#I need to practice my cursive handwriting though rip

[a-zif]

tumblr and pinterest aren't cutting it anymore i need an in character physical leather journal

[like-rain-or-confetti]

Family Secrets (Demetri Volturi x Reader)

WARNING: Dark themes mentioned!

For as long as you could remember, your mother was always a rigid woman. She was constantly tense. You used to believe it was because she worked so much to keep the two of you going but after some time, you had to wonder if it was just a personality trait. She didn't have friends, or people she considered friends specifically. Her focus was always on you, the house and her job. Your mother said she didn't have any family but you. She was disowned by her parents and had one sibling that also cast her out. She never told you why. She never told you anything about her life before you. Eventually you stopped asking because she wouldn't entertain the question and instead got more agitated with the more curious you had become as you grew up. 

The next common topic was your father, someone you wondered about since your earlier school days. You noticed the kids in your class with their parents. Mum's, dad's, mums and dads, two mum's and two dad's. All had more information about their family than you did. Your mother also didn't talk about your father. You knew you had one but your mum hadn't been in contact with him since she was pregnant with you. She gave no reason why, nor did she give any clue about who he was. He didn't matter, she had told you and that was the end if it.  However being the child you were, that only raised more questions. 

Things boiled over a few months, living most of your childhood in the dark about your family. The questions bouncing around in your head. That was until you discovered some old photos in your mother's room. 

You were almost taken aback, there were two pictures of your mother both in different angles. She wore a sundress and sun hat, her head tilted back mid laugh, looking at something out of frame. Behind her, out of focus was what looked like a large dark brown door. To the left a red smudge that could only be described as a person and many other smudges in the background. After a moment you recognised those smudges to be people, simply out of focus like the rest of the background. You couldn't help but stare at her brilliant smile. Your mother had always been a pretty woman but she never smiled as wide as she had in this picture. Not that you could remember anyway. The woman was younger, identical yet completely different in nature. The mother you knew was very reserved, never having a smile that showed her teeth and practically lived in business suits with heels. Even a small smile from her had to be earned with good reason. You felt a pang in your chest, knowing that this version of your mother was long gone. Even more so, this was the person she wanted to hide you from so much. The other photograph had a what simply looked to be the wall of what you could only assume was the same building and people passing by in the background. Suddenly the photographs were ripped from your hands. You let out a startled cry as your mother looked at you with a fury you had never seen before. "I raised you better than to go through people's belongings!" She snapped. "But I-" You quickly discovered there was no room for excuses. "Go to your room!" You couldn't understand what made her so angry about those photographs but you didn't dare argue, the subject immediately dropped the next day. 

It wasn't long until there was bigger worries. It started off with small but odd symptoms. Until they became so frequent that they couldn't be ignored. A doctor's appointment turned into many. The doctors appointments moved to hospital appointments and that was when everything went very wrong. 

Your mother's illness was very aggressive so much so you had been forced to face the fact that you thought she'd be around for many decades yet, you woke up one morning to the fact that she only had months left. She eventually stopped working and had a couple of appointments with lawyers. It didn't take long for you to figure out why such meetings were happening. It became clear that any well moment she had, she was tying up loose ends. The house would be taken care of, as well as her burial, her money going to you in inheritance.  However there was one thing that you refused to think about and she struggled to bring up. An even further harsh reality that not everything could be fixed. You were still young. Whilst late teens, you were still regarded a child. You had no other family to live with or contact, it was more than likely that you'd be put into the foster system for at least a year and then be left to figure it out on your own. Secretly you couldn't help but feel anger towards your mother for that. This is what happens! You would think to yourself internally. This is what happens when kids don't have family! 

As time went on, hospital appointments became admissions. That was when you had to start packing some things for her and that was when you found even more things. Your brow furrowed to find some old letters, they weren’t recent. You could tell by their condition but they weren’t dated. You quickly skimmed the letter, this was someone your mother was romantically involved with. That was clear but who it was from wasn’t so clear. There had been no mention of you and the more you read the more apparent it became that this letter as well as the others were older than you. All were written and initialed by the same person. ‘D.V.’ 

You didn’t know anyone by those initials and to your recollection, neither did your mother. Or at least that’s what you thought. It made you wonder if you knew your mother at all. You kept your discovery a secret. You didn’t even know what you were looking at after all, some of the writing, you couldn't understand. This person’s handwriting was elegant and neat and in complete cursive. You’d have to sit down properly and read them to try and understand what had been written. 

After a couple of nights studying these letters you found nothing. They weren’t important, love letters that provided no context. Your thoughts drifted to your mother. She was weaker now, curled up in her hospital bed in Forks. Although she was just as grim as always.You wondered if you should tell her what you discovered, be honest about your discovery. You pictured her in the same spot you left her on that bed, night fall outside with blue-ish lights in various sections of the room. She preferred to be alone and luckily she was given her own room. Although you wondered if it wasn’t so much lucky as it was a favour for other patients. People who were dying weren’t usually in wards, they were in private rooms. Dying peacefully and out of sight for some dignity. It was hard to picture that she could be one of those people, but it was a reality you had to face. Even if with everyday, you waited to hear from doctors when she got to go home. However, all they ever told you in gracious terms was that those chances got slimmer each passing day. You imagined a doctor entering with a warm smile, a smile beyond his years as well as his wisdom.  “You’re working the night shift tonight?” Your mother would ask him.  “Yes, Ms (L/N).” The doctor would nod, his appearance and his voice being something of an angel. “I’m here to check up on you. How are you feeling today?”  “Like a useless bag of bones,” Your mother would mutter. “useless.”  "You are most certainly not useless." The doctor would smile with sad eyes yet a twinkle would still resonate, as though he knew this to be fact. "You're a mother after all." She nodded. "They won't need me anymore. They're grown up."  "My wife likes to believe our children, no matter how old, will always be children." Your mothers mouth twisted. "She is correct, Doctor. We would do anything for our children." She seemed distracted almost immediately. “Would you turn on the TV?” 

You blinked, shaking the thought away before checking your watch. Ten o’clock. You called it a night, watching a movie before bed. The next you, you began your routine, getting ready, making sure the house was in order before finally collecting some things to leave for the hospital. The place almost becoming a second home. 

As you arrived, you found your mother reading a book, noting it to be one of her favourites. She enjoyed books about travelling to far away places, even a few romances about someone meeting the love of their life in a foreign place. She looked up at you, marking her page before placing it at her bedside.  “Hello, did you sleep well?” She asked.  “Hey.” You smiled at her. “Yeah, I didn’t seem to notice the silence as much this time.” You struggled to feel completely comfortable in that house. You hadn’t wanted to leave your previous house and so moving to your current one left you with a sour expression and a nasty attitude. You had always told yourself you moved for her, rather than because you didn’t have a choice. Although you hadn’t realised that mindset would backfire. The house didn’t feel like home and now that your mother had been in hospital for some time, you felt that you were intruding.  “That’s good.” She nodded, looking a little more peaceful. “Very good.”  “Can I ask you something?” You asked hesitantly and she hummed in confirmation as you took a seat at her bedside. “When I was packing you another bag the another night, I found some old letters.” Her brow furrowed slightly. “They were rather personal.” You added. “Signed by a ‘D.V.’? Your mother sighed with a frustrated eye roll. ”I...who is that?” You asked.  “No one worth while. Back then when I knew that person, I was young and stupid.”  “So why do you still have them?”  “I don’t know!” She snapped. “They aren’t important!” 

A knock at the door interrupted your conversation. You were startled to see who had walked in the door. A man with blonde slicked back hair, pale skin and gold eyes entered. You must have seen him passing by before as it was the same doctor you had imagined as a scenario in your head last night. You couldn’t help but look mildly confused.  “Ms (L/N).” The doctor nodded to your mother.  “Dr Cullen.” She greeted him in response. Your eyes shifted between him and your mother in confusion.  “This is (Y/N).” Your mother nodded at you.  “Ah, hello there (Y/N). I haven’t seen you since you were a baby, forgive me for not recognising you.” Dr Cullen smiled, reaching out his hand for a handshake. You reciprocated the motion. “Please, call me Carlisle.”  “Nice to meet you.” You said quietly, unable to shake off his statement. He had said that he hadn’t seen you since you were a baby but he looked younger than your mother and barely ten years older than yourself. Whilst it was possible mathematically, you couldn’t help but find something a little off about it. Then again it would have made sense that he was a kid at the time. With that, you shrugged it off.  “I’m taking over your mothers case.”  “Oh, okay.” You nodded. “Is that allowed? If, uh, you know-”  “(Y/N), Carlisle is an old friend who I havent seen in years. There is no rule against him treating me. The circumstances call for it.” Your mother said slightly exasperated. That last line stuck with you.  “What circumstances exactly?”  “I’m more ideal for your mothers case.” Carlisle said quickly. “It’s more of my field that the previous doctor, especially with your mothers condition.”  “Oh...okay.” You nodded. ”Tell me, have the two of you discussed (Y/N)’s next steps after all of this?” Carlisle took out a pen and began rummaging into a locked cabinet behind him. He pulled out a folder with your mothers name on it.  “Not exactly.” Your mother answered. Carlisle looked over at her. “Well, have you given much thought of where you’d want them to be?”  “I have given it a lot of thought, but I don’t have much options.”  “Well is there a relative (Y/N) could stay with or you’d consider?”  “It’s just us.” You said quietly, your eyes flickering to Carlisle.  “I don’t want them put in the system but i’m not in contact with my family. I don’t have friends that I could ever ask such a thing as to take guardianship of my child.” Your mother sighed. Carlisle paused before looking over at your mother. “Would it be possible to get back in touch with these relatives?” Your mother stiffened before shaking her head with a clenched jaw. “No. I cut all contact. I’d rather it was that way.” You noticed the look your mother and Carlisle gave each other, almost like a silent conversation. Or more so a one-sided argument if you knew your mother. Carlisle trying to get through to your mother whilst your mother stubbornly refused with a sour expression.  “Well, i’d have to begin the paperwork on (Y/N)’s situation for social services immediately.” Carlisle looked almost saddened and your mother shifted in discomfort.  “(Y/N), would you bring me some tea?” Your mother asked and you slowly nodded, before digging into your bag for some money. 

After you had left, your mother spoke up breaking the silence. “They don’t know Carlisle.”  “I understand but they will need to know.”  “How would I tell them?” She snapped. “Vampires were the monsters under their bed for so long, friends with the boogeyman and werewolves. You expect me to tell them they’re half vampire and who their father is?”  “He could take care of them.” Carlisle said quietly.  “You don’t know that. That place isn’t a place to raise anyone! They’re strangers!”  “I can give you my word that they’ll always have a home with me.” Carlisle assured her.  “Whilst I live and breathe, (Y/N) will never know.” Your mother insisted.

Weeks passed and eventually so did your mother. You felt lost. Still without answers and now with nowhere to go. You couldn't help but wonder what would happen to you now. Your mother never told you. After that day, your mother assured you that you wouldn't have to worry about it. She had taken care of it. You just had to trust her. 

Carlisle had been around almost everyday since you had first met and even his wife Esme wanted to meet you when she discovered you were in the hospital visiting your mother. Esme greeted your mother like an old friend a warm smile graving her perfect features. She was clearly very caring and nurturing. Your mother seemed to appreciate that and hesitantly welcomed it. That was very out of character for your mother...at least in your eyes. You had a lot of questions when you discovered that no longer would you be going into the system. Somehow Carlisle and his wife arranged for you to be staying with them. At some point your mother had agreed to this. However, you couldn't figure out how they had done so. They weren't adopting you. That much you gathered but once again you were only left with more questions. 

The Cullen's were a strange bunch. All had gold eyes, which you weren't sure was even probable to be adopting so many kids who had matching bizarre eye colours. All but one. A girl called Renesmee, 'Nessie' for short. You couldn't help but stifle a laugh and she too seemed to get amusement out of it. She looked to be the same age as you. Then it got confusing. One of the kids, Bella, married into the family and had a biological child with Edward, who was Nessie. Yet all looked to be in their late teens, barely two years older than you and Nessie.  Another being, Emmett spoke about your mother as if he too also knew her a long time ago. The family as a whole didn't make sense yet none were willing to clear anything up for you. Somehow they were more secretive than your mother had ever been. However, they did an excellent job at keeping you calm about it. 

Carlisle took some time off from the hospital to help you settle in. He understood this was a big jump for you and a very difficult time. Carlisle had been the most familiar part of your day and he wanted to be there just as he had been prior to your mother's passing. You decided to give Carlisle some peace in his office. 

You moved to the kitchen to see Esme chopping vegetables. She looked up with a bright warm smile. "Hello, (Y/N)." "Hi, Esme." You returned her smile somewhat shyly. "What are you making?" "Renesmee is craving some vegetable soup. I'm thinking it's the time of year." Esme responded, her smile never faltering. If anyone appreciated your efforts, it was Esme. She had immediately wanted to reassure you when you had first come to stay with them. Her words stuck with you. "I know it was just you and your mother before. Living with such a large family must be very different. We'll do our best to make sure you're comfortable here. You're a part of the family now." 

Ever since you had tried to be a part of the family, rather than the outsider- as much as you wanted to hide away in your room that you had to share with Renesmee. Esme was the first to notice and she was more than encouraging. She noted the tiny details such as you no longer lingering in the kitchen doorway and now willing to approach her, just as you did to get a closer look at the pot.  "It is getting colder." You nodded. "It could be the change of weather." "I agree." Esme responded. "Would you like to help?" You thought about it. "I don't know if I can be much help." You said meekly. "I, uh, wasn't allowed near knives a lot of the time with my mum." 

You expected Esme to be confused but instead a flash of recognition rushed over her face before her usual smile. "Well, they are dangerous." Esme responded. "Here. I'll show you." "Really?" Your eyes lit up. Your mother never had time for things like this so to have Esme offer was a surprise. "Of course!" She stepped to the side, gesturing for you to stand beside her as she reached for another knife. "I'll get you to cut these." Esme put some newly washed leeks on the chopping board in front of you. You picked up the knife and Esme immediately advised you. "Put this hand on the leeks but tuck your fingers in like this, it's safer." You copied her. "Like this?" "Yes." She praised. "You hold the knife like this." She showed you where she positioned her fingers around the knifes handle. You followed suit. "That's it." You couldn't help but smile as you cut into the leek. "Well done! Those are excellent size of pieces too." Esme praised with a small grin, like a proud mother. 

You and Esme kept conversation going. Suddenly you squeaked, the knife dropping onto the cutting board with a clatter. You immediately covered your thumb. Esme however remained calm, even offering a comforting smile. "Not to worry, it doesn't look too bad." You put your bleeding thumb to your mouth before recoiling sharply. Your mother's scolding returning to your mind. Her eyes always widened before she'd swat your hand away from your mouth, demanding you didn't do it. She never told you why she was to against you doing it. She did it herself. All she would say is that it's disgusting. Esme, on the other hand, said nothing about it simply taking your hand and leading you to the sink to run it under some cold water. "It was bound to happen." She said simply. "Renesmee has done it plenty of times. She can be as clumsy as her mother used to be at times." "Someone can stop being clumsy?" You looked over at Esme who seemed to ponder the question. "Hm, perhaps that's poor phrasing. Bella still has her stumbles ever now and then but back when we first met her...?" Esme trailed off, giggling. "Bella fell many times. She got a paper cut from a birthday gift from Alice, you know." "Really?" You cracked an amused smile. Esme nodded. "Yes. Cut it on the corner of her gift, the wrapping paper no less." Esme chuckled to herself. "It drove Edward wild." She continued. "He was always so worried about her. Even now, he'll still forget how capable she is." "Never underestimate a woman." You smirked and Esme grinned. "Indeed." "Was it just paranoia or did he have reason to be worried?" Esme's smile faltered, as though remembering something bad. "Sometimes he had reason..." Her smile returned quickly. "Although mostly he was worrying over nothing." She said almost as though assuring you.  However, your mind latched to her hesitation. "I'm sorry, I ask a lot of questions. I didn't mean to bring up bad memories." You apologised. "Never be afraid to ask questions in this house. It's a good thing. You're clever. I know you have a lot of questions." You said nothing as she continued. "I can't give you all the answers right now but I promise you will get them." "Can I ask some right now?" "I'll do my best to answer them." She nodded. "How did you know my mum and how did you know me? She never mentioned you." Esme pondered the question. "I can tell you how we met you?" Esme offered and you nodded frantically. "Although I can't go into every detail. Just know you'll know soon enough." You nodded in response.. "We met your mother when she was young, before she had you and she loved to travel. She had begun to see the magnificent things about the world and was eager for more. After a year, she returned one night at our doorstep. She was scared and had a baby in her arms. We helped her get back on her feet but by the time you were weeks old she insisted that she could do things on her own and since then she had moved around. Carlisle took her case, recognising her name.” "Do you know who my dad is?" You asked hurriedly and Esme stiffened. "Yes. Your mother told us that night. We know him but not on a personal level.” You wanted to know more but before you could ask, Esme put a hand on top of yours. "That's all I can tell you, right now but you will know everything soon. If you want to." 

Renesmee flopped onto her bed with a huff mumbling into the covers about being tired. "You and me both." You stretched. It had been two days since you had last slept. You had always struggled with sleeping every night and no amount of doctors appointments seemed to help. Your mother eventually gave in, assuring you it was fine and perhaps you were just different that way. However she made you promise you'd keep that to herself. That was until you started living with the Cullen's however. You noticed that the Cullen's seemed to be the same and even more so, Renesmee also only slept a couple days at a time. The two of you bonded over that. 

"Sometimes I just feel like I'm different from everyone else." You had once told her. "We are." She responded brightly. "We're rare." "What?" You laughed. "How do you know!?" "I just do!" She grinned. "Oh Renesmee..." You sighed after your laughter died down. "You talk so much crap sometimes." Her laughter roared back to life and she pushed you. You nearly fell off her bed in the process only making the two of you laugh harder. "You are though." Renesmee said finally, rolling into her side to face you. "You just don't know it yet." You sighed. "I mean it." She insisted. "You and I are more alike than you think. We're rare. You'll see." She rolled back onto her back, a moment of silence filling the room. "We're so cool." She finished and you scoffed with a giggle. 

 A few days later, you were with Carlisle in his office. You asked if you could sit with him, enjoying the peace. Somehow by design, the office was away from the house. You found that most weren't built that way. Carlisle agreed and you watched as he wrote in the same cursive writing that those letters had before. You thought about your time with the Cullen's. In the strangest way, they had their oddities and secrets. The secrets you had grown accustomed to thanks to your mother but the oddities bugged you. You never saw them eat, they'd leave every week for one night leaving only you and Renesmee. They never went to bed before you and we're always awake before you. They grew worried about the sunlight on the days it threatened to break through the grey clouds. Their eyes changed colour. Something about them free you closer and that tempted you to tell a secret you had never told anyone. 

"Carlisle, can I talk to you about something?" You asked your eyes peeling away from his writing and rising to his face. He paused, looking up at you. "Of course. Is something wrong?" "No, I- uh... I've never told anyone this, not even my mum. I feel like I can trust you with this and that you won't think i’m...weird." You admitted. Carlisle smiled at you. "I'm good with 'weird' individuals. You tend to find that they're truly magnificent. Go ahead." You shifted in your seat. "I don't know if it's some dumb teenage thing but...I think I'm different from other kids my age." "In what way?" Carlisle asked seemingly intrigued, putting down his pen and resting his head on his hand. "I dunno, I just the feeling...it was little things." "It's alright." Carlisle reassured you. "I'm here to help." You leaned forward slightly. "So, when I was little, I fell off a balcony. Fourteen foot drop and I felt the pain, tried to get up but my left leg gave out on me. I remember my mother screaming that I had broken my leg. She took me to a hospital, by the time I arrived, I felt better. My X-rays came back saying I was absolutely fine. I thought I had super powers, I fixed my broken leg. After that my mother insisted to the doctor's she never said a 'fourteen foot drop'. She said I fell at a 'four feet drop'. She took me there because of how awkwardly I landed and was concerned about my leg." Slowly you shook your head. "I remember that day like it was yesterday. I remember perfectly what she said and I remember where I fell. It was fourteen feet. " You took a breath. "I remember every birthday, every Christmas and every miniscule minute in between." You continued. "I don't sleep every night. I don't get tired like everyone else. I always heard things others couldn't." You swallowed, leaning back in your chair. "My mother lied to so many people about events in my life and I don't understand why. Most of all, I don't understand why I feel so different from others. Like an imposter but even I don't know what lies underneath." 

You looked at your lap momentarily before lifting your gaze to examine Carlisle's expression. He didn't look appalled or uncomfortable, in fact he looked exactly the opposite. Perhaps he heard this sort of thing every day. "Am I crazy?" You asked lightly. Carlisle shook his head. "No, not at all. As a matter of fact, I believe you're very intelligent. You pick up smaller details that others don't. You're seeing the pieces of a puzzle and are trying to out them together. However, you haven't seen the full picture. So how can you really know what you're looking at?" Carlisle continued. "I can help you. I can answer all of these questions but once I do, your life will be changed forever. It can't be ignored and whatever you wish to do with the information I give you. I want to support you with. Are you prepared for that?" You nodded. 

Carlisle moved to a sofa and gestured for you to sit beside him. "This is a long story and I need to keep an open mind and listen to all of it first." You nodded. "We knew your mother through a group of individuals. She had just finished her studies and was travelling the world with her friends. She wanted to go everywhere and anywhere. She was young and wanted to see everything, now that she was free from responsibilities. She went to Volterra, Italy." You remembered the photographs you saw of her smiling, looking at something out of frame, mid laugh. "They wanted to see the castle there." Carlisle quickly dug out a box and inside were the same pictures you had discovered. He had stored them away for you, no questions asked. He pointed to one. "This is the fountain outside of the castle and in the background you can see blurred figures. Cameras weren't the best back then but this is a line of tourists to go and see inside the castle. He pointed to a particular red blur. "It is beyond likely that we know who this is. A woman named Heidi. She's a part of a group called the Volturi." You soon noticed he had photos that you hadn't seen before. The third was one that was definitely of the same day and time. Another angle, minutes before or after the previous two. However, the tourist line was more clearer behind your mother in this shot. This 'Heidi' was in a red tight dress with high heels and her brown curled hair framed her perfect face. Your eyes narrowed, noticing that this 'Heidi' was looking directly at your mother. "Heidi offered your mother and her friends a tour, free of charge." Your mother never took free samples, she would always pull you away, looking unnerved by anyone who offered anything free. Carlisle sighed, as though struggling to find the right words. "Your mother's life changed that day. She, like, many other humans never believed in monsters but she learned they can be very real and they aren't under the bed. The group, as I mentioned, are known as the Volturi. They're almost royalty in our kind...the vampire world." Your eyes narrowed. "Let me finish. It sounds bizarre right now but you need to hear everything to understand." Carlisle reminded you and you nodded, pushing back your building questions. "Those tours are organised for that group to feed upon humans and that day, your mother was the only one who survived. She had watched her friends and strangers from all walks of life be murdered. She was given a choice, she could live and do what was asked of her with no questions, or she could die with the others. She was young and would have done anything to live, like everyone else and so she agreed. Your mother met a man named Demetri. He too was a part of the Volturi- a vampire. Your mother was very drawn to him and the two of them spend more time together." Carlisle tilted his head. "They were in love." "D.V..." you whispered under your breath, remembering the letters. Carlisle nodded. "An old friend of mine, Aro, is the leader of the Volturi. One of three. He took interest in my grand daughter after she was born." Your face scrunched up in disgust and Carlisle chuckled. "Not like that. You'll understand, you're doing well." Carlisle continued. "He wanted to learn more about what she is but due to our history with the Volturi, we'd never allow him near her. Renesmee was a child, not an experiment. So he wanted one to study. Demetri was selected to help create one...and Demetri chose your mother. Which is why she lived." You trembled slightly but continued to listen which Carlisle seemed to appreciate. "Your mother didn't know Aro's plan and had grown very attached to Demetri, soon enough she was pregnant. By then, she found out her purpose. She didn't want her child to be studied, no matter what it originated from. So when she gave birth, it was a miracle she survived. Whether it was preparation or luck, no one knew. She took the baby and fled. By then Aro had grown bored of the idea and didn't come after her. Neither did Demetri. Months had passed and she was on my doorstep holding a baby and begging for my help. The rest you know." Carlisle took your hands in his. "Renesmee was born to Bella and Edward. She is half human and half vampire. Bella gave birth to her whilst still human and my family and I are all vampires. We don't feed on humans, we've never condoned it. That's not our way of life. We feed on animals, 'vegetarians' if you will. We don't sleep, every week we leave you and Renesmee to hunt. Renesmee was the first hybrid the Volturi had ever seen and Aro wanted to know more about how similar they are to vampires. I think you know where I'm going with this."  "We're rare, you and I!" You remembered Renesmee words from that night. "The baby..." You mumbled and Carlisle nodded giving your hands a light squeeze. "You did have super powers that fixed your legs. Vampire venom is quick to heal injuries. Injuries you and Renesmee are more susceptible to be because you are still half human. You moved constantly because you aren't entirely human. However there has been many differences with hybrids. Another Hybrid Nahuel was fully matured after seven years since birth. Renesmee grew very fast, and at this rate will be fully matured in a matter of months. She's taken a little longer than Nahuel. You however, have taken even longer than her. Her growth is double yours." Carlisle looked at your expression. "You were three years old but had the intelligence of a five year old. You've been moved schools and home so many times as to avoid suspicion, never staying long enough for anyone to notice why you suddenly looked to be eight within a matter of a year. These things aren't patterns. Renesmee showed me that. Sometimes your growth will be very fast and other times it'll be slower. Vampires don't age and can only die by fire. Your mother told me before she passed that she was worried you had already stopped aging. It's possible and you need to know that." "What?" You managed out quietly. "Think about it, (Y/N). It's been three years and you look exactly the same." Carlisle answered. You were taken aback that your mother had mentioned that to Carlisle. "You don't feel right around the other children because you aren't like other children." "Why would my mother hide this from me?" You asked finally. "I think she wanted to give you something that in the end, you can't have. A normal human life. She wanted that for you but...your biology, could never allow that. Do you understand?"  You remembered all the times your mother would look alarmed and swat your hand away from any paper cuts and you must have had said it out loud because Carlisle answered you. "I think she was worried you'd enjoy blood. I can't say I agreed with her methods, (Y/N). Suppressing instincts is never good for someone. However she didn't want you to have anything other than normality. I think it's important that you know that nothing your mother did, keeping this from you, would hurt you. You can survive on blood just as you can on human food but she couldn't account for the aging. I'm so sorry you had to find out this way. However, in the end...she didn't want you to be alone." 

You took a week to process what you had been told. Everything had changed just as predicted. Yet in the same way, it didn't seem to change your feelings for the Cullen's- only reinforce them. 

Finally, you approached Carlisle again. "Can you tell me more? About the Volturi? About the vampire world?" "I can, but might I ask why?" Carlisle answered.  "...do you think I could contact him? My dad?" You didn't realise how big an ask that was until Carlisle talk you through with it. Although he reminded you of his promise. He'd support you with anything you wanted to do with the information he gave you. If you wanted to contact Demetri, then he'd help you do that. 

Within five days, the Cullen's had a visitor. You opened the door to see a boy with shockingly red eyes, dark hair and wearing all black. Around his neck was a good crest, with rubies and in the shape of a 'V'. His eyes stared into yours with an empty gaze, he said nothing. "Hi?" You furrowed your brow, slightly unsettled before Carlisle stepped around you. "Ah, Alec. It's good to see you again. Please, come in." "Carlisle." 'Alec' nodded to Carlisle before stepping inside. You blinked and Alec suddenly sniffed once. "Smells like the other one." He said quietly and walked away from you. You looked to Carlisle sharply in alarm but his look told you not to worry about it. "(Y/N), this is Alec. He's one of the Volturi guards." Carlisle said, putting a hand on your back and guiding you to follow Alec into the living room. "Alec, this is (Y/N). Who you've been expecting to meet." You inhaled sharply as Alec was in front of your face in seconds. Whilst the Cullen's were wary of scaring you, their speed was limited around you. However, Alec didn't seem to care if he scared you or not. 

"You're age development is rather confusing." Alec most certainly didn't talk like others his age. Dared you say it, he was even worse than you. He'd stick out like a beacon. "Last I saw you, you were only a baby. A newborn." Alec said mostly to himself. "You aren't the first to say that." You replied. His eyes moved to yours with a piercing gaze. "So if you're Alec then you're not-" "Your father?" Alec interrupted and tilted his head and a small but very condescending smirk. "No." 

After a moment of silence Alec turned to you. "I've to meet you and then report back to Aro. That's all you need to know." Alec said flatly. Without warning, Alec grabbed your jaw within one hand, tilting your head to the side. "Hearing?" "Slightly higher than human range." Carlisle responded as you blinked. "Sight?" Alec asked. "Above human range." Carlisle responded again. "Smell?" "Human range." "Strength?" Alec enquired. "Above human range but no where as good as a vampire." Carlisle answered. "Speed?" "Above human...we learned that recently." Carlisle looked at you. 

You immediately remembered the time Emmett was chasing you. Your mother never allowed you to fun as fast as you could. The punishment was strict. However since her passing and staying with the Cullen's, you had began to relax and allow yourself to do those things, with the encouragement of the Cullen's. "Diet?" "Human food. We haven't introduced them to a blood diet yet." You shivered at the thought but couldn't help the creeping curiosity. Perhaps that was the vampire in you. "Intelligence?" Alec asked. "Highly." Carlisle smiled at you like a proud parent would. Alec seemed to catch this and stifled the urge to roll his eyes. "Behaviour?" "Well behaved." Carlisle said instantly. "Are they able to control themselves? Emotionally and such?"  "Yes." Carlisle responded. "How much do they know of our kind?" "They're learning." Carlisle retorted. "I see." Alec hummed. "Any gifts?" He asked after a moment of silence. Carlisle shook his head "None we've been made aware of." Alec nodded, seemingly satisfied. "I'll report this back to Aro. We'll be in touch." 

"(Y/N)?" Carlisle peeked into your room with a smile. "I thought you'd like to know the Volturi have contacted us. They'd like to meet you. Demetri included, of course." Your heart pounded. "My dad...wants to meet me?" Carlisle nodded with a warm smile. "It's your decision, if you so wish it. They're more than happy to accommodate you. Demetri is eager to see you again and they're pleased with the information we gave. We'd have to give them a some time to prepare for you. They're awaiting your response." Renesmee grinned at you in glee. You slowly nodded. "Yeah, I'd like to meet them."  Carlisle nodded. "Not a problem, I'll arrange the details with Aro." Just like that, Carlisle turned away. You turned to Renesmee, mostly in shock. She smiled brightly at you. "This is great!" 

Two weeks later, you landed in Italy. Taking a plane yourself was a new experience but your nerves were too busy with the prospect of meeting your father. Outside the airport you were met by Alec, this time with a blonde girl. "Hey Alec." You said and Alec nodded at you. "Hello again, (Y/N). This is my sister, Jane." He gestured to the blonde girl. Both wore stoic expressions that were horrifying. Their hoods were up. Instead of a cloak, they each wore hoodies and their hands were stuffed into the pockets, not a single bit of skin exposed. "Nice to meet you." You said to Jane. "Likewise." She said quietly, with an innocent tone. However their bright red eyes said otherwise. "This way." The two turned towards a black car. "Afton is driving us. He isn't one for conversation, don't take it personally if he ignores you." Alec turned to you. You nodded. "Got it." You paused. "My stuff?" "We've already got it." Alec responded. "We can't afford delay." You nodded. "Thanks." 

A man with black hair rose to a stand with a gasp and a grin of glee. "Ah! You must be our dear (Y/N)! My, how you've grown!" He hurried down the steps are towards you briskly as Alec and his sister moved to stand at the corner of the room. "Finally, I get to put a face to all the wonderful things I've heard about you." He reached out for you and by instinct you took his hand. You though he was going for a handshake but instead he turned your hand, encasing it within his own, his other moving to trap your hand in place as he hunched over slightly. He looked down at your hands before looking up to meet your eyes. "My name is Aro." So this was Aro. One of the three leaders of the Volturi and an old friend of Carlisle's. If anything he was the boss of the whole Volturi coven and guard. "Brothers! Come and see our little hybrid! They won't remember us!" The blonde and dark haired man who remained on their thrones stood up and walked towards you, although much slower and slightly less enthusiastic. All the while you really hoped that nickname wouldn't stick. 

"The resemblance of Demetri...it's quite surprising." Aro said to himself in awe. "Perhaps the vampires have the dominant gene." The blonde responded, sparing Aro a glance who dropped your hand as to watch the exchange. "My name is Caius." The blonde began. "Our sincerest apologies if this is uncomfortable. For us, it has been a blink of an eye. You were only a baby at the time we last saw you." "You were the last of us to hold them, brother!" Aro spoke up. "Indeed." The blonde agreed. 

You were surprised to hear the leaders had held you. With Caius' piercing stare, you were surprised you didn't have nightmare for the rest of your life. "Last but not least, this is Marcus!" Aro grinned gesturing to the dark haired man beside him. "It's a joy to see you again, little one. You have our condolences about your mother." Marcus' voice was move gravely, ad though he hadn't spoken for a while. A pang hit your chest and you nodded. "Thank you. It's a pleasure to meet you all." "There will be plenty of time for questions and answers. However I do believe there is a more pressing matter." Aro smiled knowingly. "Indeed." Caius raised an eyebrow. "Jane! Send for Demetri! He has been waiting so long!" Aro announced. "Yes, master." Jane nodded before she was gone in a flash. 

You knew it was him as soon as he entered. His eyes locked on you instantly as he froze. You heard yourself exhale, silence filling the room, only the sound of your breathing. Although you were sure everyone else could hear your racing heartbeat. The blonde stranger slowly moved towards you. Almost as though frightened every step he took would cause you to shatter before him. His eyes were a dark red, wide and unblinking. As though he didn't dare. For you, this was the first meeting but for him...it had been years and each one seemed to pain him. The blonde before you was clearly emotional just by the sight of you. Just as he was a few feet away from you, he spoke. It was almost a whisper. You almost didn't catch it. “Il mio bambino...” You had no clue what that meant but you couldn't find the ability to ask. You couldn't find the ability to speak at all, a lump in your throat. Emotions arose within Demetri quickly. This time, his words louder and directed towards you. "I thought I'd never hear your heartbeat ever again." You looked down at your chest before looking back at up at him. Demetri's hands moved to cover his mouth. "Oh that wonderful sound." You were taken aback at how attached he had been to the sound of your heartbeat. Your heart ached for him. So you did what you thought unthinkable. You moved forward and closed the space, wrapping your arms around him into a hug. He gasped in surprise, uncertain what to do at first. You felt tears build up in your eyes. "I found you." You whispered, mostly to yourself. "Yes, you did." You felt his arms wind around you, holding you to him. “Il mio bambino...” He said again. You held him tighter as you felt a tear run down your face. 

From that moment on, Demetri wanted to know every little thing about you. No detail was dismissed. You realised during that time that Demetri had never heard you talk so naturally he’d want to listen to you talk about anything. He was eager to know every tiny little detail and spent hours finding out, with a sudden interest in everything you had ever done.Although some details about how you lived saddened him, he never explained why. You had speculations why. Your mother spent your whole childhood trying to suppress any part of him within you. 

Whilst caught in a daydream, you felt a hand ruffle your hair. You jumped in surprise looking behind you to see a very amused Felix. "Look sharp, little one. The world is a hungry place.” Demetri rolled his eyes. “Not in here, they couldn’t be safer.” Felix raised an eyebrow. “Even with Alec sitting across from them?” You scoffed, standing up and grabbing your now empty glass. “Yeah, okay.” You said unconvinced. After pouring yourself another glass of water, you turned and reeled back. A black mist, like an tendril hovering inches from your face.  “Alec.” Demetri narrowed his eyes in warning. Alec retracted his mist with a cold expression.  “See?” Felix pursed his lips. "He...he wouldn't." You said shakily. Alec turned his head from his seat, his red eyes boring into yours. "Go on, underestimate me. Entertain me." Your eyes widened in fear. His face was void of emotion but his stare was piercing. Your eyes fell to the floor, visibly backing down from him. "Next time I won't be so forgiving." Alec said coldly. 

Suddenly a hand slammed against the table before Alec making him look up. Demetri stared down at him coldly with a low growl. "I won't tolerate anyone threatening my child, that includes you, Alec. Warn them if you must but threaten them and then the line will be crossed." "You should teach your child to know better then, shouldn't you?" Alec glared up at Demetri. "They haven't been here long enough to know.. but you have." Demetri leaned forward. "You know I tend to leave you and your sister be. So the least you could do is have some patience for (Y/N). I'd hate for you and I to have a problem, Alec." Alec growled in response but seemed to take in his words, leaning back in his chair. "Fine." He said simply. "I'll do my best to be... accommodating." 

You jumped slightly when Demetri peeked into your room, knocking twice. "Are you busy?" You closed your book with a quick shake of your head and a smile. "What's up?" Demetri paused as if not entirely understanding what you mean but continuing nonetheless. "Felix and I have some jobs to do and I would appreciate your help?" You looked surprised by Demetri's response and he smiled in amusement. "It'll be a test of strength too." "A test?" You asked, moving towards him with intrigue. "You'll see." He smirked. "Alright, let me get my shoes." The curiosity had already consumed you and made you unable to refuse the request. He led you down many sets of stairs and corridors. Finally leading you to a room that looked older and more run down than the rest of the castle. 

Felix grinned at you immediately. "Hey, kiddo!" Felix greeted. "What are we doing in here?" You asked, taking a look around the room. "Well, this room will be redecorated as well as the one next door. We've got to break down all the furniture...and some of these walls." "Alright but...there's no tools here." Felix snorted. "What?" You asked. "You're adorable." Felix smirked in response before pulling out a drawer. Like it was nothing he pulled the backing of the drawer off, tossing it behind him, then the sides and finally ripping off the handle. Your jaw dropped at the sight before you turned to your father. He smiled at you. "Over the past couple of days, ive been noticing that you could be stronger than originally thought. So, let's test that theory." 

The two led you to a coffee table before tipping it. "Try to pull a leg off. It's an old table, so it won't be too complicated. You just have to pull." Demetri crouched down beside you. Hesitantly you wrapped your hand around a table leg and tugged. Nothing. "Come on, you can do better than that kid." Felix grinned, crouching down too. "You're holding back in case you break it." Demetri added. "You want to break it so you don't need to be careful." "Think of something that annoys you, really aggravates you- got it?" Felix asked. You nodded enthusiastically. 

You thought about all the times your mother lectured you for questioning her. The secrets that were life changing that she kept from you. A father you were robbed off. You pulled and with a crack it came off with ease. Your jaw dropped, instinctively waiting for a lecture that never came. "Nice one, kid!" Felix grinned. Demetri smiled at you, ruffling your hair as he, along with Felix stood up. You had never known how much fun destruction could be. You felt a rush run through you, suddenly very eager to do it again. The two vampires smiled as you clearly began to enjoy yourself. You spun driving your fist into some wooden railing above a half wall. All came off with ease and you made a noise of accomplishment before the force of your spin caused you to fall to the floor. Next that was heard as Felix's booming laugh before he punched chunks out of the brick in the wall. As you all continued, you grew more and more surprised that it didn't hurt very much and you didn't even have a scratch on you. 

You were having such a good time you didn't even hear the twins approaching. "Watch and learn, you two." Felix gestured to you. "You're more than able to help after all." Jane huffed. "Why would we ever concern ourselves with such things?" "Entertainment. Again, look at (Y/N)." They did exactly that to see you have the time of your life with Demetri, ripping a cabinet open. 

“Are you guys sure about this?” You asked, looking into the mug. After a moment of silence you quickly apologised. “Sorry! I...I ask a lot of questions.” You said hurriedly. Heidi frowned slightly. “Listen honey, I’m not going to give you trouble because you ask questions. That’s a good thing, take it from me. Actually, i’ll tell you something i’ve lived by all these years, even when i was human. Only ever ask questions. It gets others into trouble. Never give answers. It gets you into trouble." Heidi sent you a reassuring smile. “Now to answer that question. It’s absolutely fine.”  “If we wanted to kill you, there is easier ways.” Alec rolled his eyes. “You need to become accustomed to a blood diet. We can’t always give you a  regular human diet.” 

Slowly, you put the mug to your lips, taking a reluctant sip. Your first instinct was to pull back sharply, your brain reminding you profusely that it was blood in a mug. Although you weren’t repulsed.  “It should be an easier compromise for you that it’s warmed up.” Heidi smiled. “It was a blood bag but introducing you to blood and it’s cold...is a little cruel. Especially since we don’t drink it cold.” There was a slight gleam in her eye. You took another, longer sip.  “It doesn’t taste bad.” You sounded slightly surprised.  “Of course not, you’re half vampire.” Alec said. 

Once you had finished it, Alec held his hand out. “Took you long enough.”  “Alec!” Heidi tutted. Alec scowled at Heidi in response. Suddenly, you had an idea. You didn’t let go as Alec took it from you. Alec sighed, sending you a look of annoyance. "Let go of it. Now." You smiled at him. "You're pushing your luck, little one." Alec warned you with a clenched jaw. "You could easily take it from me." You replied, still holding onto the handle of the mug. "Does blood just make you more annoying? Hand it over!" Alec snapped. "Again, you've proven many times you could just take it from me." For a moment, Alec's anger was visible and he pulled the mug from you...only to find the mug now in two separate pieces. You still had the handle whilst Alec had the rest of it. Alec sighed, sending you another look of annoyance. "Now we're even for you threatening me, truce?" You asked lightly. Alec's instinct was to yell no, throw you to the ground and break every bone in your body. "Fine." He said through a clenched jaw. 

"Dare I say it..." Felix mused and he and Demetri walked down the corridor. "...I think Alec actually likes them. They test his patience every couple of minutes but I've never seen him be so gentle." Demetri thought for a moment. "Or it could have been my warning." The two cracked a knowing smile at one another, both very aware that the latter just simply wasn't the case. "I have to agree with you friend. I was wary at first but a thought occurred to me." Felix raised an eyebrow at Demetri, pressing for his friend to continue. "Jane and Alec are the same age physically as (Y/N). Perhaps it'd do them good." Felix thought for a moment before agreeing with a nod. "I didn't think of it that way. I suppose it would be the beneficial for the twins. Jane may take some time though." Demetri hummed. "Well we do have lots of it, friend." 

After some time, you began to think about your mother, now that you were experiencing the Volturi first hand, it made you wonder about her. More specifically, her feelings on you. The quiet always did bring nagging and often negative thoughts. Alec noticed almost immediately something was wrong. What made the matter worse was that he actually cared. He hated that but somehow he hated seeing you upset more. Your back was to him yet he knew you were crying. You had curled into yourself slightly and were trying very hard not to let your crying be heard. "Are you alright?" Alec asked quietly, moving to your side but refusing to look at you. You jumped slightly, quickly wiping your eyes. "Yeah!" You said, frantically nodding. "I'm fine." Alec tensely turned his head to look at you. "What's wrong?" Under his stare, one thing was simple. You couldn't lie to him. "I was just thinking about..." You trailed off, finding it difficult to really sum up what you were thinking. “I had so many questions and secrets about my life that I didn't want to notice the differences. I couldn't ignore them when she was gone...my mum.” Alec was quiet as you continued. "I can't help but think...she was scared of me. Or maybe that secretly, deep down she hated me." Alec thought for a moment. "Your mother was annoying." He said simply. Your eyes shifted to his. "I didn't like her. At all. I was very disgruntled to discover she was pregnant. I wanted to discover she wasn't compatible and be killed. Clearly I didn't get my way." Alec cast you a glance, noting your look of horror. "We weren't allowed near you." Alec continued. "When you were born my sister and I were the last people on this earth she'd ever let near you. She was hysterical when you were given to Jane who delivered you to the leaders. I won't lie, I enjoyed the misery it caused her." Alec paused, as though uncomfortable. "However, I think it's quite clear that if your mother ever hated you, she wouldn't have clung to you as she did. She wouldn't have risked her life to take you away. The way I see it is the exact opposite. I think she loved you more than anything in the world. She may have hated herself for that deep down. Some kind of moral dilemma I suppose, wanting to love and protect a child that is half vampire. She experienced our way of life and decided she didn't want it for you. So even if it killed her, she'd make sure she protected you from our world.” "What if she gave me up? Put me up for adoption or abandoned me?" "You'd have been back here immediately." Alec said flatly. "For the purpose of our laws and that Demetri wouldn't have had it. He let you go knowing you'd be with your mother and that this castle, isn't the best for raising a child. So if you had a better life, even if it wasn't with him, he'd make that sacrifice for you. In all honesty though, it was only a matter of time before you were apart of our world anyway. It's half of your DNA, you can't hide that for long." You couldn't help but crack a smile. "No wonder you hate me, you couldn't stand my mother." Alec paused. "i don't hate you." You looked at him in surprise. "I actually like you but you can be so damn annoying." You laughed. 

 "You believe the child is gifted?" Caius said as he turned to Aro. "Indeed." Aro hummed. "It's quite fascinating. Although I cannot be certain." "Do you think it would be useful to us?" Caius pressed and Aro hummed in thought. "Upon occasion." "What might it be?" Marcus asked. "I believe (Y/N) can see what's happening in current times with people they know. I believe I caught a glimpse of it in action. They saw Carlisle before meeting him but didn't understand." "From what you have told us, that seems logical considering they didn't know their true nature." Caius replied and Aro nodded. "Our focus right now is to keep them comfortable whilst transitioning them to a blood diet. Then we will investigate this potential gift." Aro decided. 

You hadn’t been able to find anyone. As it seemed, you found them all in a room. You staggered back in shock. Blood pooled in one side of the room that looked almost identical to the throne room. However this one, wasn’t marble. It was stone, there was a wooden table and wooden chairs and in the middle of the room was a large, bulky grate. You noticed the three leaders were missing, yet the higher guard were not. All of them were present.  “I was looking for you.” You said to Demetri but warily couldn’t take your eyes from the large puddle.  “I see, well allow us to clean this up and i’ll be right with you.” You began to shake slightly remembering that the Volturi didn’t feed from blood bags, not according to Carlisle’s story anyway. As you stood before the grate. You froze.  “(Y/N)?” Demetri called out but you didn’t respond. You looked in horror at the large grate, slightly trembling. Everything in your body told you to look away but you couldn't...and then your eyes focused on a hand. 

You screamed, staggering back in horror. Demetri was quick to catch you in a vice grip. He was talking to you, but you couldn't hear him. Tears falling from your eyes. In that moment, you knew. This is what your mother was trying to protect you from. You remembered Carlisle's story and it disturbed you, making you hysterical. You tried to get out of Demetri's hold but he wouldn't let you. All the while, the story looped in your head. Your mother looked at the same grate. She watched as her friends lifeless bodies were dropped inside. At the end of it all, not only did her friends never come home, neither did she. She could never tell the tale, even though it haunted her everyday. You could feel the fear that she without a doubt felt back then. 

You continued to scream, shaking violently in Demetri's arms. "Demetri, move." Alec said, finally moving forward with his arms out stretched. Demetri stepped back as the mist glided up to you. Your screaming and tears began die down. You began to lean and Demetri was quick to catch you lowering you to the ground. Demetri wiped your tears before looking at Alec who moved in front of you. "You can hear us now, I'll give you the rest of your senses back in a moment. Right now, you need to listen. You're alright. No one is going to hurt you but you need to calm down. I'll give you feeling back in one hand. Move your fingers if you understand." Alec's eyes dropped to your left hand. Your fingers twitched. "Good. Now remember, be calm. Nothing is going to hurt you." You began to blink erratically, swallowing hard. Before your eyes could wander beyond Alec and back to the grate, Demetri turned your head away. "Don't look." You met your father's gaze. Demetri looked heartbroken, apologetic. "I need to be alone right now." You said quietly. 

It felt like you had gotten the best if both worlds. Your mother told you nothing, wanting to protect you. It had seemed wrong at the time but now that you had the alternative, you missed it. Your father was honest with you. Perhaps a little too honest. The truth was no longer a sought ally but instead something you wanted to run from. The truth always seemed like a bright light to you. Now that you knew the truth for what it was. It was dark. 

You didn’t even go to your room, you rushed to the top floor of the castle, a place still and quiet and judging by the layer of dust on everything. It was abandoned, as many old places were. It seemed even areas of the castle weren’t safe from being forgotten by the vampires. You hunched over, swallowing back another wave of tears, trying to focus on the wooden floorboards underneath you. However it was no use, the tears constantly fighting they’re way out.  Suddenly in the corner of your eye, you saw someone. 

You turned to look at them and froze in shock. “Have I finally gone insane?” You trembled slightly, staring unblinkingly at your mother who mirrored your sitting position beside you.  “This place makes people go insane. Believe me.” She glanced around the dark room, only illuminated by moonlight. She noted your tremble and exhaled. “No. You’re afraid and that’s a very sane thing.” “Was this a mistake?” You asked her.  “A mistake? I don’t think so. Beyond the fear, lies the truth. You know everything now, there’s nothing left to protect you from.” Your mother responded.  “But you had reason to.”  “Yes...mine. My reasons. Truth be told, i knew nothing would happen to you here. Demetri loved you more than anything in the world. Protect you maybe, but I knew him well. I knew that me taking you away would be one of the most painful things to him. So I took you. I got my own revenge in the end.”  “Fighting fire with fire?” You whispered.  “It’s what this place drives you to do. Kill or be killed, hunt or be hunted. Adapt...or fall. This place...it saves them you know, it’s their sanctuary.” You turned to look at her and she continued. “None of them would last five minutes out there, they hide because they have to. The witch twins are a prime example. They could never survive modern life. So they hide and mock us for being expendable, never willing to admit the truth that in the end, we’re all leaving them behind. However there is something important in knowing that, (Y/N)- in knowing all of this, knowing why i did what i did.” A tear ran down your face but your mother continued.  “It isn’t your story, it didn't happen to you. They’ve treated you well. You did not live my story and so you won’t hold it against them. I’ve already done that for the both of us.” Your mother said firmly. “Before you died, you were adamant I never discovered any of this.” You began but never continued. Although your mother seemed to catch on. “You know me better than that.” Your mother chastised. “I had to let you go, it wasn’t fair to you. At the very end, I knew i had to let you go and you had to go back to him. If you taught me anything, it was that terrible beginnings don’t always have to be terrible endings. So if it was best for you, i’d give him back the one he loved the most.” Another tear ran down your cheek, before the tear hit the floor, your mother was gone. 

Ghosts were a lovely thought but you couldn't say you believed in them. You knew you needed your mother in that time and so you created her in your mind and willed her to speak the words you were so desperate to hear. In that moment you felt at peace, whether you had fooled yourself into believing what you wanted. You didn’t know. You didn’t care. It was enough for you to pull yourself to a stand and wipe your eyes. 

You stepped down the last step, meeting eyes with Alec. “There you are. You had some of us worried.” Your gaze travelled to his. He paused, his eyes canning your face. “Are you alright?”  “Yes.” You whispered.  “(Y/N), there is a lot of frightening things in this world but just as there is the ugly, there is the beautiful and good things in this world. When you live through what i have, what i have survived, believe me when i say, those terrible things are nothing in comparison, you’d go through a million of those terrible things because that one good thing is so rewarding. You have a father that loves you and will always be here for you. If you want it to be...this is your home.” Alec’s words resonated with you. Slowly, what he was trying to say made sense. You remembered the memories you had already made with your father, with Alec, with the Cullens, Renesmee ... your mother. None of them were perfect. Most had to do terrible things to survive. Yet that didn’t take away from any tender moment. So you let it go. Just as your mother had told you upstairs, whether she was real or your imagination. 

“Alec, i’d like to thank you.” You began.  “For what?” Alec asked.  “For your time, your effort. Angry or not, you’ve been there every step of the way. So thank you, you saved me. This is home.” Alec smirked slightly. “I know what it’s like.” 

Demetri looked into the room, find you fast asleep with your book still in hand and open at the page, laying on your stomach. Your hands held it in place but it was clear to see you were in a very deep sleep. Demetri noted you were still in comfortable clothing. He quietly moved towards you before gently lifting your hand and sliding the book out from your other hand. He marked the place before putting it on your bedside table. Carefully he lifted one of your legs ever so slightly to move in under the covers before doing the same with the other. Demetri pulled the covers over you, up to your shoulders. He didn't want you to get cold. He was pleased with himself that he didn't wake you. You didn't even stir. He tucked you in ever so slightly. Whilst he knew that wasn't necessary, he couldn’t help himself. He'd missed so much of you growing up, this was the first time he'd ever tucked you in since you were days old. He turned off the lamp beside your bed before leaning down to kiss your head. Just as silently, he left, leaving the door open just a crack. He had noticed you preferred the door like that most times. 

[mrsalwayswrite]

Never Alone (Don “Wardaddy” Collier x reader) Fury 2014

Just something that popped in my head today and I had time to write. Yay! Plus I watched Fury recently and my love of that movie grows every time I watch it.

Reader is written as she/her instead of y/n but no other description is given.  

Warnings: none really. some swearing, sadness, fluff. 

Words:1780

  She had been so excited when the Private told her she had mail. Tearing the envelope practically in half, she did not check who sent it. There was only one person (well two technically) who sent her mail. Her grandparents. Her grandfather was the one who wrote the letters though. He was the one who mattered. Since his own son dumped his toddler on his parents' doorstep and walked away, her grandfather had treated her as his own. Better than his own. 

 Ever since she was able to walk she waddled around following her grandfather. He teased her calling her his shadow, but she knew he loved it. He was the one that taught her to fish, to hunt, to shoot, to defend herself, everything he knew about engines and machines. 

He had been in the Great War, a Captain, but when this war rolled around, age and injury prevented him from joining. 

 So she did. 

 The tanks were supposed to be rolling out soon. This was only a short reprieve until they headed to the next town to liberate and secure it. Nothing unusual. 

 For the brief moments she had, she hid behind her current home- the tank Fury. As an assistant mechanic, she knew every part of the tank, almost better than Grady since she could fit into the smaller spots better than him. The rest of the crew- her boys as she teased them- were getting some hot chow. Wardaddy probably was talking with that stupid lieutenant, that acted like he was better than everyone else, to learn where they were going. For the moment, she was alone. A rarity that she planned on taking full advantage of. 

 She tore the envelope and ripped out the letter, eager for news from home. 

 Immediately she knew something was wrong. 

The words were written in a lovely cursive, not the typical choppy, slant she associated with her grandfather's handwriting. There were dried tear marks smudging some of the words and scattered around the paper. 

 Sweetheart, I don't know how to make this any easier on you, so I am just going to say it. Your grandfather is gone. There was an accident. The neighbor's truck was acting up again so your grandfather went to help and then…

 The words blurred before her eyes, no longer recognizable.  Gone… her grandmother could not even come out and say the truth. He was dead. The man that mattered most to her was dead. 

 She wanted to scream at the heavens, she wanted to cry until there was nothing left in her, she wanted to burn the letter and pretend her world had not imploded.

 Mostly she just wanted her grandfather back. 

 Instead she sat there, kneeling in the mud, staring out over the field next to the tanks, the letter clutched in her hand like her life depended on it. Tears streaked down her cheeks, cleaning away the grime and grease that felt like a permanent stain on her skin. 

 The fog in her mind lifted when she heard someone call her name. Turning her head slowly, she glanced over her shoulder to see Bible approaching her. Gordo stood a few feet away watching her, eyebrows furrowed. She could guess why. She never cried. Even when a chunk of tank pierced her thigh and Wardaddy had to pull it out, no tears fell. Even when everyone else in their unit died, tanks blown sky high, she never shed a tear. 

 "What's wrong, Whiskey? You hurt?"

 Silently she handed him the letter. Words felt like too much effort right now.  Even hearing her nickname felt like a stab to her gut. Her grandfather had instilled in her the knowledge of good whiskey so now she was humorously picky when it came to drinking alcohol.  

 It did not take long for him to understand. "Oh, Whiskey. I'm so sorry." He wrapped his arms around her, putting his chin on the top of her head as she pressed her face to his chest. "He's in Heaven now with our Lord, looking down on you. No more pain, only happiness. He probably found himself a bench with Saint Peter and is keeping an eye on you, yeah? Looking out for his girl."

 She nodded, thankful for Bible's intuition of what she needed to hear. 

 He held her for a few more moments before the cries of 'move out' sounded and men piled back into the tanks, war ready to resume. 

 He let her go but stared into her eyes. "You need to talk, or even a hug, you find me."

 "Tha...thank you."

 "We're family. A bit dysfunctional but family."

 She chuckled, quickly wiping away the dried tears with the sleeve of her jacket, caking her face in grime once again. One more nod to each other, they stood up and clambered into Fury. Gordo squeezed her hand when she slipped into the gunner's seat next to him. Coon-Ass patted her shoulder awkwardly. Wardaddy gave her a brief nod, but it was his gaze, all the sentiment in it almost broke her resolve to bury her pain. 

 Now was not the time. They had a job to do. 

 Best job she ever had. 

 ******

 That evening, under the stars, she leaned against a brick building that once was a cafe but now was half demolished. Cigarette between her lips as her thoughts threatened to overwhelm her. Everyone that was not on guard duty was asleep. 

 Footsteps approached her but she knew who it was without looking. She knew he would find her eventually. He always did. 

 Without a word, he leaned against the brick next to her, lighting his own cigarette. They stood that way, silently, watching the stars as the smoke from their cigarettes drifted upward to join the celestial beings. 

 Giving in, she tipped her head to the side, laying it against Don's shoulder, his arm wrapping around her. 

 "He's dead."

 "Yeah."

 "I don't… I don't know what to do."

 "You keep living." His harsh tone made her peer up at him in the dark, but he continued, staring ahead. "You keep living every goddamn day doing the best you can, to honor them, but mostly cause you alive and they aren't.  You live while there is breath in your lungs because one day there won't be and you don't want to realize you wasted those breathes. Trust me on that."

 And she did. She knew about the scars on his back and where they came from. One drunken night he told her and Bible about it. 

 He pressed a chaste kiss to the top of her head. "I'll take care of you."

 "I know. But when this damn war is over and we go home, I…."

 "I'll take care of you." He interrupted, exhaling, smoke slipping between his lips. 

 "What?"

 "You heard me. You aren't going home alone. You're coming home with me." His statement said, so matter of fact, as he kept staring at the stars.

 "I am?"

 "Yeah, be my wife. There's land behind my folks place. We'll build a house and you can hunt in the woods all day long or work on vehicles in the garage."

 "You want me to marry you?" She needed to make sure she was not hallucinating.  

 "I sure as hell ain't letting you marry any of these other bastards."

 She could not help it. She threw her head back and laughed. God, it felt good. Anything was better than crying. 

 Turning around so she was facing him properly, his arm still around her, hand on her hip now, she stared at him. Taking one last inhale of her cigarette, she dropped it onto the ground. She had always thought he was attractive. At the beginning she may have even had a schoolgirl crush on him. As time passed and she got to know him more, that crush evolved into something deeper. Something stronger. His loyalty, his  protectiveness for those he cared about, his nerves of steel, his sincerity and his ability to think calmly and rationally even in the most dire of circumstances...those things began to mean more to her than just his pretty face. Even if it was very pretty. 

 "You serious? You really want me to marry you?"

 "That's what I said."

 She stared at him, trying to imagine herself as his wife, as living a simple life together. Something she had never imagined for herself before...until now. And with the picture in her mind, she realized she wanted that. More specific, she wanted that with him. "Well, ok."

 He finally looked down at her, lips turned up just slightly. "Yeah?"

 "Yeah. Yes, Don, I will marry you."

 A full, brilliant smile split his face. He dropped his cigarette and cupped her face, pressing his lips against hers in a mad rush. Her own hands grabbed his jacket, pulling him as close as possible as she opened her mouth to allow their tongues to dance. She wondered if this is what it felt like to be on morphine. A lightness filled her, everything felt right with the world, a warmth stirred in her belly. Kissing Don Collier had to be the best thing she had ever done in her life. Well maybe second best thing, since she agreed to marry him and fully expected more kisses in the future. 

 Breathing heavy once their lips unlatched, Don held her close, his chin on top of her head. Her hands still gripped his jacket but now more to steady herself. Her legs felt like limp noodles and her mind was in a euphoria of bliss. 

 "So, this means we're calling you Warmomma instead of Whiskey?"

 She looked over to see Bible standing nearby, a shit-eating grin on his face. 

 "Don't you dare." She glared but his smile only grew and she could feel Don attempting to suppress his own laughter. 

 "We'll don't stay up too late you two…" he pointed a finger at them, "...and no funny business."

 "Night, Boyd." Don said, lighting a new cigarette. 

 Bible shook his head, still smiling before sticking his hands in his pockets and strolling away. 

 "He's right. We should probably bed down."

 "Mmm…" He slowly ran his hand up and down her back. 

 "Want to keep me warm tonight? Gordo stole my blanket yesterday, so…" she shrugged, struggling to keep her voice light. 

 He smirked. "I can do that."

 They walked back towards the others, his arm around her shoulders and hers around his side. She realized in the moment that if they survived this war, she would never be alone. Her future was not how she planned it to be...but perhaps it would be even better.

[cockasinthebird]

“I pray you, do not fall in love with me, for I am falser than vows made in wine.” -William Shakespeare, As You Like It, Act 3 Scene 5

Brown and blue both stare up at the many a love declarations on the underside of the bleachers of Hawkins High. Football practice has begun, along with their ever so faithful cheerleaders, and while Robin was here just for how short those skirts went, Steve was here for both those legs, and the sweaty muscles of the blonde haired quarter back; how he shone like diamonds underneath the ruthless summer sky.

Robin hands him the roach, and he has possibly never felt more at peace than now, in the shade with the occasional breeze. But of course, he thought so every time the two of them decided to get high and lie in the grass.

“Tommy + Carol 4 Ever,” Steve reads out loud. “Fucking asshole.”

“Aw, does poor Steve still feel abandoned?” Robin pouts falsely and puts both hands behind her head.

“Shithead was my best friend for most of our lives, and now he's off somewhere licking Billy Hargrove's boot.” He frowns whilst pressing the final embers of their joint into the grass.

“You're just jealous,” she laughs mockingly at him and turns her head to peek out through the seats.

And Steve leans up on his elbows to look past her and in the same direction, to where he sees Billy Hargrove tearing off his helmet with a victorious smile, mullet done up in a low bun, bangs clinging wetly to his forehead.

“Fuck no,” he lies.

“Come on, Dingus.” Robin knocks their shoes together. “You know you can't lie to me.”

“I can try,” he huffs a laugh and looks at how she mimics him genuinely.

“You think I got it any better?” her laugh turns to a scoff and points up. “Tammy Thompson loves John Johnson.” And there's a deep silence for a few short seconds as she keeps her finger in the direction of that etching. “Who the fuck names their child John Johnson?”

Steve cannot contain his chortle, and she is right behind with her usual snort; the one that only comes forth when they're this high.

“It would be like-” Steve takes a deep inhale. “If you were named Robin Robinson!”

“Or you Steve Stevenson!”

“Is that a real name?!”

“Y-yes?” Robin fights against the grin that wants to spread all too wide, and looks at him. “Robert Louis Stevenson!”

“Who?” Steve keeps breathing slowly to try and calm down from something that isn't actually that funny, but when you got bloodshot eyes like these, everything is.

“The famous writer? He wrote Treasure Island and Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde.”

Steve leans up on his elbows again to stare down at her with the most bewildered look this illiterate teen can manage. “Mr Hyde as in... our chemistry teacher?”

“Oh...” Robin's blue blue eyes grow as wide as they can. “My God... Steve... No wonder you're failing literally every class.”

And his expression falls from confused to somewhat offended, but it is the inevitable truth. “It's fine,” he says with nary a worry, “I will get a job at my father's office as... I dunno, coffee guy? Mailman?”

“You really think he'd put you in charge of something as important as their postal service?”

Rather than come up with a sensible reply to that remark, he simply grabs a fistful of grass and throws it at her.

He smiles, she laughs, and the both of them settle down once more with only the loud cheers from the girls in uniform to fill the comfortable silence they find themselves in again, as they continue reading everything that's been carved and written into the far too old wood.

Steve's name can be found numerous times, both in forms of compliments-

“I wish Steve Harrington would notice me.”

“Mrs Harrington is my dream job.”

“Steve Harrington the Keg King.”

All surrounded by hearts.

On one step it reads, “Steve 'The Hair' Harrington” in suspiciously familiar handwriting.

He used to bring girls down here, too, and would have them watch as he reached high above them and wrote his name + theirs.

Steve + Laurie. Crossed out. Steve + Amy. Crossed out. Steve + Becky. Crossed out.

He never got to bring Nancy here. Brought Robin here originally for the same reason as the rest, but she was quick to tell him the truth as he stood too close.

At least they remained friends.

“Is your name up there somewhere?” he asks her, having never actually found it.

“I'm a band dweeb, what do you think?” she sighs but acts like it doesn't bother her.

“Do you want it to be?”

“Nope,” she lies and pops the p.

And of course he doesn't believe her, but he considers himself too nice to press her on any of it.

Silence drags on for what feels like eternity crammed into one minute, and he's got something on his mind, but has absolutely no clue how to work it into conversation all casual like, because it's kinda a big deal, but he doesn't want to seem a fool for thinking so.

So he tries to just flat out say it, “Robin?”

“Steve.”

“You're... smart, right?” He feels himself failing at just saying what he's thinking.

“Smarter than you, although that's not saying much,” she chuckles out and looks to him, but he seems... nervous, and she stops. “What's up, dingus?”

“I... I got a note in my locker today, and I don't really know what it means,” Steve speaks hesitantly and rips small pieces off of a blade of grass.

Robin's brows quirks up. “Oh? And you want me to decipher it for you?”

He sits up far too fast, and even though his body remains still, the world spins for longer than what is possible. “Would you?” There is such a brightness to his tone.

“Sure, what does it say?” She gets up as well and crosses her legs.

Steve fishes out a paper that has become impossibly crumbled up in his front pocket, to a point where the letters written in beautiful cursive is almost unintelligible.

“I love you more than words can wield the matter; dearer than eyesight, space and liberty.”

And while she turns the paper around and re-reads those words, Steve stares unblinkingly so at her.

“So?” he finally asks, bursting with anticipation.

“So, it's a love letter.” She hands it back, and he looks at the paper with such admiration, as if he had forgotten he was worthy of such, just to be reminded of it now. “It's Shakespeare, King Lear. It means that she loves you more than words can describe.”

At that he looks up, beaming with elation as he asks for reassurance, “Seriously?”

“Yup.” She is clearly far less excited, but there's optimism to her tone, to know that he might find what they're both longing for, whether out loud or in secret.

“Someone wrote me a love note...” His smile wide with shocked disbelief.

“Congratulations.” She rolls her eyes although with raised lips, and lies down again.

-

The very next day, shortly after lunch has begun, he finds another in his locker and runs to where Robin would be eating her lunch alone in the unattended library.

Steve slams down the paper in front of her, and she pauses just before biting into her boring ham sandwich.

“Well well well lover boy,” she mocks lightly and places her food back down on the tray. “I assume you're in need of my service once again?”

The chair next to her screeches across the floor as he sits down with a hard bump. “Yes, and it's the same handwriting as last, so that means it's the same girl, right?”

“Hey now, I haven't agreed to anything yet!” She slaps her hand down on top of the paper, and smirks. “I will help you with this, again, if you buy me pizza after school.”

“Yeah, deal, whatever, just-” He gestures wildly to the neatly folded paper. “Tell me what it means!”

Robin shakes her head and slumps back into her seat; slipping down a bit with her legs splayed out all comfortable and taking up far too much space.

“Love is blind, and lovers cannot see, the pretty follies that themselves commit.”

She nods for a moment in thought, fully ignoring the way Steve's eyes could drill holes in her skull.

“I think it's from The Merchant of Venice. It means... something like, how love makes you act different?”

And since she seems satisfied with that, nods more and lets out a little “Yeah,” so is he.

“Okay, so, someone that acts differently around me?”

Robin taps her temple with a blackened nail and continues nodding like it's all he understands. Still, to ensure he gets her point, says, “You got it.”

Now it is his turn to slump into his chair, but far more confused. “How... how am I supposed to know that they act differently around me? Isn't that how I'll always have seen them, then?”

She raises her brows at that and sits up a bit more straight. “How astute!”

As if he knows what that means.

-

Through the weekend he waits on his bed, each note in hand and smiling so wide his cheeks grow sore.

Two love letters in two days? They are meant for him, right? This girl didn't accidentally put it in the wrong locker, right?

Steve catches himself briefly hoping she's beautiful, but pushes that aside by the fact that she's so poetically inclined, so sweet and shy that her looks hardly matters, for her choice of words warms his heart and makes it beat in a way that he has oh so missed.

Another thought is what if it's Robin, but he shakes his head violently at that stupid little thing, because no, she's his best friend and that's all they'll ever be, and he truly is happy with that. But everyone gets wrong and bad ideas from time to time, so he won't fault himself for her name popping up, as he mentally goes through a list of all the girls he knows. Or thinks he knows.

And though he tries to distract himself with TV and swimming in his pool and letting Robin paint his toenails, Monday always feels so far away.

-

It is the first thing he does when he shows up at school; pushes his way through his peers to fling open his locker, and sure enough a little note slips out.

He skims it for just a second before he rushes off to stand by Robin's locker for when she eventually moves to it and shoves him aside.

“Another?” she asks with her head in her locker as she rummages for gum.

“I knew she was gonna leave me another! I could feel it in my body the entire weekend!” his tone pitched high with excitement.

“Ew, gross, I don't need to know that!” she jokes and yanks it from his grasp.

“Come what sorrow can, it cannot countervail the exchange of joy, that one short minute gives me in her sight.”

And Steve folds it, lovingly so, before placing it inside his wallet, and thankfully he doesn't have to wait long for a more modern translation of it.

“Something something about how her pain and misery goes away in your presence; in the presence of a loved one. Romeo and Juliet, which is not a happy love story!” she says ardently and points a stern finger at him for emphasis.

“Okay, but does that mean we have classes together at least then?” Steve shrugs and runs a hand through his shiny hair.

“Probably? Or maybe some extra curricular activity,” Robin's tone careless and she starts down the hall, with Steve right behind.

“But the only other extra whatever I take is basket.”

“So maybe your admirer is a guy.”

He shakes his head with conviction. “Nah, I doubt that completely, I mean you've seen the handwriting! And what guy is into Shakespeare?”

“Anything is possible Steve, don't be so close minded.”

-

For once he is early to first-period history class, and he sits on the desk Robin usually occupies, to which she responds with throwing her bag into his lap, accompanied by a cocked brow and strong stare.

Steve doesn't say a thing, simply lifts up a fourth note, and she snags with from his fingers with an exasperated sigh.

“I would not wish any companion in the world but you.”

She groans out loud now and pushes him off of her table. “Come on dingus, this one is easy! You cannot be this stupid.”

“Just tell me what it is!” he says as he shuffles into the seat in front of hers.

“She only wants you, no one else, Jesus.”

“Oh,” he breathes out, his wide grin that of pure joy, and although this is a tiring thing to be bothered with every day now, she does appreciate his happiness to some extend.

-

Wednesday morning Robin is already by Steve's locker, arms crossed and a friendly smile painted across her face.

“Let's see what your stalker has come up with this time,” she says and leans away so that he can twist the lock in the right order.

And today it is a far shorter note.

“Love hath made thee a tame snake.”

She doesn't bother waiting before saying, “Love will humble and soften even the most hardened individual.” And there's a glint in her eyes, so short and easily missed, revealing that she might have an idea as to which hardened individual this could be. Not that she hadn't thought about him before already.

For she had seen his copy of As You Like It by Shakespeare fall from his bag in English Literature, but it is not her place to out anyone.

“That's a weird one, right?” His brows furrowed as he awaits affirmation. “Hardened individual? What does that even mean?”

“Steve, I-” She rubs her eyes hard and nods. “Yeah, it is a weird one. But it probably means someone who's acting tough, but in truth softens around you.”

He folds it back up and slips it into his wallet together with the other four.

“Tomorrow, then,” Robin says and pats his shoulder a few times before heading to class.

Steve stays still for a moment, looking at how the five notes stretches the leather of his wallet. His thumb runs over their ripped edges, all seemingly from the same piece of paper, thinking about the dainty fingers that must hold the ballpoint pen to write him such loving words.

Cheeks flushed, smile tender, eyes soft, he wanders towards class as well.

-

Months ago when he and Robin became best friends, she took a very slight interest in him and his education, because he very clearly needs help with school, and she's suspicious of the fact that he might be dyslexic, but when asked about it he gets mad.

So instead she demands food and favors from him whenever he starts screwing up in school again, starts falling behind, or shows up late to class. And of course he has slept through his alarm for the first time in weeks on this Thursday, the one day of two where they have first-period together, and now he'll have to pay for dinner at the diner, but he has a good excuse!

Sat up all night with several books written by none other than William Shakespeare that he had checked out at the library.

He's hungry and tired and in a goddamn hurry to get to class ASAP; the hallways empty and silent save for the occasional teacher yelling at an unruly student, but even that he can hardly hear over the beating of his heart, which is just great, because now he'll spend all day with floppy hair and reeking of sweat.

He just has to make a quick stop by his locker to see if there's a new note, the only thing that truly matters and overshadows the importance of getting passing grades or upholding his deal with Robin.

Around the next corner and... and...

And it never dawned on him at any point, even with Robin's constant droning of “Guys can read Shakespeare, too!” that his secret admirer might not be a girl at all. Maybe he was just so stuck in the expected reality of the world, the one he's so used to, before Robin helped him see the light, to help him realize that there's other options than gay or straight.

No he never even bothered thinking that way, till he sees Billy Hargrove slip something into his locker.

[captainscanadian]

Stay | Bucky Barnes x Reader (Prologue)

My Masterlist

Summary: Your best friend is marrying your older brother and the question is whether your other friends would show up. Steve’s was easy to track down. But Bucky, not so much...

Word Count: 1800+

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Tamilian!Reader, Natasha Romanoff x OMC Arjun Y/L/N

Warnings: MINIMAL TAMIL DIALOGUE (I’m more than happy to translate!) & TAMIL CULTURE , References to Hinduism, Mild Swearing

A/N:This is my entry for @bucky-smiles​‘s 2K Bollywood Writing Challenge! This challenge got me so excited because I wanted to show off my culture in my writing! My prompt was to write a Bucky fic inspired by my all time favorite Bollywood movie - Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani! Y’all should go watch it because it’s fucking amazing! But I decided to write this fic with a Tamilian reader because I am Tamilian. I was born in Sri Lanka. But I know that there are a few other Tamilian friends on this site who would love to read this. @jalapenobarnes​ & @fafulous​, THIS ONE IS FOR YOU, MY CHELLANGALA! Also, all my fellow Desi Marvel stans are more than welcome to read this fic and spread the love! <3

Natasha Romanoff had ever been the most “feminine” or “lady-like” or a “girly-girl” like most people had wanted her to be. She had never fit into society’s per-conceived notion that a woman must be a certain way. Born in Russia, she had moved to America when she had been six years of age. Fitting in had never been easy for her. For starters, it had taken her years’ worth of sessions with a dialect coach and tons of practice to be rid of her Russian accent. Eventually, when managed to get her English language skills in check, not many of the kids she went to school with were willing to take a chance on her friendship, except for Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes.

During her teenage years, she was the most rebellious kid in all of Brooklyn. A tomboy, they called her, with her short red hair, ripped skinny jeans, leather jackets, tattoos and piercings. Oh she had it all! She had spent most of her time skateboarding around Williamsburg and sneaking into the local art shows with her two best friends. But things had changed so much since then.

She was a grown woman now, well into her thirties. Her short red hair had grown down to her midriff. Her nose piercing had closed up years ago, the tattoos on her back barely visible to anyone anymore. The ripped jeans and leather jackets had been replaced by pencil skirts and pantsuits. Natasha had not expected to be a rather popular artist in New York, with her own studio in her hometown and her masterpieces selling for millions of dollars.

Perhaps, the most shocking thing about Nat’s life was not her physical transformation or the way she had realized her dreams of becoming a successful artist. It was how she had fallen in love with a certain Arjun Y/L/N. Born in Russia and raised in Brooklyn, she never would have expected to be marrying into Tamilian family. Yet, love did not know or care about one’s ethnicity or culture. She loved him and he loved her, so now they were getting married.  

A month from today, she would be Mrs. Y/L/N. But for now, she was spending her last few days as Miss. Romanoff handwriting her wedding invitations to her loved ones. She never would have thought that she would have a traditional Hindu wedding; it had been her idea ever since Arjun had proposed. After all, she did have a wonderful relationship with his family and she felt honored to be a part of that. Embracing the culture that her man had grown up with had been the best part of getting married. She had always been a part of the family.

The wedding preparations were well under way now. While it was meant to be the bride’s family who was meant to take care of most of the expenses for the multiple ceremonies and rituals, your family had let go of such traditional notions for the sake of this union. The bride and groom were making an equal financial contribution to the wedding, a mutual decision between the two of them.

“Amma?” Natasha called out to your mother, who had been busy preparing some sweet treats that were meant to go along with the invitations. “Did Y/N tell you what time she gets out of work? She was supposed to be here an hour ago to help me out with the rest of the invitations.”

Your mother drained the last batch of jalebi’s from the frying pan before drenching them in the sugar syrup. She turned off the stove and wiped her hands with a tea towel, walking over to the dining table where her daughter-in-law-to-be had been sitting for the last hour. “You know how she is. She never gets out of work on time and when I ask her why, she gives you a speech about how she worked so hard to become a doctor for the sake of her family and that we should not be complaining about how much she works.”

Nat let out a chuckle as she set down her pen. “You’d think that she would have taken some time off from work to help out with the wedding. It is her brother’s wedding and I am her best friend, aren’t I?”

Before your mother could respond to that, she heard the sound of your car pulling up in the driveway. “And there she is!”

Hopping out of your car, you ran your hand through your partially went hair. Having gotten out of work later than you had expected, you had rushed back to your apartment to shower. You had not bothered with drying your hair, as you had been in a hurry. “Amma!” You called out to your mother as you used your key to unlock the door and entered, kicking off your shoes and making your way down to the living room. “Amma, where are you?”

“In here, Y/N!” Natasha called out to you as she picked up her pen and another invitation, looking down at her list of people whom she still had to invite to the wedding.

You skipped over to the kitchen. “Amma!” You exclaimed as you pulled your mother into a hug, placing a kiss on her cheek before giving her your best pouty lips. “Amma, ore oru strong cup of coffee, please? I just got out of work and I’m so tired. Please?”

Your mother gave you a playful eye roll. “Sit down; I’ll bring you a cup of coffee.”

“You’re a good Amma!” You gave her a nod as you walked over to the table, hugging Natasha from behind. “Anni!”

“That is something I can definitely get used to.” She chuckled, softly. “You are such a spoiled brat and you know that, right?”

“Perks of being the youngest in the family, I guess.” You admitted with a shrug of your shoulders, pulling up the chair across from Nat and sitting down. “Amma, is there any tiffin? I’m hungry!” You called out towards the kitchen, earning an eye roll from your sister-in-law-to-be.

“Don’t expect me to spoil the shit out of you when you come over to your brother and I’s.” She joked.

“What? Are we really setting the ground rules now?” You asked her with an eyebrow raised, giggling softly as you eyed the stack of envelopes that she had already labeled in calligraphy. You picked up the one on top, seeing the name ‘Steven Rogers’ written in cursive. “Did Steve say anything about coming to the wedding? The last I heard, he fired the head chef at his restaurant and he’s looking for a new one. I think he has a lot going on now, ever since that food critic gave him a poor rating and tanked his business.”

“Oh no, he’s been saying how busy he is. But if he doesn’t show up, I’m planning on getting my ass to Manhattan and dragging him over to the temple myself.”

You let out a laugh as you shook your head. Those two really were the best of friends. You, Natasha and Steve had attended the same high school together. Of course, you had not been such close friends back then. But Steve and Natasha had been best friends since middle school. They had practically been inseparable for as long as you’ve known them.

While you had only been friends with Natasha since your second year of undergrad, you had known her long before. You had become the least unlikely pair of friends – the rebellious Russian girl and the studious Tamilian nerd. You owed it all to that one ski trip to The Hamptons a little over twelve years ago, for bringing the two of you together. Now she was marrying your older brother and becoming a part of your family.

“Oh shit, I screwed this up!” Natasha groaned as she crossed out one of the names that she had just transcribed onto an envelope, tossing it aside before picking up a new one to fix her mistake.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you reached across the table to grab the envelope that she had jut discarded, seeing his crossed out name written in black ink.

Bucky.

“J-A-M-E-S...” Natasha spelled out his name as she wrote it neatly across the envelope. “B-U-C-H-A-N-A-N. BARNES. There!” Picking up an invitation and slipping it into the envelope, she sealed it with a lick and set it on top of her finished stack of envelopes. “Thank you for helping me with writing these invitations, Y/N.” She remarked, sarcastically. “Now we need to pack up the sweet treats and mail them out!”

You gave her a nod. “We’ll do that first thing in the morning.”

Once your brother got home from work, the four of you enjoyed a well-deserved family meal together. After a hard day’s work, it was something that you very much needed. Even though you had moved out of your childhood home once you had graduated from Columbia Medical School, you had been a frequent visitor ever since. As your mother lived alone once you had fled the nest, you made sure to keep her company during her lonely nights. With the wedding preparations, it seemed more convenient to be at the house more often. While Arjun and Natasha were staying over, you tend to pop by every now and then to take on the role of your sister-in-law-to-be’s Maid of Honor and help out with some of the wedding planning.

After dinner, your brother had retreated to his old bedroom to attend an important phone call from work. As Nat and your mother shared the task of doing dishes and packing up the sweets that your mother had prepared, you found yourself lurking under the bed in your childhood bedroom. You retrieved a little cardboard box that you had been keeping hidden for years now. This box was filled with so many memories from your childhood and teenage years – from your high school yearbook to the Polaroid photos that you had taken during your trip to The Hamptons.

You flipped through the yearbook to see the photos of you and your friends – Y/N Y/L/N, Natasha Romanoff, Steven Rogers and James Barnes. Bucky. There was always something special about him, the way he lit up every room he had walked into. Bucky was the loudest voice in the room, the life of the party. He was the nerd with the camera, consumed by his wanderlust. He was a man of everyone’s dreams, with dreams of his own that he was chasing all the way to the other side of the world. Bucky. Where ever in the world he was right now, nobody loved to go on an adventure like him. Twelve years it had been since you had first fallen in love with him.

[modestlyabsurd]

Survival Pt. 3 (Loki x Reader)

So far, a few things have been discovered through your Asgardian-Jötun defense training: for one, Loki is literally a soldier. Well actually, a warrior. He's a goddamn fighting machine. For some odd reason that has never crossed your mind. With the privilege of guns and bows and knives, exactly how skilled he is in hand-to-hand combat has never really come into play.

The second thing you've learned is just how unskilled you are in hand-to-hand combat.

It's embarrassing when you think about it. Of course, thinking about it is what got you knocked down with a blade to your throat probably eight out of ten times. Oh yeah, Loki wasn't fucking around. He showed you a few things. Without any weapons, you're shit.

You shudder to think what you'd be without him. Dead? No, probably worse. In a lot of ways.

He lay, after finally giving in to slumber a few hours ago, under a pink mildewy comforter on the mattress. He'd trained you all night and well into the morning. Gone was the bright springy sun from yesterday, and in its place was a grayish blue sky covered in fish-scale clouds. That's always a sign of a cold front, but damn, how could it get any colder? Surely some sort of solar collapse would take place if it did. Regardless, that meant problems.

The physical training had not been the best thing for Loki to do. He won't admit it because he's as stubborn as a jackass. But he's hungry.

Despite feeling the effects of not sleeping much after taking the Advil, you got up at daybreak when the light came in the kitchen window and reviewed your stocks. You already know it's bad but that doesn't matter; Loki's gonna eat today even if you have to force feed him.

Not that you could possibly restrain him long enough to do so. Not that you could restrain him at all ... God, you're sore from training with a famished person. It was nice, though.

Loki had already replaced the food into your backpacks, but he left the notepad open on the counter with them. At first you struggle to read his ridiculously pretty, loopy cursive handwriting. It's prettier than your grandma's.

18.2.2020

x1 tinned pineapple

x2 tinned tuna fish (cat food)

x1 handisnacks cheese and crackers (what?)

x1 smashed cereal bar

a bit of peanut butter.

We MUST find more.

~L

"Well no shit, Sherlock," you mumble.

The logical option is obvious. You dig into your backpack and find the cans of tuna, as Loki begins to stir in his sleep. Green eyes shine from across the room and long arms emerge from the blanket like butterfly wings. You can't help but grin a little.

He groans upon seeing you. "Good morning."

"Morning. Nice hair."

"Mm, yes. The morning after look suits you nicely as well," he murmurs. Damn your burning face.

"You wish."

Loki sits upright and slowly stands up, looking around the heart of this small house. As if it didn't look bad enough, it became sparring grounds last night. Everything was fine - until he decided to reverse the roles and let you practice a bit. Scattered glass from broken artwork, a dented kitchen cabinet, and now one of the floor boards is bowing up. Loki smiles, remembering that last take-down of yours and feeling something come loose beneath him.

You'd thought you broke one of his bones, and he let you think it. His muscles cramping from laughter and nearly getting punched in the face established the end of your first training session.

The floors creak even louder now as he approaches you by the kitchen sink. He places a hand on your shoulder with pride. "You did well last night."

You scoff, "Tell that to my ass that got kicked."

"Don't be too hard on yourself," he encouraged, his voice not fully awake. "I'm no easy teacher. But you learn quickly. You just need a bit of patience, grasshopper." He booped your nose.

"Yeah, whatever," you try not to smile. "Oh, by the way, this is not cat food. It's real tuna and you're gonna eat it."

Loki visibly gets on the defense. "Are you ordering me?"

You notice the jab but remain composed. "Yeah, Mr. Prince of Asgard, I am."

"And if I refuse?"

"Don't worry, I have a plan."

He shrugs. "I'm not hungry."

"Yes, you are! Would you stop lying?!" the slam of the can rings through the walls and makes Loki jump.

"I don't need - "

"What did we agree on?" you demand.

He purses his lips solemnly. "No lies. No lies between us."

"And you've been lying about this for a minute."

"I haven't!" he hisses. "I don't know what you're so worried about but it's senseless! I can take care of myself, my body is not the same as yours - I'm not human!" The harshness of his eyes, so literally and figuratively transparent, along with the gauntness of his cheeks unnerved a distant part of your mind.

"I think you're the one that's worried."

His slightly agape mouth sighs and his eyes blink in disbelief. The harshness melts away. He looks anywhere but in your face. You're so bloody perceptive. Normally it's quite helpful, and it's one of the things he likes about you. But not when you read him like a cheap, paperback novel.

"Loki, I don't wanna be mad. I don't want us to yell and scream at each other. Just ... be a good cat and eat the fucking tuna." You slide the can over to him, "For me."

He picks up the can with pale, deft fingers, looking it over deep in his thoughts. The only other person who knew him so well was Frigga. His hidden feelings. The right things to say. The code to crack his walls. How, especially in such a tumultuous world, does someone else know the same things? A human nonetheless. Of course, he knows if he thought about it too much he'd eventually figure out the answer.

He's not sure he wants to know the answer. At least for now. Maybe even for eternity.

Having gathered the will to look you in the eye, he notices your face painted with dirt. Your hair, growing over your eyes and nearing your shoulders. The rip at your jacket collar. The healing cut on your lip.

"It seems you possess patience already. What you lack is the ability to harness it."

Your eyes nearly pop out of your head. "Was this a test?!"

"It was," Loki chirps while opening the tuna can, "and you passed with excellence."

~

More training filled the rest of the morning easily. Amidst the physicality of sparring in life-and-death scenarios, Loki assessed your mentality as well. He sharpened your strengths, which grew the fastest in your fighting, and honed in on your weaknesses. Most, if not all, stemming from your emotions.

He went so far as to create illusions to test you. Only, you didn't realize they were illusions.

Whilst showing you one of the many ways to escape someone's grip without the help of a weapon, he mounted you with his knees pinning your shoulders. Your arms useless, your neck exposed to his silver dagger. The coldness of the blade was paralyzing.

"This feeling means you're not dead and you have time to act."

"Fuck, your breath reeks."

Loki nearly loses it all. "Focus, you sausage! You have to act fast!"

You try to move what little you can when suddenly the weight holding you down is thrown to the floor. A man has Loki down and connects with a few punches before you can launch to your feet. The dagger was dropped in the struggle so you grab it and drive it through the stranger's neck, only to lose balance and nearly fall. Your hand went through air.

The man was air?!

Someone seizes your mishap from behind and wraps their arms around your throat. You distantly hear Loki scream your name before the feeling of cold, hard metal presses against your skull.

"Whatever you've got, give it!"

Once your vision focuses you see Loki, his hands above his head, begging. "Let her go. Please."

"Now!"

"We don't have anything!"

"The backpacks! Get 'em! Empty everything out!"

Loki keeps looking at you, as if he's begging you to do something. Then you remember the dagger you're clutching in your hand.

You swing toward the stranger's head. Again, your arm goes through air, but at last you're free. Frantically you look around to find where the air people are coming in. Before you pass Loki, he haults you.

"Come on! We gotta stop them - "

"Easy, darling, easy," he coos, "it's alright. There's no one here."

"But they, they are! They were here ... "

"Shhh," he grips your shoulders down to your triceps, looking deeply into your eyes. Instantly calming you down. "It's alright, darling. It was all an illusion. We're safe."

"Wh... Illusion..?" you ask breathlessly. The house is quiet. The wind howls outside. Everything begins to play out in your head again; how your hand kept going through the robbers. They weren't real. In one hand, you want to melt into Loki's embrace due to the draining withdrawal from raw fear.

But in the other hand is the dagger.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" you swing wildly, not aiming at anything but definitely aiming for something. Loki disarms you before you poke an eye out.

Many, many obscenities later and you're sitting on the mattress together discussing your strengths and weaknesses while cleaning your weapons.

"Your reflexes are a bit slow, but they're improving. Just when the fear is about to consume you beyond return, you recover, and you recover well. Your strikes are deadly. But that bit of time when your emotions dare to take over ... it could be enough time for anything to happen."

"Yeah, yeah. What's my grade?" you wipe the barrel of your rifle.

Loki laughs. "You've graduated from grasshopper to novice. Well done."

You smile at him.

Then, you hear it.

Far off, but approaching.

Your eyes dart toward the sound, then drift back to Loki staring back at you.

A herd.

Loki frowns, his brows furrowing above sorrowful green eyes.

"We have to move."

~

i aint fuckin around no more y'all. this is a motherfuckin Last of Us AU

tag list: @sydneyss-worlddd @afinedilemma @fire-in-her-veinz @belladonnabarnes @drakesfiance @internetgremlin @dragon-chica @triggeredpossum @tarynkauai

[xenoshadel]

Small Victories

Series: Angels of Death

Summary:  Post-canon where after Zack and Rachel escaped, Zack wants to learn how to read. Granted it'll take some time on top of learning how to write, but it'll make a small victory of its own down the road. Warning for Zack being, well, Zack. Also on Ao3!

A small victory for Zack is finding a few snacks in the trash that still had the wrapping on. For Rachel, it’s gathering enough money to stay in the cheapest hotel they can find for a few nights. It was Rachel’s idea to beg on the streets for money, but after seeing how much more she made while people were quick to ignore Zack, the latter had more of an itch to kill someone and steal their wallet. He claimed it was easier that way, and it was a topic that didn’t have a moral victory if they could still scrounge up enough cash.

The apartment was as shabby as all the other ones they stayed at: a small living room with a tattered couch, a smaller kitchen down the hallway, a bedroom and a space with a table. Zack dropped the scythe he recently found—and grew to adore as much as his old one—on the couch while Rachel tucked the pieces of cardboard she carried with her by the bookcase in the living room.

“Hey,” Zack said. “I know you wrote things on the cardboard for people to read while you begged for a little while, but what does it actually say?”

“I wrote: ‘Homeless and cold, please spare any change you might have for food. God bless.’ Simple and to the point,” Rachel explained.

“You wrote that? And people can read it?”

“Well, yeah. Why?”

Zack narrowed his eyes in thought. “I did some thinking before you found the hotel and you offered to teach me to read. It would make things a hell of a lot easier if we split up and I knew what the store signs read or whatever papers in the alleys had to say. So I… might want to learn today.”

Now that was surprising of him to say. “You don’t sound like you want to though,” Rachel said.

“Well of course not, but like I said, it’ll be easier if I can read and I can’t exactly have people in the streets read to me while I mob them. So you down or what?”

Zack felt a little exasperated at the stare she gave him. Not of surprise or excitement, just the same dull look she always had on. He was ready to take back his words until she turned around to look through the apartment. Rachel found a stack of papers in the kitchen and the space with the table had a few pencils.

“If you insist, then yeah I can teach you.”

“Gee, no need to sound so excited now.” Sarcasm aside, Zack was a little curious when he walked over to sit on the chair across from Rachel. He picked a sheet of paper to place in front of him and had an awkward time positioning the pencil to stay comfortably in his hand. He decided against it and gave the pencil to Rachel instead. “So, what first?”

“We can do the alphabet for starters. I’ll write out each letter first and pronounce them for you.”

It seemed simple in the first few minutes until Zack started to count the letters after what seemed like a bit too many to him. “Hey, how many letters are there?”

“Twenty-six.”

“The hell? Why are there so many?”

Rachel gave him a blank look. “I don’t know. That’s just how the English alphabet was designed. Some languages have more or fewer letters.”

“More than twenty-six? Well shit. Alright, whatever.” Zack tried to follow along again, his eyes squinting at each shape of the letter. He sounded proud of himself when he looked over the easy ones like ‘l’ and ‘o’ while those that looked similar to each other gave him an annoying itch at his fingertips.

Rachel finished all the letters and started another row of shapes that looked different to Zack and he asked, “Wait, what are those supposed to be?”

“When it comes to writing, there are capital and lowercase letters. I wrote the capital letters first and those are for the first letter of a sentence or the first letter of important words, like a name. Lowercase letters then follow after it.” Rachel continued to write the letters until it seemed like the whole page was full of shapes, not noticing that Zack was already lost when she finished.

Well that made things more annoying. Zack pursed his lips. “The fuck? Why is it so complicated?”

“That’s just how the system works for reading and writing properly. Plus if you can read, you can also write.”

“Now why the fuck do I need to do that for?”

“To write notes for yourself, maybe as a reminder?” Rachel shrugged.

“I may not have a head like yours but I’m not stupid enough to forget things,” Zack scoffed. “What else, write a fuckin’ diary to talk about my feelings?”

Rachel watched him lean against the chair and kick his feet up on the table. “That’s one option.”

“Dear diary. I found a squirrel and told him my name, even spelled it out for ‘em. He ran away before I finished and the fucker hurt my feelings. Maybe writing them out will make me feel better but I still want to tear that bastard into shreds. Love, Zack.”

Rachel paused. “Some people write explicitly but most find that it helps make them feel better.”

“What does? Writing out their feelings like a sissy?”

“Well yeah. Even though it didn’t happen, imagine if you wrote it down. How do you think you’ll feel?”

“Eh? I’d feel the same? Like myself? The fuck kind of magic is writing supposed to do to me?” Zack put his feet down and leaned close to her. “Are you a fuckin’ therapist now?”

Rachel sighed, “Far from it, unless you want Doctor Danny to come back from the dead.”

“Fuck yeah I do! That way I can rip him apart for sure and the guy will be booted to hell,” Zack laughed. “Should’ve done it when I had the chance. Damn.”

“Do you want to continue or not?”

The thought of slashing the doctor’s head off was brushed away from her unfazed voice, and Zack sighed, “I didn’t say I’ll stop, did I?” He snatched the paper from her. “Lemme go through this then.”

Well, neither of them mentioned him stopping but if that meant giving him more motivation to practice then by all means. Rachel stepped around him while Zack pronounced each letter of the alphabet to himself and rewrote them on a new sheet of paper. There were a few times he almost broke the pencil from using the eraser too hard at the mistakes he made, and he kept grumbling to himself when he stopped to brush the eraser shavings away.

“Why the fuck does some of the letters look like that anyway? More scribbles but fancier, psh.”

Rachel ignored him, knowing that a response will make him more irritated with his progress. He didn’t seem too frustrated though, determined and annoyed were better ways to describe him, despite how much time he took with his handwriting.

“Ah fuck, why bother with all this if I can say words,” Zack muttered.

“Some letters are trickier to write than others, but at least try to write the whole alphabet down.”

“There you go with your orders. I was already doing that, eh?”

Zack could make the argument that the pen was mightier than the sword if he stabbed someone hard enough with it. He remembered hearing that phrase before, and he was sure the pencil will work just as fine if he was really pissed off. The sharpener was on the table and he took a few moments to use it when the lead was too dull to continue.

“You know, I found papers with writing in the place you stayed at when I went to your floor for the knife. Did you… try to write?” Rachel asked.

Zack paused. “Not like it mattered but yeah, guess I did. I knew that the alley papers with my picture were about me but it didn’t mean shit if I can’t read ‘em. Writing would’ve been pointless but I wanted to have a go to see what it felt like. Didn’t last long, didn’t fuckin’ matter.”

Rachel noticed how careful he was about making the pencil sharp and it was probably something he did back then, too. “But now it matters?”

“Because it’s important now, yeah. Sure.” He ruffled her hair, smirking when she tried to fix it. “I don’t have the greatest teacher in the world but I’m not complaining a whole lot, hm?”

He sounded a little satisfied with himself with the smile he wore, and Rachel returned a small smile of her own. He quipped at it remaining the same as ever but changed his focus onto the paper. Zack finished the alphabet and still had enough room on the bottom of the page to try a combination of words. He surprised her when she realized that he was trying to write her name, though with mild difficulty when he attempted her first name. After scratching it off to avoid wasting the eraser, he tried again with her nickname.

Zack handed the paper to her. “Well? I didn’t like how I made the rest of the letters for your name so I did that instead, Ray.”

“Not bad. It’s still legible enough to read,” Rachel said.

“I ain’t some fancy prick,” Zack snorted. “Don’t need to be one anyway.”

“Maybe I can teach you cursive writing too.”

“The fuck is that?”

Rachel smiled, turning the paper over to write her full name. To say that Zack was surprised would be an understatement when he watched her write out the letters and how they stayed connected. The loops and swirls looked more garbled than his own handwriting and he threw his hands up.

“There ain’t no fucking way that’s writing! Even I can do something like that!”

“It’s cursive writing. Something people back in the day used and some people to this day continue to write in cursive,” Rachel explained. “Think of it as writing meant to look fancy.”

“If that’s fancy then my writing is fucking beautiful.” Zack rolled his eyes. “But this isn’t necessary writing? I don’t need to know this, right?!”

“Well, it might be helpful if you came across cursive writing and knew what it read.”

“Aw c’mon! That’s more work to do and remember!” Zack glared at the writing, trying to make sense of the swirls that looked like witchcraft symbols to him. He could guess the first letter being ‘R’, but the rest that followed lost him. She was probably messing with him, though her eyes barely held any amusement for him to threaten her with, and he sighed heavily instead. “Save this lesson for much, much later, aight?”

“If you insist. I’m sure we’ll have enough paper to practice by then.”

“Shut it. I ain’t the fastest learner but damn it the pencils will be put to good use. What else do we have to write with?”

Blue eyes looked around them. “I did spot a few pens by the door, but ink and lead aren’t the only things you can use if you’re in a situation without a writing utensil. Blood can be written with as well.”

“Blood?” Zack gave her an odd look. “You got a sick mind now? Slicing yourself up to send a message to someone?”

“It sends a message in its own way.” Rachel shrugged. “If there’s no ink or lead and you still have something to write with, even your own hands, then it works.”

“And that’s batshit crazy,” Zack muttered. “So wait, when we went through all those floors and you saw some writing on the walls, you read all that?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you remember what you read?”

Rachel raised an eyebrow. The memories blurred together for her and even if she did remember, it wouldn’t be significant. “No. They weren’t important and were too vague to be helpful as clues.”

“Huh.” Zack sounded unconvinced but there wasn’t a point to ask more about it. He looked back at the stack of paper. “Well, I’ll try again on this.”

The fact he was committed to learning how to write when he was previously against it amused Rachel. She didn’t have it in her to laugh about it, let alone have her eyes do the talking, but a small smile was the most for either of them to understand the message. “Let me know if you need help with something.”

“Hey I can manage just fine,” Zack said. He was already in his mode of concentration, which frankly was something he wasn’t used to being in. He didn’t remember the last time he had to think that hard for any reason when things were simple back then, but he supposed it wasn’t as simple now.

He paused at the thought and turned to Rachel, who went to look through one of the books in the shelves of the living room. She picked a heavy one and brushed the dust off it while she made her way to the couch, and Zack caught gold writing on the cover when she opened it. A simple thing to notice, and if he was able to read the cover, it'll be a small victory of its own. And if Rachel can read the whole book without a problem, maybe there will be a day where it won’t be as… complicated for him, to put it.

He sat back at the table, his hand reaching for the pencil and he took a moment to inspect it. The point remained sharp and with a bit of movement, he can create something that was already so simple to everyone else, until one day he can be on the same page as them. Zack chuckled a little at his own joke, mainly to brush off the impending headache after using what felt like too much brainpower to him, and picked a clean sheet of paper to start off with.

“Guess it’s the alphabet again.”

Scritch scritch.

“Lowercase ‘b’ is that way… ‘D’ is that way… ‘M’ then ‘n.’ ‘P’ is… ah shit, the lead broke off.”

He picked up another pencil to resume his work. Most of the letters were written without his headache growing, and he decided to attempt something else.

“Z… nah that’s not straight enough. Or maybe that’s okay? For fuck’s sake, I don’t think it matters.”

Scritch scritch.

“Z... a…”

Zack felt silly for trying so hard, but if Rachel happened to be feeling smug about this, he will be sure to prove her wrong. Or did she ever smug? Nah, that’s too useless to think about, and he was nearly finished anyway.

“C… K. ‘Kay. Cool?” Zack looked at the paper, squinting at the letters. “Guess it does feel different to actually recognize it. Z.. a… ck. Huh.”

A touch of pride that blossomed when he read his name a few times over. That was his name he successfully wrote, his name. Granted it didn’t match the feeling he had after a sweet kill or cutting down someone that smiled too broadly, but it felt nice to do a good job at something that was still a part of him.

“Hey Ray! I got my name down!” he called out, a little too giddy at his own victory.

Soft footsteps when Rachel made her way to him and she looked at the paper. Her eyes didn’t match his excitement, but she nodded in approval. “I think it’s more legible this time, too.”

“Oh come on. Whatever, it’s good enough for the day!”

Rachel tilted her head. “You don’t plan on practicing more?”

“After learning the alphabet, reading that, and writing this?! I don’t have enough brains in me, squirt,” Zack scoffed. “Doing more would kill me, though I’m dying for a kill.”

He laughed at the subtle way her eyes narrowed at him. “I’m kidding. Maybe. I think writing in blood won’t be so fucked up after all if it’s someone else’s blood and me writing my name on them. How cool would that be?!”

“You will be identified sooner and breaking out of jail won’t be so easy after a few times,” Rachel simply said.

“Way to ruin the party.” Zack stuck his tongue out. “I’ll still do it, mark my words. Ha! Get it?”

No response from her but Zack still laughed anyway. He clapped his hands and announced the extra brainpower he used was enough to make him hungry, and he strolled towards the fridge. Rachel shook her head, gathering the papers to put away for the next day and she stopped at the paper Zack used.

He wrote his name and at the bottom of the page, he wrote her name as well. Zack and Ray, and he did seem more proud of himself when he walked away. Rachel glanced between the paper and him, who found a jug of soda to chug down, and made another little smile before she put the papers in a folder.

Life wasn’t as simple as before, but maybe it was getting better with the small victories.

[melchixr]

Tech Booth Blues (and Reds)

Anon said: So I have this headcanon for a modern Spring Awakening AU. So Moritz does lights and takes it seriously and Melchi does sound but only actually does it to hang with Moritz in the booth. 

so i sorta wrote this as an exercise in writing freeform without knowing what the next plot point is. And that’s fairly obvious. Also VERY Self indulgent. 

Words:2059

“Hey, can I have thirteen and seven up?” Moritz’s voice called from the other side of the auditorium. When he looked down and saw the stage still only lit in the golden upstage lights. “Gabor!” He yelled out, a bit louder. Still no change. “Melchior, if you don’t put up seven and thirteen on this very second I will climb down this ladder and shove these filters up your-”

The light beside his head suddenly turned on, casting a dark red light center stage. The heat immediately bombarded the side of Moritz’s face and made it feel like his mass of hair was being singed off. But hell, at least Melchior was listening for once.

“Thank you!” He called over his shoulder and began his descent back to the floor.  After the first few months of these treacherous climbs, he finally got a hang of the whole ‘controlling your limbs’ concept. This was, of course, after a handful of times his fall was broken by a handful of seats.  When he got to the ground, he slumped back to the tech booth, where he saw Melchior leaning  against the back wall with his head tilted back.

He was on the back two legs of his stool, eyes closed and his chest steadily moving up and down.

“For fucks sake, I’ve been gone for five minutes,” Moritz hissed, staring at the other boy with unmeasured malice. Without another wasted second, he approached Melchior and placed his hand between his shoulderblades. He didn’t wake up, which was  a step forward. He pushed Melchior forward, away from the wall and sent the stool back to it’s fully standing position.

This sudden jolt woke Melchior up almost instantly. The curly haired boy bolted upright to stop himself from stumbling over and looked up with wild eyes. “What the hell, Moritz. I was trying to nap.”

“This show opens in an hour and a half and only half of our house lights have the filters on. And you’re trying to nap?”

Melchior looked around the booth, as if he were actually surprised by Moritz’s anger. “Uh...Yeah. You said I can’t go home so I might as well try to catch some REM here.”

Moritz rolled his eyes and picked up the blue filters he had left on the soundboard. “You are fucking impossible, Melchior. We have a show to run.”

“Who’s bright idea was it to let all the gay kids have their show during finals week?”

Moritz, red with anger, stopped himself from leaving the booth. He instead turned on his heel to look Melchior dead in the eye. “There are so many things wrong with that statement I don’t know where to begin. But first off, it’s The Tempest, one of William Shakespeare’s best works so have some respect. Secondly, they’ve been practicing for months and you would have known if you came to tech rehearsals. And finally, if I find you sleeping one more time I will rip your eyelids off with a pair of pliers.”

“So you’re not gonna defend me calling them gay?” Melchior said snidely as Moritz went back down the steps to the ladder up to the lights on the left side of the house.  

As the older of the two climbed, he yelled back down, “I’m not going to pretend like the whole cast isn’t gayer than the fourth of July.”

He could hear Melchior snicker as he took back to climbing the rungs and making sure his sweaty palms didn’t betray him.

Moritz had prayed to all the gods of tech that tonight would go smoothly. He did everything in his power to be sure of it. He had already gotten enough shit from entitled actors and desperate directors so he wanted to be sure that nothing happened. Because if anything did happen, it would be immediately pinned on him.

So of course he wanted to curl into a hole and die when he was trying to discuss one simple lighting change with Ernst and he heard a familiar voice come in over the speakers.

“In a world… Where one man has total control of a production put on by a bunch of geeky college kids, his iron fist rules their sound and soon...their minds!” MElchior cackled dramatically, his voice being sent all over the theater.

Ernst looked at Moritz with a glare that could melt steel. “Please do not tell me he’s the one up there with you.” Moritz was unable to reply at first. That was until Hanschen, dressed in a pair of torn up tights and a baggy blouse, looked up at the ceiling between strokes of the makeup girl smearing dirt on his face and said, “Huh, so that’s what god sounds like.”

“Holy heck,” Ernst said hopelessly, casting his arms to the side in a ‘why me’ fashion. “The first play I’ve ever directed is opening in thirty minutes and this buffoon is in the tech booth.”

Moritz charged to the back of that theater faster than anyone had seen him move. And the first thing he saw was Melchior, beat boxing into the mic with childlike wonder in his eyes.

“What the fuck are you doing!” Moritz hissed, which the mic probably picked up. He then tore it from Melchior’s hand and turned it off before continuing. “Do you even want to be here?”

“No.”

The answer, plain and effective, took Moritz by surprise. He stared at Melchior amused eyes. It was as if he were an animal being watched in a zoo. Or a cat being filmed for a fucking Youtube video.

“Well then why are you here trying to ruin this production?” Moritz practically shouted. He knew this kid was trouble on the first day of school. He came into the Lights In Technical Theatre class Moritz TA-ed for twenty minutes late with a Jamba juice and asked if he had to take notes.

Of course you have to take notes, asshole.

“Cause you asked for assistance.”

At first, Moritz didn't know what to say. so Melchior continued plainly. “You seemed desperate for help and no one else wanted to do it. Plus, I didn't want to see you struggling. “

Finally, Moritz collected himself enough to say with a glare, “Well I'm going to keep struggling if you act up for the rest of the night. So don't fuck around please.” Melchior looked at him with soft, understanding eyes. “Alright,  doors open in ten. Bring the house lights up all the way.”

Melchior seemed to calm down considerably by the time the audience filed into the room. He sat in the booth, behind the glass, patiently flipping through the little “prompt book” Moritz had made. Moritz was impressed, watching his companion’s eyes look over the words.  His expression was gentle and understanding unlike every other time Moritz had seen him. But Moritz still looked at him every time he moved so much as an inch, watching to make sure he didn't fuck with a light or mic when Moritz least expected it.

But nothing. No acting up at all. Melchior had become a perfect angel. And Moritz had realized why about half way through the show.

With intermission behind them,  Moritz had assumed it would be smooth sailing. He watched Hanschen, panting as if the two pound fake log he had been carrying were actually a hundred pounds. “ No, noble mistress;'tis fresh morning with me When you are by at night. I do beseech you--” He said to Wendla, in her plain white sack of a dress that looked perfectly handmade. She just gazed back with an equal amount of awe and passion. And honestly, you don't really need to act enraptured when you're Ferdinand has a face like this. “ Chiefly that I might set it in my prayers-- What is your name?”

Noticing how the line sounded from the speakers, Moritz quickly nudged the gain a bit in hopes that would fix the already minor issue. But as he moved his hand back down, he felt a piece of paper hit him.

It was a piece ripped from his prompt book that Melchior was still pretending to study attentively. And it had been crushed into a ball.

“Miranda.--O my father, I have broke your hest to say so!” Wendla responded with a heavy sigh as Moritz read from the wrinkled paper.

On it was, written in scratchy, cursive handwriting that set Moritz’s dyslexia into a headspin, ‘Do you wanna make out?’.

Moritz looked up at the culprit, the only other person in the booth, Melchior. He was watching the actors, but the little impish smirk on his face told Moritz that he knew exactly what he was doing.

‘Scene transition coming up, pay attention.’ Moritz responded and slid the paper back across the table. Melchior’s hand jetted out immediately to seize it from Moritz’s hands. He wasn’t even trying to keep up his calm and collected facade. Now he was smiling down at the little piece of lined paper.

He looked up for a moment to see Wendla basically ranting about how much of a virgin she is while staring Hanschen down with ‘fuck me eyes’. He then tossed the paper right back to his booth buddy.

‘We have like 50 more lines. That’s roughly 3 more minutes.’

‘I’m not going to make out with you now, Melchior.’

‘Then after the show?’

‘Why do you suddenly wanna make out?’

‘We’re filling up this paper, Moritz. Do you wanna make out of not?’

“TELL ME NOT!” Georg repeated for the third time, shouting because neither his mic was on nor the lights on his side of the stage were on. The shout suddenly grabbed Moritz’s attention and he began to switch the sound board off on and on like a laptop keyboard. Melchior did the same, quickly transitioning the golden center stage lights to the dark blue stage right ones.

“Holy fuck….” Moritz whispered to himself as Georg began to take his line to Thea, glaring at the booth the whole time. “That was almost a trainwreck. Stop distracting us!”

Melchior sighed and leaned back in his seat, pausing for a second before stating plainly. “So… This scene is really long… You sure you don’t wanna make out?”

“Why do you suddenly want to make out!” Moritz hissed an inch louder than he should have. This only caused Melchior to shush him and lean closer to Moritz. His eyes remained locked on the stage though.  “This is so out of the fucking blue?!”

“Are you telling me that the sexual tension I’ve been feeling all week is just...nothing?”

Moritz stared at the other in shock, his pupils taking up most of his eyes. “No! I haven’t been feeling that at all!”

Melchior chuckled to himself and went back to focussing on the stage. “Sure...Tell yourself that.”

No one spoke for the rest of the scene.  No one even spoke for the rest of the show. It wasn’t until Ilse, in her long flowing robes and big, driftwood staff, did her final bow and all the house lights came up that Melchior looked back to Moritz.

“So uh… I’m assuming you’ve been thinkin it over but…”

Moritz span around in his chair and without a second of hesitation, tossed Melchior the car keys he had been keeping in his lap just for this moment. “Here,” He stated with the shyest smile Melchior had ever seen. “My car is the yellow Subaru in the back parking lot.  It’s old and beat up and ignore the Taco Bell wrappers in the back. I didn’t think I would be having visitors today. Either way, let me close up and I’ll drive you to the Denny’s after party.”

Melchior jumped to his feet and practically lunged to gather his things. “Will we be making a pit stop on the way there or….?”

“Well, if I recall correctly, you said you have lots of finals coming up so…” He looked up to Melchior looking at him with wide, hopeful eyes. He looked like a puppy being picked up from the shelter. “But we can take the scenic route.”

[cyjprojectarchive]

jinyoung + 45 ☺️☺️

prompt: 45. “Are you trying to flirt with me?”group: GOT7pairing: park jinyoung, yougenre: coffee shop!au, 2young as brothers hehwords: 3175

idk if you like long fics, so i’m sorry if u don’t ;;;;;; but um, writing jinyoung is hard sjfhfk but that’s why i specifically asked requests for him, so i’m trying ToT

“Hi, good morning!What will you be having for today?” were the first words you had uttered tohim.

You weren’t thinking much of it anymore as you have recitedthe same greeting for the past two years or so with countless of customersranging from your age to possibly the 60s—some professors from the Musicdepartment were more than eager to chill in the quaint little coffee shoparound the corner of building 131 and chat with their students about lessons onmusic theories or whatnot—you tend to just zone them out as the words onlytranslate to gibberish in your mind.

You don’t remember what exactly prompted you to take thejob as a part-time barista twenty five minutes away from your side of thecampus, but you have stayed for nearly half of your college career withoutcomplaining enough to quit, so that has got to be something. Besides, workingfor five hours every day after—or sometimes before—your classes in this placebecame your convenient escape from the college kids in your major.

Some students practice their instruments in the corners ofthe café, and thankfully they were all at least good at it or else you would have quit the first time your earsare tortured by demonic harmonies. Listening to the quiet strumming of acousticguitars, playful tones of flutes, or even harmonization of voices calmed yoursenses as you brew them their favorite choice of beverages.

You had grown familiar to the homey atmosphere of theplace, and you’ve once almost decided in switching majors just so you canemerge yourself even further into the community, but your lack of understandingmusical technicalities forbid you in pursuing the dream—and you’re totally finewith that. Might as well spare these kids your own demonic harmonies, right?

But the serenity you’ve always felt during your shifts wassoon shattered by a man—who didn’t seem to be that much older than you,probably a senior—barging in the coffee shop like he owned the place, zoominghis way towards the counter—which was, unfortunately, your position thatday—and cut you off your usual cheerful greeting by a nonchalant, “Smallespresso to go,” followed by a wad of paper bills being forced into your hand.“Make it fast,” he had the audacity to add.

You were taken aback, to say the least, as you rarelyexperienced customers as rude as him. But, keeping your composure, you acceptthe payment and give him his change, almost ripping the receipt at thequickness of his grasp.

“Your name, please?” You asked politely yet with grittedteeth. You had just started workingyour shift this morning so you refused to let him turn your feelings sour toosoon.

“Doesn’t matter, I’m the only one here,” he said, obviouslyirritated. As he walked towards one of the bar stools, you begin fuming whilescribbling down his words in the fanciest cursive you could muster. You triednot to express your anger through shaking hands as you wanted to show him youweren’t fazed by his demeanor.

Sighing to yourself, you quickly make your way to thestation and brew his black coffee. Huh,we are what we eat—well, drink in this case, you thought to yourself,snickering at your own little joke. As much as you wanted to add a heapingtablespoon of salt into his drink, you avoided the temptation and completed theorder in under five minutes. Placing it on the counter, you ring the bell andsee him whip his head at the sound, thick black eyebrows furrowing in annoyance.You kept your tight lipped smile on your face as your mind begged you torelease certain profanities already scratching away in your throat. Be professional, you reminded yourself,pushing the small cup a little forward.

The man approached the counter and hastily grabs onto hisdrink. “Thanks,” he muttered under his breath and you blink in surprise for asecond. So he still had some manners left in him? Huh, interesting. You thoughthe was finally going to leave the shop, hoping you’d never see him again as hedidn’t look like he roamed this area of the university that much either—maybehe just stopped by for a quick coffee fix since his usual place was too far orsomething—but you immediately halt in your tracks as you hear him say your nameout loud with a firmness you couldn’t deny. Your fingers automatically touchedthe name tag attached on your apron, cursing yourself for actually rememberingto wear it today of all days. Slowly facing him, you tilt your head and waitfor a response. He seemed as if he wanted to run a hand through his hair, butyou noticed it was slicked back with gel so he probably didn’t want that ruined either.

Rotating the cup with your handwriting visible to you, heplaced his free hand, instead, on his hip and asked, “You think this is funny?”

“Actually, yes,” you caved in, shrugging nervously toyourself as the more you stood there—sweat trickling down your temples—the moreheated the atmosphere between the two of you became.

“You came in here looking like you were having a roughmorning, and I just thought it would help you lighten up a bit, sir,” thehonorific was definitely not necessary, and you mentally thumped yourself onthe forehead for thinking it was on the spot.

The shiny black words spelling out ‘doesn’t matter’ enunciate the whiteness of the cup, and you noticedhis firm grip loosening just a tiny bit. You thought it had worked, yourunconventional way of brightening up his day, until you see his dark brown orbsshooting you an angry glare, and you almost screamed for help under hismurderous aura as the front door opens, revealing your favorite customer—and newfoundfriend—rushing inside.

“Hyung, why didn’t you wait for me?” Youngjae panted, haira sweaty mess probably from running too fast and too much. “I told you aboutthis place so we can get coffee together,”he added with a pout. Youngjae saw you from the corner of his eye and thus hisface brightened up in anticipation.

“I didn’t know it was your shift today!” He beamed.

The man next to your cheerful friend raised an eyebrow atyour seemingly comfortable encounter, so you quickly come back to your sensesand wave a hand at Youngjae. “Yeah, I switched with Dahyun. This fits myschedule better. You get your coffee every Wednesday morning, Jae?”

“Yup, gets me going for my Math class. Honestly, when am Iever using math while performing? Not only is it a stupid general requirement,but the only slot they have is at eight thirty in the morning!” Youngjaecomplained, rolling his eyes in which you chuckled at.

“Tragic,” you commented, wiping your hands on your apron. “Areyou still getting your usual?” You asked, already on your way to the station.You heard him say yes but with less creamer this time since he needed to feelthe espresso hitting him hard. You began making the drink, relieved for thesudden distraction but still slightly confused as to what kind of relationshipthe two opposing poles of attitude the two men in the shop had with each other.You hadn’t known Youngjae for that long yet, anyway, so you ought to ask himthe next time you see each other—preferably without the grumpy man in tow.

However, your question is answered right away with Youngjaeapologizing to you. “Oh, by the way. This is my brother, Jinyoung.”

You felt your back stiffening at the information, but youcontinue pouring the hot liquid into the medium-sized cup with twitchingnerves. “Oh, really?” You muttered quietly, not fully comprehending how the twowere even remotely alike.

“Yeah, he’s taking his master’s already, though, so he’susually on the east side of campus,” Youngjae informed you, stepping closertowards the counter. “He has an interview located near the Music building and Ithought it would be nice to get coffee and walk together,” he added as you turnyour head to see him smiling from ear to ear and you heart soared. Handing himhis cup with ‘otter jae~ written in the same cursive fashion,you see his brother, Jinyoung, tapping away his foot impatiently.

“You guys better go, Jae. Someone’s itching to leave,” youwhispered, chucking your pointer finger discreetly towards Jinyoung. Youngjaedidn’t have to look back as he chortled, saying, “Don’t worry, he’s justnervous for the meeting. He isn’t always this mean looking.”

“Mean looking? Talk about being mean in all aspects of theword,” you cried out, shaking your head in disbelief. “Anyway, Jae. It’s on me,think of it as my first morning shift promo…of sorts.”

“That you’ll be paying yourself?” Youngjae asked. Smilinginnocently, you shoo him away while bidding him good luck for the rest of theday. Youngjae left the shop first, and Jinyoung followed suit, giving you aside eye you only grinned at him menacingly.

“Thanks for stopping by. See you soon, ‘doesn’t matter!’” You greeted good byeas you hear a loud bang reverberating the now quiet shop. You felt proud ofyourself for handling that quite well, you thought. But, finally, knowing thatit was just a one-time thing, you stretch out your arms and go through yourshift with a breeze.

It was after two weeks when you opened up the shop again ona Wednesday morning. You realized no one really comes in before ten so youdecide to sit on one of the tables close to the counter and take a quick powernap. Youngjae was polite enough to text you he wasn’t coming to the shop todayfor he had early vocal training, and you weren’t able to sleep at all lastnight after finishing the ten page research paper you should have done a weekago for your humanities class. Just a few minutes wouldn’t hurt, right? You setyour phone to the side with an alarm for seven twenty five as you dip your headon the wooden surface and feel your senses relaxing into slumber.

“Hey, wake up!” Not even two minutes in, your body shot upin high alert as your head turns to the source of your awakening. You finallylooked up in front of you, none other than Jinyoung staring you down with hisarms crossed, a smirk playing onto his lips. Eyes widening, you scramble toyour feet, hitting your knee below the table thus making you yelp a curse outloud. The blush your cheeks started emanating grew hotter on your skin, and youalmost thought getting caught by your manager would be a better punishment thanJinyoung.

“H—hi, welcome, what—what can I get for you?” Youstuttered, rushing behind the counter while fixing the sides of your hair. This—thiswasn’t what you were expecting at all. Jinyoung stood to where he greeted you,smirk still evident on his lips and it took the little strength in your bodynot to rake it off of his face. He was enjoying this; the second time you twomeet and he’s got the upper hand now, he caught you off guard. Well, this isgoing to be interesting.

“Sleeping on the job? That’s not what a good employeeusually does on their shift,” he commented, hands behind his back. “And leavingtheir phone on the table really shows how professional they are,” he added. Youwere about to make a dash for it, but you see his hand snatch your phone awayand you gape at him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know anyone was going to come in thisearly,” you apologized, desperation almost leaking in your tone.

You assumed Jinyoung probably knew a lot of connections oncampus—Youngjae had mentioned him being well known for his achievements when hewas still an undergraduate, which was why he was offered a paid internship atthe law firm in the university. You had to admit you were impressed by him, andslowly realized the looks he was sporting that was definitely your type—sadly,his attitude negated all of those qualities of him. Youngjae had repeated toyou that it was just his nerves getting to him, but seeing as how calm andcollected and still mean he was atthe moment, you were doubting Youngjae’s statement right about now.

“Please don’t tell, I actually like this job,” you keptpleading, back hunched forward and hands gripping firmly on the counter edge.Jinyoung was wearing a more casual outfit, but still exuded elegance no doubt.Gulping, you pried your eyes away from the midnight blue tie was recentlyadjusted onto himself. Why did that look like the sexiest tie fixing action you’veseen in your life? His hair wasn’t slicked back today, though, it looked morenatural—wavy, even, and you thought this suited him better; not saying thesuave hairdo didn’t work for him, it did,but the curls made him look more approachable, amicable.

“Why do you think I’d tell?” Jinyoung asked teasingly,approaching your form with the phone twirling in his hand. Your eyes followedthe movement, fingers drumming nervously.

“You look like a person who would tell,” you saidcautiously, eyes peering over him. He was staring at your now, at your nervousfigure and you regret ever showing vulnerability. This was only the second timeyou’ve met the guy and the first wasn’t particularly any good either. Yousuddenly thought if your friendship with Youngjae was worth keeping knowing hehad a brother that had you trembling with your knees.

“I’m hurt,” Jinyoung replied, hand dramatically clutchingon his dress shirt. “I’m actually more of a ‘kiss-don’t-tell kind of guy, and Ifeel it works so much better,” he indicated, lips in a suggestive smirk and youscoff at him. The audacity.

“Okay, then, Mr. Grumpy Nice Guy, if that’s the case, can Ihave my phone back now?” You asked, hoping he’d spare your soul.

“Didn’t I just say I was a kiss and don’t tell guy?” He emphasized, elbow now resting againstthe counter, body inching towards your form. He wasn’t too close for yourbreaths to fan over each other, but seeing it was enough to send your heartracing as fast as it can, guts flipping in your stomach you struggle not tosquirm.

“Are you…” you trailed off, mustering the confidence toask him what you were about to, wishing you weren’t about to push his buttonsbecause by god did he look so damnattractive gazing at you like that; eyes glinting with pride for making youfeel like putty to him. “Are you trying to flirt with me?”

Jinyoung smiled even wider, small crinkles around thecorner of his eyes forming at the same time. Your heart pounded seeing hisamusement towards your confusion. Stupid, that’s what you’ve become. Of coursehe wasn’t, he was merely making you feel like he was so he could exact revengeon that faithful day you two first met each other. This is it. He may not tellon your boss, but you sure are ready to quit after this shift is over.

“Depends. Are you taking it?”

You froze in your place, mouth slightly agape and eyesblinking nonstop. The red flush in your cheeks was burning your skin but youcouldn’t move, couldn’t translate his words in your mind coherently. Jinyoungsuddenly poked your shoulder causing you to stumble backward. He quicklygrabbed your arm pulling you to your balance, faces now mere centimeters apartfrom each other. His hand still wrapped around your wrist, but he loosens hisgrip as he exhales softly, eyes scanning every part of your face. The smugexpression had vanished being replaced with a much softer parting of the lips—probablysimilar to yours.

Your eyes found themselves staring at his pink lips and youfelt your tongue wetting your bottom one, and you swiftly detach yourself fromhim, panting from the excruciatingly close encounter with the man who—if yourecall correctly—looked like he wanted to plot your slow and painful deathminutes ago.

“I want to bet my savings on it as a yes,” Jinyoungbreathed out, chuckling to himself as he hands you back your phone. You took itquietly, mindlessly looking at the black screen for any answers to yourfrenzied thoughts. You lifted your head and returned your gaze onto him as yousee a sheepish smile now adorning his features. Your mind started whizzingagain. How could looking both angry and shy work on his face so well?

“That’s a serious bet to make on someone you’ve only mettwice,” you thankfully got your consciousness back, challenging the man beforeyou. Jinyoung laughed again, hand covering his mouth in the process. You foundit cute, adorable, something you’d want to witness again.

“And I’m more than willing to meet this someone anothertime,” he implied, “To make up for our first impressions of one another.”

“What? Youngjae sold me pretty damn well?” You asked, oneeyebrow arched.

“I’d say the opposite. He didn’t want me anywhere near youafter that Wednesday since he said I really took a toll on you,” Jinyoungremembered, crossing his arms.

You scoffed, dismissing a hand. “That was just him beingoverprotective. I wasn’t backing down from a grumpy old man like yourself.”

“Old? Is that what you think of me?”

“You might as well be if you keep pulling that frustratedface every time someone tries to make your day better,” you shot back,reminding him of your antics. He nodded his head understandingly and purses hislips to your phone. “Maybe you should try a different method of making my daybetter, yeah?” Jinyoung, then, pulled out his own smartphone, swiped on thescreen and urged for you to take it. You gave in, thinking you won’t be able tolast with all the teasing, and punched in your digits on his phone. Slidingyour own device back inside your pocket, you tell him, “You’re lucky I likeyour brother.”

“Oh? So is this your way of fooling me into thinking you’reinterested in me when in fact it was my younger brother you’ve been pining forthis whole time?” said Jinyoung, eyebrows wiggling with much playfulness. Yourshoulders started relaxing with your heart still trying to escape from yourchest. “I like him as a friend, Jinyoung. Let’s see if you surpass that levelsoon.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it,” Jinyoung replied with an exaggeratedwink. You chuckled softly, and start making him some black coffee which he wassurprised you remembered. But then again, he wasn’t easy to forget.

And you don’t see yourself forgetting him for a long while.

[katierosefun]

Completely and Utterly

Plot - [modern re-telling of Rochester and Jane’s story. wrote this for my ap class so mind the frenzy towards the end] Her hands didn’t shake. 

A small part of her thought that was wrong somehow—in such dramatic moments like these, she figured, one’s hands ought to shake. Her eyesight should be blurry. Her heart should be beating at a hundred beats a minute. Her mind should be racing, racing, racing to keep up with the rest of her body. 

And yet, only a numbing calm fell over Jane. 

Her clothes—the grey, black dresses she was always fond of wearing, not the bright, vivid garments Rochester bought for her—went into Jane’s suitcase in quick succession. She ignored the jewelry that sat on her dresser. That belonged to Rochester, not her. 

Nothing in this place belonged to her.

Also read on ao3

Her hands didn’t shake.

A small part of her thought that was wrong somehow—in such dramatic moments like these, she figured, one’s hands ought to shake. Her eyesight should be blurry. Her heart should be beating at a hundred beats a minute. Her mind should be racing, racing, racing to keep up with the rest of her body.

And yet, only a numbing calm fell over Jane.

Her clothes—the grey, black dresses she was always fond of wearing, not the bright, vivid garments Rochester bought for her—went into Jane’s suitcase in quick succession. She ignored the jewelry that sat on her dresser. That belonged to Rochester, not her.

Nothing in this place belonged to her.

--

“Don’t forget to read the next two chapters for tomorrow!” Jane called over the din of scraping chairs and shuffling papers. “And remember to get permission slips signed for the field trip coming up!” There was a brief chorus of “yes, Miss Eyre” before the bell rang, and then Jane was all alone in the classroom.

Well, almost alone.

“Relieved the day’s over?”

Jane swept up the pile of papers sitting at her desk. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, St. John,” she replied lightly. She only caught a glimpse of the top paper—Alice Wood, it seemed, had forgotten to write the date again. Her handwriting was improving, though—Jane could actually distinguish her vs from her rs. Paper-clipping the papers together, Jane tucked the pile into her bag and turned to find her cousin standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest and expression as cynical as ever.

“You don’t mean to tell me that you actually like working here, do you?” St. John asked incredulously.

“I do mean to tell you that,” Jane responded, shouldering her bag. “Though I can’t recall why that should bother you so much.”

“No one honestly enjoys being an elementary school teacher, Jane,” St. John said, sidestepping so Jane could pass through the classroom door. Following her down the hallway, he continued, “I know that Mary and Diana would rather do anything besides teach children how to multiply and divide.”

“You’re right,” Jane said over her shoulder, “they’d rather teach children how to appreciate the joys of German literature.”  

She heard St. John scoff. “You’re not being serious.”

“I am, actually,” Jane replied, still not looking at her cousin. “Honestly, St. John—there’s nothing wrong with teaching. It’s a good thing to do.”

“If you were interested in doing something good, then I’m sure you can find that same satisfaction in—”

Jane stopped in her tracks with a sigh. “For the last time, St. John, I’m not interested in being a missionary.”

“Why not?”

“Because I wouldn’t like it,” Jane answered. “I’d never survive.”

“You can survive a group of young children struggling with their cursive, but you can’t survive an—”

“Extremely long, tiresome trip halfway around the globe completely cut away from civilization?” Jane interrupted. “No, I don’t think I can survive.”

“You underestimate yourself,” St. John continued, refusing to be deterred. “You could certainly—”

Yes, Jane thought, relieved, as her phone went off. Shooting St. John a smile—which she did not put any sincerity into—she lifted the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“Are you almost here yet?”

“Sorry, Diana,” Jane replied, re-shouldering her bag. “I’ll meet you at the house in a few minutes. I still have to get to the car.” A beat passed, and then Jane added, “St. John was just telling me about all of my qualifications in becoming a missionary.”

“Not that again,” Diana sighed. “I thought we told him that you didn’t want to join him.”

“I did tell him that,” Jane said, shooting St. John a pointed look. Her cousin let out a huff, but all the same, he walked ahead to the school doors. As Jane followed him, she continued, “But I’m sure he’ll stop trying to persuade me soon. It’s only been—”

“A few weeks?” Diana offered.

Jane winced. “Well, I’m hopeful that he’ll stop.” She smiled as St. John (grudgingly) opened the door for her. “I refuse to let something as petty as this get between all of us,” she added, giving St. John a slight nod. He only looked at the space behind her shoulder, but Jane could have sworn she saw his expression softening. High time, too—Jane knew that St. John would tire eventually. The only thing that kept him from giving in completely, Jane suspected, was his pride—but she could wait for that.

“We’ll be home soon,” Jane told Diana as St. John and she made their way to the parking lot. “Don’t start the movie without me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Diana replied. “Can’t make the same promise on the food, though.”

“Oh, please—you wouldn’t dare.”

“Hurry up, then—no, Mary, we can’t start the movie yet!”

Jane grinned, putting her phone in her bag. She looked over at St. John, who was standing by the car with raised eyebrows. “Seems like Mary’s already getting impatient,” she told St. John, getting into the car. “And Diana’s fending her off all by herself.”

“What do they want to watch again?” St. John asked, sliding into the seat next to Jane.

“Something German, I think.”

“No surprise there.”

Jane smiled again, though it was more to herself than to St. John. Though he might find Diana and Mary’s interests below him, Jane absolutely admired the women for it. In the short months she had stayed with them, Jane had found herself occupied by all that Mary and Diana wanted to do – whether it was painting (which mostly involved Jane teaching and Diana trying to mimic her style) or watching a foreign film or something as simple as walking through the parks.

“You’ve got a following,” St. John said suddenly, pointing out the window. Jane craned her neck briefly to see that indeed, some of her students were waving frantically from the playground. Jane felt a warmth spread from her chest to the tips of her fingers as she lifted her hand to wave back. The children, encouraged by this tiny gesture, only waved with more vigor.

“They’re so excitable,” St. John mused, and Jane cast him a sidelong glance.

“What?” he asked, genuinely looking bewildered by Jane’s look. “It’s true.”

Jane sighed, pulling out of the lot. “Happy children are good children, St. John,” she only said.

“I didn’t say they weren’t,” St. John protested.

Jane shook her head, and for perhaps the thousandth time since she moved in with her cousins, she thanked God that she had not taken St. John’s offer to join him on a three-month long trip with him. However, if St. John had noticed Jane’s exasperation, he didn’t bother making it known.

“We need to make a stop,” he said instead as Jane started down the road. “I forgot to pick up the supplies Diana wanted for her class. Cotton balls, I think she said they were. That won’t be too much trouble, would it?”

“No,” Jane responded. “Sweet of you to pick things up for Diana, though. I could have done it, if she asked me.”

“You were busy with grading classwork when Diana was looking for someone to pick the materials up for her,” St. John told her. After a beat, he added, “And she didn’t want to bother you since it was—” He shot a quick glance at Jane before clearing his throat. “Exactly a year since you—”

“Yes, St. John,” Jane interrupted quickly, pressing a little harder on the gas pedal. She ignored the disproving look St. John gave her. “Look—the store’s coming up in a few minutes. What was it you said Diana wanted again? Cotton balls? I heard she was going to put up some kind of arts and crafts project for her students—you should get glitter. Children love glitter. And stickers. I’m sure Diana will appreciate it.”

“Jane.”

Jane tightened her grip on the wheel, keeping her eyes straight ahead. “There’s a grocery store nearby, right?” Jane continued, forcing her voice to remain light. “I think I’ll go get some cookies. Seems fitting for movie night and all.”

“You still miss him.”

The warmth that Jane had felt a few moments ago had all but dissipated. She felt instead something cold and heavy lodge into her stomach. Her fingers felt numb from squeezing the wheel so hard. Odd, she thought to herself. She felt she should be crying right now—at the very least, she should give some kind of response to St. John.

Odd, she thought again.

She didn’t feel anything.

Jane heard St. John give a long, weary sigh, as though he was the one who was suffering. “Jane,” he said in exaggerated patience, “you do realize it’s been a solid year since you’ve last seen him. Rochester—oomph!”

Jane had pulled up in front of the store. She had never been more relieved to come to the almost-full parking lot with its many shopping carts and seagulls. Across the lot, Jane saw a couple get out of their car. A woman, Jane noted dully, with a man getting out on the other side. Jane watched as the two shot each other warm smiles, and then the man reached into the car and helped a little girl climb out of the passenger seat. The girl had her hair up in a pretty pink ribbons.

Jane blinked—but no, the ribbons weren’t pink at all. They were white.

For some reason, Jane didn’t feel better by that.

“You go get the cotton balls,” Jane heard herself saying as she undid her seatbelt. “I’ll get the cookies.”

“Jane—”

“Go,” Jane interrupted, practically ripping the keys out of the ignition. “We shouldn’t keep Diana and Mary waiting.” Not bothering to wait for St. John’s reply, Jane pushed the car door open. She marched—marched—across the parking lot, car keys squeezed in her hand.

One whole year, Jane thought. One whole year. She felt the grip on her keys loosen.

“I want the chocolate cookies—can we get the chocolate cookies?”

Jane looked over to see the couple from before with their child. The girl was holding her mother’s and father’s hand, skipping between the two in the way all loved children skipped. “Can we get the sprinkle ones, too? Can we? Please?” the little girl wheedled, leaning into her mother’s side.

“You won’t be able to eat dinner,” her father pointed out.

“Of course we’ll get the cookies,” the mother said, giving her husband slight smile.

“Traitor,” the father groaned, but all the same, he beamed at his wife.

They all entered the store—Jane just a little ways behind them. She was close enough to hear the father call her daughter’s name (Alex), learn about the trip to grandmother’s house, and that the mother was expecting another child soon.

She should have just left the store. She should have just gone back out to the parking lot after buying the cookies—she should have just called St. John for him to hurry back to the car.

Instead, she stayed even after buying the cookies. She stood by the front doors of the store, pretending to take interest in the tabloids while the family continued to bustle around with their groceries. The little girl was begging her father for a piggy-back ride, while the mother was sneaking a quick photo of the pair. Catching his wife trying to take a photo, the father reached out and playfully nudged the phone away. The three of them started laughing, continuing with their shopping trip without even the slightest notice to Jane, who was starting to lean forward.

“You’re so pitiful,” Jane muttered to herself, quickly drawing back. “What, you think that’s all great? Really? Is that all it takes?” She looked down at the tabloids—something about a scandal, as usual. A divorce gone wrong—the man taking on a new wife.

Wasn’t that what it always was?

“See, this is why you’re here,” Jane said, turning on her heel. “You can’t get tangled up with that.” She nodded to herself. That’s right, she assured herself. You’re happy. Absolutely happy. And you’re surrounded by your family, and you have a wonderful job, and things are just fine.

“Was it hard to find the cookies?” St. John asked when Jane finally came to the car. “You came out later than I thought you would.”

“I was just considering the choices,” Jane answered, unlocking the doors. She slid into the seat without looking at St. John. She didn’t start up the car until he had put on his seat belt.

“Well,” he said, tossing the cotton balls in the passenger’s seat, “did you find what you were looking for?”

Jane lifted her shoulders. “It’ll have to do,” she said, and the two lapsed into silence for the rest of the drive home.

--

“That was a good movie,” Diana yawned, stretching out her long limbs from across the couch. “What time is it?”

“It’s late,” came Mary’s muffled response. Jane lifted her head wearily from her chest and found, not to her surprise, that her cousin had half of her face buried into a pillow. Jane was tempted to do the same, but instead, she forced herself off the couch and started to clear away the plates.

“I love weekends,” Mary groaned, rolling over on her back. “I’m going to sleep here.”

“No, you’re not,” Diana replied, gently tugging Mary up to her feet. “Come on—Jane’s cleaning up. We should help.”

“It’s fine,” Jane replied over her shoulder as she made her way into the kitchen. “You two should go up to bed now.”

“Oh—well, at least let St. John help,” Diana called after her. Jane started to protest, but before she could, she heard the clatter of more plates coming her way—St. John had, of course, already started on his new duties. Jane let out a quiet sigh. All she wanted was some quiet time to herself, but still, St. John came in.

“Hand them here,” Jane said, turning on the faucet. “I’m just going to give them a quick wash before heading up to bed.”

“We should have used paper plates,” St. John said, placing the plates on the counter.

“Next time, we’ll remember,” Jane agreed. She took the first plate and placed it under the steady stream of water. She cringed at the sudden heat and quickly adjusted the handles. She looked over her shoulder. St. John was still there. Resisting the urge to sigh again, Jane turned back to the sink and said, “You can leave now, St. John. There’s fewer plates than it seems.”

“Are we not going to talk about what happened earlier today?”

“There it is,” Jane muttered, scrubbing a little harder at the next plate.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” St. John snapped.

“You know exactly what that means!”

“Fine—since you won’t say it, I will,” St. John said, jabbing a finger in Jane’s direction. “You’re still thinking about Rochester, aren’t you?” When Jane didn’t respond, he threw his hands up in the air. “How can you?” he asked, exasperated. “Everyone knows now about what happened with that wife of his—and you—you, of all people, should know how he is—”

“I’m not going to talk to you about this,” Jane said, turning on the faucet again. “It’s not something you should concern yourself with.”

“You’re completely blinded, Jane,” St. John continued, his face turning red. “And what are you doing now? Certainly not anything meaningful—”

St. John was interrupted by the sound of the phone ringing.

Right on time, Jane thought, and without so much as a word to St. John, she walked across the kitchen to pick it up. Lifting it to her ear, she asked, “Hello?”

“Hello?”

Jane’s breath caught.

“Hello? Is this the right number? Is there a Jane Eyre there? Is this—” There was a sigh from the other end. “Dammit,” the voice muttered. Then, louder, Jane heard, “I’m losing my mind.”

There was a click—the phone call was over.

“Who was that?” St. John asked, arms crossed over his chest.

Jane stared down at the phone in her hand.

“Jane.”

One whole year, Jane thought.

And he was calling for her.

Why would he call for her?

Jane slowly set down the phone. She didn’t hear St. John calling her name as she went up the stairs, nor did she hear the worried whispers from Mary and Diana when she entered their bedroom. The image of the family from before flashed through her mind—they had been happy. They had all been in love.

Jane found herself squeezing her hands together. There had once been a time, hadn’t there? When someone else had taken her hand. When she had been smiling just as that mother had.

“Are you alright?”

Jane looked up. Diana was watching her, concern evident on her face. “You’ve gone pale,” Diana noted slowly. “Did something happen?”

“We heard the phone ringing,” came Mary’s half-awake voice. “You picked up, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” Even to herself, Jane’s voice sounded far, far away—miles and miles away. (Miles and miles and miles away to a different house—to a different person—to a different home.) “Someone called.” She looked back down at her hands. “I think,” she said softly, “someone was looking for me.”

“Who?” This time, it was both Diana and Mary who asked.

Again, Jane imagined the young couple standing before her. Even still, she could picture perfectly what they would be doing now—the young pair would be nestled together in bed, no doubt, with their fingers entwined and foreheads tilted ever-so-slightly towards each other. They’d wake up tomorrow morning, and they’d first giggle over ungraceful morning breath and then they’d try to stay in bed for just a little longer—just to wait for the sunlight to properly filter into the room. And God, Jane knew that they’d be looking at each other all over again, the husband thinking that he was the lucky one, the wife thinking the same.

“I need to take a trip tomorrow,” Jane said, turning to her cousins. “Would you mind?”

Little lines of worry creased the space between Diana’s eyebrows. “Well—of course not,” she said hastily, “but what for, Jane?”

Jane slid under the covers of her bed, staring up at the ceiling. She had done this before, she thought—a year ago, she had been staring up at the ceiling with the same dazedness, only then, the daze had been brought on under different circumstances. She imagined her hand holding onto someone else’s again.

Then, with her voice coming out louder and stronger than she had expected, Jane said, “I need to find someone.”

--

“How long do you think you’ll be away?” Mary asked as they waited for the train to arrive. It was a surprisingly bright day, with the sun unashamedly alight and the sky cloudless. It was as though the weather, too, had determined its alliance with Jane.

“Four days, at least,” Jane replied, managing a quick smile. “I’ll call if the stay goes on for longer.” There was the sound of rumbling—the train was coming closer.

“Well,” Diana said, reaching over to squeeze Jane’s hand, “even though he didn’t make it, St. John wishes you his best.”

“I know,” Jane replied. “He sent me a message.”

“Not in person?” Mary asked, bewildered.

Jane shook her head. “No, I’m afraid not,” she answered, inwardly wincing at the argument last night. Shaking her head slightly to herself, Jane added, “But it doesn’t matter right now. He’ll come around sooner or later.”

“Of course he will,” Diana said warmly. As the train came to a slow stop in front of the three women, she squeezed Jane’s hand again. “Have a safe trip.”

“I will,” Jane promised. She leaned over to her cousins for a quick hug—and with another smile and wave, Jane boarded the train.

--

Jane watched the fields of Morton blur away from the windows as the train sped along. When she had first come here, she had been struck by how vast and empty the space was. No trees or gardens or birds—just grass, some in drier clumps than others. And as these fields faded from view, a certain distantness blanketed over Jane. It wasn’t as though she was willing to forget Morton, nor her experiences there, and yet, as the train left it behind, Jane, too, felt as though she was ending something. Not all of it, of course—but she felt as though she had bookmarked that little place.

For the rest of the trip, Jane alternated between staring out the window and checking her phone, as though by some miracle, he might call again. (Which was highly unlikely, especially since the call had been directed to the house, not to her personal cell. She had changed her number, so he wouldn’t know it.)

It wasn’t until Jane saw the greener plains and brighter flowers did she pay any attention to the station stops. Almost there, a small voice whispered at the back of Jane’s mind. Just a little longer now.

When the train doors opened, Jane was the first one to run out.

--

She had never been athletic as a child, but she had certainly been strong; that strength carried her now.

Jane made her way up the long driveway—

(“Who are you?” he asked, staring up at her. “I’ve never seen you in these parts before.”

Jane didn’t put down her hand. “I’m the new tutor for the girl who lives here,” she replied. “Adele Fairfax?” She leaned a little forward. “Are you hurt?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” the man asked, though not snappishly. “You said you were the new tutor?”

“Yes,” Jane responded. The man’s eyes widened briefly—and then, in a lower tone, he muttered, “Of course, the tutor.” He looked back up at Jane. “Well, then. Help me up.”)

Jane came to a short stop.

The house was in ruins.

Jane froze, her eyes roving over the blackened porch and the crumbling walls. There was empty space where there once had been grand windows—there were skeletons of what had once been furniture—there was nothing when there had been once been almost everything.

In halted, uneven steps, Jane walked toward the doorframe. She felt a hard surface under her feet, and her veins ran cold. She looked down, fearful of what she might find—but to her relief, she had just stepped on fallen bricks.

(“What took you so long?” Mrs. Fairfax asked, quickly taking away Jane’s coat. “I was about to send someone after you!”

“I—” Jane never got to finish her sentence. Mrs. Fairfax waved her hand, saying, “Mr. Rochester—Adele’s guardian—has returned just now. He wants to see you.”

“See me?” Jane asked, bewildered. “When did he—”

“He came just now,” Mrs. Fairfax interrupted. She gave Jane a small shove. “Hurry, now! He’s in a bad mood. Slipped on some ice, he said. If I had known he was coming, I would have…” She turned to Jane, eyes widening. “What are you still doing here?” she asked, giving Jane another shove. “Go! He’s in the sitting room!”)

Jane made her way through the entrance (or what had been the entrance) and into the ghost of the sitting room. There was nothing left—a few scorched tapestries, and the burned remains of armchairs.

(“Tell me, Miss Eyre,” Mr. Rochester said, his eyes flicking up to meet Jane’s. His eyes were sharp—fierce, made even more so in the light of the fireplace. “Do you find me handsome?”

Jane didn’t blink. “No, sir.”

She thought she saw a small twitch in Mr. Rochester’s lips, but as quickly as it came, it disappeared. “You’re honest,” he said, leaning into his armchair.

Jane lifted her chin. “I didn’t mean any offense.”

“No, no—go on.” He brushed aside his dark hair, revealing his forehead. Jane caught a few grey hairs just barely peeking from the otherwise burnt-brown locks that tumbled just barely over his hand. Eyes wide, he asked, “Do I look like a fool to you now?”

“Hardly,” Jane replied dryly. “Maybe a philanthropist.”

“There’s that bluntness again.” Mr. Rochester dropped his hand, turning a little ways to the fire. There was a short pause, and then he said suddenly, “There’s not too much company in the house.” He gestured towards Jane. “You. Start a conversation.”

“Start a conversation? About what?”

“About anything.”)

Jane placed a hand on what should have been the crown of the armchair. It was cold. She didn’t know why she would have expected anything otherwise. Slowly, Jane headed to the former dining room. She eyed the skeleton of the piano—once so grand with its ivory keys and polished black surface now only a rickety structure with broken strings.

Jane fingered a string—it crumbled right then.

(“Come, Rochester,” Blanche said sweetly, playing out a chord. “Sing with me.”

“Your wish is my command,” Rochester replied with such a soft smile that Jane felt her heart drop. She cast a quick look around the room to see if anyone was watching her—and to a mix of both her relief and disappointment, no one was. All eyes were fixated only on Rochester and Miss Ingram—Blanche Ingram, who was beautiful and talented and everything Jane was not.

Silently, Jane stood and started to make her way to the doors. She was tired, anyways. There was no reason for her to be there—certainly not if Blanche was keeping Rochester busy. Jane had only just started to make her way up the stairs when she heard the dining room open and close just as softly.

Jane wasn’t sure what compelled her to look—but look, she did, and she found herself face-to-face with Mr. Rochester himself. Too soon, Jane felt her heartbeat stutter. She wondered if Rochester heard it, and for a moment, Jane wished he did.

“Jane.”

“Yes.”

Mr. Rochester shifted his weight from foot to foot—out of embarrassment or otherwise, Jane wasn’t sure. She shouldn’t’ care. Why did she care?

“Are you…alright?”

Jane stared at the space behind Mr. Rochester’s shoulder. “I’m fine.”

“Why didn’t you come talk to me?”

Jane flicked her eyes to meet Mr. Rochester’s. He looked genuinely confused—and for a moment, Jane fanaticized telling him exactly why she hadn’t been able to come talk to him. Instead, she replied somewhat coolly, “You seemed busy.”

Mr. Rochester’s brow furrowed together. “You don’t look well.”

“I’m fine,” Jane repeated, focusing her attention once more on the space behind Mr. Rochester’s shoulder. Go back to Blanche, she thought. Go back to where you belong. At the thought, an uncomfortable heat welled up behind Jane’s eyes. She blinked a few times, willing the tears to retreat.

Mr. Rochester, to Jane’s dismay, didn’t miss a beat. “You’re crying,” he said softly, reaching forward—but just as his hand lingered over Jane’s cheek, it fell limply to his side. He cleared his throat. “I know why you’re leaving,” he said in a quieter tone. “And…if you feel so inclined, you can leave still.” He tilted his head toward Jane. “Good night, my—” He stopped. He nodded only once at Jane, and then, spinning on his heel, he left for the dining room.)  

As though she was in a trance, Jane walked back out of the house. It had only been a year, hadn’t it? Surely, this couldn’t have happened while she was gone. This couldn’t have.

“But he called me,” Jane whispered. “And I came.”

Her feet carried her back to the gardens. There were weeds growing amongst the beds of flowers—and though they no longer grew in their neat, enclosed bunches, the flowers seemed, ironically, more beautiful than ever.

Cruel, Jane thought, turning away from the flowers. She made her way into the orchard instead. And at its very center, of course, was a tree, split and in ruins. At least, it had been in ruins before—now, there remained a few springs of green curling out of the ruined trunk.

(Jane stared at Mr. Rochester. “That’s not funny,” she said, bunching and re-bunching her hands. She searched Mr. Rochester’s face for the slightest bit of humor—but he looked more serious than Jane had ever seen him. She tried again. “You’re engaged to Miss Ingram,” she pointed out. “You two had—” She sucked in a quick breath. “You two are in love.”

Mr. Rochester stared back, bewildered. “Whoever said I was in love with Miss Ingram?” he asked.

“You did,” Jane replied, letting her hands fall to her sides. “You—before—you were going on about how wonderful it would be to have a bride, and, well,” she let out a short laugh, “it all fits, doesn’t it? You wouldn’t leave her side. And now you’re asking me to marry you? I don’t know what your idea of humor is, but I don’t find this even a bit funny. In fact, I—”

“Jane,” Mr. Rochester interrupted, “Blanche doesn’t love me and frankly, I don’t love Blanche.” He took a few tentative steps forward, his hands outstretched. “Jane,” he said, “I want you by my side. I love you.”

“Me.” Jane turned her eyes upward. She counted the branches of the tree dangling above her before looking back at Mr. Rochester. “I have no one. No parents. No money. Nothing to offer you.”

“None of that matters, Jane,” Mr. Rochester said earnestly, grabbing Jane’s hands. Jane looked down at their clasped hands—his touch was warmer than she thought it would have been.

“Do you really love me?” Jane asked. She gripped Mr. Rochester’s hands tighter. Drawing in a shaky breath, she whispered, “You need to say it. Say it, and I’ll believe you.”

She felt Mr. Rochester’s forehead bump lightly against hers.

“I love you.”

She closed her eyes.

“I love you. Jane, I love you.”

She lifted her face ever so slightly, feeling—reaching—until she felt another pair of lips brush her very own. She heard the wind rustle the branches hanging above her—heard the distant rumble of thunder—but she paid no attention.

Yes, she thought.

“Yes.”)

“What are you doing here?”

Jane spun around, shocked to hear a voice beside her own.

A man in a pair of sneakers and jogging shorts was frowning at Jane, earbuds dangling in one hand and phone in the other.

“What are you doing here?” Jane managed to ask, ignoring the shakiness in her voice. “This is private property.”

“Not much property left, if you ask me,” the man snorted. He waved a hand wildly at the ruins of the house. “Were you just in there? Do you know how dangerous it is? God, lady—you could have been hurt! Bricks have been falling left and right in there!”

“What happened here?” Jane only asked. “How did this happen?”

The man balked at Jane. “You mean to tell me that you didn’t know?” he asked incredulously.

“Well, of course I didn’t know,” Jane replied, trying to keep her voice level. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”

The man lifted his hands in surrender. “Sorry, lady,” he said, though he didn’t look apologetic at all. He nodded at the house. “Crazy fire happened a few months ago. The dude who lived here—pretty wealthy, but he was a bit of a nut. Shut in for a while.”

Jane felt something lump into the back of her throat. “That doesn’t explain what happened to the house.”

“I’m getting there,” the man responded. “The dude had some former wife—almost divorced. She refused to sign the papers, and she got a little…well, it was rumored she was a little off, anyways.” He lifted his shoulders. “She set the whole place on fire. The guy living here managed to get his household out, but he…” He winced.

Jane’s veins ran cold. “What?” she demanded. “What happened to him?”

“Something fell on him,” the man replied. “Lost a hand. I mean, the doctors got him one of those glove-things, but…” He shook his head, his expression softening into a more sympathetic one. “You know how things like this goes.” He cast a sad look at the house. “Dude got himself blinded, too. Pretty bad, huh? Too bad, to be honest—”

“Where is he now?” Jane interrupted.

The man scratched his head. “I dunno—there was something about in the papers. Living in…a private estate a few towns away from here. Fernburrow? Nah, that wasn’t it…Fernhaven? No—wait!” He snapped his fingers. “Ferndean! That’s what it was called—Ferndean. Guy decided to lock himself up in there.”

A new strength filled Jane. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I appreciate it.” With that, she started down the driveway.

“Don’t think about visiting the guy!” the man called after her. “He doesn’t accept any visitors, you know!”

“I’m not a visitor!” Jane shouted over her shoulder.

--

She found him where he would always be—in the garden. His hair was the same rich, sable color that it had been the year before, with perhaps only a little more grey visible in both the locks and the new beard he wore. His eyes—so dark and so fierce they once had been—were staring at nothing and everything at once, so different from the look they had before. And yet, despite all the changes, Jane’s heart only ached more.

She didn’t bother quieting her steps as she made her way towards him. Instantly, Mr. Rochester’s head lifted up. “Mary?” he called. “Is that you? I told you not to bother me.”

Jane was surprised that her voice was still working. “It’s not Mary,” she whispered. She slowly made her way in front of Mr. Rochester until she was only a few breaths away. Recognize me, she thought. Please, please know me.

Mr. Rochester’s face—which was already pale to begin with—whitened. “Not this again,” he murmured. He reached out, his hand trembling. “I’m dreaming again. Again.”  

Jane didn’t hesitate at Mr. Rochester’s hand. She twined her fingers around his, saying quietly, “You’re not dreaming.” She gave the hand a small squeeze. “See?”

“This is her hand,” Mr. Rochester whispered. “And her voice—”

“She is all here; her heart, too,” Jane breathed. She brushed her hand against Mr. Rochester’s cheek. “I’m here. Completely and utterly here.”

“Jane,” Mr. Rochester’s voice cracked. “Tell me it’s true. Tell me, and I’ll believe it. Show me, and I’ll believe it.”

Jane stood on the tips of her toes, pressing her lips lightly against the lids of Mr. Rochester’s eyes. “I’m here,” she repeated. “I really am.”

“You are,” Mr. Rochester echoed. “Completely and utterly here.”

--

Reader, she married him.

--

-fin-