyes Jamie doesn’t like. Maybe it’s just a day for too much.

Dani doesn’t seem to think it’s too much. Dani is nodding.

“Like you don’t even have to introduce yourself, really, because you remember them from another life. Yes. Yes, I’ve...felt that.”

It’s romantic rubbish, Jamie wants to say, something out of one of Flora’s story-time adventures, but the words seem to settle along her skeleton like she needs them. Like they’re offering some kind of strength she didn’t realize she was lacking.

Dani is gazing at her, her expression fixed and unblinking in a manner that should be off-putting, and Jamie finds herself pulled irresistibly in. Finds herself leaning across the sofa, her thigh pressing to Dani’s, twisting at the waist to face her head-on.

“I’ve never,” Dani says softly, though her head is inclining, her lashes fluttering against her cheek.

“Don’t have to,” Jamie replies, though her blood is singing, her fingers itching to delve into thick blonde hair.

“But we could...” Dani is an inch away, and Jamie wants nothing more than to close the gap. Wants to take something for herself, for once, something soft and warm and easier than it ought to be.

She hesitates. Flexes her hands against her own knees, resisting the urge to grab for Dani’s shirt.

“Dani, I don’t want to--”

Dani is leaning back, nodding feverishly. “Right. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry--”

“No, listen.” She allows herself this, one hand reaching for Dani’s fingers, unfolding the instinctive fist she’s made. “I'm not...people don’t make sense to me. Understand?”

Dani shakes her head, puzzlement spreading over her impending humiliation. Jamie closes her eyes.

“There’s a lot to it, and if...if you want to hear it all sometime, I’ll...but for now, just know that people are hard for me. Exhaustive. Complicated. They ask too much and they return too little.”

“Even me?” Dani asks, eyes shining, and Jamie smiles grimly.

“Even you. Even me. Everyone, understand? But sometimes I still want...”

Dani waits. Dani, who never hurries Jamie anywhere. Who never tries to argue Jamie into a corner, or tells Jamie she needs to be kinder, or sneers for Jamie to get out of her way. Dani, who only sits on Jamie’s sofa, watching Jamie with an intensity no one else seems to possess.

“If you do,” Jamie says, almost helplessly, letting one hand brace beneath Dani’s elbow. “I want--”

***

Some people--some women--kiss to escape. To flee from their lives, to hide inside Jamie’s hands and lips and fleeting desire. Some women kiss to build up armor: to convince themselves they really are brave enough, even for a night, to be someone else. Some women even kiss to shame themselves, because the memory of Jamie on their skin will rise up at unexpected moments and make them feel something, anything, even if it’s terrible.

Dani doesn’t kiss like any of those women.

Dani kisses like she wants. Simple and steady and nothing more. Like she wants to be kissing Jamie, wants to be learning Jamie, wants the want of it as much as the thing itself. There is no shame, in the way Dani kisses her. There is only breathless excitement, Dani moving across the sofa to press tight to Jamie’s frame along the cushions.

“I’ve never,” she says again, only this time, she’s curling the words into the underside of Jamie’s jaw. She’s letting them spill across Jamie’s skin from within the loose grip of Jamie’s arms, her hands wound tight in Jamie’s shirt, her voice jittery with anticipation.

“If you want to stop,” Jamie begins, and Dani is shaking her head, kissing her neck, murmuring against her in such a way, Jamie can’t help but shiver.

“It’s what I--it’s right. The right way.” She lifts her eyes, and Jamie can’t help but grin at the joy reflected back. “I’ve never done it the right way.”

Jamie wants to know what that means, what the wrong way was, but it doesn’t seem a question for now. Now is just Dani, the one golden light untouched by a bleak day, the one bright spot after a tattered house Jamie doesn’t really belong in. Dani, who sighs against her lips, smiling, like she’s never been so happy to kiss someone.

She’s waiting for Dani to reel back, to gasp, to mention the fiancé again--but Dani only presses in closer and lets her mouth linger against the thunder of Jamie’s pulse beating along in her throat. Dani only finds her lips with such a sound of relief, Jamie can do nothing but grip at her back in response.

Have we done this before? she thinks with feverish uncertainty. Have we been here before? Dani is new, each press and slide of fingers along her skin calling forth unexpected sounds, but Dani is also right. Like meeting someone and knowing they were meant to be in your story the whole time.

“You’re sure?” she asks, though Dani is gazing down at her with such obvious desire, it makes her stomach clench.

Dani, in answer, kisses her as no woman has ever kissed her, and Jamie lets herself fall.

***

Dani is still in her bed come morning.

Dani is still wrapped around her, naked skin and rapturous smile, and Jamie thinks, How can I be so happy, when the rest of it is falling apart?

“All right?” she asks, half-expecting the awareness of the previous night--of their slow stumble across the flat, of Dani’s shirt over her head and Dani’s hands cradling Jamie’s skin--to crash in around them both like a bad dream. Dani only wriggles against her under the blankets, face pressed to Jamie’s shoulder.

“Yes. Are you?”

No one has ever asked that, Jamie realizes dimly. Not even the first girl she’d ever loved, the one who had taken Jamie by the shoulders and kissed her hard enough to hurt. Jamie, who had only been preoccupied with the sense memory of a moment like that, with the teeth buried in her bottom lip and the hand cupped between her legs, hadn’t much cared at the time.

Now, though, with Dani looking at her this way, she can’t imagine being with someone who doesn’t ask. Who doesn’t trail the tips of their fingers along her shoulder, her collarbone, her neck, and smile like they knew all along they were needed here.

“I’m glad,” she hears herself say, morning rasp tracing the words, “you stayed.”

Dani is still beaming when Jamie kisses her, the implication of I am, too buried in the gentle press of her hand against Jamie’s cheek.

“Are you going to be late?” she asks a little while later, when there’s fresh sweat on her breast and Dani is gulping air against her neck. Dani shakes her head, dusting light kisses across Jamie’s skin. She swallows, laughs, groans when Dani finds a particularly pleasant spot in the hollow of her throat and sets to exploring it properly. “Keep doing that, and I will be.”

And would that be so bad? To leave the house for a day. To pretend like it isn’t all imploding around her, a little family divided by one man’s arrogance. Like Jamie doesn’t feel, more and more each day, as though she is the odd one out, the seventh wheel amid three solid pairs.

Dani, still teasing the clench of her stomach with curious fingers, says, “Guess you should go, then,” and Jamie thinks no one has ever said as much to her with less pleasure. No one has ever sounded quite so inclined to keep Jamie close.

“I’ll be back,” she promises, and Dani--spilled across her sheets like she was placed by some grand wish--grins all the wider.

***

Rebecca spends the day in silent fury, tears running down her cheeks. Hannah spends it trying to keep her lips pursed around I told you so-shaped phrasing. Owen spends it in the kitchen, head down, and Jamie spends it teaching the kids how to properly weed out a garden, just for the distraction of it all.

Peter, they tell her, is gone.

Peter, they tell her, left last night.

“Gone where?” Dani asks when she pushes into the flat that night to find her still here, wrapped in one of Jamie’s favorite shirts and a pair of shorts. She has spent the day, she says, feeling intrusive, feeling as though she ought to be somewhere. Jamie, unable to explain the ease with which she does it, only leans in to kiss her slowly.

“Here,” she says. “Meant to be here.”

As for Peter--she doesn’t much care where he’s skittered off to. Good fucking riddance, in her opinion.

“Rebecca probably doesn’t agree,” Dani says, folded onto one of the sparse kitchen chairs with bare feet and a worried expression Peter doesn’t deserve. Across from her, Jamie sighs.

“Maybe he’s got the right idea.”

Dani tips her head, waiting, and it strikes Jamie that this is an already that doesn’t make much sense. Like the comfortable silences, Dani’s capacity to already understand when she needs to talk something out, when she needs to come to a matter on her own terms without being rushed along, is a thrill.

“Been thinking,” she goes on slowly, giving voice to thoughts she’s been batting around for months, “maybe I’ve outstayed my welcome, as it were. At the house. With the others.”

“You said you loved it,” Dani points out. Jamie sighs.

“Love the work. Love the people, some of ‘em. But there’s something about it--something about being bound to the place that feels...”

Suffocating, she doesn’t say. Like trying to walk against the wind. Like a clock ticking down.

“Been thinking for a while,” she says instead, “about moving on. Traveling some. Can find good work for my hands anywhere, can’t I?”

Dani doesn’t answer. Dani seems to recognize this is Jamie’s future to parse out, Jamie’s thoughts to sift through. Dani having spent a night in her bed is not qualified to deter or convince her.

“It can be lonely,” she says, when Jamie goes quiet. “Traveling without a destination.”

“You’ve been doing it,” Jamie points out, smiling a little, and Dani looks almost embarrassed.

“Seemed the only thing to do, at the time. If I had to do it again...”

“You’d stay home?”

Dani laughs. “No. No, absolutely not.” Her hand slides across the table, tangling with Jamie’s fingers. “But...I don’t know that I’d do it alone again. If I didn’t have to.”

Jamie says nothing, the words revolving around and around between them. It’s too early to say it, she thinks. Even if she feels as though she’s known Dani far longer than these few weeks, these spare bundles of days spent talking, laughing, kissing, it hasn’t been long enough to say a thing like this.

Dani is watching with serious eyes, with a strangely calm expression, and Jamie wonders if she can see it in her eyes, the thing she is deliberately not saying out loud.

***

She expects to find Peter back again the next day, but his absence is etched into every inch of wallpaper like a smoke stain. Rebecca seems to be moving in slow motion, going about the business of teaching the kids with very little investment. Hannah and Owen exchange concerned looks over the lunch table, and Jamie--who had enjoyed a languorous morning with Dani in her entirely too-small shower--finds herself thinking again of this house, how good it is at building pairs of people. How, without her pair, Rebecca seems lost. How, without Jamie around each morning, Hannah and Owen seem to be revolving ever nearer to one another.

And maybe that’s for the best, she thinks. Maybe it’s like science, like the simplicity of an atom. Maybe without Peter holding her to the structure, Rebecca will ultimately bounce off again, vanish into a space built for, instead of around, her. Maybe Owen and Hannah will finally speak of quiet lovely truths they’ve been dancing around for years. Maybe it will all balance out.

“Where are you off to next?” she asks Dani one night, the two of them curled close in bed. Dani, who had been drowsing against her shoulder, raises her head.

“Kicking me out?” There’s a smile on her lips which, when paired with the genuine edge of worry in her voice, makes Jamie’s heart hurt.

“No, I--I mean, I know it’s...early. And you can say no. Please, by all means, say no if you--”

“Ask,” Dani interrupts gently. Jamie sighs.

“I’m going to call up Wingrave. Let him know he’ll be needing a new groundskeeper for the autumn season. I can’t...”

Keep listening to the walls breathe around me, she doesn’t say. Keep watching Rebecca mope, and the kids checking every window for Peter fucking Quint’s reflection. Can’t keep still in this place that only ever wants a person to stay the same.

“I can’t,” she repeats solidly. “I was wondering if you’d...if you wanted...”

It’s been a week since opening her bed to Dani Clayton, and a week is nothing. A week is barely a breath, in the grand scheme of things, but there are feelings Jamie can’t bury once dug up. Certainties she can’t turn from, once looked in the eye. There is something about the way Dani exhales across her skin in her sleep, about the way Dani kisses her with open abandon when Jamie touches her, about the look in Dani’s eyes when she thinks Jamie doesn’t see. A week in her bed. A month in her life.

Sometimes, she thinks recklessly, you know it’s worth trying for.

“If you wanted the company,” she says finally. “Not even forever, if you didn’t want--”

“Forever’s a long time,” Dani replies, though she’s smiling. Heat winds its way up Jamie’s neck, settling between her shoulder blades, at the small of her back where Dani’s hand seems always to grip tight around her shirt.

“It is. Yeah.”

“Start smaller?” Dani suggests quietly, even as she’s pressing close, one leg sliding between Jamie’s beneath the sheets. “Only, I knew someone once, who demanded forever. It...didn’t work out.”

“Smaller,” Jamie agrees, relieved. Dani smiles against her lips, each kiss a little longer, a little more wanting than the last. “Little at a time, maybe.”

“Company would be nice,” Dani answers, and then she’s kissing Jamie for real, pressing Jamie into the sheets, and Jamie doesn’t care that the summer has been a mess of other people’s feelings, that the house is a cataclysm of old ghosts and unpleasant exhumations, that people are rarely worth the effort sunk into them. Jamie doesn’t care about anything just now except the distinct sound of Dani’s laugh in her mouth, the distinct pressure of Dani’s fingers against her heart.

A woman in her pub. An event built of a dozen tiny accidents, a dozen roads taken without expectation of consequence. Maybe in another life, Dani would have chosen the next village down the way. Maybe in another life, Jamie would have been too wary to meet her eyes. Maybe in another life, Rebecca would never have come to teach those kids, Peter would never have made a misery of that house, Owen and Hannah would have built a love in Paris to put them all to shame. Other lives. Other roads.

In this one, Jamie dreams of adventure, of a soft hand tucked into her own, of blue eyes and a brave little grin, and thinks, Half the fun, isn’t it? Never knowing where you might land.

#fanfiction #the haunting of bly manor #the haunting of bly manor spoilers #dani x jamie #damie #this was a ficlet. about 3000 words before the ending #anyway I ASSUME we are all on the same page that I can find a way to put these two together regardless of how the story goes #but certainly if it's as simple as Rebecca surviving (as she absolutely should)

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killing-all-joy · 4 years ago

Text

The World Is Ugly

I went “screw it” and decided to hop on the songfic train because this idea has been in my head for a looooong time. Finally finished it! This is a bit of a style divergence but I think it turned out nice so I hope you like it!

Pairing: Prinxiety

Word count: 7,127

Warnings: anxiety, mentions of murder

Virgil chewed on his thumbnail, staring at his phone in thought. He knew he had to tell Roman somehow, he just didn't know how. He had never been good at expressing intimate emotions.

Normally, Virgil would be incredibly anxious about telling his crush he liked him or he would ignore the feelings altogether, but this was different. Roman was different.

Why? Many reasons.

Virgil had known Roman for many years. They met in college and hated each other. However, they were friends with some of the same people and were forced to be around each other. They both had refused to sacrifice their friendships in the name of hating someone.

Over time, they stopped hating each other. Roman apologized for the names and the insults and Virgil apologized for his insults and cynicism towards Roman's creations.

Virgil eventually fell in love with Roman. When he realized it, it was like someone had yanked back a curtain over his feelings, but looking back, he found that the falling-in-love part was slow and gradual.

Now, it haunted his every waking minute.

Roman wasn't just like every other crush. Virgil had been in love with Roman for three years at this point and the feelings didn't seem to be fading in any sense. Roman had been Virgil's light and love for three years and Virgil had yet to find something about him that made him disappointed.

Patton was nice. Kind, sweet, enthusiastic; he was Virgil's best friend. But he could also be overwhelming, overbearing, strict, and too parental. Virgil loved Patton an incredible amount, but Virgil was sometimes too fragile to be fully comfortable in his presence.

Logan was smart. He was reliable, logical, honest, and gave very good advice. He was grounding, down-to-earth, and highly intelligent. However, Logan's wonderful qualities came with a side dish of coldness, occasional detachment and insensitivity, and bluntness. While this was often fine and sometimes even refreshing, it could sometimes be hard to deal with when Virgil wasn’t prepared for it. Logan and Virgil's friendship was very close and healthy, but Virgil couldn’t often deal with him for an extended period of time when Virgil wasn’t at his best.

But Roman...

Roman was perfect.

Yes, he could be arrogant and insensitive and harsh, but none of this deterred Virgil from extended interactions with him. To him, it just completed the puzzle that was Roman.

Roman was always perfect to Virgil. No part of his personality made Virgil not want to be around him. Virgil never had to twist the image of his princely friend to make him his ideal partner in his mind. No part of Roman's personality ever made Virgil wish he wasn't in his presence. At least, not after they became friends. His "flaws" just made him a better person in Virgil's eyes.

Virgil was mean. He was sarcastic, rude, blunt, pretty dumb, and constantly anxious. He was dark and brooding and incredibly pessimistic.

Virgil was a mess.

So, he obviously wasn't telling Roman because he thought the flawless man would like him back. But if it wasn't that, what was the point?

Because there were too many sleepless nights.

Too many evenings spent drying each other's tears.

Roman was sensitive, insecure; too sensitive of the opinions of others, too dependent on their approval. He wore his heart on his sleeve, and not everyone was wary of this, causing Roman frequent pain. Virgil had spent many evenings either on his or Roman's bed, hands on his talented friend's face as his thumbs cleaned away an endless stream of tears caused by events and people that would never be worth a second of Roman's time.

Virgil was almost certain he had more shirts that had been stained by Roman's snot and wasted saltwater than he had shirts that never had been cried on.

These nights, they made Virgil want to scoop up the princelike actor and hold him closer than the boundaries of their friendship would ever permit them to and whisper sweet nothings in his ear that would mainly just remind him of how loved he was. How loved he was by Virgil.

Virgil also wanted to apologize.

A week before, he, a singer-songwriter, returned from a particularly angering meeting with his manager. Roman tried to help him and cheer him up, but instead Virgil pushed him away by saying harsh things he didn't mean.

Of course, their friendship was too important to be on hold for a whole week, so Virgil had apologized the following day, but the musician could still tell that Roman was confused and not fully over it. He was no longer angry, but the pain hadn't left completely.

But Virgil couldn't explain his anger without also explaining that he was in love with him.

Roman had just been too nice, looking too pretty, and with brown irises that somehow seemed more entrancing than normal on that night. Virgil had wanted nothing more than to drown in the stage actor's arms. Roman had suggested ice cream, a movie (at home or at the cinema), or pizza if he hadn't already had dinner. Virgil had looked at his outstretched arms with want and longing. But he knew he couldn't play, tempt, or tease his heart like so and had declined rudely, faking irritation and anger. However, now he was faced with regret.

Virgil couldn't be fully honest with Roman if he didn't tell him about his feelings for him. It had been three years, but this dance could go on no longer. It made sense that if Virgil couldn't get over the theatric man in three years, he should face rejection in the eyes so that the romantic feelings would pass quicker. He should have told him long ago, but this was a good opportunity.

Yes, it was possible for him to wait for Roman's hurt and confusion to go away, but Virgil didn't want Roman to take any more actions (like not seeking Virgil's comfort when he required it, which had happened the night before this one) that would hurt him. It wasn't like telling Roman was a new concept for Virgil to mull over. A part of him had known for a long while now that telling Roman would eventually make getting over him easier. However, the possibility of Roman being disgusted and ending their friendship wasn't low. That was the driving force of Virgil’s hesitancy to enlighten Roman of the romantic inclinations he had for him. Virgil valued Roman's friendship, and would choose his platonic presence over his absence at any second.

But he couldn't lie any longer.

Roman had gone to Patton instead of Virgil last night when he learned that his ex-boyfriend (who ended their relationship five months before) had been cheating when they were together. Roman didn't still have romantic feelings for his former flame, but knowing that he cheated hurt him. He was lied to, betrayed; there was no way to tell if his ex ever loved him. That hurts even if there's no longer romance there.

Of course, Virgil learned this from a concerned Patton and not the actor himself.

All three involved in this event were troubled. Patton, for his friends' happiness (since Virgil and Roman made each other happy), Roman because he was confused and hurt, and Virgil, who wished Roman was comfortable with him again.

Virgil figured he only had one thing to do. Confess, and end the confusion.

Confess, and possibly end their friendship forever.

Virgil wished there was another way out.

But Roman was confused, hurt, and in a bad place. Virgil had tried everything in an effort to get over Roman, but nothing worked in the slightest. The singer knew it was past time that he confess.

So he stared at Roman's contact, the handsome face of his profile picture staring back. Roman was simply 'Roman' in Virgil's phone; he didn't put any cute nicknames in case Roman saw.

He brainstormed as hard as he could for a way to tell Roman he loved him romantically.

He didn't want to be too straightforward. Saying a blunt "I am romantically in love with you" was too scary to type out and send. And, he also had a shred of decency to not say something so important through text.

What did Virgil know best? Music.

He pulled up Spotify.

He went to his music, thinking through all the love songs he'd written about and for Roman (Roman didn't know of course). Virgil had his thumb over a particularly emotional and descriptive song, but paused.

If Virgil just sent him his song, Roman would think that he wanted an opinion on it, or that Virgil was reminiscing on works past. If Virgil sent a caption saying "this was about you", then the moment would be ruined, the text would feel too real and to-the-point, and he would be undermining his efforts to not say something monumental through text. No, he had to choose a song that would leave no room for confusion and no need for clarification.

What did Roman associate Virgil with, musically?

Emo music. Panic! At The Disco. Fall Out Boy.

My Chemical Romance.

Virgil would call the last his native tongue if he were able. It felt like such, each song seeming like it came from home or somewhere similar. It made sense for Virgil to communicate with something so dear to his heart. His friends were well acquainted with his love for the band. All his close friends, at one time or another, had been interrupted by Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge when they wanted to talk to Virgil. It told them he wasn't doing too well and needed time away from people and worldly responsibilities.

Which song, was the question.

MCR didn't have too many love songs; at least, they had a much lower percentage than many other bands. Also, a lot of those songs that you thought might be romantic could easily be interpreted differently. This made it a bit difficult for Virgil to find a song by them that encompassed his emotions, announced a repeat of his apology, and was clearly romantic.

He ran through the romantic MCR songs on speed-run in his head, paying close attention to the lyrics. His mind stopped when his brain fluttered to Conventional Weapons; more specifically, The World Is Ugly. He ran through the lyrics in his head, the tone, how clear the romance was.

He couldn't help but think no song described what he was feeling more.

The love, the apologeticness, the hatred of the world. Virgil knew how evil and ugly the world was. Is. But Roman...Roman was a star, shining in complete darkness without pause. Even when day came to hide the star's light and the two weren't in the other's presence, Virgil knew he was still there. Roman’s light wasn't like the sun which could blind or burn you, but like the stars in the sky that were bright, in a place far away, and at heights Virgil could only dream of reaching.

The lyrics made it clear that Virgil was using this song to communicate something—that something being love.

His finger shakily tapped his phone, pressing the share button and clicking on Roman's contact. He bit his lip, every brain cell except the one controlling his present actions screaming at him to reconsider, to protect their friendship and his heart. But this time, he ignored his anxiety.

He pressed send.

That was it. The text was sent. All he could do now was wait or regret.

A drop of blood slid down his chin from the lip he was biting too hard.

Roman opened his text messages reflexively. Virgil had a special text tone and Roman was conditioned to get excited when he heard it. He was almost always happy when Virgil sought out his company. Virgil's communication in any form was something he saw as a treat.

Virgil's feelings were no longer a secret.

---

Now, this was where the 'almost' came in. His argument with Virgil the week before made him anxious about what the text held. Was it a confession of hatred? Worse?

The app loaded to show a link to Spotify. He raised an eyebrow, plugging in his earbuds and shifting his position on his bed. He clicked the link and put in the earbuds as the song loaded and started.

Roman, an acquaintance of the emo for over five years at this point, and a friend for four of those years, knew his fair share of MCR. No, he did not know every song they ever created, but he knew a lot. This seemed to be one of the many he'd never heard. It was titled 'The World Is Ugly', a title he found unfamiliar and unsurprising for Virgil's music taste.

It wasn't nearly as intense as the ones that prompted him to lack interest in the band. He could hear the lyrics clearly.

As he started listening to the song that was sent without a caption, he realized that Virgil must have meant this as a way to communicate something. He decided to pay close attention to the lyrics for this reason alone.

The first verse seemed to have reassuring and protective elements, and a theme of unity between two people.

The chorus came, and he couldn't help but be taken aback by "but you're beautiful to me". At first, he thought it must be something Virgil didn't mean to convey, a lyric that didn't quite fit with everything else he was trying to tell Roman.

But the second chorus came after the second verse and Roman concluded that the song was a love song. It couldn't be anything else. To Roman, "but I wanted you to know” gave off the idea that if there was anything the singer wanted the audience to know, it was the next sentence (which included the line he was so confused about earlier). His mind almost came to the conclusion Virgil was trying to tell Roman that exact sentence...when he finally noticed that the chorus contained an apology.

Virgil already apologized.

Roman considered this, but a voice in his head told him that Roman hadn't accepted his apology—and acted like he hadn't.

Patton must have told him about last night.

He almost cursed Patton in his head, but concluded that Patton was worried because Roman often went to Virgil for the kind of thing he had gone to Patton for. Patton was concerned and probably wanted to make sure the two of them were okay.

By the end of the song, Roman knew what Virgil was trying to tell him. It threw him into a trance. He knew why Virgil sent this to him, and why he was so off-putting that night.

Virgil was in love with him.

Or so it seemed.

To be honest, Roman didn't want to believe it. Virgil being in love with him changed his whole world view.

To Roman, Virgil was the moon. Roman could always reach Virgil if he so chose, but he wasn't always present in person. He shone brightly to Roman, so bright. Not a light that made Roman shy away from and curse at, but a welcomed, beautiful light that made everything better when it was the dead of night and nothing else made sense. Virgil, for all of their friendship, was so close. He was who he was closest with. But, despite this, he was just out of reach. He couldn't hold him, touch him, speak to him in all the ways he wanted to. There was a boundary between them that made it so all that Roman wanted with Virgil was more than all that he got. He had gotten used to that. The moment he realized he wanted Virgil closer than he would ever be able to have him, he knew it would never be able to happen. Virgil didn't feel the same way.

Or, he thought that, at least.

But now, Virgil was telling him through My Chemical Romance that he did, in fact, feel the same. That he didn't mean to hurt him and he was so terribly sorry. That to Virgil, Roman was the only beauty in the ugliness of the world.

How long had Virgil felt this way? He’d had many boyfriends in the time they'd known each other. Many times where Virgil saw a man and couldn't help but be gay.

Then again, so had Roman.

Roman, despite having feelings for Virgil for a long time, dated. He'd had a few boyfriends throughout the time they'd been friends, all of them mainly in an effort to get over Virgil and because Roman thought they were cute. Maybe Virgil had done the same. Or, he could have been confused.

But the song didn't sound confused.

No, Virgil likely knew very well that he was head over heels for Roman. He had sent a single song with no caption or warning beforehand. It was clear that this was something that had been coming for a long time. Virgil was likely guilty about the fight and decided to enlighten Roman of his feelings for him.

Virgil loved him. Him.

Roman couldn't help but be surprised.

If Virgil liked anyone in their friend group, he'd think it would be Patton. He and Virgil were extremely close; best friends, if you will. (Roman was occasionally jealous of this because his closest friend was Virgil, but that was a topic for another time.) Patton was kind and sweet and cute and talented. He was a fantastic person who complimented Virgil in beautiful ways.

Virgil was also one to respect a great mind. Logan seemed more likely a love interest than Roman in the actor's eyes. Smart, interesting, logical, good with Virgil's panic attacks. The two of them would make sense. But it wasn't Logan. Or Patton.

It was Roman.

If he weren’t so emotionally drained and tired, he would squeal. Virgil was in love with him. Roman, the dramatic stage actor, the man who acted almost too much like a real-life prince.

Virgil was in love with him.

How would he respond?

Roman's eyes widened and he looked back at his phone, screen now dark. He unlocked his phone and stared at his conversation with Virgil. The text had been marked as read so Virgil must have known he'd seen it. He had to figure out how to reply.

Did Virgil want something to happen between them?

Roman didn't know.

Virgil sent the message as a text and didn’t include a caption. That could have been a way to say "I'm in love with you but I don't want anything to happen", since he wasn’t actually including anything that spoke of a desire to be with Roman romantically. However, it could just be that Virgil was an extremely anxious person and didn’t think he would be able to admit his feelings during an in-person interaction. If Virgil had been harboring feelings for an extended period, then it could be hard for him to say something directly to Roman after such a long time of keeping his feelings hidden.

A part of Roman figured that Virgil wasn't thinking ahead of this moment.

Virgil, as previously described, was anxious. He didn't seem like the type to expect or have intentions for their relationship after an admission like this. Virgil was the type of person to admit to romantic feelings and then spend every second following worrying over ruined friendships, offending someone, being mocked, getting insulted, and/or his feelings not being returned.

So, Roman concluded that Virgil wasn't conveying his intentions in this text. All he was saying was that he had feelings for him. Nothing more, nothing less.

'Nothing more'. 'Nothing more'?

Roman couldn't imagine what 'more' could possibly mean.

Virgil was in love with him.

'Love'. Something that seems so simple and sweet when you first hear it described as a young child, but something that grows to be meaningful, confusing, and complicated as you start to get older. And this love...this love was life-changing.

This was a love that had been burning for who knows how long, but that could have changed anything and everything had it been revealed sooner.

How many occasions were there where could Roman have said everything on his mind and Virgil would accept it, welcoming all his feelings? How many people did Roman date to get over Virgil that he didn't have to? How many nights in front of Virgil's door did he spend considering telling Virgil everything he felt before deciding against doing so were there? How many sleepless nights spent dreaming about what it would be like to be with him romantically did he entertain? All those things he might not have experienced at the extent he did if he'd gathered and exercised the courage Virgil currently seemed to possess...

Virgil watched as the text was marked as read. No response.

He supposed it was time for some courage of his own.

---

Virgil couldn't say with honesty that he expected anything different.

Roman was this marvelous, talented actor and Virgil was so not his type...

They were friends, though, and that mattered to Virgil. Their friendship meant the world and more to him. Maybe Virgil couldn't have his heart, hand, or lips—but he felt like he was the luckiest of people to be able to say Roman held him in positive regards. Their friendship was...

...their friendship.

Something Virgil was realizing with wide eyes and a sweater-pawed hand over his open mouth was ruined.

Sure, he considered this happening earlier, but he couldn't say he fully comprehended what it meant.

Roman, the light of his life...

...gone.

Or, at least, out of his life.

Sure, it was a friendship built on the ruins of malice, originally fueled not by each other but by mutual friends, and sustained by lies and obscurances of the truth committed by Virgil in an attempt to hide his true feelings. But it was still friendship. A friendship that meant more than anything else he had. A friendship he wasn’t sure he could deal with losing.

And he’d thrown it all away in one fell swoop. No more watching Roman’s plays at the theater, no more Disney marathons to fill the days off, no more meals of Roman’s signature chicken risotto made for his or one of their friend’s birthdays. The special comfort (whether it be after a series of panic attacks or a few angering minor inconveniences), the unique understanding Roman held and the techniques he used to make Virgil feel better during those terrifyingly vulnerable nights they shared was something that Virgil treasured beyond all else but still couldn’t fully comprehend the sacrality of. Those such nights would never again come to fruition.

Virgil wanted to yell. He wanted to scream, cry, throw the empty mug sitting three feet away on his nightstand at the wall. He didn’t, though, and he knew why. He didn’t...couldn’t regret sending Roman the text. Virgil knew he had to get over him, and that he had lied for too long. Roman deserved to know, no matter the consequences. Virgil loved Roman with all his heart, so it overwhelmed him with guilt to know he lied for such a long time. Virgil had been cruel to Roman that night the week before and he deserved to know why, even if it hurt their friendship. Maybe if he didn’t send the text things would eventually return to how they were and their relationship would continue as it always had with limited emotional complications, but Virgil would have to live day-in and day-out knowing that he was keeping information from Roman that after all these years of omitting information, his friend deserved to know.

Because there were so many nights of intimacy: of sobbing into the other’s chest with the lights out, or hands of varying temperatures drying tears, or screaming about a failed romantic relationship or the tragedy of infidelity in the aforementioned—ones that were too sacred to bring up during the day, too fragile that the moments would be shattered if they were approached with the attitude the two carried during a day of normalcy. Those nights meant more to Virgil than he let on. But the days after, he couldn’t help but feel guilty—like he’d taken something he didn’t pay for. He felt romantically for someone who didn’t return the feelings, and still allowing those moments of closeness to come to be felt like he was engaging in manipulation. He couldn’t help but entertain the nagging voice in the back of his mind that was convinced he was somehow violating Roman.

At least, with things the way they were now, Virgil would no longer have to deal with the guilt.

That didn't deter his ruthless anxiety, though. His thoughts were screaming about how everything with Roman was ruined, that all his other friends would leave him too, that Virgil would be miserable forever because he had lost the light in his life who was sometimes his sole reason for going. His hands were sweating and shaking violently. His phone almost fell from his hands at the instability. It was only fair for Roman to know, but gosh, did it hurt.

He steadied the phone in his hands and stared at the screen. His conversation with Roman was on his screen, staring back at him almost teasingly, torturously. It was like the phone or the app itself knew that this would be the last time he’d look at this texting conversation as someone who was still a friend of Roman. Soon, Roman would finally reply, and sever all ties. While Virgil was usually thankful he was someone who thought of all possible outcomes to a situation so that it was rare that an event caught him by surprise, in this situation, it only made it worse. He was sure it would probably be like suffering through heartbreak twice. The prediction beforehand, and then the real thing sometime later. He was experiencing the first right now, and the second had yet to come.

He knew that Heartbreak Number Two would feel worse.

Sure, he was feeling horrible presently, but he knew that the prediction wouldn’t be like the rejection. This heartbreak started with courage, then denial, then a realization that started to make Virgil’s hands shake and his heart beat uncontrollably. However, this was also a waiting game. When would he get rejected?

If Roman did end up waiting for a long time before delivering his rejection to Virgil, the pain would stretch out over a long time. If he waited for an extremely long time, the pain would slowly start to dull into a passive dread, with occasional spikes of anxiety. If Roman told him soon, Virgil would have less time to prepare for the rejection, so the pain would be much worse in the moment. Ultimately, the first was the worst. Extended emotional pain was not something Virgil needed, to say the least.

The text could come at any time, when it would send was not up to him. Virgil's fate and feelings were now in Roman's hands.

All Virgil wanted to do at this point was put his phone away, drench his face in ice water, and sleep for a thousand years. Neither of those things seemed to be possible, however, since Virgil could rarely seem to sleep for longer than seven hours and he currently couldn’t bring himself to put his phone down. His hands refused to let go of the instrument of his demise.

There were two warring thoughts of ‘is losing Roman really worth losing the ache in your heart?’ and ‘he deserves to know the truth’ circling in his mind. He tried to attach himself to the second thought in hopes of rationalizing losing the greatest person in his life. It was hard, though. What would Virgil do after this? Would he leave the friendship group? Or would things just be an awkward form of normal?

He was startled out of his thoughts by a quiet but concerning sound. When Virgil replayed the sound in his mind, it sounded like the clicking of a lock. The door to Virgil’s bedroom was ajar, so the door getting locked or unlocked was obviously the door to his apartment. Virgil distinctly remembered locking his front door.

Someone was breaking in.

Only four people had the keys to Virgil’s house. Virgil himself, for obvious reasons. Patton, Virgil’s best friend. That was a no-brainer; Patton and Virgil had keys to the other’s apartment because they often hung out in each other’s apartments without any warning or planning beforehand. Roman, after many instances of banging on the door at eleven at night because he had a terrible day and needed comfort but was also waking the neighbors with his loud knocking. Finally, Logan—the most recent person to receive a key (about six months back) after a harrowing experience of Virgil needing Logan’s specific comfort during a panic attack and Logan being unable to enter the apartment. Right now, it was late. Very, very late. Patton and Logan would be asleep. If they weren’t, they wouldn’t go to Virgil. He knew this. It wouldn’t be—could it be Roman?

No, no. Roman was too mad or disgusted or annoyed with him to seek his company at this late hour. Someone must have been breaking in.

The door opened. Virgil heard it; the loud creak he made sure to keep in the door’s design so he’d always be privy to an unplanned entry into his apartment. However, he soon realized he wouldn’t need that auditory warning of someone else’s presence.

He heard the footsteps.

They were fast, loud, and terrifying. What kind of burglar walks that quickly and obviously? A terrible one. Or, one confident in their ability to overpower whatever opposing forces they may meet in the home of their victim.

Virgil wanted to run to his closet and grab his broom. Truly, he did. But he was frozen in fear on his bed, phone tight in his hands, knuckles white, and eyes unblinking. He couldn’t move.

Virgil’s door was ajar. Opened enough for any unwelcome visitor to see that there was someone inside. If it was a robbery, the intruder could easily be armed and dangerous. Would Virgil die tonight?

The footsteps were approaching his room. Quickly, and without going anywhere else in the apartment. Virgil was suddenly worried that the intruder wasn’t a robber or a burglar, and instead, someone out to get him instead of his possessions. Virgil wasn’t sure if the change in his assessment of the situation scared him as much as it should have. The rapid change in train of thought from ‘Roman’ to ‘intruder’ wasn’t allowing the subsequent panic accompanying both of those thoughts to do much catching up.

The door to his room slammed open. Virgil was thrown back an inch from the force the intruder had placed on the door. This person was not concerned about noise. Virgil’s door was already ajar, why would they…

Virgil’s thoughts stopped when his eyes focused on the person now in his bedroom. His phone slipped from his fingers and onto the bed, not that Virgil cared to divert any attention to it.

Roman.

Not normal Roman, either. His eyes were wide, his hair was mussed, he was out of breath, and he was still holding the keys to Virgil’s apartment (which were on the same keyring as his car and house keys). Virgil, for all that he knew about his good friend, could not decipher the look on Roman’s face. It seemed a bit stressed, but not in a bad way. He had been running his hands through his hair, so a lot was obviously on his mind. Virgil almost wanted to say he was shocked, but it wasn’t quite like that. Almost like...he had been shocked a few minutes back and was coming to terms with what shocked him...which made sense. Virgil had told him he loved him. That must have been shocking. The lack of any other emotions like disgust or anger was what confused Virgil.

Virgil couldn’t help but be shocked too. What was Roman doing here? Virgil had confessed. Now it was time for him to hate Virgil for his feelings and ban him from the friend group.

Wait…

The keys were still in Roman’s hand. Maybe...maybe Roman was here to return Virgil’s keys. Maybe he was here to sever all ties with him. Return Virgil’s keys, take the keys to his apartment from Virgil, tell him their friendship was over…

Roman could be here to yell at him. Virgil had kept this from him for too long. Roman might have been here to scream that he deserved to know earlier. He’d be in the right, too, since Virgil agreed. One final scolding of his actions before Roman was out of his life forever.

But did those assumptions match the look on Roman’s face? Severing ties with someone you hate should have no lingering shock, and yelling should show more obvious negative emotions than Roman was currently displaying. Roman should look disgusted, irate, and probably betrayed as well. While Roman was a fantastic actor who could pull off hiding such things, Virgil didn’t think he’d try to hide emotions like that in the present situation.

Virgil was shocked too. He thought Roman would at least let some time pass before ending all pleasant connections with Virgil. He thought he’d take time to think and mull over what Virgil’s confession meant.

He hadn’t. This terrified Virgil. Had he come to a conclusion of hatred that quickly? Was Virgil that in the wrong? Virgil was mortified...what did that mean for Roman’s next actions?

But, again, Roman didn’t look angry. He had to be, Virgil knew it, but it wasn’t obvious on his features. So, that assumption couldn’t be taken as reality.

Virgil sat in awe at his current situation. Roman was here, probably to yell or scold him, but was silent so far. None of the conclusions Virgil had come to seemed to so far seemed to have enough evidential basis to be taken as truth. So, Virgil pressed pause on the speculation and let the only expression of his thoughts and emotions be surprise.

The love of his life was in his bedroom. For what? Virgil was uncertain.

They stared into each other’s eyes. Both were full of shock, just different kinds of it. Virgil was surprised Roman was in his room—not exactly a positive kind of surprise either. Roman’s shock, while clearly something that was at its climax minutes back, was still showing on his features. A type of shock that, unlike Virgil’s, was indecipherable when it came to whether it was a good shock or a bad shock.

Virgil didn’t know how long they were still and staring. It could have been fifteen seconds; it also could have been fifteen minutes. While it was probably around two minutes, time passed differently when Virgil’s green and purple eyes were locked with Roman’s brown eyes.

Virgil knew he wasn’t just showing surprise. There was no way the fear wasn’t seeping into his expression as well. He didn’t try to stop it because he knew that if he did try, he would fail. Virgil wished he knew what Roman was thinking—wished he knew whether he should be scared or not. Roman didn’t look scared, not like Virgil did. Maybe Roman hadn’t noticed. Virgil was able to tell with bitter realization that he was more scared now than when he thought there was someone in his house trying to kill him. Sure, he’d been relieved at first, but that didn’t last for more than a second. Whatever Roman was here to do seemed worse than anything a malicious stranger could potentially have in mind.

Roman finally moved. He took a step and a half towards the bed, towards Virgil.

Virgil flinched back, right arm darting behind him and holding him up in a position that made it easy for him to leap off the bed. Roman stopped his approach.

Virgil didn’t mean to flinch, but he was too deep in his surprise and fear to do anything else. When he noticed his own movement, he was overwhelmed with regret. He wanted to get this interaction over with. Creating drama by showing his current fear of Roman wasn’t going to help with that.

Roman suddenly showed emotion other than shock on his face. His eyes started to burn with sympathy and guilt, something that confused Virgil to no end. If anything, Roman should have become angrier. Why was he showing guilt at someone he should be hating?

Roman dropped his keys. The clinking that sounded as they fell on the hardwood floor didn’t elicit any reaction from either of them. They continued to keep eye contact.

After a moment free of any movement, Roman started to approach Virgil again, this time slower and much more careful, like one approaches a terrified animal in the forest. Roman was clearly a bit hurt by Virgil’s flinching, but his present focus seemed to be on the fear that Virgil would do it again—or worse, run away. His steps were slow and quiet. His posture was a bit crouched, probably as an effort to seem less threatening.

Virgil’s teeth clenched. He didn’t want to flinch again since Roman hadn’t actually done anything to imply that he would hurt Virgil, and also because flinching would only complicate things further. Nonetheless, Virgil was scared of what Roman was preparing to do. While Virgil rarely addressed it, he’d always found Roman to be scarier than the average person. He was tall, fairly muscular, and had a temper that could do some damage when Roman wanted it to. His strength was scary and his words were scarier; he reminded Virgil of Janus in that he was good at knowing precisely what to say to bring someone emotional agony. Any preparation for being hurt by Roman was useless; he knew Virgil better than Virgil would like to admit, making it that much easier for Roman to hurt him.

Roman’s left hand reached towards him. Virgil would have flinched if his hand was in a position to strike. It wasn’t, though—it was mirroring the scared animal in the forest analogy; the extended arm was almost serving as a gesture of peace, a white flag. Virgil thought that Roman was offering Virgil his hand to take and he intended to move away, but he didn’t need to. Instead, Roman’s hand gently rested on his upper right side. His eyes looked like he was asking for permission, if his touch was okay, but Virgil could not respond. His eyes stayed on him with surprise and fear.

This touch was too gentle to be malicious. That fact was clear to Virgil, so he couldn’t jump off the bed and escape without feeling guilty. Virgil didn’t necessarily want the touch either; he didn’t dislike Roman’s hand being there, but it felt wrong, like it shouldn’t be happening. And with all the common sense Virgil had, it shouldn’t. Virgil didn’t expect Roman to touch him, even after he unexpectedly broke in. But if he did, Virgil wouldn’t expect the touch to be anything but hostile. Virgil almost hoped his confusion showed in his eyes.

Roman’s right hand reached out as well. Faster than the left had, but still moving at a careful pace. This arm went around Virgil’s waist. Then, Roman started to almost pick him up and lead him to the edge of the bed. Virgil was simultaneously terrified and embarrassed at being carried, so before Roman could properly pick him up, Virgil moved himself to the edge of the bed.

Roman’s lips twisted into what looked like one of Roman’s subtle but encouraging smiles, which again bewildered Virgil. The arm around his waist retreated and rested just above Virgil’s hip. Roman guided Virgil to his feet.

Roman clearly wanted Virgil at the same level as him—standing up. Out of context, that made sense. Virgil had shown fear of Roman, so if Roman didn’t want Virgil to feel inferior at the moment, leaving him sitting wasn’t exactly a good idea. What perplexed Virgil was that in this situation, it made sense for Roman to keep a high ground and a dominating stance. He must’ve been (he had to be) mad at Virgil. Even though that conclusion was growing less and less probable through Roman’s every action, it was the only thought keeping Virgil sane.

Roman’s left hand moved from Virgil’s side to rest on his cheek. Virgil froze, thinking he was about to be hit for a split second but was again proven wrong. Roman’s thumb brushed under Virgil’s eye—Virgil would say it was loving but that was preposterous. Virgil wanted to close his eyes, to bask in the feeling of being touched like this (no one was ever this sweet and gentle with him in a manner that would be considered romantic out of context), but he was too preoccupied and scared and surprised and confused and-

“Virgil,” said Roman. It was quiet, tender, and held more love than Virgil believed to be possible. “Virgil, mi luna.”

Virgil had no idea what that meant. He didn’t think he wanted to know.

“I love you too.”

Virgil inhaled sharply. Not too loud (he didn’t want to ruin the delicacy of the moment), but it was still audible.

Roman loved him too. Roman returned his feelings.

That didn’t make sense. Not in the slightest. Roman had shown no interest; Virgil was positive there was no reciprocation of his feelings…

But that didn’t matter now. He had to reply.

He saw Roman start to move in closer, slowly, allowing Virgil time to object. Virgil didn’t, letting the gravitational pull of Roman’s lips allow Virgil to reciprocate Roman’s intentions to kiss.

“May I kiss you, moonlight?” Roman murmured.

“Yes,” whispered Virgil, voice practically silent.

Roman’s lips met his—first, a gentle and unsure brush of lips, but then a firmer and more intent kiss. It was gentle, caring, but most of all, it was full of love.

He smiled against Roman’s lips. Roman smiled too and kissed him deeper.

Virgil couldn’t say he wasn’t still baffled by everything going on in the present. That wasn’t to say he wasn’t happy about the way things turned out.

~~~ ☪ ~~~

“Earth is ugly,” said the stars to the moon. “It does not deserve your light.”

“Maybe so,” replied the moon. “But have you considered that you are too far away to see its beauty?”

Taglist: @somehow-i-got-an-account @justanotherhumanstuff @neo-neo-neo @fander-fic-recs

I know that little bit at the end is a bit extra and unnecessary, but I thought it up one time and it has some ‘deeper’ meaning I liked as well as relation to the metaphors in the story. I deeply considered not posting this one because of how different it is to the usual and the minimal dialogue, but I sent it to a beta who loved it! I’ve been stirring in the idea of Virgil confessing with this song for probably 6+ months and only decided to start writing it in October. It might be bad but I hope you enjoyed! I’ve been working on this on and off for months so I really hope it’s good.

#prinxiety #sanders sides fanfiction #virgil sanders #roman sanders #ts fanfic #tell me if there's any more warnings I forgot to include!#or if you see a typo lol call me out on it #romantic prinxiety #fic #murder mention tw #songfic #kill writes

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olivemac · 3 years ago

Text

heartbeat | chapter two | b.b.

Summary | When Steve Rogers asks Kate Stark to find the Winter Soldier, she gets too involved.

Notes | Captain America: Civil War re-write, essentially. Starts just after the events of CA: Winter Soldier.

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x fem!oc, Bucky Barnes x Stark!oc

Genre | romance

Rating | explicit

Story Warnings | angst, fluff, romance tropes, so many romance tropes, coarse language, alcohol use, canon-typical violence , smut (m/f), oral sex (f&m receiving), 18+ ONLY

Chapter Warnings | coarse language

master list | AO3 link

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prev chapter

_____

Kate is on the next commercial flight to Bucharest. She's worried Bucky will move on before she can get to him, but she knows Tony would never approve of the use of one of his jets to chase down an ex-assassin in hiding. The less he knows, the better. Which is why she told him she was escaping to Europe for a long respite after feeling oh so overwhelmed with her work at Stark Industries.

Tony barely bats an eye when she told him. There were some advantages to being Tony Starks' baby sister. The first being he feels guilty about his ineptness at raising her after their parents' death and would literally let her get away with murder. The second is an almost unlimited bank account left to her by her father and supplemented by Tony's previously mentioned guilt.

Kate Stark was her mother’s mid-life crisis. Maria, three decades younger than her husband, had – at forty-two years old – decided she wanted another baby. Tony, who was eighteen at the time, had balked at the idea. But Howard relented and called in the best team of fertility doctors money could buy, and Kate was born.

She doesn't remember her parents, not really. She was only three when they died, and she doesn't remember that event either. Though she was there, in the car, when it crashed on Long Island.

Tony's only ever spoken to her about it once, after she accused him of hating her for surviving when their parents died. Really, he hated that he survived.

When rescue workers arrived at the scene of the wreck, they found her parents dead in the front seat and her tucked safely into her car seat in the back, bundled up against the December cold. She was an orphan, and Tony, at twenty-one, was suddenly responsible for a toddler.

So, he did the only thing he could think of. He hired a series of nannies to raise her, then sent her off to boarding school as soon as she was old enough, all the while playing genius, billionaire playboy.

He wasn’t surprised when it turned out she was just as smart as him or their father. And it surprised him less when she followed in his footsteps and attended MIT. What did surprise him was when she started hacking government databases for fun. She only agreed to work for him at Stark Industries in exchange for him not sticking Rhodey on her after she released documents regarding the US Air Force‘s involvement in some less that savory overseas dealings.

On the plane, she starts an email to Steve telling him where she was headed and what she had found. Then she deletes it and starts over. Then deletes that. She chews her thumbnail and thinks. If she tells Steve where Bucky is, he'll come blazing in, shield at the ready, and Bucky will.... She doesn’t know what Bucky will do, but she has a feeling the encounter would end with a fight and Bucky running. Which will kill Steve. Again. So, she decides she doesn't need to tell Steve – not right away. She'll see if she can figure out what Bucky remembers – if anything – before telling Steve where he is.

_____

A little over forty-eight hours after her software found Bucky, Kate is assembling IKEA furniture in her new studio apartment in Romania. Getting the landlord to lease her the empty flat next to Bucky's was easy enough when Kate offered him double what he was asking in rent. He was discreet enough to not ask any questions. Most of the people in the building were hiding from something so a young American woman who paid cash upfront wasn't the most unusual thing he'd dealt with.

She makes her bed, unpacks her suitcase, and re-reads the Winter Soldier file. That night she dreams of her parents and the wreck that killed them. In the dream there's always a man outside of the car, but she can never see his face. Her father begs for help: "Help my wife, my daughter. Please. Help."

She wakes up sweating, a scream caught in her throat.

_____

The apartment next to his is no longer empty. Bucky can hear music and soft footsteps through the paper-thin walls. If he focuses his hearing, he can hear a heartbeat other than his own, but he's working to turn off the super soldier reflexes, so he tries to ignore it. He's enjoyed the silence that the empty apartment afforded him, and he hopes the new tenant isn’t as nosy as his neighbor in Kiev who had asked so many questions. He hadn't stayed long after that meeting.

Around two in the morning, he wakes to the sound of a strangled cry from his new neighbor. Bucky sits up straight, suddenly on alert. He listens closely, focusing for the sounds of a struggle, but he only hears the unfamiliar heartbeat. His neighbor was having a nightmare, he imagines. He had plenty of those himself.

Sometimes he was staring down the barrel of a gun, his only intent to kill. Other nightmares took him back to the HYDRA base and their machine that scrambled his thoughts over and over again. And others found him falling from a train, the blonde man from the Triskelion reaching out toward him. He always wakes up just before he hits the icy river he knows awaits him.

Bucky knows now that the blonde man is Steve Rogers. Without HYDRA's influence, he's started to remember more: flashes of Steve and a group called the Howling Commandos during the war, but also flashes of Steve before the war, smaller, shorter. And flashes of a family – his family – a father, a mother, a sister. Rebecca. The name comes to him one afternoon while he's browsing the used bookstore near his flat.

He's started eating plums and jogging to improve his memory. He isn't sure if it's helping, but the memories are becoming longer and more frequent. He sees himself with Steve at Coney Island, riding the Cyclone until Steve lost his lunch and Bucky laughed so hard tears were streaming down his face, and he sees himself flirting with an auburn-haired combat nurse in Italy, following her back to her tent and undressing her slowly.

He wakes the next morning feeling restless. He had slept in fits and starts, listening for any more disturbances from next door. None came.

He dresses and goes for a run, and when he returns, he catches his first glimpse of his new neighbor. She's coming out of her apartment, her face turned downward toward her phone. When he reaches the top of the stairs, she lifts her head and smiles. Bucky is struck by how pretty she is, a thought he hasn't let himself have since leaving HYDRA. He turns away quickly and slams the door to his own apartment. He doesn't need pink lips and dark curls reminding him of what he can never have again. He's too broken for her, or anyone else for that matter.

_____

Bucky has seen his new neighbor more times in five days than he's seen anyone else in the building over the past two months. They always seem to be coming or going at the same time.

The first time he actually speaks to her, she's dropping groceries up the stairs from a rip in her canvas bag.

"Fuck," she mutters as an apple rolls beneath the railing and falls to the landing below.

Bucky has a brief vision of her uttering that same word while his head is buried between her legs, but he shakes if off quickly.

"Let me," he says in English, scooping up some rogue potatoes and taking the bag from her.

"Thanks," she says before unlocking her door and holding it open for him.

Her apartment is the same layout as his – one room, with a tiny bathroom at the front and a small kitchen along the back wall. He sets the bag of groceries on the kitchen counter and steps back.

"I should—"

"Thank you—"

They both speak at the same time. Bucky bows his head and motions for her to continue.

"Thank you for your help." She pauses. "And it's nice to speak English for a change. My Romanian is atrocious," she laughs. "How’d you guess?"

"All the music you listen to is in English," he replies brusquely.

She cringes. "Sorry. I'll turn it down."

"No," he says, "It's fine. Really."

There's an awkward pause as they both stare at each other.

Bucky breaks the silence first. "I should go."

"Right." She leads him to the door. "Thanks."

Bucky nods.

When his own apartment door closes behind him, he sighs and scrubs his right hand over his face. He needs to avoid her. He doesn't need anything to distract him from regaining his memories, and he certainly doesn't need to get close to someone he'll inevitably hurt. He doesn’t even begin let himself entertain the thought that she could be a HYDRA agent waiting to turn him in.

_____

Later that evening, he's startled by a knock at his door. When he peers into the hallway, there's a plate of food on the floor, covered with a cloth and a note. He picks it up.

Thanks for saving my groceries.

- Kate

Bucky considers the possibilities that she is a HYDRA agent and the food is poisoned, but he decides it's unlikely HYDRA would take that approach. If anything, they would want their soldier back, and if they didn't, they wouldn't kill him quickly. Also, he can't remember the last time he had a home-cooked meal – definitely before the war – and he’s starving. Protein bars aren’t really cutting it anymore.

He studies the note as he eats. He runs his fingers over the name written in curling handwriting: Kate, and debates what his next move should be. He needs to ignore her – for her own safety – but his mother raised a gentleman so he should at least thank her for dinner, right?

_____

Kate nearly steps on the plate when she leaves her flat the next morning for a run. It’s sitting right at her doorway, clean, the dish towel she had with it folded with a note peeking out.

Kate,

You’re welcome. Thank you for dinner.

- Bucky

If she knew how long Bucky had agonized over whether to write back, she probably would have cried. Kate definitely would have cried if she knew he had debated whether or not to sign the note “Bucky” or “James.” He’s been using James at any off-the-books odd jobs he can get, but with his memories returning, he’s been feeling more like the Bucky Steve referred to in DC.

_____

Kate makes a potato soup that night and leaves it outside his door sans note. She brings him dinner for a week straight before she asks him to dine with her.

"Come over,” she says the next time they pass in the hall.

"What?" Bucky freezes.

"Come over tonight,” Kate repeats, “for dinner.”

"Why?" He sounds rude. He should really work on that, but she’s caught him in one of his broodier moods after another sleepless night.

"Why not?” she shrugs. “I have wine."

He’s staring at her. He realizes he needs to stop staring at her and answer.

“Okay.”

“Seven thirty?” she suggests.

"Okay," he replies.

"Okay," she laughs.

For a second, Bucky wonders if she's laughing at him, but there's a softness in her eyes that makes him think not. Talking to women used to be easy, he thinks. It took him hours to come up with the simplest response to her note the other night, and now he can't even form a sentence in front of her. He spends the rest of the day worrying he's made a huge mistake in accepting her invitation.

He's not the only one. Kate has half a mind to call it all off, phone Steve, and get on the next plane back to New York. What if he doesn't remember anything? What if he's still the Winter Soldier? She has a brief vision of Bucky snapping and wrapping that metal hand he's been hiding around her throat – and not in a fun way. But when he knocks on her door at seven thirty, she thinks she might actually die from how sweet he looks.

"Hi," she says.

"Hi," he responds, running his tongue over his lips nervously.

They're caught in another awkward moment of just staring at each other when she finally invites him.

The old Bucky would have bought flowers and then made some quip about how the flowers aren't nearly as beautiful as she is, but this Bucky – post-HYDRA Bucky – feels like he's forgotten how to interact with women at all and his tongue has suddenly turned to lead.

Kate's debated how much to reveal about herself. Finally, she decides she'll tell him everything. Well, mostly everything. He doesn't need to know that she's a Stark or friends with Steve Rogers or here on some crazy rescue mission to save the Winter Soldier because maybe, just maybe, she read his file one too many times and got caught up in the look in Steve's eyes when he talked about Bucky. No, he doesn't need to know that.

Kate's also considered how much to ask him about himself. She wants to know what – if anything – he remembers, but she also doesn't want to give herself away by revealing she knows who he really is. And she doubts he’ll tell her outright. The fact that he signed the note Bucky seems like a good indication that his memories are returning, though.

"How long have you been in Bucharest, Bucky?" she asks, plating their dinner.

"Almost two months," he says.

"Here for work?" she asks casually.

"Uh...it's complicated," he says, scratching at the back of his neck. "You?"

She looks up at him. "It's complicated."

They're staring at each other again, and Bucky has to force himself to look away.

"Family?" she asks.

"Also complicated," he says. God, he thinks, he sounds like a jackass. But it's not like he can tell her he's a ninety-eight-year-old ex-assassin in hiding so his family is probably long dead.

She motions for him to sit at her small kitchen table and sets a plate in front of him.

"You're not hiding a wedding ring under those gloves, are you?" she asks, a smirk on her lips. She knows about his arm; she just wants to see what he’ll give away.

He blushes and looks at his hands. Then he realizes he's taking too long to answer, and she probably thinks he's an idiot. "No... uh...no. No," he finally says without elaborating.

Kate can sense he's nervous so she does what Tony would do in a situation like this and just keeps talking. She tells him about Tony – minus the Stark detail. She talks about MIT and New York and the last book she read. He listens closely, laughing softly when she makes jokes and asking questions where appropriate. He likes the way her lips look when they form his name and the way her eyes light up at her own humor.

When they finish eating, Bucky helps her wash dishes. She considers asking him to stay, watch a movie or something, but then she thinks maybe she should take this slowly, not overwhelm him, so she bids him goodnight and closes the door behind him.

Bucky thinks Kate might be the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. Then he thinks that might be because she’s the first woman he’s interacted with in so long. Either way, he tries not to think of her that night when his body remembers what it's like to be a man.

He decides that staying away from her would be too hard.

On the other side of the wall, she’s thinking of him, too. She hadn't expected his eyes to be so impossibly blue. She had stared at the black and white military photo for hours, but seeing him in person, she was caught in the Arctic waters that made up his eyes.

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next chapter

#bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #sergeant barnes #bucky barnes x oc #bucky x oc #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky x ofc #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes romance

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m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s · 3 years ago

Text

IT’S MUSIC TIME MY GOONIES PT. 4

Ah, welcome back! It’s Music Time everyone! I do miss doing these, and I’m glad to do another one! Just like always, playlist will be on shuffle, except for the first song & the FINNEAS song I want to talk about :D. The first one I got sent, and I wanna review it, and the FINNEAS song- well it’s FINNEAS. Must I say more? 😂 Without a further ado, let’s talk about some music!

People I feel like who would want to see this: @weirdcharacter @loth-wolffe @ahsokasleftbicep @eyecandyeoz @monako-jinn-stories @chaoticvampirejedi

———

So-

My lovely friend, Mes, sent me this song.

I have been looking for it for so long, it’s not even funny how long I have been looking for it.

So- so- soft.

Novo’s voice is incredible, the acoustic is incredible. THAT ENDING OMGGGGGGGG

The power and emotions he has in his voice.

I am going to learn this on my ukulele.

The beginning is soft, the chorus is immaculate.

The lyrics too are just so-

Emotional, but they work so well. The cover art is so great too, just-

10/10.

No words, only Anchor.

:’)

*this might be blooming a fic idea in my head*

Where do I start with this one? I mean- I love jazz music. It’s a recent love I discovered about a year ago, but I also love lofi. The remix, the beat, the way the song sounds completely new but also the same. Jazz + Lofi? That is the best combination. This song is so soft, but it sounds so much like the original, yet all the same. It makes me want to go out into a nice lil field and eat some cookies :D solid 8.5/10, so nice, very good for sitting out and eating cookies in the warm sun :) AND THE SLEEPY FACE COVER ART HAAAAA-

WELL HOW CONVENIENT THAT A JAZZ SONG CAME ON-

oh that start up piaNo-

Okay, Nat’s voice is so soft, and I love this song. It just makes me think of swaying with your lover in the kitchen while you two are supposed to be washing the dishes. The lyrics are wonderful, and every time he says “darling” HaA that’s so sweet and soft- AND THE COVER ART IS SO COOLLLLL

Sentimental reasons- such a wonderful part of the song, and that whole solo for the piano, mmmmmm, so lovely. Piano Lover ™️

His voice just works so well with the piano, and the blending of it all together works wonderfully-

And the end. :’)

So lovely.

9/10, solid, so lovely and nice.

YES.

I LOVE THIS.

So this is just a repeat of the words, it’s like a loop-

BUT IT IS SO GOOD.

The deep parts and the soft parts, the background deep singing, and the female parts-

Aaaaahhhh just so good. And when it goes muted, it’s so COOL! the thumbnail is so pretty, I love the whole moment ™️ we are having there. It’s a really good song to just vibe to, and chill- AND THE FUNKY PART RIGHT AFTER THE MIDDLE- YESSSSSSS! I just love the drastic differences throughout the song, I feel like that weird and chaotic feeling really is what pulls it together. 9/10, just a nice chill beat to listen to!

Well, it seems like my playlist just wants me to show off my love for jazz :)

This beginning is extremely soft- that’s the thing I love about, is it starts off so soft, and just is calm but so well working together with the different instruments. Oh his voice is so nice! Once again, I just love the blending of the voice (Tommy or Frank I’m assuming) and the instruments is so good, and I also really like the consistency of the instruments in this one, it works very well with this song. ASAAAJDJSJAJSJ THE SAX SOLO MOMENT YESSSSSSSSS, y’all the urge to just go buy a saxophone is STRONG- and the ending is so short and sweet! 8/10, very nice and good for if you want to listen to a softer jazz song!

Let’s Fall In Love For The Night - FINNEAS (clean, 1964 version)

I mean the start.

OBSESSED.

af;dskjf;lfkjasf;lkj I love this song so much, FINNEAS as such a soft and clear voice, and I’ve always loved him for that. The lyrics he has for his songs are always fitting for the music. ALSO THE COVER ART IS SO PRETTTYYYYYYYYY. He just- so good. This song I wanted to talk about because it’s so soft and lovely. Like yes- get me someone who will take me for a night drive and sit out under the stars and fall in love but then the next day be like- “who are you.” 😂 maybe a long lost lover, or a lover that is from your enemy family and you aren’t actually supposed to be in love, but you are, and you meet up in secret at night and do couple things, and the next day when they come in your family’s bakery, you act like you don’t know your lover.

…

Mhm so anyways, overall 9/10 for for if you want to just randomly spew out the trope idea about the two forbidden lovers. 😂 Good to listen to for a softer love song, but with a clear singer :)

OMG IT’S CAROOOOOOOOOOO

This girl- I SWEARRRR

Her voice is so pretty, and though I consider this a summer song (yes. songs are for different seasons OKAY), I still really like it, even though it’s like- 20 degrees outside rn 😂 Cover art is literally- *screams* it’s literally STRAWBERRIES. SO CUTE?????? But seriously, I love the way her voice matches with the beat, and her lyrics are so good, and she actually starts singing low and moves higher throughout it, which is really cool! This most definitely makes me want to go out to a strawberry field and munch on some strawberries and also just jam to this song. Overall, 8/10 for just wanting to eat strawberries and jam 😂 (haha strawberry and JAM get it?? because strawberry jam. honestly, like red raspberry the best- I AM GETTING DISTRACTED)

…

So- another song sent to me by Mes.

*cries*

I love this song. Her voice is beautiful- it goes deep at different points- and goes back up. I just am imagining your lover and you (*coughs* Ram’ser for me) dancing in a town square or something as this plays from some random lil band or speakers. The cover art is- beautiful. Just- the harp too is so wonderful. This song- aaaaaahhhh- I am- honestly speechless at this song, I don’t have a lot to say other than it’s truly beautiful. 10/10. Dancing with your lover. 100000000/10 No other words. :’)

Oh! A new song!

I just got this recently in my playlist, it as a suggestion made and I added it! So good! The beginning is so good! His voice is so nice, I like it a lot! The cover art is so pretty, I love the peachy colors! Bittersweet- just- a good song to put on in the car, turn the volume all the way up, and drive and vibe. I like how it gets faster and the- AAAAHH THE HIGHER PART BEFORE THE CHORUS- WHICH THE CHORUS BTW IS GREAT- I LOVE THIS SONG SO MUCH AND IT’S ONLY BEEN IN MY PLAYLIST FOR LIKE- A FEW DAYS. the ending is so- SOfT. I love when singers do that final note where the music goes out and it’s the soft final word just- haaaa. 10/10, I love the beat on this one, incredible, good for full bass booming drives :)

YESSSSSSS

I CAN’T STOP THIS FEELINGGGGG

DEEP INSIDE OF MEEEEEEE

GIRL YOU JUST DON’T REALIZEEEEE

WHAT YOU DO TO MEEEEE

But seriously, this song is great, I love it, nice and chill, the lyrics are great, just a good song to stand on your bed, dance like crazy, and sing your heart out. THE COVER ART IS GREAT, I LOVE THE VIBESSSSSS. It’s just- such a good song??? Blue Swede has good music, and though this is the literal only song I have from them, I still think it’s great in every way. Beat is great, music is great- it’s just a great song. 10/10, love, obsessed, “scream the lyrics and dance on your bed like crazy kinda song” ™️ (ALSO THE FADE AT THE END HAAAAA)

So good. The guitar at the beginning is wonderful. The cover heart is beautiful, I love the way it matches the autumn vibe.

Lyrics are so pretty, chill song, and I didn’t actually like this song when I first listened to it, but then I gave it a few more listens, and really liked it. I got this one from another playlist that someone made me (have all the songs, literally still cry about that, because I LOVE MUSIC AND THEY MADE ME A P L A Y L I S T). I just wanna go to a small town, get some hot chocolate, and sit and watch the sunset as I sit by a campfire. Maybe make some s’mores. The lyrics are so pretty all throughout, and the voice is wonderful, I like it a lot, his way of singing it is just- like you know a singer fits a song when they sing like this. Beautiful, poetry, wonderful- *chef’s kiss*. 9/10, just go out during fall and drink some hot chocolate and listen to this song :’).

Alas, I have reached the amount of songs I can put on here, but I do hope you all enjoyed it! For the next one, I’m not quite for sure what I’m going to do- but I think I’ll have another theme-

And-

Well-

The band I’m thinking of doing it off of is-

Only made of two letters, spelled with four.

I’ll just leave you with that :)

lots of spells (& hopes you liked my music!),

moony

#Spotify #the mcc #moony’s christmas celebration #it’s music time my goonies #hope you enjoy ☺️

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rum-and-shattered-dreams · 4 years ago

Text

A rant of personal experiences and trying to do something positive with them:

Okay so procrastination is a huge thing in ADHD. Same with memory issues. (Not that these are always present and maybe some people experience both without being ADHD).

So. Here’s an experience I’m just now (at almost 40) realizing was a thing:

Imagine a huge essay/report/project requiring a lot of research and several sources was due in a few weeks. The advice was always to break it down, take notes, and make an outline. It made perfect sense. And maybe it does help some or even most people.

But for some, like me, it was still impossibly overwhelming and breaking it down was worse. The project was often boring (especially if I had to ignore a hyperfixation to work on it) and even if it wasn’t, it still felt like A LOT when my brain was full of TV static and my memory was shit.

It takes a ton of repetition for me to even temporarily remember something and even then, it will likely be gone again in a few days. UNLESS I learn by actually doing something or figuring it out for myself. And my brain gaslights itself like “do I remember that right? No that can’t be right. Let me look it up for the 100th time to make sure.” And I’m WAY more likely to remember concepts or physical processes but completely forget the terms for them or names of things or important dates EVEN FOR MY HYPERFIXATIONS, damnit... Like, I can do a bunch of crafty stuff and even remember some common terms and items but not the less common fabrics or stitch types or tool names. (Yet somehow I could remember the exact location of hundreds of thousands of items of inventory at my craft store job... even if I didn’t know what they were called. But I stocked them and had physical contact with them so I could picture where they were.) The number one overwhelming thing for me about trying to be a pro at anything is trying to remember terms so it sounds like I know what I’m talking about.

Anyway...

Without acknowledging that, I ended up wasting time by trying to schedule research/work in small chunks because every time I stopped then tried to start again, I wouldn’t remember what I did or looked at last time. (Can I also add that this is why being interrupted is infuriating for me? It probably seems irrational to other people but it’s so hard to get focused on something and now my train of thought is derailed, passengers are dead and injured, and it’s going to take who knows how long to revive the survivors?) And maybe that wasn’t so bad the first time because I’d only have to reread one page of notes. But then it would happen a few more times and my focus would be blurred and I’d repeated myself multiple times in the notes and they’d become a mess and look horrible which was distracting and I’d feel overwhelmed by having to reread and now rewrite several pages and focus would be even worse because I did remember some bits and blanked out while looking at those then stay blanked out then I’d have to reread again to catch the parts I didn’t remember.

But.

If I waited until the last minute, when the consequence/reward system overrode how overwhelming or boring the project was, I could burn through it because I was in constant contact with the material and it was all currently on my mind and I could skip writing notes and an outline and go straight to a fairly decent flow-state draft then keep going through revisions and editing all without forgetting WTF I’d researched. And it would be done in so so so much less time with a lot less effort and frustration.

And...

AND

And then there’s the schedule thing and why it DOES NOT WORK for me. If I schedule doing something (or even if someone suddenly wants me to do something right now) and my brain is like, “nah sorry, just static right now,” there’s absolutely nothing I can do to make it work and I’m just going to get frustrated and tired and depressed and discouraged. But if I keep a loose list of things that need to get done and indicate which are priorities, I can look at it and say “yeah. This one seems doable right now.” No I’m not going to get up and vacuum that spot of cat litter at this exact moment but it’s a good idea to do it soon so I’ll add vacuum to the list and probably get it done later the same day. If the cat throws up, that is an immediate priority so I will get up and make sure they’re okay and clean it because my brain does actually recognize things like that as super important. If a bill arrives in the mail, I’ll stop and pay it right away because I know I don’t have to think/worry about it again if I do. But what sucks about that is that society wants and often understandably needs people to work on a schedule. And I just... can’t.

But I’m trying to take this knowledge and apply it, trying to accept that this is how I function. I function based on a system of priorities that get done in order of “absolutely must be done right this second, whether for my own reasons or outside reasons, even if I need to drop other things” to “this is what I CAN do right now.” Not something pre-scheduled. If I need to leave something to the last minute then I’m just going to accept that that’s how it’s going to be and that’s okay. Then I can free up energy and space to do other things in the meantime rather than worry and be anxious and beat myself up because I should be doing the thing and end up hating things I like doing because they’re not what I should be doing and now there’s a negative association with them. No. Screw that. If all I can do today is play a video game then fine. Gonna enjoy it. Because I now know for a fact, from years of experience, that I will do the important things. They just need to wait until I’m capable of doing them. And... if I let myself stop worrying about old WIPs... They get done eventually too. It might take a few years but as long as I don’t actually decide not to do them, they will get done.

All that said... I still want to look into meds because it would be nice to have more of an ability to focus more regularly. I just need to clear up some other medical stuff first and I’ve got appointments already set up for that.

One more thing... I f$&#ing hate the attitude teachers have about doodling in class. It was literally the only way I could focus during lectures and remember anything they were talking about. I could look at what I drew and remember what was being said while I drew it. F$&% every teacher who took away my notebooks or yelled at me for it. Without it, I’d zone out completely. And THANK YOU to the art history teacher and biology teachers I had who not only understood but encouraged it and actually helped me direct it toward the subject matter by suggesting drawing thumbnails of the art or cell structure or anatomy.

#rant #adhd Brain #adhd rant #just my experience #just sharing in case it helps anyone #or is relatable #mo’s rambling and such #am I writing this to procrastinate other things...#???#yes and no

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justgillespie · 4 years ago

Text

Missing (3/?)

Summary: Your next door neighbor, Luke Patterson (a.k.a. your longtime crush) has gone missing, and you think you could help finding him.

Word count: 2.9k

Warnings: None!

Author’s note: So the third part just needed to be edited and now here it is! When I said as soon as possible, I meant it lol xo

Part 4

•

“This better be good. I was in the middle of a game-.”

“I have news”

At last, you decided to call Max first.

“I have one of the band members’ phone number.” You added.

“What?! How?”

“My sister gave it to me. Long story. Should I call now?”

“Well, yes obviously!”

“Okay, okay I’m on it. I’ll call you later.”

You finally dialed the number and patiently waited.

“Hello?” You heard a male’s voice.

“Hello, um...” It wasn’t until that moment that you realized: you didn’t know who you were calling, exactly.

You decided to improvise.

“Is Alex home?”

“Alex?”

The confused voice made you panic.

“What about Reggie?”

The silence made you add “Bobby?”

“Sorry, wrong number.”

The man hung up before you could say anything else.

You groaned.

I’m gonna get so pissed if Tamra was playing with me, you thought, but you wanted to believe that that was not the case.

“What if Tamra wrote a wrong number?”

Max asked once you called him back and explained what happened.

“Don’t think so. She told me the guy gave it to her.”

“Maybe he wrote it wrong.”

“I don’t know.” You sighed. “I guess we’ll just call it a night. See you tomorrow.”

He said goodbye back and you hung up.

“So? How did it go?” Tamra asked from the couch, when you were heading to the kitchen.

“It was a wrong number. Were you just making fun of me?”

She scoffed. “I’m not that bored. No. That was the number he gave me. Maybe he changed it.”

“Thanks anyways.”

You went to grab a popsicle from the freezer and went to your room.

The only idea stuck on your head was to go to the Patterson’s. And you knew pretty well there wasn’t much they could give you. The other idea was to convince Max to stop being complicated and just ask people in his school about the band.

You would go for the second one. You rapidly came up with a plan, and the next morning, you were ready.

Max woke up pretty early for school because he took the school bus, around the corner.

That morning, you woke up thirty minutes earlier than usual (and before anyone else), got ready as fast as you could, and, in a blink, you were next to a sleepy Max in the bus stop.

“What the-? What are you doing here?” He asked once he saw you.

“Going to school. With you.”

“Are you asleep? You do know we don’t go to the same school, right?”

“Oh, I know.”

You faced the street in front of you, pretending to wait for the bus.

“First of all, I barely believe you will get away with getting into my school. And second of all, why would you want to go?”

“Because if you don’t wanna talk to your classmates about Luke, then I will.”

“You can’t be serious.” He said, just when the bus was turning the corner to their street.

“You better believe I am.”

The bus stopped in front of them and you decided to take a step ahead Max and get into the bus, but he stopped you on the steps.

“Y/N.” He said laughing nervously. “You can’t go to my school, that’s insane.”

“Kids, come on. I don’t have all day.” The bus driver said from his seat.

“Then talk to people! We can finish this as soon as possible if you at least try!” You talked despite the man’s warning.

“Oh my gosh! Why do you insist so much?!”

“Are you serious?! We’re talking about a missing person!”

“I’m leaving.” The bus driver said, and you took one more step before Max stopped you again.

“Fine. Fine! I’ll do it. Okay? Just, please stop this and go to YOUR school.”

You squealed and hugged him, and you finally left after thanking him.

Your heart was still racing even after you silently entered your house from the backdoor and you rested against it. You sighed, a laugh in between. You did not know what would have you done if your plan didn’t work. Maybe you were trusting Max too much. He could’ve just said he would do it for you to leave the bus.

But your optimistic self didn’t mind that thought.

You went back to your room, and as soon as you lied back down on your bed, your usual alarm went off. You stopped it. You were ready anyways, so a little bit more of sleep didn’t harm anyone.

Except yourself.

You fell asleep and you didn’t hear your parents calling you until your mom went up to wake you up.

“Y/N-.”

You snapped your eyes open.

“I’m so sorry! I’m going downstairs now, I’m all dressed, I-.”

“You’re not going. Your sister already left.”

You checked your alarm clock. It was 7:57. You always left at 7:40.

“I can’t believe her sometimes. I told her to come call you. It was weird you were still asleep.” Your mom rubbed her temples. Then, she looked back at you. “Your dad and I are going to work now. You’ll stay here, okay? And go to the Pattersons’ for lunch. I’ll call Emily.”

“Mom, I can cook for myself.” If calling Nito’s Pizzeria counted as cooking. “You don’t have to bother Mrs. Patterson.”

“You’re going.” She demanded. “I’ll see you later, okay? Take care.”

She kissed your forehead and left the room.

Well, you had a lot of free time now.

You smiled. This was good. You could continue your investigation.

You got up ready to get started but then you realized. You didn’t know what to do. You still counted on Max to get the important information. And unlike you, he did go to school. You had plenty of time before he came back.

You lied back down on your bed, looking at the ceiling.

You were going to the Pattersons’ house.

You knew you weren’t gonna get out of there with much information but, maybe there will be something...

You got up and opened your window.

Luke’s room was the same as the last time you checked it. Which was last night. Now, it was neat. You figured Mrs. Patterson must have cleaned it.

You focused on the Sunset Curve poster. Why was it so hard to find any of them? If only you could see his room a little closer, maybe you could find something there that could help you.

His room.

A smile slowly appeard on your face.

You were going to Luke’s house today. Maybe you could ask Mrs. Patterson to check his room...

You shook your head. That was something weird to ask. Even if you had good intentions. At least you had the first step done, which was going to his house.

You decided to show up earlier than expected, hoping Mrs. Patterson didn’t mind.

“Oh, hi, sweetie!” Emily said when she opened her door. She was clearly surprised.

She looked tired, but still managed to have a smile on her face.

“Good morning, Mrs. Patterson. I hope it’s okay I come earlier than my mom told you I would”

It was just 8:30. You weren’t supposed to be there until four hours later.

“Oh, no, it’s totally fine! It’s nice to have some company. Come in.” She motioned for you to get into the house and so you did.

You looked around, curious. It was a really nice household.

“Mitch goes to work early and I stay here pretty much all day until he comes back. So I’m really glad you’re here.” She smiled at you again. “I was actually now deciding what should I make for lunch. Does lasagna sound good to you?”

“Sounds perfect.” You smiled back at her. “Do you need any help with that?”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. You make yourself comfortable. Oh, and for dessert I was thinking that maybe we could bake some cookies?”

You immediately gave her a big smile and Mrs. Patterson chuckled.

“I think I have my answer. I’ll call you to make the dough once I’m finished with lunch, okay? You can turn on the tv if you want to. I’ll be right there.” She pointed the kitchen.

You thanked her before she left.

So, you were there. You were at Luke’s house. The next step was to get into his room. You could sneak in but, would that be fair to Mrs. Patterson, who’s been super sweet to you? But how were you supposed to ask to get into her son’s room?

You bit your thumbnail.

But you were there already. You couldn’t just lose that opportunity.

You visualized some framed photos around the living room and you took one with your hands to see it closer. It was Luke, when he was a baby. You smiled and felt embarrassed for being excited about baby pictures of a boy who you barely knew.

You shook your heard. Remember rule number 1, you thought.

Still, you couldn’t help but keep watching the rest.

There weren’t many in sight. They probably kept way more in photo albums. If you didn’t know that Luke had some issues with his parents (and you didn’t until a few nights ago), you could’ve never tell there was something going on. In every single picture, Luke wore a beautiful smile. He seemed happy. And not only in the pictures.

He looked happy when he was singing, when he was playing the guitar, when he said hi to you on his way to who-knows-exactly-where...

Of course, it could be quite suspicious the fact that he wasn’t home most of the time. But still. How many times did he probably come out of his house after a fight with his mom, and still managed to pretend that anything happened?

He’s been suffering by himself.

It was then when you noticed the flyers on the sofa. A picture of Luke was plastered on it, with the word “Missing” on top of it.

Your heart skipped a beat. You forgot your mom said they were hanging flyers if Luke didn’t come back yesterday. You felt the urge to shred them and throw them away.

He will be back. You will find him.

You left the living room and made your way to the kitchen.

“Everything okay, sweetie?” Mrs. Patterson asked when she saw you. She was boiling something on the stove.

“Everything’s perfect, Mrs. Patterson. Thanks again, for letting me come.”

“Oh, it’s okay, really. You’re always welcome.” She smiled at you and went back to stirring whatever was in her cooking pot. “Your mom told me you fell asleep.”

“Yeah... I was a little extra tired today.”

She chuckled. “I understand. At least you set your own alarm and get ready by yourself. I have to fight Luke to just wake up. And don’t get me started on getting him out of bed.”

You chuckled, not adding anything else. The moment was very fragile, and you didn’t want to say anything wrong.

“You do dance, right?” She asked then.

You nodded, thinking that maybe your mom told her something about that too.

“I figured. Of course, Sandra told me something but it’s easy to tell you’re a dancer by the way you’re standing.”

You smiled shyly, knowing what she meant. You were standing in a nice third position, ironically, because dancers your age don’t even use that position.

You talked about your dance experience and after a while, you both were just talking about everything. You felt at ease with Mrs. Patterson pretty quickly. She just made it feel that way. You helped her making the lasagna, after all, and after putting it into the oven, you both started making the cookie dough.

“I usually bake with my sister. We both have a sweet tooth.” You commented, cracking two eggs into the bowl Mrs. Patterson had in front of her.

“Oh, me too. Dessert is completely mandatory in this house. A rule that I made, of course.” Mrs. Patterson said and you laughed.

“I should make a similar rule in my house. We only have dessert on birthdays or holidays.”

“I encourage you to do so.” She chuckled, mixing with a whisk the batter in her bowl.

She then asked you to hand her the vanilla and baking powder.

“You guys seem close.” She said, still mixing in her bowl. “You and Tamra.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess.” You leaned your head. “It’s just been harder to hang out ever since the start of this year. It’s her senior year.” You said, although you thought she might’ve known that already. “But I guess I get it. I’m sure she just wants to enjoy her friends before going to college. Her family will always be here but her school friends won’t. She’s going to Berkeley, by the way.”

You thought about it, but you didn’t mention how glad you were she didn’t want to leave the state. You didn’t want your parents to transform Tamra’s room on a gym (something they never actually talked about, but you saw it on a movie).

Mrs. Patterson added the flour and she let you add the chocolate chips, before mixing again.

“Sandra told me so, I’m really glad... here. You can start to shape them into little balls. I’ll grease the stray.” You obeyed and she also did her task. “How old is Tamra, by the way?”

“She’s turning nineteen in a few weeks. She failed first grade, so she’s a year behind.” You explained, as soon as you saw the confusion in Mrs. Patterson’s face.

“Really?”

“Yeah... back then they just came from Texas due to my parents’ job, so they were with lots of stuff like bringing all of their belongings, they also had to work and on top of all that, they had to take care of Tamra. They didn’t want her to grow up with a nanny, so they would take her with them everywhere. She would ditch school a lot, and therefore she didn’t have a great time at exams.” You placed several dough balls in the tray.

“I think that’s pretty sweet. There are kids that grow up with practically strangers and then go against their parents for that.”

“Mhmm.”

She took the tray and put it in the freezer.

It was 12 p.m. when you both sat on the table and had lunch.

“Your mom... told me about what you’re doing. That you’re helping to find Luke.”

Your heart raced. And you thought that maybe she noticed the panic in your eyes, because she rapidly added something else.

“I just wanted to say thank you, Y/N. Because... I know you guys weren’t close. I don’t think I ever even saw you talking but... you’re still doing this, and I can’t thank you enough. And I just wanted to say that if you need anything, don’t hesitate on calling me.”

She had tears in her eyes which immediately softened your heart, and made you tear up too.

You squeezed her hand.

You knew she said all of this for two reasons. She meant it, but she also knew you were just a sixteen year old, after all. You were aware of that too. How much could you possibly do? But you were willing to do anything. Even when the adults around you didn’t exactly believe you could.

“Just promise me you won’t forget about school or dance while you’re at it. That you will take care and will not go through this alone.”

“I promise.”

She had a doubtful look on her face for a moment, but at last, she spoke. “You know, we haven’t talked to the police yet. But I think we might soon. I just... I didn’t want to call them because I know Luke is safe. I know he’s smart enough to go somewhere he’ll be okay. But he hasn’t come back. And I just can’t help but be worried. I wanna see him. I wanna talk to him. I know he might be in a friend’s house. I suspect it might be someone from his band... Oh!” She sobbed. “I just wish I supported him more. I wish I was more interested on the people he was seeing. Maybe that way we could’ve found him already...”

You got up to hug her from behind, around the shoulders, while she stayed on her seat. “It’s not your fault, Mrs. Patterson. When he comes back, you’ll have another chance. I promise I’ll do anything I can to help you get that second chance. Maybe you won’t even need to call the police.”

“Oh, dear.” She hugged your arms. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

You then pulled back and went to your seat.

“What a mess.” Emily chuckled, cleaning her face with a kitchen cloth. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You looked like you needed it.”

She nodded. “I really did. Thank you.”

A comfortable silence grew between the two of you after that conversation, while you finished your food.

“Mrs. Patterson, actually, I was thinking on asking you something...”

“Sure, sweetheart, what is it?”

Your heart pounded against your chest again. You were doing this.

“I just wanted to know if... if I could check Luke’s room? It’s all for the investigation, I promise I’m not a creep.”

For your surprise, she chuckled, and then looked down for a second.

“Luke really didn’t like people getting into his room... but I guess this could be an exception. It is a peculiar situation, anyways.”

#luke patterson x reader #luke patterson #julie and the phantoms #julie and the phantoms x reader

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lovely-necromancy · 3 years ago

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A Cure for Insomnia CH.6

You wake up sometime around one. Not too late in the day given your morning. With a decent amount of sleep under your belt you roll over and start striping your bed of its sheets. Then you make your way across your room, picking up stray clothes as you go to your hamper and dump your collection of dirty linens and clothes into it. You carry the hamper to the bathroom where you load half into the washer. There's no real point in separating the clothes from colored items and pastels or whites. You're only twenty-four and don't have your life totally figured out yet. You can be a little lazy with laundry.

Once your first load of laundry is being washed you go to do your weekly tidy of your home. The one good thing that came from the paranoia of your car's break in was you rearranged all the furniture of the home, thus cleaning as you went. So that means it's more of a quick wipe down of counters and sweeping today. Maybe you'd organize your art supplies while doing your laundry. It's an activity that wouldn't distract you too much and make you forget you had laundry in the wash.

You finish washing the dishes from this morning you begin wiping the counters and tabletop when you notice your fidget cube is still on the table where Toby left it earlier.

'Don't want to lose this. Back to the bookshelf where you belong.' When you get to the living room's bookshelf you notice one of your book's is missing. Ironically it's The Book Thief.

'Tobias probably picked it up and put it down somewhere.' you'd keep your eyes peeled for the book while you cleaned.

After wiping down bookshelves, tables, counters, even the mantel over the fire place you still hadn't found your missing book. You probably picked it right up and placed it right back down without even realizing. You'll just keep an eye out until you find it. You don't even reread books, you really just kept a copy to lend out to people when they ask what your favorite books are. It isn't a real big deal if you can't find it, plus there's bound to be a copy floating somewhere in a thrift shop or yard sale.

The washer chimes right as you grab the broom to sweep. Pausing this task to go retrieve your laundry and do the rest. You empty the dirty clothes left in the basket onto the floor and place the clean wet ones inside the basket. After starting the final load you carry the basket out back. As nice as this home is its still small and doesn't have a dryer, which early summer is fine but come fall and winter might be more cumbersome. Seeing as you have to hang the laundry out to dry outside. Maybe when it gets cold you'll just do smaller loads and hang them up in the bathroom or over the fire place. But that's a thought for future you. Right now current you is struggling yet again to get a fitted sheet to sit on the line. Fitted sheets are probably Satan himself in disguise.

When you finish stringing all the laundry up you take a moment to just enjoy the quiet and the peace that comes with the outside. It's nice out here, maybe after you finish the last few chores today you can come out and just draw, it'd be a good way to also keep an eye on this weather in case it turns. While it hasn't happened yet you're very aware of the risks you take by ignoring the existence of meteorologists. And by that you mean just not bothering to look up the weather for the day.

Heading back inside you restart your task of sweeping. Like you thought you've finished before the washer has even completed it's first cycle. The house isn't too big so it's easy to clean it from top to bottom within a day normally, but today you had even less to do thanks to this week's rearranging. So you move on to organizing your art supplies and separating all materials by medium.

Of course arranging materials is never easy, after all you end up staring at all your horded empty sketch books and note how your thumbnail notebooks are just covered in doodles and random scribbles but no real art or ideas. Maybe it's time to start kicking yourself into gear. You ran into a major period of burnout before moving and now with this fresh start you might be able to focus on progressing with art, even if you don't pursue it as a career. You've always loved the ability to draw and create images that make others happy. But right in this moment you just want to make yourself happy. Maybe you could start small just a few still lifes and see how you feel after that.

Hearing the chime of the washer you hurry to finish putting away the supplies in their newly assigned places. Just as before you transfer the wet and clean clothes into the awaiting basket and take them out to be hung to dry. You don't have another fitted sheet this go round so it goes by much faster than it previously had. Now with all of your washing for today hung you head back inside to grab a fresh sketchbook.

Having never been one for scenery, more of a portrait artist, you start off with small things. A few stills of a flower under the window, the old tire swing on the tree, and even the blue jay that dove for dinner right in front of you. Of course all of these were warm ups done in a few minutes, though you really wish you had more time on the blue jay one. You really need practice with things that aren't people.

The warm ups of course don't look very good, but you can still see what you'd been going for. The hatching and smudging you'd done, to increase depth and give the quick drawing more life, did help a little but it was clear this was an area where you weren't skilled. But that didn't deter you, after all you needed more practice and wouldn't be getting better without it.

Deciding to draw the scene before you, a small open meadow surrounded by trees, in other words your backyard with your drying laundry. You start off slow and make sure to actually look and take in the yard in front of you, doing your best to not just make up the trees and their shapes as you go. Soon you are lost in the meditative muscle memory of drawing. The scratching of pencil scrapping across paper further lulling you into a trance like state as you etch out the scenery.

A harsh breeze blows through and the loud flapping of sheet hitting sheet knocks you loose from your trance. Checking to make sure none of your laundry was flying off, it hadn't the laundry was still secured to the line. Smiling you glance down to actually see what you've sketched out so far. It isn't too bad, though you aren't sure how long you've been working on it, the trees all have a distinct shape rather than your typical cartoon one size fits all attempts. Scanning the page your eyes catch onto something off, out in the tree line it looks like you'd drawn a figure hiding behind a tree.

Hearing the beating of your heart that's currently hammering against your chest you look around. Did your mind do that as a joke or had someone genuinely been watching you draw? Your mouth is dry as your eyes scan the tree line for any sign of what could've been mistaken for a person, but you saw nothing. No one was there. Had anyone ever really been there? Why would you draw that? Why wouldn't you remember doing it? You don't feel safe out here anymore. There are eyes watching you you can feel it. They may not physically be there but the phantom eyes that surround you and cause your skin to crawl make sure you know of their presence. You take that as a sign to head inside for the evening, one that doesn't need to be repeated.

You lock the door immediately behind you and check your phone. It's seven, and you have an email notification. Thanking whatever power for the distraction you slide down your back door and open the notification. It's from Hollis!

YN r u coming to SND? It's that teen beach zombie movie u love. Y;know the awful D list one Blk and wht with the 50yos playing teenagers

Lemme know I'll save your seat.

Sent 6:47 P.M.

They're so sweet to remember you loved this awful D list zombie movie. Horrible subplots and main plot and all. But you're a little spooked right now and watching even that joke of a horror movie is probably too much for you. You doubt you'd feel better by the time ten rolls around to watch it. Not to mention your battery's still drained from Toby this morning. And knowing for a fact you'd probably stay late to talk till morning with Hollis, Jake, and Kirby you decide it's best to skip this week. Just not having the energy to handle Saturday Night Dead.

Nah, sorry man. Battery's dead from being social earlier. Thanks tho, I do appreciate you! ….....,.... lemme know what next week's movie is!

Sent 7:10 P.M.

It'd probably be a good time to make something for dinner, there's a box of mac n cheese in the pantry. Simple but always beloved. As you wait for Hollis to respond you start on boiling water. But you didn't have to wait too long since they'd answered near instantly.

Chill, don worry we'll catch ya next week

…..oooop

ot not...Kirb's said it's the start of watching the entire warren file collection

starting from the beginning

...well the first movie released, Insidious. LOL we probs won't ever see you again.

Sent 7:12 P.M.

How dare Kirby betray you like this. First off those movies are awful, and like not cheesy awful just awful awful. Not to mention he knows how you feel about the Warrens and their cases. You have a power point presentation ready for that dick the next time you see him. ...well not literally but you'd make one to prove a point!

Where's Kirby now? I just wanna talk, I just wanna talk is all.

Sent 7:18 P.M.

Already ran off toy vermont probably

will we get blessed with a ted talk nxt week?

Sent 7:20 P.M.

I can't tell if you're joking or not. If you aren't then yea I can make a power point and we'll play that instead of the movies. Every week until this town understands the severity of this.

Sent 7:21 P.M.

Ya just jkin.

Your passionate hate is funny tho, so could be good to do something mid warren marathon.

Sent 7:23 P.M.

Guess the dissertation on how horrendous the “exorcisms” were will have to wait. They'd just been joking. This is probably a good ending of the conversation anyway, it's hard to tell sometimes but you feel you'll just run in circles with the current topic or worse fall into a rant that they won't read all the way through because they'll have left with the rest of the stunt gang to get dinner before heading over to the Cryptonomica for Saturday Night Dead. Hollis is typically a real good sport about this kinda thing but you'd rather not bog down their night with your hate boner for the Warrens.

'I'll let them know later that I'll still come to Saturday Night Dead next week.' you think as you dump the pasta into the water that finally came to a boil. It's quiet as you cook your macaroni dinner. You'd normally not notice the lack of sound or life in your home before, but maybe having Connor and Toby over put things into perspective. Guests aren't really a thing you've ever had, you always feel rude if your social battery runs out before someone's stay is over. But maybe you're lonely, and it's put you on edge.

Though this week would've put anyone on edge, you have still been alone in this house for two months. That can't be healthy for your mental well being, humans are social creatures by nature after all. Maybe you could get a pet, something that'd make it's fair share of noise and give the home a bit more life than your normally hollow shell wondering the halls. Are you even sure you want a pet? Do you have time for one? You have the standard nine to five, but what about when you're off on a nightly trip because of your sleeplessness? What if you forgot about them? Hell your brain's been so foggy these last few months, it wouldn't be surprising.

Like a sign from the divine themselves, the pot of water boils over. Steam is rising as the sizzling is heard. Your head snaps twice to the right as you scramble to lower the heat and raise the pot off the eye. Putting it down on an unused eye you give it a quick stir and thankfully no pasta got burned to the bottom of the pan....this time. The pasta seems a little crunchy but a texture you'll eat so you kill the hot eye and start on the cheese portion of your mac n cheese.

As you eat you continue your original debate about getting a pet. Ultimately deciding that you just aren't ready for that kind of responsibility right now. Sure you'd had tons of pets in your parents' home but that was with a financial safety net and back when your mental health wasn't all over the place. Not to mention the pets were family pets and responsibility was split three ways.

There isn't much room in your home for you to have a roommate, and that presents a whole nother set of challenges. You could try to make friends through online forums again! It's hard to talk to people in general but you always get scared off before replying to a comment or post. Or overshare to the point people infantize you. Even better trying therapy out could help with your loneliness. Hah ok good one, even if you had money for it consistently you don't think you could trust someone knowing all your secrets but not knowing any of theirs. And while that in and of it self is an example of why you need it, you're rational enough to realize you aren't ready for that either.

After finishing your meal you put away the left overs and clean the dishes. You'll be happier tomorrow knowing they aren't your problem to deal with. You start to make your way to your bedroom but freeze just before the hall.

'You shouldn't stay here...you need to leave.'

A glance at the time tells you it's eight thirty-nine, if you left right now you could make it to Saturday Night Dead with time to spare. You don't need to fill the loneliness with new friends, just spend time with the ones you already have. Duh. Turning you grab your keys off the bookshelf and take one of the masks hanging from a hook by the door.

Checking your door was locked and locking your car once you were in, you're ready to drive. Knowing you're still overstimulated you forgo the music on this drive, hoping it will calm you down enough to enjoy the movie and some down time with friends. And that would help put a pin in your self isolating habits. It'd really be nice if you brought movie snacks over to surprise the gang. You're pretty sure the mini mart carries everything you need. Jake likes swedish fish, Hollis is addicted to those extreme sour airhead ropes, and Kirby's a weirdo with his love of red vines and surge. Hahaha that man will die before he's thirty-eight.

Still having the extra time you deiced to stop by the mini mart and grab the candy. What's the worse that can happen you have another panic attack in front of strangers. Plus you hadn't seen Magnolia the last few times and you'd hate for her to think you'd been ignoring her. Pulling into the empty mini mart parking lot you take a breath to steel your resolve before leaving your car.

Tim looks at the door when he hears the chime and stiffens when he sees you. Fuck you did have a panic attack in front of this guy last night, plus you really haven't formally met. But didn't Toby say his roommate was named Tim? And he and Brian were both here talking with Tim last night before you came in. That can't be coincidence.

“uh...hi?” you say awkwardly standing in the doorway, door closed behind you.

“um, hi?” perfect he's just as awkward in this situation as you are. You can work with this.

Moving through the first two isles you keep your eyes peeled for Magnolia, even though you can make this an in and out trip for candy, you do miss the little bodega cat.

“Wh- hey are you, are you even ok to be here?” Tim calls as he rounds the counter and makes his way to you.

“Huh? Oh...oh yea. I'm chill now.” you hear the bell before you see her. The little ting tin ting of her bell that comes with the grace only fluffy cats have.

“You literally collapsed on the floor last night after blacking out while driving.” his tone is very stern. He and Nate would probably get on like a house on fire. The grumpy old men who secretly care a lot duo.

“I don't remember collapsing...but I know I didn't drive.” well you don't know that but you do firmly believe that.

The man is just turning into the isle when you spot the floof sauntering just behind him. Magnolia didn't spare either of you a glance as she made her way to the counter. Probably going to her bed, an old shipping box for apples, you'd just meet her over there then. With no warning to the man you squeeze past him and and follow the cat. Agitated footsteps following after you in your quest to pet the cat.

Magnolia perks up upon seeing you, the flicking of her tail letting you know she's anticipating her pets. The huffing Tim hovering behind you isn't as pleased with your actions as the cat is. The man is radiating negativity, annoyance maybe or is it concern that breeds frustrated anger? The second he starts to clear his throat, as if to remind you of his hovering, you roll your eyes.

Looking back at him over your shoulder you see him in all his grumpy man glory. His brow was furrowed so hard his thick eyebrows nearly covered his eyes. But with the way his lips emoted the man before you looked more like a pouting muppet. It would be funny if it weren't for the foreboding feeling of the moments before being reprimanded by a teacher.

When you straighten up you take note that your eyes meet perfectly. He's the same height as you that's surprising, you thought he'd be taller than 5'7. His eyes widen slightly at seeing your full height, it must've thrown him off since the first time he saw you, you'd actively been trying, and had succeeded at looking smaller.

“What are you doing here?” well he doesn't get thrown off for long.

Running a hand through Magnolia's fur a few more times as you respond, “Petting Magnolia.” you really are a little shit sometimes.

“No...no, why are you out? Toby had to take you home last night, you shouldn't just be waltzing around town after that.” maybe it was frustrated concern.

“Oh I'm fine now.”

Magnolia at this point has jumped up on the counter and is headbutting you for more attention. Chuckling you turn your attention back to her. Meanwhile Tim behind you is at a loss for words.

“Fine?? You don't just...bounce back from a panic attack.”there's personal experience behind those words.

“I just rationalize things fast.” Hearing the trill of the clock on the wall reminds you that you need to grab those snacks and head over to the Cryptonomica for movie night.

Going to the candy isle you grab one of each of the gang's favorites, you snag a bag of white cheddar popcorn on the way to the counter and place your items there. Tim doesn't get a word out before you rush off to the cooler near the back that is in all honesty pretty sketch. Like who even makes Fruitopia anymore? That stuff got discontinued in the early 2000s. The cooler even has Hi-C Ecto Coolers...you might actually check if they're in date and grab a few.

Rummaging around the cooler you finally spot the weird tech green and black splattered can proudly stating SURGE. It has no date...questionable at best. But hey it's only Kirby drinking it, and it's been well established that man will die well before middle age. Grabbing a can to check the Ecto Coolers, luck is on your side! These cans are from the re-release that happened as a promotion for the Ghostbusters revival a few years back, they'll be good for another two years! For now you'll just take one so you won't have to worry about lugging cans around for the movie.

Once your new items are placed on the counter the expression on Tim's face cannot even be described. The questions of the surge are probably the ones easiest to read...or they're just the most predictable.

“Kirby likes red vines and surge, sickening right?” Maybe a little joke will break the ice.

“...Like that little round pink...thing?” What?

The laughter is coming out before you can stop it, the image of said pink Kirby consuming red vines and surge only to accessorize as your friend comes to mind. It's adorable and cursed at the same time. Adorably cursed. You'll have to draw that and print a few copies to hang around the Cryptonomica.

“No,” you're choking on giggles at this point, “Kirby, the owner of the Cryptonomica.” catching your breath and regaining your composure, “It's that tourist trap just across from the RV park.”

“Oh.” normally such a short cold reply would make you shut down the conversation. But This is Toby's roommate, and if you want to be friends with Toby, you'll probably run into him a lot more. Plus if he's a new night shift cashier it wouldn't hurt to be on good terms with him for when you're out on adventures.

“Yea, hey Toby mentioned you three just came to town, so you might not have known but the Cryptonomica does a weekly movie night on Saturdays. Saturday Night Dead. Normally it's awful old horror movies but next week they're starting a Warren Case files “arch”.” Tim doesn't take the conversation bait at the pause.

“It's a great way to meet other locals, you guys should check it out if you get the chance. It starts at ten and runs till one or so on most weeks.” Olive branch has been extended.

Tim relaxes for the first time since you got here tonight. The sheepish look on his face and twitchy pupils give the impression he's thinking it over. He sighs and nods before saying, “Yea, that sounds...nice.”

Olive branch skeptically taken! You'll count this one as a win in your book. With the mood lightened Tim breaks the ice a bit further.

“Surge and red vines can not be good for you.”

“Right! If living off mountain dew and pizza rolls doesn't kill him, this for sure will.” you both have a small laugh at that. It's nice to finally have cleared up the mix up from the beginning of the week. Which reminds you.

“Oh...um...I'm YN by the way. It's nice to meet you...sorry for the two,” your neck tics to the side, “previous nights.” you finish.

“Tim...and it,uh happens sometimes...'s fine.” Score awkward acknowledgment of previous meetings and you can now erase those from your nightly anxieties.

Tim finishes ringing and bagging your items and you pay. Giving another pet to the curled up kitty on the counter you nod farewell to Tim.

A trill rings out from the clock on the wall. It's ten.

Two heads snap to look at the wall. You take a second glance at your phone while Tim checks his watch. Both say the clock on the wall is correct. But it just turned nine not even ten minutes ago. Right? You can brush off yourself loosing track of time but when you involve another person that just doesn't make sense. Tim looks just as concerned as you. Only Magnolia lays unaffected by the lost fifty minutes.

“I should go.” Tim nods numbly to you as you exit the store.

You won't be able to make it to the movie, well you could but you'd disturb someone if you walked in mid movie. Choosing to go home instead you drive, once again without music. Entering your home you hang your mask back on the hook. Putting away the drinks and snacks for next weekend, you make your way to your bedroom. Once again freezing just before the hallway. Turning to your living room you can see a book in the middle of your coffee table. You definitely don't remember the book being there, and doubt you'd miss it out in the open. But as you got closer you could confirm, even in the dark, that it was The Book Thief.

#ticci tobyx reader #ticci toby #ticcitoby #reader insert #timothy wright x reader #timothy wright #timothy wright x brian thomas #brian thomas x reader #brian thomas #masky x reader #masky x hoodie #creepypasta fanfic #A cure for insomnia

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nicetomeetmew · 4 years ago

Text

If LU was an anime (VA headcanons)

Okay so! A while back I uploaded a video (which you can find here) giving the LU boys voice actors. And in the description of said video, I promised that I was going to post a list of explanations for my voices and link it. Which I am only doing now.

These choices, bar a few, are my own personal opinion, so I'd love to hear your thoughts about them! I spent far to long working and watching anime for this but I am pretty happy with the end result, bar one (glares at Four). So I hope you enjoy! And prepare yourself. Cause this is LONG.

Legend - Vic Mignoga (Edward Elric from Fullmetal Alchemist and Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood)

So fun fact. Back when I first discovered LU, I almost immediately imaged Leg with this voice. He had strong Ed vibes for me and when I started making this list, he was the only one I immediately knew was perfect. At least to me. It just has that quality; the snark with the capability of being genuine and emotional (I do apologise if the voice clips I included in the video made you sad. That's a hazard of FMA). I didn't consider anyone else for Legend, even though I did briefly consider Vic Mignoga for Warriors (more on that later).

Sky - Aleks Le (Zenitsu Agatsuma from Demon Slayer)

Man, I considered a fair few KnY voices for this list, including the voice of Tanjiro for Wild and the voice of Giyu for Twilight. But this is the one that stuck. I was struck between Sky having a youthful, soft voice or an older, soft voice (I knew his voice had to be soft. I mean. It's Sky.)

I watched the dub of Demon Slayer solely for this and it never would've occurred to me to consider Zenitsu's voice for Sky. But as the show progressed and I heard it when he wasn't... you know... begging some poor lass to marry him, I realised he actually has quite a soft voice. And when I heard it get all serious I thought "Yep. That works." And thus I placed Aleks Le as the Chosen Hero. You could argue that his voice is a bit too youthful for him but I still think it works.

Wind - Amanda Miller (Boruto from Boruto: Naruto Next Generations)

Ugh. Ugh. *increasing sounds of disgust*. I hate this.

But let's start from the beginning. Right off the bat, I was 99.9% sure Wind would be voiced by a woman. Okay so he's not 10 (that will make more sense in a second), but he's still pretty young and I imagine him with quite a youthful voice. For him, I considered Sarah Natochenny, the current voice of Ash Ketchum in Pokémon, and also Colleen Clickenbeard's voice for Monkey D. Luffy in One Piece. But these two voices shared the same problem. They were too raspy. I just cannot see Wind with a raspy voice. I guess if you really, really, really focus on it it could work but I just could get it to work for me hfff.

And then... ugh. I spoke to a mate about. He doesn't know about LU so I just told him I was making voice headcanons and couldn't think of a good one for a 14 year old boy. And he said "have you heard Boruto's English voice?" And I think my response was something along the lines of, "Ben, I have standards." But he insisted it would probably work so I watched a clip of Boruto on YouTube and much to my horror, it did seem to work. But there was problem. None of the clips had lines I could picture Wind saying. And because of that I was struggling to actually give Wind the voice. But something told me that it was the right one so... I... *shudders*... watched Boruto. I watched I think 5 full episodes before I had no more braincells and skipped thorough a bunch more and sure enough, I could finally see Wind with that voice. I think it fits him great and it honestly might be my favourite choice just because I had to watch that nightmare.

Hyrule - Justin Briner (Izuku Midoriya from My Hero Academia)

Ah. This one is much more pleasant. First of all, I never realised this at first but Midoriya and Hyrule are kind of similar. For one thing, they do kinda look alike. And for another they have the same "I will never give up" kinda thing going on.

Roolie is another one I knew would have a soft voice. I think Justin Briner was always down as a choice for him, except for when I briefly considered him for Four (more on that later *big sigh*). This is another anime I watched the dub for solely for this and there were a ton of lines right from the get go I could instantly imagine Roolie saying. So yeah. Aside from the tiny moment I almost assigned Justin Briner to Four, this was a pretty easy one. Midoriya has a soft voice that I could easily imagine Hyrule having. And when he got angry and his voice got harsher, I could also easily see Roolie like that too. Fun fact: there's another BNHA voice on this list... heh.

Wild - Michael Sinternklaas (Dagger from Black Butler)

AW YEAH. YOU HAVE BEEN DIAGNOSED WITH BRITISH BOI.

Ahem. Anyway. Yes Wild is British. Everyone rejoice. I was unsure of how people would react to this but I think this is the only voice on the list everyone agreed on. Which I'm happy about.

As I mentioned, I considered the English voice of Tanjiro (Zach Aguilar) for Wild. There were issues with this; mainly that it was too soft, too young, and made him sound too similar to Sky. Now here's the thing. I WANTED to give Wild a English accent. I am almost certain he would have one, like most people. However the only anime I could think of with decent English accents was Black Butler (and yes I know his final voice is from it, bear with me) and there was a problem with that. Most of the voices from Black Butler are ridiculously posh. Now you may be thinking "But Kai, Zelda has a posh English accent" and to that I would say "Ah yes but she's a princess and Wild is not". And now you might be thinking "But Kai, he's a knight an probably spent a lot of time in a place with posh English accents". To which I would say "But he wasn't always". Two words. Hateno Village.

Let me explain.

I feel like a lot of people hear the words 'English accent' and immediately think of an accent like Zelda's (and no, I am not saying everyone does and I'm also not implying that there aren't people out there who aren't British and know that there are multiple accents). Anyway, English accents are different depending on the place. And, since one can assume Wild is from Hateno Village, I would imagine their accent is different to that of those born in Castle Town. So that's why I was reluctant to give Wild a voice from Black Butler. Because all the voices that weren't insanely fancy were either far too old or did not have the right vibe.

Then one day, taking a break from this, I was watching season 3 of Black Butler (one of the only anime I watch dubbed) and I heard two voices that I suddenly thought, hang on just a second. One of those was the voice of Ronald Knox, who's a grim reaper. And the other, of course, was Dagger. I was leaning towards Dagger and what sold me was one scene in particular, which I chose as the final voice clip for Wild (you cannot tell me that is not exactly something he would say). And that was it. But Wild's was easily one of the most frustrating (not the most *glares at Four again*).

Time - David Matranga (The Father from Wolf Children)

Another tough one and also one I heavily considered for Twilight (for obvious reasons). Time's was kind of tricky because I knew I wanted it to be deep but there's such of variety of deep voices. At one point I even considered dumping the deep voice idea because it was so hard. It was a this time I thought of the voice of space cowboy extraordinaire, Spike Spiegel. But my brain said "hell no". There were other voices I considered for him, loads of which I cannot find the notes for and another one which will likely appear in part two as another character (no spoilers), but when I was picking a voice for Twi, some of the lines the father said just kept ringing big old Time vibes with me. So in the end, I decided to for it. Like I said, I imagine time with a deep voice and while to father's might be a bit more... gravelly (?) than I imagined, I think it fits him pretty well. It's serious and mature but still a certain kindness I'd imagine Time's voice to have.

Warriors - Johnny Yong Bosch (Ichigo Kurosaki from Bleach)

Don't lie. You knew Johnny Yong Bosch was gonna be on here and not just because I put his name (albeit spelled incorrectly) in the thumbnail. When I started making this, I knew I wanted to fit JYB into it. In my mind, LU would be an amazing anime and almost all amazing anime have Johnny Yong Bosch in it.

Now, I spent a lot of time trying to figure out whether he would be better for Wars or Twi. At one point I was convinced he would be best for Twi and that's when I briefly thought about Vic Mignoga for Warriors (his voice for Tamaki Suoh from Ouran High School Host Club. Don't tell me Tamaki and Wars aren't at least a tiny bit similar). But I could bear to part with Vic for Legend so I decided heck it, Johnny is Warriors and I'll find someone else for Twi later. As for the voice in particular, the two voices I considered for Twi definitely did not fit Wars. And then I remembered Bleach and immediately I thought "Yep. That's the one". I imagine Warriors having an authoritative voice, not too deep and very... uh... I don't know the right word. Clean sounding? Anyway, Ichigo just seemed to fit nicely and thus it was so.

Four - Micah Solusod (Yukine from Noragamai)

Ugh. UGH. Okay. This is my least favourite. Four was, excuse my French, A FUCKING NIGHTMARES. There was not ONE SINGLE VOICE that seemed to work for him at all. I watched a bit of the Noragmai dub because I was thinking about Yato's voice for someone (I can't remember who. It might have been Wild) and I heard Yukine's and decided to put it into reserve. As in, my last resort. And I had to use it. Oh my god Four. I love you but your voice is literally a nightmare. Is it high? Is it low? Is it young sounding? Surprisingly grown up sounding? I DON'T FREAKING KNOW.

I mentioned earlier that I considered Justin Briner for him. I was thinking about his voice for Luck from Black Clover, which may have honestly worked a bit better, but I was pretty attached to Justin as Roolie by this point. So I had to whip out Micah.

Let me be clear. No, I do not think this works well at all. I appreciate the people who tried to see that good in it, but I honestly just don't think it works. The only reason I went for it is because Yukine's voice switches between older sounding and younger sounding throughout the show and since I could decide what Four's would sound like I said to myself "Fine. Four can be the same", found some clips, slapped it together and never looked back.

I am still looking for another voice for Four and if I find a decent one, I will include it in part two.

And last but not least...

Twilight - Aaron Mitchell Dismuke (Tamaki Amajiki - My Hero Academia)

Told ya there was another BHNA voice.

So Twi was another tricky one. As I mentioned, I was seriously considering Johnny Yong Bosch for him. More specifically, his voices for Giyu Tomioka from Demon Slayer and Kiba from Wolf's Rain (for obvious reasons). I did almost go for Kiba but something was stopping me. I'm honestly not sure what.

So I was talking to a mate (and by that I mean I rambled. A lot) about VA's and at one point he suggested Aaron Mitchell Dismuke but not for Twilight. I can't actually remember who he suggested it for but anyway, that didn't work out. But when I was looking through his work, I saw that we played Amajiki and I was curious. I listened to him and I liked it.

Okay to be fair I wanted a country accent for Twi. Of course I did. But I could not a find a decent one. They few I found were absolutely terrible. So I gave up on that and decided that was Amajiki. And that was that.

And that concludes the Links VA headcanons! I am happy with most of them and once more these are my opinion but I would love to hear your own ideas!

As I have said many times, I am working on a part two and as a sneak peak (sort of) I'll tell you two of the characters that will be featured (excluding Four, if I find him another voice).

Dink (even though he hasn't, technically shown up yet) and Malon (which is proving to be a lot tricker than I thought). There a couple more but my lips are sealed heh.

Oh and speaking of Dink, the voice I considered for Time and then thought it would be better for someone else? Yeah that's the voice that's currently in the lead to be Dink's :)

I hope enjoyed my long winded explanations! And thank you for reading/watching!

#phew #well that was fun #legend's is my favourite I think #closely follow by wild and maybe sky or wars #and like i said im very happy with wind because *ow*#linkeduniverse #linked universe #hehe... part 2...

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anemonenemerosa · 4 years ago

Note

Oops sorry!! I just assumed with oknutzy! Maybe 17 for Wolfstar 🥰

No worries, anon! Since your request was already written by @mooncat457writing (read it, it’s sooo good) and no other prompt of the list was simliar, I thought of a new one and wrote something for you. I hope you ike it!

"The door fell shut behind me while getting the mail. Now I'm stuck outside on a windy October day"

The bright side of locking yourself out

It was 1 pm when the insistent ringing of the doorbell jerked Sirius out of his dreams. He grumbled for a few moments before his brain caught up and reminded him that he'd ordered a replacement for the broken gear-belt of his motorcycle. And Sirius really needed to get the bike repaired 'cause taking the tube to and from work was just the worst. So, he jumped out of bed and raced to the door of the building – there's no way he's missing the mailperson! Tough luck, Sirius was just in time to see the backlights of the delivery-truck disappear behind a corner.

"God, damnit!" He cursed loudly, mentally just warming up for a full-on rant when a particularly forceful wind-gust shoved half a ton of leaves in Sirius' face and caused an unfortunate bang behind his back.

No. Please no. Slowly, as if keeping off looking might undo what the dreadful noise promised, Sirius turned around, finally staring at the firmly closed door. It is just now that he realised that he's not only stuck outside on a rather unpleasant mid-October day, no, he's stuck outside barefoot, only wearing his pyjama bottoms and a worn shirt. No phone, no keys. It began to rain, no umbrella. What. A. Day.

Just two months ago, Sirius still lived with James and that wouldn't have been much of a problem. Back in the day, James was still writing his final assignment for his degree and stayed at home all the time.But since he graduated, found himself a paying job and moved in with Lily, Sirius lives alone for the very first time in his 25 years on this planet. And while he loved Lily dearly, Sirius couldn't always stop himself from feeling a bit abandoned and lonely, which was ridiculous, of course. Since they got together, James and Lily never let any doubt creep in that Sirius was anything but loved and treasured by both of them.

But the sentiment was of no use just then. In that moment, he needed to find a pragmatic solution. What does one do, trapped outside with no phone, no keys and no shoes? Sirius sighed in resignation. One does walk to the next cafe, beg them to use their phone without coming off as a complete nutter and call James to rescue him.

About five steps from the door, Sirius stopped dead in his tracks, quest forgotten. Walking right up to him was his neighbour from upstairs, the most intriguing person Sirius has ever met, or almost met, seen that they had never talked before.

The guy seemed very unassuming the few times he saw him in the stairway with his knit sweaters and washed out jeans. He was very quiet in the mornings as if he unknowingly considered that Sirius, as a bartender, worked during the nights and really needed his mornings to sleep. During the afternoon however, enjoyable music wafted down through Sirius' open windows together with the delicious smell of freshly cooked food.

The neighbour -Lupin, it said on the mailbox- stared at Sirius with wide eyes for a moment before he stepped closer, holding his umbrella over both of them.

"Erm." The other man said instead of greeting him.

"Please don't ask." Sirius implored him, completely done with this day already. But then again, Lupin had a nice voice.

"Right", Lupin laughed, "You live in the basement, right? Black? I'm going to ask anyway... aren't you cold?"

Not what Sirius expected to be asked. Naturally, his response was eloquent, he was absolutely not caught off guard, "Uhh -yeah, I live here. And- and I'm cold... but I thought you were-"

"-going to ask why you are out here?" Lupin laughed again, a really nice sound, "You clearly locked yourself out. No one goes around in the rain in October like this. Want to come in to mine? Dry off and call someone?"

With that he looked pointedly at Sirius, who took the glance as a clue to have a look at himself. So, summed up, he was drenched, with dirty feet and unkempt hair. Not the first impression he wanted to make on his neighbour. He's a proper adult now. Anyhow, this was by far his best option "That would actually safe my day."

Without another word, Sirius was led upstairs, offered a warm shower and some soft clothes, which were a bit too big for him (Lupin was at least half a head taller than himself). Clean and dry, Sirius sits in Lupin's little kitchen for his next task: calling James, who couldn't leave work for another three hours, meant that Sirius either waited for another four hours or paid 600 pounds for key-service to open his door, which he found out in the next call. He got a string of curses off his chest and was met with an astounded look of Lupin, who had poked his head though the door. Today, Sirius was impressively good at presenting himself at his worst.

"I'm sorry." He mumbled, not looking at his generous neighbour.

"Nah it's fine." Said one just shrugged, "What did your friend say?"

"Another four hours or 600 pounds." Sirius supplied, feeling a little miserable.

"Oh, unfortunate. Do you want to wait here? I have some work to do but you can hang out if you want."

"No, thank you. That would be too much" It really would.

"No. Really, it's no bother. I wouldn't offer if it wasn't alright." Lupin waved him off, "I'm Remus, by the way. And before you ask: Yes, Remus like in the Roman mythology"

"Nice to officially meet you, Remus, like in the Roman mythology." Sirius bowed mockingly, "I'm Sirius, and before you ask, yes, like the star and yes, I've probably heard all of the serious-jokes in existence by now."

With introductions out of the way, Sirius was sat on the big and comfortable couch in the living room with a nice cup of milky tea. He had no idea what to do now and felt a bit awkward, but his neighbour seemed unbothered by his surprise-guest.

"Sorry to be such a bad host but I have a bit work to do, I didn't get to do last night. If you like, feel free to take whatever book sparks your interest from the shelves." Remus apologised and put on some quiet music over his phone while settling in a cosy armchair across the couch with a stack of papers on his lap. It was only then, that Sirius realised how good-looking Remus was. His hair, light brown, wavy and a bit shaggy was falling slightly into his bright hazel eyes, focused on the papers in front of him. Suddenly, Remus huffed, scrunched up his slightly crooked nose (dusted with freckles that spread over his cheekbones) and lifted his left hand to his thin-lipped mouth to gnaw at his thumbnail.

"Displeasing literature?" Sirius heard himself asking before he could check the question in his mind for stupidity.

"You have no idea." the other man grumbled, "That one actually wrote that the inhabitants of Egypt are the mummies!"

Sirius couldn't help but bark a laugh at the affronted tone of Remus' voice,

"So, you're teaching history?"

"Yeah." Remus sighed and plucked a red pen from the little table beside him and began vigorously scribbling onto the paper.

The conversation felt to be over for now as Sirius' host seemed, indeed, quite busy. So, Sirius took up the offer to have a look at the bookshelves lining three walls of the room. The carped felt warm and soft under his bare feet while he strolled along the shelves. Quickly he recognised several of his favourites among the countless books and when his eye caught on The Little Prince, he couldn't resist to take it with him back to the couch.

When he was settled again, Remus looked up to see what Sirius had picked and smiled around a soft hum "I've read so many books and this is still one of my favourites."

Sirius couldn't help but smile back. "Mine, too."

From then on, they sat in a far more comfortable silence than before, both engulfed in their literature. Now and then, Remus huffed or snorted and shared some of the more entertaining mishaps of his students. It felt like they've been spending their afternoons together like this for years. Sirius was simultaneously at peace and properly creeped out.

After a while. Remus got up and returned with a fresh cup of tea for both of them. Steeped for exactly long enough, with the perfect amount of milk in it.

"It's wild that I've been living here for a little over two months and we barely even saw each other, isn't it?" Sirius commented, cradling his new cup in his hands while Remus got once again comfortable in his armchair.

"No, not really." The other man supplied with a slightly sad smile, "See, I teach evening classes from around 7 pm to midnight, get home around 1 am and because I'm an absolute night owl, I usually do my grading and preparations right after until 4 or 5 and then sleep 'till noon. And while I thrive in my rhythm, it's a bit hard to meet, or just come across, people... or get to go out for breakfast. It's silly but I love breakfast and until I get up, most places have switched to the lunch-menu already."

What are the chances. "And here I thought that you were so quiet in the mornings because you are psychic and just know that I sleep during that time." Sirius couldn't help the chuckle bubbling up his throat at the puzzled expression of the man across him. "I'm a bartender and work from 8 to 3 in the morning during the week and until 5 on Fridays and Saturdays." He elaborated, "after that I'm often too riled up to go directly to sleep, so I often go to bed around 6 and sleep until 1."

Remus just stared at him. "Our schedules are nearly identical."

Sirius opened his mouth to reply when the sound of the doorbell interrupted them. Remus got up to open the door to a hurried James, who handed Sirius the spare-keys, kissed his cheek and stormed off again.

"So, this was James. Is he your boyfriend, then?" The cosy atmosphere dissolved with the appearance of a wary look on Remus' face.

"Nah. He is my best friend, practically brother. I know, kissing is rather uncommon between two male friends, but we've been doing that since we met fourteen years ago, and I don't give a shit about convention." Sirius explained with a fond smile on his face.

After that, they parted rather quickly as both men needed to get ready for work, but a lot still lingered in the air, unsaid. His shift went over much too slow for Sirius while he brooded over the change in the atmosphere at the end of his stay with his neighbour.

The next day, Sirius woke up with a plan. A potentially humiliating plan, but worth the risk. He got up much quicker than usual, fired up the oven and began preparing. Around 12:30 Sirius knocked at his neighbour's door and was met with a sleepy Remus in pyjamas.

"Hey- erm... good morning! Here are your clothes!" Sirius began far too loud. All he achieved was a furrowed brow on the other man's face.

Get a grip, Black! "Uhh...OK. Listen, I really like you. Would you like to have a breakfast-date with me?" He tried to put on a winning smile while lifting the tray in his hands a bit.

Remus, who had blushed furiously during Sirius' rambling, blinked at him once before a wide grin spread on his face and he stepped aside to let Sirius and the warm croissants in.

39 notes · View notes

beyondconfessor · 4 years ago

Text

Principle Decisions [7/24]

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Lilith/Zelda Spellman

Summary: She had engaged in dominatrix services from Sabrina’s principal. It was enough to make her light-headed.

N.B.: Also posted on AO3. This is pure fantasy, please suspend your disbelief. Chapter ends angsty with mentions of self-harm (nothing explicit or overt, just a Lilith advising Zelda that she was pushing her limits to hurt her self)

Zelda chewed on her thumbnail, looking across the expanse of lingerie she owned. She was suddenly finding herself indecisive over what set to wear––something she usually wasn’t.

Usually, she’d go for the ivory and black set (a favourite), but Lilith had seen that. There was a ruby set, but Zelda wasn’t sure she liked how it went with her hair. Maybe the emerald, she wondered, or the black (also a favourite).

She sighed, standing in her dressing robe. She never fussed this much when dating any man, outside of the occasional birthday. It’d been some time since she was nervous over the idea of what to wear, which only further set her in a state of unease. Was it because Lilith initiated her enough that she felt a need to impress the woman, or was it something deeper?

Was she perhaps so lonely, that she’d projected a romantic fantasy onto the woman? It wasn’t unheard of.

But that didn’t solve her current issue: the choice between lingerie.

It was hardly as if she had anyone else’s opinion to ask. She’d never been one to have close female friends. She had a group of girlfriends in school, a long time ago, but she wouldn’t ever refer to that as being close friends. There’d been far too much backstabbing and bitching of one another to be anything but rivals masking as friends.

Perhaps that said something about her more than she liked. The closest person she could refer to as a friend was Constance Blackwood, and that was only because Constance had once advised, while drunk at a mixer, that everyone was a bunch of cowardly bitches and Zelda was the only person she trusted to tell the truth.

But she couldn’t contact her about this.

Sighing, she drew away, grabbing at the ivory set. It was an old favourite and would just have to do for now. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t already had sex with the woman (though both times had been impromptu) and Lilith had seen her in lingerie before. So what did it matter what she wore? She was showered and clean, and in the end, it was all that mattered.

She switched for the emerald.

And then she dressed in a simple black dress, smoothing the arms down. The dress was simple, casual, and acted as a disguise for her as she came down the stairs.

“Ohh, you look nice,” Hilda said. “Off to somewhere?”

Zelda looked at the time. It was still early in the morning at least. “The office, my laptop is in the computer shop, and I have work I need to get done by Monday.” Not entirely false. She did plan on going to the school’s library afterwards.

Hilda seemed to frown at her but didn’t say anything. “Well, I’ll be off to Doctor Cee’s, did you want me to drop you off.”

Zelda paused. There was no way in hell she’d allow that. “There’s no need. I’ll be at University for some time.”

“Are you sure, I finish at four, I could pick you up again?”

Zelda pressed her lips shut. “Quite,” she said. “What time are you leaving?”

“Oh, well Doctor Cee’s opening so I’ll probably wander off in about fifteen minutes.”

Zelda nodded. She’d leave a little later; otherwise, Hilda was likely to see her going the opposite way to the University, and she honestly didn’t need that. Besides, she usually ended up fifteen minutes early.

Zelda realised her mistake too late when she realised that Saturday mornings were quite busy with the weekend markets, causing the streets to be busy with pedestrians, leading to arrive on the other side of town late.

Dreadfully late.

She was an entire ten minutes late. Tardy by all accounts, and when she rang the doorbell, Lilith opened it up with raised brow. “I believe I warned you that I don’t appreciate late clients,” she said, blocking the door.

“Believe me. It was not by choice. I had forgotten about the Saturday mid-morning traffic. I don’t usually drive to this end of town, as you can imagine. Or to town at all on the weekend.”

Lilith’s eyebrows rose, “Perhaps I should buy you a GPS, and then you can listen to its advice on traffic? Or perhaps I should have you read the clock face on the wall until I’m satisfied that you can tell the time?”

Zelda flushed. “It won’t happen again.”

“Mm, odds are now in the favour that it will occur again,” Lilith said, before pushing away from the door to allow her entrance. “But you can make it up to me. Get inside before someone sees you, Ms Spellman.”

Zelda shivered, stepping into the hallway. Though she expected Lilith to lead her up to the bedroom, the woman instead led her down the hall, past the kitchen, to the garden.

Zelda swallowed. The garden was outside, and it was a Saturday. Having parked her car, she was aware that the businesses on either side of the building were open. The streets were not busy by any stretch of the definition, but the garage door had been open, and the mattress store had its lights on.

She trusted that they weren’t aware of what Lilith’s business was, given that it was unmarked, but felt nervous nonetheless as Lilith opened the door to the patio, leading her outside.

“Yesterday, I admit I was deliciously surprised by the reaction you had,” Lilith said, as she continued to lead her from the concrete to the stone path leading underneath the great tree. “And I have the strangest suspicion that you are an exhibitionist.”

“Exhibitionist?” Zelda said. “I hardly think so.”

“Mm, and if I fucked out here with the sound of the mechanics working on cars, you wouldn’t get off on the idea that you had to keep quiet?”

Zelda flushed. She could hear the sounds of hammering on metal, the odd chatter and laughter from the garage.

“I bet if I even just told you to get undressed right now, you’d be in a quivering mess at the idea of kneeling on the grass, naked as people were next door going about their lives.”

Zelda shut her eyes, looking away. Admittedly, she could see the point that Lilith was getting at. There was every possibility that, perhaps, she wasn’t entirely against the idea of outdoor sex. “Isn’t exhibitionism the idea of being watched?”

Lilith shrugged. “For some people. For some, it’s just thrill that they might get caught.” Lilith’s hands were slipping over her waist, and suddenly Zelda was finding herself back up against the great tree. “If you’re very, very quiet, no one will know. But if you’re loud, and I know you’re loud, the man will go out of their way to peak over that great big fence and see what’s going on and we don’t want that, now do we?”

Zelda looked to the fence line. It was rather tall, difficult to see over. They’d have to get a stepladder to do it. Which given that they’re a mechanic, was not entirely impossible for them. Likely they had one lying about or boxes, or some sort of implement they could use to peak over if they were curious enough.

“Do you think you can be quiet?” Lilith enquired, and her hands were already tugging up the skirt of her dress, fingers raking over her bare skin. “Or will I have to gag you?”

Zelda scoffed. “I can be quiet,” she assured. “I do live in a house with three other people.”

Lilith drew over her skin, playing with the lace on her hips as she leant forward and pressed a kiss to her lips. Zelda sighed into her mouth, drawing her lips over hers as she wrapped her arms around Lilith’s shoulders.

There was something about the way that Lilith kissed. A tenderness in how she first started, drawing over her, before she would deepen the kiss, drawing more and more passion into it until it was teeth and tongue and Zelda felt as if she was drowning in rapturous delight.

And then Lilith’s mouth was drawing down her neck and shoulders, kissing there as she unzipped the dress and shoved it down her arms, leaving it to bunch around her waist as she moved to draw her mouth over her shoulders, her clavicle, down over her breasts peaking from teal lace and silk.

Lilith drew the straps of the bra down her shoulders, allowing the cups to slip down over her ribs, exposing her breasts.

“Give me your hands,” Lilith said, before kissing her again so dizzily, that Zelda forgot to ask why.

She dropped her hands from Lilith’s shoulders and felt the woman slip what felt like a leather cuff over one hand and then the other. And then Lilith was pulling back and drawing Zelda’s cuffed arms up into the air, over a branch.

Looking up, Zelda watched as the woman attached a double-ended snap hook on a metal clap on either cuff, over the top of a rather sturdy branch, leaving Zelda to stand awkwardly with her arms in the air.

“Much better,” Lilith said, raking her eyes over Zelda.

And then Lilith’s mouth was descending again.

Zelda’s hands grasped at the branches, trying to hold onto something as her legs became unsteady. It was divine and sinful at the same time. She could hear the sound of drilling, of hammering, of men talking and laughing to each other and as she became more and more aware of them, she felt a tightness tugging low in her belly, a need to gasp and swallow back the building sounds.

It was different to when she had brought long-term partners home or had masturbated in the depths of her sheets. Here, there was an absolute desire to want to get caught. To have the men intrigued, trying to peak over the fences and see nothing, knowing that something was going on.

Zelda whined low, biting her lip to prevent it from escaping as Lilith laughed, her tongue and teeth working on once breast as her hand worked the other.

“I once made someone orgasm from this alone.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Zelda responded breathlessly, eyes squeezing shut as she leant back against the tree.

“Usually, you argue with me. And here I was, all ready to prove my point,” Lilith said before dropping her mouth again against the nipple, teeth drawing over as she did something with her mouth that caused a sudden spike of desire to shoot straight through to Zelda’s core.

“God! Lilith I…” she rocked her hips, a whine pulling from the back of her throat. She wanted more. She was so close already she could feel her legs trembling.

Lilith pulled back, eyes staring up at her and Zelda clamped her jaw shut, trying to stand strong. “You will need to be careful,” Lilith warned. “If you can’t be quiet, I might have to find something else to do with you.”

Zelda swallowed and nodded, head rolling back to look up at the tree and the dappled light. She felt a hand squeeze over one breast and then felt Lilith tug at the bunched dress, dropping it down her legs to spill around her feet.

“If you’re quiet, I’ll give you a reward later.”

Her head dropped down, eyebrows rising “What kind of reward?”

“Be good, and I’ll let you know,” Lilith said, as her fingers played with her breast and nipple, squeezing with enough pressure that Zelda bit her lip, holding back the whimpers. “Can you be good for me?”

“Mmhmm,” Zelda managed to say, under certain in how the woman knew how to do what she did.

“Good,” Lilith said, and then her mouth was kissing down, between her chest, over her ribs, and down and Zelda was pressing her hands back against the tree, listening to the sound of mechanical work and idle chatter fill her as Lilith reached the scrap of emerald between her thighs.

She expected it to be pulled down or pushed to the side, or whatever, but Lilith’s tongue drew over it prominently as she drew a hand down Zelda’s waist, nails dragging over the skin, across the hip to thigh and then she was tugging at the back of Zelda’s leg, bending the knee until Zelda had a leg thrown over Lilith’s shoulder.

Her shoe fell off onto the ground, and Zelda didn’t care. Didn’t care if it got muddied or grass stains, not when Lilith was doing whatever that was.

Grasping at the bough of the tree, Zelda pressed her back against bark, feeling it scrape over her body as she rocked her hips over Lilith’s tongue.

If Lilith wasn’t careful, she was going to make her climax in her underwear, likely ruining them.

Who was she kidding? She could feel how wet she was already; it was slick and sticking, sliding with every movement. Her underwear was ruined already.

What she really wanted was the woman’s fingers inside of her, fucking her like she had yesterday.

Zelda bit her lip and made the terrible decision to look down just as Lilith looked up. Her eyes were bright, a smirking pulling at her lips as her tongue slid over, firmly pressing as her hand continued to squeeze and pinch.

It wasn’t enough sensation, and as Zelda’s hips jerked, her bare heel digging into Lilith’s back, she felt a string of curse words leave her mouth. There was a brief sound of mechanics stopping, laughter dying with a curious lilt of conversation as the men needed to pause in their work.

And then Lilith's fingers were tugging the underwear aside, and her tongue was sliding over her sex, and two fingers were pressing inside of her, and Zelda knew she needed to keep quiet. She knew she couldn’t say another word.

Tilting her head into her bound arms, she tried to muffle the moans spilling from her. And then, like relief, the orgasm came, and she was whining into the flesh of her bicep, focusing on the way that she was squeezing around Lilith’s fingers…until they slipped away and Lilith’s tongue gave a last lick.

Zelda drew in a breath, eyes going skyward to focus on the sun before she dropped down to look at the smirking woman as Lilith slowly eased Zelda’s foot onto the ground. And then she was rising, her hands holding Zelda steady as she kissed her.

Tenderly, softly her lips moved over hers, and Zelda felt herself quiver with the touch. An ache building in her chest.

“Look at you, you almost managed it,” Lilith said.

“Almost?”

“Oh yes, you were rather noisy just before the end. A passing grade, I suppose.”

“Passing grade,” Zelda nearly yelped, eyes narrowing. “What in God’s name does that even mean.”

Lilith hummed, her hands drawing circles over Zelda’s torso. “It means that you’re all mine, and I get to inflict all sorts of punishments to you.” Her hand came up, cupping under Zelda’s jawline, her thumb stroking over her cheek. “Don’t worry. I promise that you won't enjoy this as much as I will.”

Zelda shivered, standing up as tall as she could as she adjusted her grip on the tree. There was nothing she wanted more than to touch Lilith right now. Stroke her hands over her skin and run it through her hair. The most she could do without looking to wanton was lean back against the tree and hoped she looked as seductive as possible.

Lilith’s eyes darkened, a slow breath pulling into her lungs, and Zelda knew she had her for the moment. That if she said the right words, she could do the very same things to Lilith that she’d done to her.

And right now, the idea of tying Lilith up and going down on her until she was pleading, was exactly what she had in mind.

Lilith laughed, looking away. “Oh, I don’t think so,” she said. “Whatever naughty thought you have in your head if you want our roles to reverse, you’re going to have to ask me very, very nicely.”

Zelda considered asking to be untied, to act as the dominant one in this situation, but it defeated the purpose. She didn’t want to ask. She just wanted.

“Now be a good girl and wait here for me,” Lilith said, her hand dropping away. Zelda watched as she stepped back, and then made her way down the stone path, back to the house. It left Zelda tied up, her bra still around her waist, underwear sitting uncomfortably to one side, and her hands bound above her in the tree.

Zelda shivered as a breeze brushed through the garden, making her all the more aware of her undressed state, even with the warm light coming through the trees.

She ended up kicking off her other heel, uncomfortable wearing just one shoe, and standing on the balls of her feet, leaning back against the tree as Lilith finally returned with items in tow.

“Don’t you look good enough to eat,” Lilith proclaimed, setting her tools aside. Zelda eyed them with interest before Lilith’s brow rose, and she used her frame to block the view of whatever was brought out. “No peeking,” she said, before bending back over her assortment, seeming to hum to herself as she chose between them.

Zelda pushed on her feet, already growing tired of waiting, before Lilith picked something up and turned around, holding whatever it was behind her back.

She tucked it in the back of her skirt and then walked up, hands drawing over Zelda’s body, her nails raking over her hips to the dip in her waist, and then up.

“I’m going to turn you around, and then I’m going to mark your back, and you’re going to take it like a good girl because you were late. Do you know how many minutes you were late?”

“Ten.”

“Fifteen,” Lilith correct. “You should have arrived at least five minutes before your allocated session.”

Zelda nodded, feeling the haze of endorphins slip over her still as Lilith reached up and unbound her before having her turn around and binding her up again.

The woman pressed against her back, and Zelda sighed as she felt how warm she was. “Do you remember your safe word?”

“Music box,” Zelda confirmed.

Lilith’s hand combed through her head, nails bluntly rolling over her scalp and Zelda sighed into the touch. Sometimes it felt like Lilith was conditioning her, that when she combed her fingers, it was a reminder that she was safe. And then Lilith pressed a brief kiss to her back, and Zelda sighed at the touch.

If it was the case, she didn’t mind a single bit.

“Let’s begin then, shall we?”

The flogging session drew over her back, and Zelda felt the mixture of endorphins acting as a somewhat effective numbing agent. Lilith’s strikes were strong and firm, and Zelda felt the leather strike down her skin and around her breasts. When the nipples were hit on the very edge, she hissed, pushing up on her toes. She’d taken eight strikes so far––halfway there.

Lilith paused, stepped forward to press her kiss down her back, unclasping the bra to it drop away.

Zelda exhaled, her heart beating fast as she felt the woman’s hands hold her steady. Her skin felt hot, and the cool hand drew over her, soothing. Zelda could feel her nerves running raw, building pressure in her chest. If she pushed too far, she was going to cry again.

But if she was honest…a part of her wanted to.

Work had built to new capacities of stressful, and there was so much she needed to do––with her computer out of action, she was doubling her work.

She would never allow herself to break in front of her family. But Lilith wasn’t family.

The strikes came again, and Zelda gripped at the bough of the tree, holding onto it firm as she felt one, after another. The sound was loud and sharp. There was a different feeling of the strikes than it had been in the office and the bedroom.

By the twelfth strike, she was biting her lip, feeling the emotions build inside of her, and suddenly she was in doubt that she did want to break. The sex had been wonderful, and the bondage was soothing, but this…she wasn’t sure she liked this.

Thirteen, Zelda gasped. It hit hard over her shoulder, ringing through her body. There was a masochistic want growing inside of her, a need for the strikes to be harder. She wanted it to hurt. She wanted them to burn across her back and mark her skin. She deserved it. Need it.

Fourteen. Zelda’s nails dug into the palm of her hand. One more, one more was all she had to stand and then it was all hers.

Her eyes were pricking as she stared at the tree, studying the grooves, and then Zelda could feel her mind receding away. She could feel the sting against her back, hear the sound of weapon, but all she could think about was––

A hand touched her and Zelda flinched, feeling anger grow inside of her as she turned over her shoulder to look at…

…at Lilith.

Her arms were undone, and she was falling against the woman, and Lilith was pulling her back to stand up again, eyes searching over her. “Where did you go?” she asked, and there was a firmness to her voice. She was displeased with her.

Zelda felt that harder than any strike and pulled herself backwards, onto her feet as she leant against the tree and crossed her arms, covering her chest up. “Unless I suddenly developed the ability to teleport, I didn’t go anywhere.”

Lilith’s eyes narrowed at her. She picked up Zelda’s clothes and then made a gesture to her head to get inside. This wasn’t the place to discuss.

Zelda followed her into the house, the door shutting behind her as she was lead to the kitchen. On the wall, Zelda could see they still had another hour of the session left.

But Lilith didn’t move to make tea. Instead, she directed Zelda to sit down in one chair, as she sat across from her, setting the clothes carefully to the side of the table. “I’m going to ask you a question, and I need you to answer me honestly.”

Zelda looked up at her feeling a curtain of red hair cover half of face. Jaw clenching, she nodded.

“Are you using these sessions as a way to punish yourself?”

“As opposed to what?” Zelda inquired. “Aren’t these sessions meant for punishment?”

“Let me re-phrase the question then,” Lilith said, unimpressed by her response. “Are you using me as a proxy to self-harm?”

Zelda stared at her. Perhaps once upon a time, long ago, she’d been partial to such a thing, but that had been years and years ago. So far ago now that she could barely recall. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, but the venom wasn’t in her voice, and Zelda found herself looking away, feeling the words claw at her.

Lilith’s hands reached out, covering her own and Zelda looked up, swallowing a painful lump in her throat. “You need to be upfront with me about this.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head, and then “Not at first…”

“But today?”

“Today I…” she didn’t know how to admit it, that a part of her had sunk into the scene, needed to feel the hits hurt and sting, past her limits. Well past her limits. She should have stopped at the twelfth hit.

Zelda drew her hands away from Lilith, pulling them into her lap. She bit her tongue, trying to shove the rising emotions back down her throat.

Lilith sighed before her, her own hands dropping away. “This is as much my fault. I should have checked in with you sooner. But I can not and will not be that proxy for you. We can engage in sex, and we can engage in BDSM if it’s truly a sexual exploration or kink that you enjoy, but I will not hit you just because you want to scratch at your trauma.”

“Trauma?” Zelda yelped. “This is not an ill-attempt to hurt me for the sake of trauma.”

“Are you so sure? Because I think you came here because you wanted to feel something, and instead of hurting yourself or using drugs, you came to me.” Her head tilted at her, and Zelda felt as if she was cutting through every barrier Zelda had. “You’re drowning, and I will not participate in that destruction.”

Zelda scoffed, looking away. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“No, but I know people like you. Burying themselves in work and family obligations, burning themselves out until they can’t feel anything, getting off on a well-placed pat on the head. You don’t need a dominatrix. You need a therapist.” She stood up then, and Zelda watched as she went into one of the many cupboards, pulling out a card before she came over and handed it to her.

Zelda looked at the card. It was white and blue, simple, with a little embossed ocean wave in the corner. “You’re giving me the card of a therapist.”

Lilith nodded. “Get help before you destroy yourself. Believe me, I’ve been down this path, and you won’t find salvation at the end of it. You’ll just sink further and further until you’re letting men do things to you that you’d previously never allow.”

Zelda took the card, her expression tightening. “It wasn’t just about that.”

Lilith’s face softened as she sat back down. “I enjoy engaging in your services, Zelda. But I also have a duty of care to you and myself.”

Zelda bit her tongue, pulling her hands away. She didn’t like the way the woman was looking at her. She didn’t like how she’d peeled back her skin and peered underneath, seeming to touch at the core of Zelda that she, herself didn’t want to acknowledge.

How dare she? She didn’t come here to seek counselling services. She asked for a simple transaction of labour, and now that was being refused.

“Well,” she clipped. “I suppose a thank you is in order.” She rose to her feet, suddenly feeling far more naked than she liked as she snatched at the clothes on the table and began pulling them on. “And, I suppose that’s the end of it, then?” she inquired.

“You don’t have to pay for this session. And don't leave, you should––”

“No, I insist. We engaged in services, and you were apart of them,” Zelda said, hearing the coldness in her voice. “It’s only fair that I pay you what services were rendered. Don't bother about anything else, I hardly need any alleged aftercare since, apparently, I'm only engaging in this as some sick attempt to hurt myself.”

Lilith’s face drew tight, her lips pressing shut as she seemed to bite back a comment. Zelda thought about pushing at it, prodding at the words beneath the surface, but knew it wasn’t worth burning any more fuel onto whatever fire had grown inside of her.

Instead, Zelda zipped up her dress as Lilith took out her receipt book, signing the paper over. Zelda reached into her handbag and pulled out her wallet, handed the cash over.

That was the end of that, she thought, fixing her hair. Like Hell, she would attend a therapist. She’d sooner return to attending confession at the local catholic church.

#zelda spellman #lilith #zelith #madam spellman #caos fanfic

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screamxqueenx94 · 4 years ago

Text

Night School Part 2/ Teen Wolf Series Rewrite

Summary: Being locked in the school being chased by a psycho killer Alpha is bad enough. But you know what's worse? Being locked in the school being chased by a psycho killer Alpha and putting up with Jackson... Who cracks first?

Italics= inner thoughts

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"Can someone please explain to me what's going on, because I'm freaking out here and I would like to know why, Scott." Allison begs with tears in her eyes.

Scott looks at her and you can just tell that he wants to tell her everything, but knows he can't say anything. Instead of saying anything, he makes a grunting noise and makes his way over to the table bear Stiles and I, leaning his hands on it.

The other three can't accept that and raise their eyebrows and both Allison and Jackson throw their hands out due to Scott dodging the question. Stiles and I turn to Scott as he's running his hands over his face. Clearly he's not sure what to say and I can't really say I blame him.

"You don't have to say anything. I'll take care of it." I tell Scott as I pat his shoulder.

Stiles and Scott both look at me as I step towards everyone. "Somebody killed the janitor."

"What?" Lydia exclaims.

"Yeah, the janitor's dead." Stiles pipes up, stepping up next to me.

Allison starts shaking her head in disbelief. "What are they talking about? Is this a joke?"

"Who killed him?" Jackson asks worriedly.

Scott stays silent.

"No no no no, this was supposed to be over. The mountain lion killed--" Jackson cuts Lydia off.

"No no, don't you get it? There wasn't a mountain lion!"

Allison furrows her brows and frowns. "Who was it? What do they want?" She asks, rushing her words.

She lowers her head and rubs her forehead and whispers, "what's happening?"

Scott hasn't said anything, which makes her frustrated. She snaps her head towards him, losing her patience with his complete silence. "Scott!"

He drops his hands and stands up. "I-- I don't know. I-- I just-- if-- if we go out there, he's gonna kill us."

"Us? He's gonna kill us?" Lydia freaks out, once again on the verge of tears.

"Who?" Allison questions. God, this is getting out of hand… just tell them, Scott. They're involved now too!

Allison, Jackson and Lydia all snap their heads towards me and Stiles and Allison speaks up. "Who is it?"

Stiles and I remain silent despite my desire to tell them everything. We both look at Scott, waiting for him to say something.

"It's Derek. It's Derek Hale." He finally answers.

Scott and I give him a look, stunned that he'd throw Derek, who is now dead, mind you, under the bus like that.

"Wait, Derek killed the Janitor?" Jackson asks, unconvinced.

"Are you sure?" Allison asks.

"I saw him." Scott insists, continuing with his God awful fucking lie.

"It was a mountain li--" Lydia gets cut off as she's looking away into the distance.

"No, Derek killed them!" Scott yells.

"All of them?" Allison asks, truly wanting to believe him as she steps closer to him.

Scott nods. "Yeah, starting with his own sister."

"The bus driver?" Allison asks, squinting.

Scott answers right away. "And the guy from the video store-- it was all him. It's been him this whole time… he's in here with us."

Jackson looks at me in disbelief before turning his attention to Lydia as Allison closes her eyes and rubs her forehead again.

Stiles and I look at each other in disgust at Scott's blatant disregard for the dead.

"If we don't get out now, he's gonna kill us too."

Jackson faces Stiles and throws an arm out. "Call the cops."

"No." Stiles answers back sharply.

"What do you mean no?" Jackson asks, sounding almost offended.

"I mean no. Do you wanna hear it in Spanish? No." Stiles shoots back.

"Look, Derek killed three people, okay? We don't know what he's armed with." Oh God, you too? Guess we're just going with this then huh?

Jackson has a dumbfounded look on his face as Stiles speaks. "Your dad is armed with an entire Sheriff's Department. Call him!"

"I'm calling." Lydia interjects as she pulls out her phone.

"No, Lydia, would you just hold on a second?" Stiles begs, starting to head her way until Jackson steps in front of him. Scott quickly steps to Stiles' side, then Jackson steps back as I step in front of Stiles with my hand out, ready to push Jackson back.

"Yes, we're at Beacon Hills High School and we're trapped and we need you--" Lydia stops speaking suddenly, making all of us look at her.

"But--" she pauses then hangs up. "She hung up on me." Lydia tells us without even turning around.

"The police hung up on you?" Allison asks confused.

"She said they got a tip, warning pranks calls about a break in at the high school. She said if I called again that they're gonna trace it and have me arrested."

"Okay, then call again!" Allison shouts.

"No, they won't trace a cell and they'll send a car to your house before they send anyone here." Stiles interjects.

I whip out my phone and start dialing.

"What are you doing?" Jackson asks.

"Calling my dad…" I tell him as I put the phone to my ear and start pacing around the room, chewing on my thumbnail.

I stop pacing and stand close to the window, bouncing my leg and now chewing the skin around my thumb as my dad's phone continues to ring. No answer, just his voicemail. When the beep comes, I actually start crying, filled with fear on telling him what's going on.

I leave a message with a crack in my voice. "Hey Dad, it's me. Listen, there's a group of us here at the school and we're in serious trouble."

I look at everyone who are all staring back at me. I continue, "I don't know what to do, but we're all scared…" my voice cracks more and I start to shake. Stiles comes over to me and puts a comforting arm around me.

"... I love you, Dad. Please help." I finish and hang up, putting a hand over my mouth and shaking as I start to cry.

Stiles pulls me into his chest and wraps his arms around my shoulders as I cry more, sliding my arms under his armpits and hug him.

"Thanks for that, Charli. Really. By the time he hears your message, we'll all be fucking dead." Jackson snaps at me.

I pull myself out of Stiles' hold and walk straight up to Jackson and punch him with my strongest hand, my left, knocking him to the ground. I jump on top of him and start punching him again while Allison and Lydia are screaming at me to stop, but I can't. All I can see is red. I get ready to punch him again when a strong pair of arms are wrapped around my waist and pulling me off of him as I'm kicking at the air between me and Jackson.

Allison and Lydia are helping Jackson up as Stiles stands in the space between us while Scott is spinning me around, facing the windows. He comes around and faces me with my back towards everyone else. He takes my face in his hands and looks me straight in the eyes, moving his hands to my shoulders.

"Charli, your eyes! You gotta calm down before the others notice!" He whispers to me.

He coaches me through some breathing exercises. I finally calm down, the glow in my eyes fading and am able to turn back to the others. Lydia is trying to clean up Jackson's wounds on his face as Stiles paces around the room and Allison is still freaking out.

"What the-- what-- what is this?" Allison stammers out. Smashing her hands over her face. "Why does Derek wanna kill us? Why is he killing anyone?" She continues.

I sit down on a table, opening and closing my fists, making them bleed slightly more as I look at Stiles who clearly wants to say something. Anything to get us out of this.

We all look at Scott who takes in that everyone is looking at him, expecting an answer. "Why is everyone looking at me?" Really dude? This is all on you and you made it that way…

"Is he the one who sent the text?" Lydia asks.

"No. I mean, I don't know." He stammers his answer.

"Is he the one who called the police?" Allison asks, trying to be calm, but failing.

"I don't know!" Scott unnecessarily yells.

Allison jumps back, shocked by Scott's outburst. She just looks at him with disbelief and turns her head away from the group.

"Alright, why don't we ease back on the throttle here, yeah?" Stiles suggests to Scott, grabbing his shoulder with one hand and pats Scott's chest with the other and guiding him away from the group.

He signals for me to come over to them. I sigh and get up to walk over to them.

"Okay, first off, throwing Derek under the bus, nicely done." He tells Scott, giving him a sarcastic thumbs up.

"I didn't know what to say. I had to say something-- and if he's dead then it doesn't matter, right?" Scott rushes.

"Yeah, except if he's not." I argue as I cross my arms over my chest, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Fuck that, okay? I just totally bit her head off." He continues with mind focusing completely on Allison.

Stiles joins right in, making a typical Stiles face. "And she'll totally get over it. Bigger issues at hand here, like how do we get out alive?"

I stand there, looking away trying to connect some dots on questions I've had since I met Scott.

"But we are alive. It could've killed us already. It has to be able to hear our heartbeats, shouting--breathing…" Scott explains.

I look up, interject with what my conclusion has come to. "It's cornering us…"

Both boys look at me. Stiles raises an eyebrow. "So, what? It wants to eat us all at the same time?"

"No, Derek said it wants revenge." Scott quickly inserts.

"Against who?" Stiles asks.

"Allison's family?" I suggest.

It's almost as if some kind of light bulb goes off in Stiles' head. "Maybe that's what the text was about."

Scott, still seeming not to get it, I elaborate. "Someone had to send it."

Jackson steps closer to us. "Okay assheads-- new plan. Stiles calls his useless dad and tells him to send someone down with a gun and decent aim. Are we good with that?"

Stiles looks back at us, shaking his head, moves his tongue across his bottom lip.

"Jackson's right. Tell him the truth if you have to, just--just call him." Scott gently agrees, looking at Stiles with sympathy.

"I have a better idea…" I grab the light I had earlier and start stomping towards Jackson, making him quickly back away from me. "..why don't we just bust Jackson's kneecaps, give him up as a sacrifice and the rest of us run for it?" Raising the light to hit Jackson in his knees.

As I'm swinging back to hit him, someone grabs the light and stops me. I look back and it's Scott. "No! All of us have to make it out." He informs me.

"Why can't just all of us who aren't assholes make it out? It's not like anyone's gonna miss him!" I insist.

"Enough, Charli!" Scott stepped forward, getting in my face.

I huff and step away. I go stand by the table, my back facing everyone.

"Stiles, please call him." Scott insists.

Stiles looks at Scott as if he doesn't even recognize him anymore. " I'm not watching my dad get eaten alive." He looks at Jackson before shaking his head and stands over by me.

Jackson quickly grabs Stiles by the shoulder. "Alright, give me the phone--"

Before he can even finish, Stiles turns around and punches Jackson Square in the jaw. Go Stiles! Fuck yes!

Jackson stumbles and eventually falls to his knees, holding his face. Completely stunned.

"Jackson!" Allison cries out, running over to him and kneels down beside him. "Are you okay? Hey, are you okay?" She asks him.

She gives Stiles dagger eyes, who shakes out his hand, staring Jackson down. Breathing heavily. I take his hand in mine, examining it, making sure he's okay. I look at him through my lashes, then he signals that he's okay. Stiles pulls out his phone and starts dialing as I look over and continue to watch Allison be a traitor and console Jackson. I shift my gaze over to Lydia, who has the saddest look one her face. Oh God, I'm probably gonna regret this…

I walk over to her and put a supportive hand on her shoulder. She snaps her head in my direction and gives me a sad half smile. I look over at Stiles who's still on the phone.

"Dad, hey it's me-- and it's your voicemail." He turns and looks at me, I give him my best comforting look as I now have my arm around Lydia, giving her upper arm a supportive rub while her head is resting on my shoulder, nearly in tears.

"Look, I need you to call me back now. Like right now--"

A loud banging against the doors makes us all jump and start backing up towards each other.

"--We're at the school." He hangs up and puts his phone back in his jacket pocket.

Scott slips me the fluorescent light tube as the banging and rattling gets louder and becomes even scarier than before. One last bang makes Lydia jump away from me and behind Jackson's shoulder.

"Oh my God!" She cries out.

I grip the bulb tighter in one hand as Stiles reaches over and grabs my hand again. “The kitchen, the door out of the kitchen leads to the stairwell.”

"Which only goes up." Scott reminds him.

Without looking away from the door, I squeeze Stiles' hand and state, "Up is better than here."

More bangs cause the screws to fall out of the plates that the handles were connected to, making everyone agree that up was way better than here. We all turn to run and head straight for leading the stairwell, hearing a loud crash of metal and the growling coming from behind the doors as the kitchen door shuts behind us. We crash into the stairwell and go up a flight of stairs and out the door leading to the next floor and run down the hallway until we reach a classroom.

Jackson tries one of the doors, but it's locked. So Stiles leads us into a room across from the locked one, that is thankfully unlocked, and all rush in, Scott being the last one inside, closes the door and grabs a chair and places it under the door handle. That's not gonna hold an Alpha, Scott...

We're all trying to catch our breath. Panting heavily. Stiles suddenly reaches out and grabs Scott's jacket shoulder. We all listen tentatively as we hear a distant growl, yet again, causing Allison to squeeze her eyes shut and turn her head. I step closer to the door, Stiles quickly grabs my wrist and guides me back behind him, arm spread out across my sternum. I watch as Lydia covers her mouth and Jackson's eyes grow bigger. When we all see a shadow come across the frosted window of the classroom door. Of all the times to freeze up and not have an idea, this is probably the worst time for that, Charli…

A few seconds after the shadow passes, we all let out a collective sigh. A creepy silence falls over the area. I gently take Stiles' arm and guide it back to his side, giving him a look to let him know that I'm okay so he could relax his body a bit.

Scott turns away from the door, quickly asking. "Jackson, how many people can fit in your car?"

"Five, if someone squeezes on someone's lap." He states. "The girls are small, so I think we could squeeze two people on laps." He continues.

Allison looks at him with complete disagreement with that statement. "Five? I barely fit in the back."

Stiles interjects. "It doesn't matter. There's no getting out without drawing attention."

Scott suddenly grabs Stiles and heads to the other side of the room to the teacher's desk. I follow them while Allison, Lydia and Jackson stay where they are.

"What about this? This leads to the roof. We can go down the fire escape to the parking lot in, like, seconds."

"That's a deadbolt." Stiles informs him on a whisper.

Scott sighs and looks down, until he gets an idea. "The janitor has a key."

I sigh, rubbing my forehead, then whisper loudly, "You mean his body has it."

Stiles starts shaking his head before Scott even looks at him. Scott reminds him in a lower whisper, "I can get it. I can find him by scent, by blood."

Stiles raises his eyebrows and gives Scott a pointed look. "Well gee, that sounds like an incredibly terrible idea. What else you got?" He asks sarcastically.

Scott looks between us. "I'm getting the key." He informs us a little too loudly.

Stiles and exchange the same bewildered look before turning to follow him. Okay, he has officially lost his mind.

Allison steps forward, meeting Scott as he walks over to her side of the room. "Are you serious?"

Scott shifts on his feet. "It's the best plan. Someone has to get the key if we wanna get out of here."

Allison grabs his arm and yells in a whisper, "You can't go out there unarmed."

He looks around and snatched up the chalkboard pointer with a plastic pointed finger to top it. He shakes it around to test it while all of just stare at him, not even remotely believing that he's serious. Stiles does the biggest eye roll I have ever seen anyone do.

"Well it's better than nothing!" He defends.

Allison and I, standing on opposite ends, both scoff as Stiles insists "There's gotta be something better."

I shake my head and move my eyes to where Allison is standing noticing the contents of the glass cupboard. I smirk and announce brightly “There is.”

Everyone turns to look in the direction of my pointed look, Stiles, as if it was in his nature, turns to give me his complete disbelief of my discovery. “What are we gonna do? Throw acid on him?”

I roll my eyes at him. “No, Stilinski. We’re gonna throw a fire bomb. In there, is everything you need to make a self igniting molotov cocktail.”

He gives me an impressed eyebrow raise, but still doesn't quite understand how to pronounce it. "Self igniting…"

"Mol--o--tov cocktail." Lydia repeats back to him like he's a three year old.

"Thank you." I tell Lydia with a small nod.

I smirk when he finally gets it. Everyone just stares at me like I'm speaking another language. "What? You guys think I just pulled my GPA outta my ass? Just trust me on this." I snap back.

Stiles looks at the cupboard and notices the lock. "We don't have a key for that either." He states.

Jackson rolls his eyes and elbows the glass out, making all of us stare at him with a deer in headlights look.

I make my way to the case and start grabbing chemicals that I need. Stiles and the others help by carrying what I can't and help me to a table. I pull my hair back, snap on some gloves and put on protective goggles. Safety first…

I start mixing chemicals together in a beaker. Without looking up, I see something I need by Jackson's hand. "Jackson, hand me the sulfuric acid."

He reaches over and hands me a bottle, which I pour into a funnel. I finish adding everything and remove the funnel, give everything one last good mix and then pop on the cork.

I reluctantly hand him the beaker. He takes it and I immediately look to Allison once she starts talking.

"No, no this is insane-- you can't do this. You cannot go out there." She insists.

"We can't just sit here and wait for Stiles' ad to check his messages." Scott points out.

"You could die. Don't you get that? He's killed three people." A tear escapes and runs down her cheek.

Scott replies with a sad expression, "And we're next." She just shakes her head at him. "Somebody has to do something." He continues.

As he heads to the door, she runs to him and stops him. "Scott, just stop. Do you remember-- do you remember when you told me you knew whether or not I was lying? That I had a tell?"

Scott nods silently. She continues. "Well so do you."

Scott takes his eyes away from hers and looks down to the ground as I move away while Allison keeps going “You're a horrible liar-- and you've been lying all night.”

I step closer to Scott. Jackson smirks at the last part. Fuck you.

“Just-- just please-- please don't go. Please don't leave us. Please.” She takes a breath after her begging and looks at Scott, while he looks away like he’s considering it.

He lifts his head and looks at Stiles and I, nodding his head at Stiles who returns the nod. Scott stears himself away from her and directs his next words to Stiles. “Lock it behind me.”

Before he can go, Allison pulls him back and kisses him passionately. My heart starts to break. If Scott was to die, I could never forgive myself. I'm bout to do some real dumb shit. Watch…

"Scott, wait…" I stop him in his tracks.

He looks back at me and I grab the light tube off the table behind me. "I'm coming with you."

Everyone's jaw just drops, including Scott's. I start walking towards Scott and Stiles runs over to me.

"Charli, you can't! You don't know what could happen!" Stiles argues.

"We're safer in numbers. Besides, someone's gotta look after Scott if anything was to happen." I tell him, grabbing Scott by the elbow and leading him to the door. Before we leave, I take off my necklace. A silver pendent necklace that was once my mother's and hand it to Stiles.

"Give this to my dad in case I don't come back. Tell him I'm sorry." I open the door and let Scott out first.

“Charli…” Stiles responds weakly. I look back at him.

"You don't need to be the hero, Charli." He tells me with tears filling his eyes, taking my hand. I look down at our connected hands, then back to him.

I get on my tippy toes and kiss his cheek lightly. His cheeks flush with a bright pink, we lock eyes for a moment. If I stare into his eyes any longer, I'm definitely not going anywhere.

I break our eye contact, let go of his hand, still leaving the necklace in his hold and leave with Scott. We wait until we hear the lock click behind us before we start moving. We both take a deep breath and start making our way to the janitor's body. We both walk on high alert. Scott with the Molotov cocktail in hand. Me holding the light tube like a bat. Both looking around, ready for whatever happens.

"Y'know you didn't have to come with me." Scott reminded me.

"I wasn't gonna let you become the Alpha's new chew toy alone, Scott. After all, we supernaturals have to stick together." I tell him with a slight smirk.

"Thank you." He tells me quietly.

"Don't thank me yet. We haven't even gotten to the keys, let alone fully survived the Alpha." I tell him, still on high alert.

It's silent for a moment until Scott speaks up again. "What was that that you gave Stiles before we left?" He asks.

I look at him for a moment, then turn my attention back to the hallway. "Something that was my mom's."

"Did you give it to him because you think we're gonna die?" His face is drenched in fear.

"I gave it to him in case something bad was to happen." I informed him.

"But do you think we're gonna die?" He asks.

"I don't think you're gonna die."

"But you think you will?"

I sigh and hesitate to answer. "The Alpha doesn't wanna kill you, just wants to recruit you. Me, however, I'm not a werewolf and our kind have been at war with each other for generations…"

He looks intently at me, hanging on every word I'm saying. "...The fact that he hasn't killed me yet is a miracle in itself."

"So why risk it?" He asks, surprised that I'd even do this.

"You ever hear 'sacrifice one life to save a million'?" I reply.

He looks at me with shock and confusion in his eyes, but I barely look at him and keep walking.

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We make our way through a pair of double doors leading to a set of stairs. We go down the stairs and go through another pair of doors. We walk through the hallway and make our way to the gym, never putting the light down, I follow Scott's lead. God, this place is even creepier at night.

"Check the bleachers." I whisper to him.

He goes and looks under the bleachers as I follow behind, watching every step we take so we don't trip. We continue down under them until I hear a creak of the wood. I look back behind me, only to see nothing. Scott looks back to me and whispers. "What is it?"

I look a little longer before shaking my head. "Nothing… thought I heard something."

We look forward again and start moving again. Something's not right… it's too quiet…

Scott suddenly stops. I'm quick to stop so I don't crash into him. "You sense it too?" I whisper.

"Yeah." He whispers back.

I start to feel sick to my stomach. I start smelling something familiar. I smell...blood. A drop falls onto Scott's face. He wipes it away, confused. We both look up. My mouth starts to get that watery feeling again. My body shivers and I start feeling hungry.

No! Not now! Please not here!

Scott gets closer to the body, examining it. "I see them!" He whispers excitedly.

I put the light tube through the belt loop on my left side as he quickly hands me the Molotov cocktail and starts climbing up the beams on the bleachers. He keeps reaching for them, barely grabbing them, even making them jingle when a whirring noise starts. We both watch as the bleachers start closing in.

"Scott, run!" I scream, heading to the closest exit to us.

I make it out and see that Scott is still there. I get closer and reach my hand in and scream again. "Scott!"

He jumps down and runs out, grabbing my hand as I pull him so hard, his feet don't even touch the ground and is practically gliding through the air. We fall to the floor, then look at the Alpha now slowly approaching us. We exchange petrified looks and raise to our feet as I take the light tube back in my hands. Scott and I both in a defensive stance.

"C'mon." Scott whispers.

I tighten my grip on the tube and am ready to strike. The Alpha speeds up, charging towards us when Scott throws the Molotov cocktail at it. The glass shatters into tiny bits, but no fire or explosion. The Alpha stops to shake off what just happened and charges us again.

"Dammit!" We both cry out.

We turn to run. As I'm halfway to the hallway, Scott is being dragged by the Alpha. I turn and scream for him. It continues to drag him by his foot and slide him across the floor. As it stands over him, I sprint over to them, light tube ready to swing.

"Yo! Fuzzball!" I call to the Alpha, making it look at me as I swing and hit the Alpha in its eyes.

Glass shards stuck in its face and eyes, it backs up, growling and howling in pain. Using one hand to cover it's face, it uses the other to swing across my body and send me flying across the floor, slamming into the doorway. I'm coming in and out of consciousness,a loud ringing in my ears, holding my head as it ached from hitting the door frame.

Through blurry vision, I see Scott running towards me and helping me up. He makes sure I'm steady on my feet. He's talking, but I can't hear over the ringing.

Suddenly, it stops. "Charli! Charli, can you hear me?" He asks, panicked.

I slowly nod my head. "We need to go, now!"

He grabs my hand, then falls to the floor, screaming and groaning in pain. I fall to my knees to tend to him as I can hear the Alpha's howl in the distance, but I can't trace from where.

"Scott? Scott, relax!" I tell him as he squirms on the ground and growls.

"Scott, focus on my voice! Don't focus on the pain!" I continue, trying to hold him down.

He throws me off. I land on my butt and go sliding across the floor again. He lifts his head up and growls loudly.

Scott?" I ask quietly, knowing exactly what was happening.

He looks at me. Eyes glowing gold. Wolf-like features. He stares me down and I start backing away while still on the ground as he creeps toward me, growling, snarling. My back hits the wall as he's just inches away from me. He jumps to attack, but I kick him in the face. He drops to his knees and whimpers and I make a B-line for the doors...

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@softpeteparker @mummybear @ficus-fig @stiles-o-dylan24 @cry-btch @inschi @wil2space @mrs-mitch-rapp93 @nicole-lynne @fullangelimagines @hufflepuff-foodie @pure-ghost @lavenderrosegoddess @blueraindrops @teenwolffan-with-nolife

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