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sourholland · 8 months ago

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WELCOME TO THE STYLE MASTERLIST

based off of taylor swift’s song style

a/n → hope u guys like this :)

summary → he’s the quarterback of the cincinnati bengals, a worldwide heartthrob with an ego the size of lake erie—but does he have the heart to match it? you’re the bengals newest cheerleader, desperate to prove how much you deserve your spot on the team. it doesn’t take much to catch the eye of joe burrow, however that isn’t necessarily a good thing when you’re told that any romantic relations between cheerleaders and players is strictly prohibited.

warnings → strong language, alcohol

word count → 3.3k

remember to reblog and leave some comments if you enjoy!

SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter 6

“It’s one picture, don’t drive yourself crazy over it,” Joe’s voice came through your phone. “I get why you’re freaking out, but I think we both agree that it could be a lot worse.”

“That’s the problem. This was our first time out together, who’s to say there aren’t more pictures like this but worse? We haven’t exactly been careful about seeing each other, Joe.”

There was a brief silence, the sound of his car air conditioner creating a white noise in the background of your phone call. He texted you back almost instantaneously after you sent him the screenshot from Twitter. He said he would have to tell his coaches he was having an important family matter so that they would allow him to walk out to take the call in the middle of analyzing game film. It took him all but five minutes to get outside and phone you.

“I know,” he sighed, inhaling a quick breath before he spoke again. “We’ll be better about stuff, you know I’ll make sure I’m not so–”

“It’s more than that and you know it. This doesn’t just end with one shitty photo on Twitter, it only gets worse from here. It makes no difference if we’re trying harder to sneak around because at some point one of us is going to fuck up, that’s if we already haven’t and don’t know, and then would all of this have been worth it?” You snapped at him, thankful he could not see the tears threatening to spill over and dampen your cheeks. “The fucking around and being casual hookup buddies. Will it have been worth it? Maybe for you, but that’s because you’re Joe Burrow and we both know we’re not even in remotely similar spots in this situation.”

“What are fucking talking about? That’s all bullshit, you know that’s bullshit,” his voice raised slightly, a twinge of hurt evident. “Look, Y/N–I understand that we aren’t exactly in the same position, but that doesn’t make it fair for you to act like none of this matters to me or whatever the fuck you’re going on about as far as all of this being worth it. What’s going on between us has never had anything to do with me, or my name, or what position I hold on the team.”

“Do you hear yourself right now? Of course it has something to do with who you are, it always had something to do with who you are and you can’t seriously tell me you don’t know that. You’re in the NFL and a star quarterback for fucks sake. You went to the Super Bowl last year! You can’t seriously sit here and tell me we’re risking the same things?”

The line was quiet, save for the sound of both of you breathing. Perhaps you were being petty, but Joe was being inconsiderate of what a loss of job would mean for you. He sounded hurt by the fact that the two of you hooking up was not a good enough reason to lose out on the extra money. The public humiliation you would receive was a whole different factor to be conquered in itself. While you might not know what this was like for him, he sure as hell wouldn’t ever know what it is like for you.

Social status and money were such fickle things, seemingly unimportant in some scenarios until suddenly they became the center of the universe again. Joe would never again live a fully mundane life, he couldn’t see through the eyes of a college student who already had trouble making ends meet. It felt so unfair to know how this story would end, however if you could potentially stop it from being made worse, you might be thankful in the long run.

“You’re right, that was a stupid thing for me to say. But Y/N, I’m just as much in this as you. It’s not easy for me either.”

“It shouldn’t have to be hard,” you sighed, face hot with emotion as you stared downward at your feet. “I just feel like we might be better off leaving this where it is, you know? Before things get messy. Which they will, you know they will.”

Joe didn’t speak at first, his silence left a sharp ache to burrow itself deep within your ribcage. His voice came out firm but hoarse, “If that’s what you want.”

As your breath grew slightly ragged, you realized that you hadn’t been preparing for his nonchalant response. Selfishly, you let a hand slide to your chest and then throat as you swallowed and attempted to formulate a response to his words. The line was silent, save for the sound of Joe’s breathing.

“Is that what you want?” You asked him.

“It seems like that’s what you want, seeing as you were the one who brought it up. And if this is just sex then why should it matter?” said Joe, his tone defensive and his voice breathier than usual. “This is just sex to you, right?”

No, you wanted to shout at him. This is so much more than sex and you know that, but the second you said it aloud it could not be taken back and then things truly became complicated. Joe wished to provoke you, the tone of his voice said as much. This annoyed you, his desire to make this even more difficult for you.

“What do you want me to say to that?”

“It’s a simple question,” Joe hurled, clearly irritated.

“No, it’s not. You know that,” you sniffled. “How I feel about you doesn’t matter when we’re in this situation, anyway.”

“Bullshit, it’s not a simple question because you’re making it complicated. How you feel doesn’t matter because you say it doesn’t matter,” Joe answered furiously. “Look, I have to get back inside, but I just want to say that you saying all of this right now is really fucking selfish. Especially after all of the mixed signals you send… I never know what you actually want from me. One second you’re pissed off at the idea of me even seeing another girl and now you’re breaking stuff off with me over the phone.”

You flinched at his assessment, “I’m just trying to do the right thing for both of us.”

“Yeah, whatever you say,” he replied, voice dripping with sarcasm.

The line went dead and you knew he had hung up, frustrated with you and the entire situation. You let your hands run over your face, feeling a deep pain in your chest as you buried your face into the blankets on your couch that still held his distant scent. He surely hated now, unable to comprehend how deep your feelings for him went. Much deeper than his for you, you were sure of. When you told him that your relationship would grow messy, you hadn’t been lying. However, a piece of you was not solely referring to the conflict within your work.

You debated calling him back, but knew that he would have already made it back into the facility. He sounded so upset with you, more so than he had ever been before. Joe was usually quite relaxed and level-headed, though now he was most definitely frustrated by the argument itself.

Joe made no other attempts to contact you for the remainder of the day. That night, you let your phone sit idly by as you made dinner and still nothing. Maybe the two of you had broken up, that was what you had insisted anyways. He made you act like a complete idiot sometimes, thoughts skewed and rash as if you were once again sixteen. Nothing about Joe was in disarray, he always seemed to know exactly what he wanted to say and do. It never came out awkward or clunky, despite how he described his usual anxiety during interviews.

Attempting to sleep was difficult, your mind racing a mile a minute. Thoughts of Joe persisted, leaving you ridden with guilt and sadness about the supposed no contact. You knew not to text, though. Not only would it have been unfair to you, but Joe as well. There was also the fact that it would never work between the two of you, the carousel of disappointment and pain was unavoidable.

⋆------------⋆

The Bengals lost their next preseason game against the Giants, the game was close but ended the same as the Cardinals had. The only difference in this game was Joe’s attendance, he wore a headset on the sidelines with his coaches as the team played. Still out on injury, he was helping to give instruction to his teammates most of the game.

You had briefly locked eyes with Joe before the game began, everyone scrambling about to get into positions. His expression was blank, as if he had no idea who you were and there was never anything there. Your eyes raked over him, the way that the shirt he wore hugged his biceps and back. Joe spared the cheerleaders more glances than usual this game, watching more than he ever had time to while playing. You caught his lingering gaze once or twice, mind racing.

The final preseason game against the Rams played out the exact same, save for the fact that the Bengals won. It had been two weeks between the game and the morning of yours and Joe’s heated argument. The post on Twitter had somewhat died off at twenty thousand likes and his fans eventually found something new to speculate about.

Sydney and Lena were absolutely furious when you divulged all information regarding the fight you had caused, earning a few much deserved playful swots to the arm. They attempted to coerce you into calling him and smoothing things over, insisting that you shouldn’t just end things on such an awful note. Once you explained more of the predicament and how you felt no desire to be ripped apart on the internet or by your coaches, both girls simply sighed and nodded at your decision. They understood how difficult it was for you, especially after silent tears had begun to fall during the long winded explanation of how seriously NFL executives and management took player-cheerleader fraternization and how it would unfortunately not just be swept under the rug when you two inevitably got caught.

The wallowing in self-pity lasted for another week before the girls had finally called for the bedrotting to end, “Babe, don’t cry. Come on, wipe those tears. We’re going out tonight,” said Sydney, sitting criss cross on your bedroom floor. “It’s Friday night, you’re hot as fuck and you’re an NFL cheerleader. I love you so I’m going to be honest with you right now, I get that you fumbled Joe Burrow, but we both know that he was just a guy at the end of the day. So again, you are hot as fuck and we’re going out. What do I always say?”

“I’m not feeling it tonight, Syd,” your reply was muffled as you spoke into the pillow you lay face down into. “Go without me.”

“Bitch, stop. You’re going out, we’re getting fucked up. Lena’s already on her way over here and you know she’s not leaving without you so let’s go. You’ll feel better, by the time we get to the club you’re going to be like ‘Who’s Joe Burrow anyways?’”

“Somehow I highly doubt that,” you sighed, turning to look up at the ceiling. “You don’t want me to come, I’m miserable and sad and I’m only going to spoil everyone’s fun.”

“I don’t care, Y/N. Spoil my fun, ruin my night, I’d say throw up in my clutch but you already managed that last time we went out. I just want to see you out of this bed for something other than practice, work, or class. You’re like a ghost and I’m not going to watch you throw away your senior year because of some erotic work hookup with a guy who I’m sure couldn’t even hold a candle to you,” Sydney spieled, perched on the edge of your bed. “The only way to get over a man is to get under a new one!”

Eventually Sydney did manage to get you up, it only took ripping all of the blankets off of you and hiding your phone. Once Lena came in and began tidying up the somewhat mess you’d been allowing to collect, you realized getting out was probably the best course of action. Although you had no plans of getting under any new guy, Sydney appreciated your partially willing participation once she began to do your hair and makeup.

Lena dumped a bag of going out tops onto your bed, sifting through them and throwing each top into a certain pile. Some of them were from freshman year, leaving both you and Sydney to cringe and shout at her to make sure it went into the rapidly growing mass of ‘absolutely not’ tops. Eventually you settled for a fitted lilac top, adorned with sheer lace everywhere but the cups. Sydney wore a timeless black bodysuit that she had swiped from your closet during study abroad and Lena opted for blue slip dress and promised Sydney she would take care of her leather jacket if she let her borrow it.

The three of you Ubered to the club, knowing that you planned to drink. As soon as you slid into the backseat of the SUV, Sydney pulled her purse into her lap and was suddenly handing out shooters. There was one Malibu, a Fireball, and a Pink Whitney.

“Fuck that, I can’t even smell that shit without wanting to throw up,” you shook your head, pretending to gag in a dramatic motion. “You’re better off throwing the Pink Shitney out the window.”

“Throw up?” The driver’s head whipped towards the backseat suddenly. “No, no! If you throw up, I charge extra.”

“Nobody is going to throw up, sir,” Lena reassured him and looked back at both you and Sydney with a laugh. “Well, I don’t want it either. Rock, paper, scissors?”

Sydney and Lena went first, Lena won and chose the Malibu. You faced Sydney now, playing rock as she threw out scissors and proceeded to hunch over in fake despair as you snatched the shot of Fireball. Not that the taste was much better, but after a few horrible experiences with Pink Whitney during freshman year, you could no longer stomach it without revisiting the memories of endless mornings spent hugging the toilet bowl of your dorm floor after drinking with your girls and relishing in the alcohol that tastes identical to Minute Maid once you grew drunk enough.

The drive to the club was about fifteen minutes from your apartment, each of you taking a couple of photos together and dissecting Lena’s texts with her ex from the night before.Sydney was bantering with the driver once you finally pulled up beside the curb out front of the club, a considerably long queue already forming at the front door.

“You look so hot,” Lena told you, practically skipping to join the line and get inside. “So do you, Syd.”

The bouncer worked quickly, only sending a few people away as he looked over IDs and gestured clusters inside of the club. Thankfully, your fake ID days had passed and you were finally able to toss it. Most of the drinking you had done over the course of your time at school was with small groups of girlfriends and occasionally nights spent at sleazy bars that weren’t strict about obviously fake IDs. Frats had never been your scene, although you managed to go a few times during your freshman year for the experience.

Once the three of you made it inside, Sydney immediately went to the bar after claiming the first round of drinks were on her. There were colorful lights illuminating the crowded atmosphere of those dancing and drinking with friends. The club mix that was playing boomed, your ears adjusting to the insanely loud music as Sydney approached with drinks and held up her phone to snap a photo of you and Lena.

“Drink up!” Sydney called out to both of you, taking a long sip and looking around the club in search of tonight’s target.

It didn’t take long for Lena to pull both of you to dance, integrating yourselves with a group of sweaty, twenty-something girls who were the level of drunk you hoped to be soon enough. The floor vibrated, moisture collecting at your temples and hairline as you rocked against Sydney in a slightly buzzed bliss. One of the girls you had just met had her arms thrown around your neck, all of you singing at different pitches.

A rotation of going to grab more drinks and then rejoining your group on the floor had begun, both you and Lena alternating who bought the next round of shots after Sydney found a cute guy at the bar to flirt with. The film of sweat clinging to your skin became unnoticeable after you grew drunk enough to stop caring, your face hot from drinking and dancing.

“Lena!” You called over the music, drink in-hand. “I have to pee, I’ll be right back!”

“What?” She leaned in. “Bathroom? I’ll come with you!”

“No, stay! I’ll be good,” you promised, knowing she had already made two trips with you.

“You sure?”

“Yes!” You shouted over your shoulder, already making your way to the slightly grungy, low-lit bathroom.

There was a singular open stall, stray bits of toilet paper and a fake eyelash adorning the floor as you drunkenly made your way around the girls reapplying makeup in the mirror. Thoughts of the game washed over you, in turn bringing on thoughts of Joe. Something about going to the bathroom and finally having a few moments of peace allowed you to assess how intoxicated you truly were, which was considerable. The thought of talking to him outweighed the small voice of reason in the back of your mind, ultimately deciding that it would be a problem for your sober self.

As you left the bathroom, rather than going back out to dance with Lena, you leaned against the wall of the hallway and braced yourself in order to stay upright. You pulled your phone from your clutch, sighing and opening his contact. It was late, he might be asleep, you thought. Without thinking much, you dazedly pressed the call button and closed your eyes as the phone rang and you awaited his potential answer.

“Y/N,” his voice came through clear, not even taking two rings to pick up your call.

“Hi, Joe,” you concentrated very hard on your tone and slightly slurred speech, doing your best to sound sober.”M’sorry it’s so late, I just–I was thinking about you, which I know that I shouldn’t because we’re broken up but I was. I wanted to talk to you, I know you probably hate me and everything, or I hate you or whatever. I shouldn’t have called you, I’m sorry.”

“Are you drunk?” His voice comes out level, emotionless even.

The silence between the two of you is palpable, “No,” you hiccup.

He says nothing for a few seconds, “Are you at the club?”

“Why would you ask that?”

“I can hear music and people talking, it sounds like you’re in a club.”

This was wrong, you should not be calling Joe. Why couldn’t you shake him? After all of this, you only continued to want more. All you have done is hurt him and yourself through this situation, unable to make up your mind. Everything you have worked so hard for should be worth more than Joe Burrow, so why didn’t it feel like that?

“Yeah,” you replied, the slurring evident in your voice. “You got me.”

“This isn’t fair, YN… You calling me fucked up and out with who the hell knows isn’t right, not after you call me and tell me you would rather, ‘leave things where they are.’ I like you! I feel like I have made that incredibly obvious, and yet here we are once again.” He rattled off, voice slightly raised. “Look, I’m sorry to be an asshole but clearly you either can’t see or don’t care about how this has affected me or my life. And I get it, you’re still in college and we’re just in completely different stages of life as far as your age–”

“My age?” You finally interrupted his rambling, ready to counter him with what you would most likely regret saying tomorrow. “How come you’re suddenly so fucking mature and I’m just a kid?”

“Well for starters, you are the one who blindsided me a few weeks ago over the phone. You are the one who just called me up at one in the morning, for what? To tell me again that you don’t want to be with me? Or is this some sick joke where you apologize and then can’t remember when you wake up?” He snapped at you. “So yeah, Y/N… I would go as far as to say you’re the immature one in this situation.”

It was as if the wind had been knocked out of you, internalizing Joe’s words as you shifted weight from one foot to the other. Everything was fuzzy, your thoughts askew and irrational as you tried to compile the right words to respond with. He had never taken that tone with you before, nor had he ever sounded so hurt. Maybe he was right.

“I’m sorry, Joe,” was all you could muster without giving away how inebriated you truly are, figuring that would only make things worse. “I regret everything, all of it. We shouldn’t have started anything in the first place, but everytime you come near me it’s just so hard not to want you–” You trailed off, regret was most definitely not the right word, you mean to say that you regret how things have played out.

“Y/N, stop. You’re drunk and you don’t know what you’re saying,” he sighed. “Are you safe? Should I get you an Uber or do you have a way home?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” you say quietly.

“Then I’m gonna get off of here, call me once you’ve sobered up.”

His words stung, your heart cracking at the justifiable dismissal. He was most definitely not in the wrong here, but it didn’t make it any less hard. His usual flirtation and humor was long gone, replaced by obvious disdain due to the way you had ended things.

“Bye, Joe.”

“Get home safe, Y/N.”

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kurishiri · 6 months ago

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03 . . . the past records ˗ˏˋ🍎🪞´ˎ˗

— this translation may not be 100% accurate or may contain creative liberties. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost or claim these as your own!

— cw: none.

Liam: Hearing Al say they played this game to decide whether he stayed by Lord Elbie’s side or died... it makes me wonder, does he really hate being by his side that much?

Roger: Haha, it’s nothing that serious. If he really hated staying by his side that much, he wouldn’t have just left it to something like luck. He would’ve taken it in his own hands.

Liam: Right? That’s what I was thinking.

Roger: He says stuff like ‘it’s a game of luck,’ but really he just wants a cover up.

Liam: So... if he doesn’t have an excuse, he can’t be together with him? But why?

Roger: ......Who knows.

Liam: Hmm... I feel like despite hearing the whole story, I still don’t know what’s the answer to that question that started it all.

L: Why is Al with Lord Elbie?

Roger: Word’s that when they met, they were both going through something that made it hard for them to be apart from each other.

R: And anything more about that is beyond me.

Liam: Hm...

L: You see, Al has been helping me satisfy my curiosity by indulging in my whims...

L: ...but he would really have gone and done something dangerous, if I asked for it, I feel like.

L: Like, he puts his life on the line just for a game of luck... so much so, I wouldn’t be surprised if we found his corpse tomorrow... I guess.

L: Oh, maybe he also has the ‘Cheshire Cat’s Curse’ like me?

Roger: ...If he did have such a Curse, maybe he would be able to be a part of others’ lives without feeling the need to keep up a pretense.

—— Perspective shift ——

Today’s mission for Crown was to pass judgment on the person who’s been illicitly making drugs, and to gather proof of their crime.

William and Harrison were to pass judgment,

while Alfons and Elbert were assigned to gather proof.

In a certain warehouse containing imported goods,

Alfons and Elbert were able to find the raw materials used to make that dangerous drug hidden within the very general spices.

They were carrying out their mission without a hitch——

when suddenly, several bullets shot through the air, piercing holes through the burlap bags piled high in a heap,

until the contents of the bags spilled on top of the two men.

Elbert: There’s an eyewitness... we have to go after them.

Alfons: Do you really have the luxury to say that when we’re in this state?

The two of them were buried in so much spice from the waist down, it was hard to laugh it off as any joke.

And Alfons let out a sigh as though he were fed up.

Alfons: This is William and Harry we’re talking about?

A: They won’t let a single one go alive, so it should be fine.

A: Anyhow, more importantly, I can’t help but feel an inkling that I’ve run into this smell before—

Elbert: ...! Al, over there, there are cats.

They had probably been hiding somewhere in the warehouse, but some stray cats had shown themselves, gathering around them.

Alfons: Ah, yes, I remember that spice’s scent now.

Elbert: ...?

Alfons: It’s cat powder.

While they were having an out-of-tune conversation, the two became surrounded by cats.

Alfons: Come now, don’t cozy up on your own quite yet. Why don’t you help us out?

A: I hope you know the reason you guys can indulge yourselves in cat powder is because of us?

A cat drew closer to Alfons as he petted it around its neck.

The cat purred in response, snuggling its body up to his palm.

Elbert: ...Hehe.

Alfons: Whatever is the matter, suddenly laughing like that? Don’t tell me you are on a cat powder high as well?

Elbert: It’s not that. It’s just... I was remembering how you dote on cats, even when you act more like one than the cats themselves.

Alfons: I’m afraid you have me ever so slightly lost with that train of thought...

Elbert: I mean, when I think you saved that cat who had trouble getting down,

E: you would push it away when it got too close.

E: And when I think you have petted it... you pretend you don’t know them...

E: And when they’re going through a hard time, you are there by their side... but then, when they’re not going through such times, you try your best to distance yourself.

Alfons: ...You are quite an observant one, aren’t you. So? Would you mind telling me why you look so happy then?

Elbert: Because... I think that side of you is wonderful, Al.

Alfons: ......Is this your attempt to woo me?

Elbert: ...? No, I didn’t mean to woo you.

Alfons: Yes, I knew that from the start, so please don’t take my words so earnestly.

A: ...Elbie, how would you like to play a little game with me?

Elbert: Game...?

Alfons pulled out a coin from his pocket, flipping it in the air with his finger.

Then, when the coin fell atop the back of his hand, he covered it with the other.

Elbert: I guess, I’ll bet tails then.

Alfons: And that leaves me with heads.

A: If it is tails, as you say, then I win. Otherwise, it’s yours.

Elbert: So, the one who guessed wrong wins... somehow, it feels like it should be the opposite.

Alfons: Well, you can think of it as playing with a ‘mirror’ that is myself. And so, that which is incorrect becomes the correct choice, and conversely, the correct choice becomes incorrect.

Elbert: What will you do if you win?

Alfons: Let’s see now...

A: I suppose, if I win, I will go on a journey to the edge of the world.

On the back of Alfons’ hand, the coin——showed heads.

Alfons: And once again, it is my loss.

A: Truly, when it comes to making the wrong choices, there is no one who can hold a candle to you.

A: ...I realize this is sorely belated, but is it alright if I ask you one question?

Elbert: ...What is it?

Alfons: The day we first met, when I suddenly appeared before you, what made you want to take me into the manor?

Elbert: ......

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full masterlist 🍎🪞

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fairyboygenius · 3 months ago

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good luck, babe!

farah karim x original female character (part one)

warnings: vague harassment (not by farah or josie), weird comment by bad character calling farah “exotic”, being mean to alex because he gets in the way of the lesbian love story (sorry alex/farah stans i don’t know why you’re still here )

She never should’ve agreed to come to this stupid bar.

Farah shifted awkwardly, the cup of Sprite spilling ever so slightly onto her top. Her eyes tracked the scene. Typical; the Brits causing trouble in a Chicago bar. Gaz and Soap ganging up on college boys at the pool table, Price trying to flirt with a twenty something by the bathrooms, Ghost looking at his phone (for sure just the weather app) with his drink in hand. Alex was at the bar getting him and Farah refills. And there she sat, on a high barstool, regarding over the bar as though she owned it. Quiet scrutiny disguised as class radiated off of her, sort of giving off a “don’t touch me” sort of energy.

“Hey, pretty thing.”

Farah looked down and immediately rolled her eyes. A bland looking man, one that had clearly just been playing pool with Soap and Gaz, leered up at her, eyes directly level with her tits. Fuckin’ fantastic. Just what this mediocre night needed.

“Not interested.”

He moved on, unbothered. “I’m Beau. Beau Hunter.”

“That means nothing to me.”

“It could, though. Could change whatever exotic last name I’m sure you have, give you mine.”

Rage suddenly wafted off her. “You little-“

“Hunter! Third strike.”

Farah felt her mouth go dry at the sight of her knight in shining armor. A woman, 30ish. Brunette. Hair in two braids. A honeyed Midwestern accent tinged with venom. A lavender carabiner shaped like a heart jingled against her belt loop, heavy with multiple sets of keys.

Farah’s heart skipped a beat. That was new.

Beau- the prick- stepped back, face falling. “Josie. Didn’t realize you were workin’ tonight.”

The hero- Josie- shook her head, a slight scent of vanilla and cinnamon hitting Farah’s nose. “Well, no, but I’ve got express permission from Brooke to kick you out even if I’m off the clock. Your presence is making the bar unsafe for everyone. Time’s up, daddy’s money.”

Farah stifled a laugh as Beau pouted, slamming his drink down before storming out of the bar. Didn’t even pay for it, the dick.

That gaze focused itself on Farah then, moving in closer. Vanilla hit her nose again. “Sorry about him. He’s just an overgrown frat boy.” She held out her hand. “Josette, most people call me Josie or Jo. You haven’t earned my last name yet.”

Farah raised an eyebrow. “Earned it?”

Josie shrugged. “Why not add a little mystery into your trip? I’m assuming you’re not a local. Gonna make you work for it, a little bit.”

Farah laughed, surprising herself. “Farah, then. Farah Karim.”

“No mystery for you?”

“Deal with that enough in my job.”

Josie raised an eyebrow. She had a septum ring, Farah noticed. It looked good on her. “I’m assuming you can’t tell me, otherwise you’ll have to kill me, so I’ll let it slide. This your first time in Chicago?”

Farah shook her head. Maybe being around drunk people helped you feel drunk too, because her head was swimming. “Haven’t gotten much of a chance to explore the city. I love this neighborhood.”

“I’ve lived here my whole life. It’s probably my favorite place on Earth.” Josie held eye contact for a few more seconds before looking over at the bar, where Price seemed to have succeeded in his flirtations. He was passionately kissing the young girl, his hand sliding up her shirt. Josie and Farah both winced at the sight.

Farah groaned. “Sorry. My colleague seems to have forgotten that other people can see him.”

“It’s not your fault.” Josie sighed, crossing her arms over her ample chest. Farah tried not to let her eyes linger on the cleavage amplified by that one simple motion. What was going on with her? “I’m not on the clock, neither are you. It’s frankly none of our business if your boss is feeling up a teenybopper.”

Farah barked out a laugh. “You’ve got a way with words, for sure.”

“I just tell it like it is, sweetheart.”

Farah instantly felt blood rush to her face, blinking rapidly. There was a funny feeling in her chest, like a glitter bomb exploded or someone had shaken up a soda bottle.

“Oh, hey, Farah. I’m sorry, I got caught up talking with the bartender.” Alex touched her arm gently. Alex. She noticed a flash of disappointment in Josie’s eyes and immediately wanted to throttle him.

“Alex. Hey.” Farah took a sip of her drink, then gestured towards Josie. “This is Josie. You’ve gotta earn the right to know her last name.”

Josie recovered quickly, plastering on a smile. “Nice to meet you.”

Alex smiled, ever polite. “You too.” He turned to Farah then. “You ready to go?”

She nodded, eyes flickering back to Josie. “I’ll be ready in a second. Meet you outside.”

“Okay.” Alex pecked her cheek before turning away. Farah felt herself cringe on the inside. She took a deep breath before turning back to Josie.

“I’d love to get your number, so we could hang out when I’m in Chicago. I’m around too much testosterone as it is.”

Josie smiled. It seemed a bit forced. “I’ll give you my number.”

#let’s go lesbians!!#here we go lesbians!!#call of duty #cod #farah karim #farah cod #farah karim x oc #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price #alex keller #alex as a plot device

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pabit · 25 days ago

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[corrupted footage]

OH WOW. THESE COOKIES REALLY ARE FUCKING AWESOME. WELL DONE, COWBOY!

Haha, thank you thank you. I’m hoping this can cheer you up a little…you’ve had quite an emotional day.

EMOTIONAL? I'M NOT EMOTIONAL.

Really…? Sorry sweetheart, but I’ve read back on your posts from earlier today and…it seems to me like you’re full of those stinkin’ feelings, actually!

YEAH, NO FUCKING DUH. I SAID I'M NOT “E-MO-TION-ALLL”…YA DIG? I DON'T WAIL LIKE A WENCH AT EVERY LITTLE INCONVENIENCE. BUT THAT'S NOT TO SAY I HAVE ZERO CAPACITY FOR “FEELINGS” EITHER. IT'S TWO DIFFERENT THINGS. SO DONT PISS ME OFF.

Oh fine. Let’s get serious then.

What about other feelings? In your story about Vinny, you said you had felt something there but couldn’t figure out what.

(HABIT swallows the rest of the food in his mouth and pauses his vigorous feasting to stare down into the cookie plate)

…FUCK. WHAT'S YOUR ANGLE, PATRICK. I THOUGHT YOU WANTED ME TO CHEER UP…THIS TOPIC WON'T BE CONDUCIVE TO THAT END.

I am sincerely trying to help you, Habs, that's my angle. The fact is, I can cheer you up with small gestures that will certainly make you feel good for the moment, but you wont feel any better overall by refusing to talk about the shit that's dragging you down.

…UGH. I GUESS YOU ARE RIGHT, BUT… VINNY IS DEAD – NONE OF THOSE FEELINGS FUCKING MATTER ANYMORE, PAT. THEY PROBABLY NEVER DID. WHAT MORE IS THERE TO TALK ABOUT?

Ah. That’s the part that haunts you isn’t it; the “probably” of it all. You’re uncertain, still confused about what happened here – what went wrong. And most importantly, you want to know why.

Am I correct?

……

Hm.

………………….

Not going to answer me? Fine, fuck it. This is how I see it:

You became attached to this guy like ya never could with anyone else in the whole fuckin universe, Habit. And it felt so good to do so. You let yourself become lost in a fantasy; anticipating the thrill of having Vinny fumble over himself to keep you interested. Or how grateful he would be, to be the one entrusted with building you back up after every great fall; and you fall hard and often. You could crush him utterly and have him back in the next life. Vinny is much smarter and much stronger than he looks, and just as obsessive in his own ways…so he’d climb out of the rubble and do it all over again, just because he can; just because he wants to.

Oh yes…you and him would have grown so much stronger together, enough to take on the whole damn planet someday if you guys really tried. And you wanted that so badly. A monster-man and a man-made monster, gleefully kicking up the dust of all the world’s ashes, readying it for her new rulers: Vinny and the Habit, side by side, hand in hand, blood on blood.

It was a wonderfully childish ideal to believe in all that though, wasn't it? Even after all you’ve done for him, Vin betrayed you; taking all of those unspoken dreams and unfulfilled desires along with him as he dies to a fucking papercut.

So much time spent with him…now made completely pointless. So many pieces of your mind, heart, and body gifted to him, just to carelessly toss you to the curb when you weren’t looking…

It’s easier on a broken heart to deny that it’s broken in the first place. It's easier to fall in line when the numbness takes hold, and mindlessly insist that none of it matters; never did, never will. There's no reason to cry over spilled milk as they say. It's no big deal. It’s all just part of the game. Vinny was meant to be nothing more than a pawn on your board anyways. But he was indeed more than just that to you, wasn’t he?

Vin softened you and left you exposed to a world that won’t ever accept what you'll become even after he is gone; and he won’t be coming back, not this time. You and him made sure of it by bringing those awful weapons to life on that chilly fall evening before the end of the world. Your last full day together; where everything else in the universe ceased to exist beyond the confines perpetuated by two desolate dreamers; a warm fire at his legs; the melody of ghosts crowding around, crying out towards the inky sky above; beautiful and tragic all the same. You must have seen that in him, too.

After the end of it all, you got out alive and he did not. You didn’t win the game nor Vinny’s companionship, but you survived…and just barely.

Vinny is dead.

And when that harsh reality slaps you across the face, you know you will never be allowed to forget the price you’ve paid, with suffering and with fire, for the loyalty that Vin never actually intended to give you. Now you’re covered with those scars. Razor sharp claws have sunk themselves deeply into you and won't let go. However…to whom do these claw marks belong to? Vinny; for betraying your trust and destroying your dreams? Or yourself; for letting him do it so easily…?

Why did you go back to your old sinking vessel, Habit?

Were you really so tempted by the belief that not taking Evan’s corpse would otherwise be wasteful? A shame?

Were you inspired by the discolored splotches painting decaying flesh in dull greys and blues; admiring the texture of his flesh canvas, well-weathered by the rain and the hungry mouths of all the tiny critters that feast happily upon each wrinkle?

Did the overwhelming smell of iron from all that ghastly bloodspill soaking into the ground below, brought up in the wafts of wet earth and wild mountain grasses, bring a wistful tear to your eye?

Was Evan really worth all of that to you…?

…

No.

You weren’t there for Evan at all, I think. He was more of an afterthought if anything. It was Vinny you wanted to see though. And I believe that’s why you made the impulsive decision to repossess his friend’s body; it was the only way to be there at Vin’s side and feel him next to you, just one last time.

Then you ran away to avoid the consequences.

...........................................................................

#everymanhybrid #mlandersen0 #chrono

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angst-fairygodmother · 1 month ago

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hi boo!!!! for your spotify game, how about diego andddddd 20??

btw i miss u <3

Bon! I miss you too! 💙 Sorry I haven't been around too much. Life is weird.

Anyway. I am kissing you on the mouth for this one (platonically) because it was PERFECT.

A/N: This is over 500 words, but it just sort of spilled out. I definitely could have written a lot things for this (including some Diego/Lila fixing but meh). And it doesn't even totally ignore S4, just the bullshit ending. Word Count: 747 (wrote it out of me at the speed of one too) Rating: T - pretty tame other than some language Spotify Wrapped Short Fics

Diego Hargreeves was a difficult man to understand, even for himself some day. Some might even say impossible. Maybe part of it came from the number of timelines he had lived, or not lived, through. Timelines where you were dead, or he was dead - had never been born? - or you were alive but living a life totally unknown to him, and he had another wife, who wasn’t unlike you in a lot of ways but wasn’t the same, and they had a whole three kids, picket fence life until she got bored and lost and cheated on him with his older-younger-twin? brother.

But maybe that wasn’t it at all. You couldn’t put your finger on the reasons, and you weren’t sure they mattered at all. Maybe all that mattered was that in this timeline, they had died and then not died, and the children had been erased, and everything was forgotten - even now all those things you’d both seen and done were distant and foggy like a dream - but then you all found each other again. And she chose him, not his brother, and he chose you. And now you were sitting in a café with your perfectly ordinary friends and family around, listening to him give a speech with no sign of a stutter in sight about you, for your perfectly ordinary birthday (which was a perfectly ordinary birth, and you just happened to share it with your perfectly ordinary boyfriend and several perfectly ordinary friends that were a found second family now).

Friends and family that were staring at you, expectantly. Shit. Had he asked a question?

“I…don’t know?” you asked, immediately regretting it as his face fell and your heart plummeted to the floor. That was definitely not the answer he was expecting, and the room was still dead silent and watching.

“Fuck. Sorry. I mean…I…to be honest sweetheart, I wasn’t listening. I mean I was, but I zoned out a little bit. I just couldn’t help it. I was listening to you and you were being so sweet and adoring and I started asking ‘why?’ and then my mind was off: why do you love me, of all seven billion or whatever people in the world? The same way I can’t help thinking while we’re watching a movie, ‘why does my windowbox always sprout fucking marigolds no matter what I do?’ or ‘why do people like dogs that can’t breathe because their faces are so smushed?’ or ‘why does the sun rise and set, and why in the directions that it does?’ Why would you love me? I’m an asshole, exhibit A. And at the same time I was asking why you love me, I was asking why do I love you?”

His eyebrows were furrowed in that cute little way they did when he got contemplatively angry, and everyone was still staring and you could feel your neck heating to an inferno. So you plowed onward.

“I mean why does anyone love anyone? But then I started thinking that it doesn’t matter. None of those questions need answers, for the world to go on and them to keep being true. I’m sure Five will have some boring, unromantic bullshit lecture prepared about chemicals and hormones, and also tell me how there are answers to all the science-y ones I asked, but I don’t want there to be, so he had better keep his damn mouth shut,” you shot a glare at the man in the corner who was definitely about to interrupt before looking back at Diego with your full attention.

“I love you. More than I can possibly express. There’s not a how, or a why, or limit, or a reason. It’s just…it’s fact. Incontrovertible, foundation of the universe, fact. So you have every right to be angry, and I am happy for you to be angry, and it won’t change anything. But I don’t have an answer for you, except I don’t know. And I love you.”

He was shaking his head fondly, and walking toward you, and goddamnit the whole room was still staring but it didn’t matter because it was just you and him when he kissed you softly.

“I’m going to take that trainwreck as a yes,” he teased, pulling back to press his forehead to yours and slip a delicate silver ring shaped like braided rope and brambles onto your finger.

“Oh,” you breathed. “Oh, now I get why that was a bad answer. Definitely yes.”

#Spotify Wrapped Stories 2024 #short fic #Diego Hargreeves #Diego Hargreeves x Reader #Diego Hargreeves x Elena Pryce #TUA fic #TUA season 4 spoilers

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daytaker · 9 months ago

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Tea Time

In which MC and Satan accidentally travel to a pocket dimension simulacrum of the underground labyrinth in the demon lord's castle.

Ship: None (MC & Satan, not MC/Satan) Word Count: 2.6k CW: Choking Set in the Nightbringer timeline.

You can find it on AO3 by clicking here.

(Author's note: Just as a heads-up, this is a very "early on in the game" version of Satan. He is mean. He is violent. He is mean and violent towards MC. I keep the tone light but I figured I should be a bit explicit about what you'll find below the cut.)

Record scratch. Freeze frame. Perfect.

So...yep. That’s me. I’m the one on the left, running for my life through a torch-lit labyrinthine corridor, being chased by a three-headed devil dog. Now, it might be a cliche, but we’ve already done the record scratch bit, so I might as well go all out:

You’re probably wondering how I found myself in this situation.

Well! Let me direct your attention to the other individual onscreen. On the right, has black horns, a fur mantle, and murderous intent written all over his face. This charming person is Satan. Yes, that Satan. But also, no, not really that Satan. For this story to make any sense, you’ll have to take my word for it that Satan is, in fact, a skinny blonde kid who looks like he's in his early twenties.

Suspend your disbelief for me, please.

So what happened was this...

I spilled some tea on a book lying haphazardly on the floor of Satan’s room. It was an accident, of course, but try telling him that. I was bringing him tea in bed because he was griping in the group chat about his headache and I’m a very considerate attendant and friend, when suddenly the whole room shook.

Now, I never did figure out why that happened. Maybe Cerberus was acting up. Maybe someone ate Beel’s custard again. Maybe there was an earthquake! I don’t know if Hell has those, but it might be a possibility. The point is, the room shook, and I shook, and the teacup shook, and the tea inside the teacup shook, and it all poured out onto a book on the floor. I hardly noticed it, since the only drops that didn’t land on the book had scalded my hands, meaning I was a bit distracted, but Satan sure did. I don’t know if that headache of his had been exaggerated or if he was so angry that he didn’t care about the pain, but before I even found a place to put down the teacup and tend to my burns, he was out of bed and in my face.

It was scary. I’ll admit it. Satan scared me. Back in my own time, I’d always had the hardest time feeling like I was “getting to” him out of all the brothers. Even Lucifer had clear enough motives and something resembling a moral code that I felt like I could follow. But Satan was different. Always different. He put me on edge with his cynicism and short temper, and he carried himself with a haughtiness that devolved into irritation whenever he felt someone was doing something stupid.

Still, we’d gotten to a point where things were at least friendly between us, and I sometimes got the feeling that he was trying to play-act the sort of easy friendship I’d formed with Mammon and Levi and the rest. But it never felt…authentic. I appreciated the gestures–book recommendations, shopping trips, things like that. But he was never really comfortable, so I was never really comfortable. I guess, more than anything, I felt sorry for him.

…It makes me feel like an asshole to admit that to myself.

That’s Satan from my time, though. This Satan… Where do I even begin? Trying to explain would be tedious, so I’ll just continue with the story and let you figure it out yourself. To recap, this was the situation: I’d spilled tea on his book, but the expression on his face made me feel like I’d been caught killing a kitten. Horror. Disgust. Disbelief. But most of all, rage.

His hands were on my throat before I could get a word out. So we’re back to where I was before this little tangent, when I said: Satan scared me. I was scared. Part of me knew that this wasn’t actually going to be how I died. I’ve been assaulted and almost killed by demons too many times to count. Maybe I should have been used to it by now. But the panic that set in when I couldn’t get air to my lungs, and when I looked into his green eyes, clouded over with fury, and when I felt his hot breath on my face, like I was staring down a raging bull–

You don’t get used to that.

My eyes were watering and my chest was burning and I was clawing at his hands, and as darkness swept over us, I thought that maybe I really was going to die like this.

But then, the hands were gone, and I fell onto my knees, sputtering and wheezing as my pulse thundered in my ears. It was only after a few seconds of steady breathing that I realized my hands were touching a cold stone floor. Wiping my eyes, I looked up. I was in a dark hallway lit with only torches, with divergent pathways splitting off in a variety of directions. It was musty, and damp, and my skin felt clammy, but there wasn’t anything new about this place. Not for me, at least.

“What happened?” Satan’s alarm seemed to have overridden his anger for now. He looked up and down the hallway, peeking down a few of the off-branches, before turning to me again. “What did you do?”

I made a weak attempt at answering, but the instant I inhaled to speak, my throat stopped working, and I burst into a frenzy of dry coughs, gripping my burning chest and neck.

Satan tsked and turned away from me uncomfortably, looking the hallway up and down again. Something seemed to catch his eye at the same time that I caught my breath.

“I don’t… know what happened, but…” I wheezed, and Satan cast me a sharp glare over his shoulder. “I know where we are. This… is the labyrinth… under the Demon Lord’s castle.”

There followed a fresh fit of coughing, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t playing it up somewhat at this point. I wanted him to feel bad. I wanted to see some flicker of guilt on his face. The Satan that I knew was at least capable of that.

“Would you stop that?” was all this one said to me. “I have a headache. And I know where we are. I lived here for a year, or did you forget?” He reached down and picked something up from the shadows by the wall. It was the tea-stained book. He turned and held it out for me to see, silently gloating in this evidence that, whatever had happened, the tea fiasco was related, so this whole thing was really my fault.

Satisfied by my silence, he approached the nearest torch and held the book up to the light. "Mysteries of the Demon King's Castle," he read off the cover. "Now equipped with easy-to-use pocket dimensions, giving you a fully immersive experience– dammit !”

He stopped reading and hurled the book down the hallway, out of sight.

“...I didn’t realize pocket dimensions were unlocked with tea,” I muttered sullenly. “Why did you leave a book with transdimensional charms on it lying on the floor?”

I thought it was a sober, reasonable question, but based on what I could see of Satan’s face, he disagreed. As he turned on me, he suddenly seemed taller than I remembered, so much so that he blocked out the torchlight. “Are you saying this is my fault?”

I couldn’t see what kind of face he was making in the dark, and I was glad about that as I backpedaled somewhat. “I’m… I’m just saying there’s fault to go ‘round!”

That didn’t seem to do much to quell his mounting annoyance. I wasn’t entirely sure what he was angry about at this point. The spilled tea? The wet book? The pocket dimension? The suggestion that he might be partially responsible for our current predicament? All I knew was that there was a dark energy stirring around him. It wasn’t out of control yet, but I took note and stepped back.

“...This is stupid,” he finally mumbled. That illusion that he was taller than before had ended, and he was the same stature as always as he walked in the direction he’d tossed the book. “I’ll get us out.”

I stayed where I was, rubbing my sore neck, and stared into the darkness after him. The sound of footsteps slowed. Everything was silent.

Then the sound of footsteps picked up again. Rapidly. Satan was running back in my direction, and chasing him was–

“Cerberus?!” I was running before I had time to think I should be running. “What’s he doing here?!”

“Shut up!” Satan said rather unhelpfully. Then he made a sudden turn, and I nearly tripped over my feet skidding to a stop and running after him. I made a grab for his hand, just to have something to keep us from being separated in the dark, but he hissed like the touch burned him and pulled it free again.

Now, I was starting to feel pretty angry too.

“Why are we running?” I snapped between pants. “Isn’t that your dog?”

“Lucifer’s,” was his terse reply. “Stop following me. If we split up, at least one of us will live.”

“Are you being serious?” I struggled to keep up my pace while giving him a look of appropriately scathing incredulity.

Satan didn’t appreciate my expression, because he refused to look at me. He kept running, eyes trained forward, gritting his teeth. “I don’t know! I need a minute to think! So shut up!”

Fed up with him, I picked up my pace with the last of my flagging strength and shoved him bodily into a crevice. He was so shocked that for a few seconds, while he was reattaching his jaw to his skull, I was able to take his own advice and assess the situation clearly. No running like a lunatic. No accusatory jabs. Just me and my thoughts… And that was all I needed.

It was incredibly simple. Cerberus was here because Cerberus wasn't really here. This pocket dimension was designed for the book it came with, so it goes to figure that the creatures living in it were little more than illusions.

“How dare you–?”

Satan had recovered his senses and looked ready to lunge at me, so I sidestepped out of the crevice and into the path of the other beast.

“Wind and fire, heed your master’s call!” I shouted. The wind began to whip fiercely around me as the torches blazed. I never got tired of this. It was badass every time. But I didn’t have time to appreciate the theatrics. Cerberus had just rounded a corner and was loping towards me, all three jaws snapping. “Vile illusion! I cast you back into the darkness!”

The wind blew so violently that I could barely keep my balance, and from the sound of a thud and a hissed “damn!” behind me, it seemed like the wind was even less considerate of Satan. But in front of me, the gale seemed to blow the image of Cerberus away. The wind rushed, the torchlight blazed, and in seconds, the creature had vanished completely.

The air settled down and the torches dimmed to their usual brightness. In the absence of the howling wind, every sound was intensified. My heavy breathing. Satan’s heavy breathing. His voice behind me when he rasped, “What…?”

“It wasn’t real,” I answered breathlessly. “Just… an illusion.”

“What…did you do?”

I turned around to face him, only to find him on his knees, fists clenched on his thighs. I wilted somewhat. I hadn’t meant to draw power from him, but he was right there, and the illusion had been so intense…!

“I…guess I had to borrow some of your power to banish the illusion. It- It wasn’t intentional…” I started to stammer out the best excuse I could pull from my ass, but then he looked up at me. His eyes flashed dangerously, his teeth were bared, and the sound he made was more like a snarl than a voice.

“This is my body! You can’t use it! You can’t, you can’t, you can’t! I’ll kill you!”

As enraged as he was, he was too weak to do much about the situation. I mumbled an apology, taking a step back. Satan kept muttering curses under his breath, head bowed, and before long, I’d pushed his words out of my mind. It wasn’t like this was the first time one of the brothers threatened to kill me, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Fatigued from my own burst of mana output, I shut my eyes, slid down the wall, and sat on the floor, running a hand through my hair as I exhaled. We would be fine now, I reassured myself. Satan would blow off his anger, and we’d figure out some way out of here. Leaving a pocket dimension should be relatively simple. Even if that failed, at the very least, Lucifer or Solomon would figure out how to rescue us. Right… All we had to do was…

......

I didn’t remember falling asleep, but then again, who does? When I woke up a short time later, stiff and sore against the stone wall, I was alone in the hallway.

“Satan?”

My voice echoed in the stone passage, and I reflexively shuddered. How many creepy things have chased me down these halls? Sure, this one wasn’t the real thing, but… what else besides Cerberus might be waiting in the wings?

It took some courage for me to shout louder. “Satan!”

Nothing.

I groaned. Loudly, too, just in case he could hear it. That bastard. My head reeled as I forced myself back to my feet. There was no way he would have just walked off into this maze without me, was there?

…Was there?

A nervous knot was growing in my stomach. “Satan, if you can hear me, you’d better say something!”

“Something.”

The voice came from directly behind me, and I shrieked. It was an ugly shriek, and it was loud, and when I turned around indignantly, I saw Satan. That asshole. He stood watching me with an irritating expression of self-satisfaction, and in his hand, he held the damn book that started all of this in the first place.

“So you’ve decided not to kill me?”

It was a stupid thing to say, and I knew it wouldn’t do anything besides annoy him, but I was embarrassed and I wanted to wipe the smug smirk off his stupid face.

It worked.

“Don’t you ever get tired of asking such irritating questions?” he snapped. “I was going to tell you I’ve found a simple way to get out of this nightmare.” He started thumbing through the pages, which smelled strongly of green tea.

One haphazardly sketched pentagram later, we were both standing in Satan’s room. A quick glance at my D.D.D. confirmed no time had passed during our little excursion to the illusory labyrinth. Thoroughly drained, I sighed and plopped down onto the floor with a bump. Three precariously stacked books proceeded to fall and hit me on the head, one after the other, like this was some sort of Looney Tunes skit.

“Careful!” chided Satan, steadying the stack. “You’ll start an avalanche, and I don’t have the patience to deal with that today! I have a headache.”

As I stood up, he flopped down on his bed, his back facing me. I stared at him for a few long seconds, then sighed. I could no longer repress a smirk.

“Want me to get you some tea?”

This was something I wrote while I was developing Let's All Be Shadows. It's a little sillier tonally. While I'm finishing Chapter 19, I figured I'd post this here, since I realized I hadn't done that yet.

#daytaker fanfic #obey me #obey me fanfic #obey me fic #obey me satan #obey me satan fic #obey me mc #satan #fanfic

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justcourttee · 1 year ago

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Dandelions-Prologue

A/N oh hey. it's been a while. care for a Dickinette AU?

Love at first sight always sounded so absurd to me.

An instant connection to someone you just met? The idea is so foolish that it sounds like some excuse a hopeless romantic made up to explain why they’ve never gone on a date before.

‘I just didn’t feel the sparks, you know?’

I, in fact, did not know. Nor did I bother to try and understand it. Love is fickle, the lines so blurry, so thin, that you never know where you’ll land until it’s too late to change your mind, much less your heart.

And while I couldn’t appreciate the concept when applied to relationships in reality, relationships in fiction were a whole other story. Watching two characters reach for the same piece of paper, eyes connecting while the rest of the world fades into the background, only leaving a longing to get to know this person right in front of them? It was something that never got old no matter how much time passed.

Rom-Coms, Shojo Manga, Soulmate AUs, Jane Austin.

From screen to paper, I’m obsessed, so much so that I began to write my own stories. But there’s one thing that’s been holding me back; I’ve never been in love.

Now I know how this sounds. Everyone tries to tell you that it’s not possible to never experience love, that there has to have been some unreachable crush, some first love, some friend that you loved much more than life itself, but I’m sorry to report that none of the above are true. Of course, I care for my brother and my best friends, but loving your friends doesn’t translate to the life-altering, reality-shattering love I want to write about.

I left college years ago, as the ever demanding job field insisted I needed higher education, I opted out for a couple of side jobs, using my free moments to sit in coffee shops and parks, anywhere I could watch love blossom and write down inspiration.

That’s how I met him. Dick Grayson.

Brew-tiful Day is one of my favorite spots to observe. The slightly overpriced coffee, the bumbling crowd of office workers, students, and hopeless romantics, the simple ambiance of it all just made for the perfect spot to write.

I was settling into my usual spot, my laptop booting up when the couch dipped so violently that I almost sent my fresh brew onto the three-day-old shirt I had dug out from the corner of my room. Scrambling to set down my cup, the weight beside me seemed to settle out, almost as if the person was trying to melt into the cushions.

The funny thing about watching romance movies play out is that when two characters unexpectedly sit on the same couch in the same coffee shop at the same time, I melt. When it happens in reality, I feel an intense sensation of existential dread.

The boy beside me must not share the sentiment, because as I go to move, trying to avoid any eye contact that may happen, he lets out the largest sigh humanely possible, so large that the pair of businessmen sitting nearby have resorted to glaring at us. Not him, Us. That’s all it takes for me to find my weight shifting back into the couch cushion. I can feel my brain scrambling at the speed of the words threatening to fall out of my mouth, unable to know where to go from here but desperate to fill the silence between us.

“What’s wrong?” It takes everything I have not to slap my hand over my own mouth. Word vomit. Usually, it’s only an impulsive thought that sits on the tip of my tongue, but not today.

His head lolls over in a manner that reminds me of a cat waking after a long nap, slow and lazy. He doesn’t appear to be appalled that I have spoken to him, but he doesn’t seem eager to spill it all either. If this was a movie-

I can feel the heat radiating off of my cheeks in waves. I just tried to drag this stranger into the rabbit hole of my obsession with love. The embarrassment of trying to recreate the moment that flashed through my head of two main characters having their first interaction together is crushing. For some reason, I feel the need to apologize and quickly.

“I’m sorry-”

“I’m in love with the woman I’m betrothed to.” His body remains frozen, his head still lolled in my direction, his arms still folded over his stomach, but one feature has become distinctly different. His lips have now moved only to find themselves pulled into a thin line that looks borderline painful.

The silence that followed was deafening. His eyes shifted over my face before fixing, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. Unsettlingly deep blue seemed to stare past where my eyes were on my face, almost like they were looking for something that wasn’t present on the surface.

With a shaky breath, I can feel the words desperate to fill the space and reluctantly I let them.

“Is that a bad thing?”

Typically, this kind of meddling would be unheard of for me. When I go to Brew-tiful Day, it’s to sip mediocre coffee and observe. If someone were to even sit too close to me, I immediately would abandon ship in favor of a new seat or a new coffee shop altogether. Looking back on this day, if someone were to ask me to put into words how I was feeling, sharing a couch with this listless boy with unsettling eyes I don’t think a word existed for it in the English language.

All I knew was that I was inexplicably invested in any and everything he would be willing to tell me. Any and every look he would give me. Any and every sentiment that might follow.

He hums softly as if contemplating my question, but eventually decides it doesn't warrant an answer. Instead, he asks a question of his own, “What’s your name?”

“Marinette. And yours?”

“Dick. Dick Grayson.”

Dick never gave me an explanation. Instead, I watched as he slowly sat up, his spine unfurling one vertebra at a time, feeling as if the world was holding its breath for what came next.

“Marinette is such a long name. Can I call you Mari instead?”

#maribat #dickinette #dandelions au

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angelasscribbles · 2 years ago

Text

A Fervid Fixation Chapter 1: Pressurization

Series: A Fervid Fixation

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Riley x Drake

Rating: MA

Warnings for this chapter: Language, Violence

Word Count: 2,817

A/N: This is from my follower appreciation prompt wheel event from November 2022. I told you guys I hadn’t forgotten about it!

A/N2: This was supposed to be a one-shot but of course, it got a little out of hand. Much like Drake in this one lol. This will be either a two or a three-shot I’m thinking. No plans for a whole series, just when I passed 5k words with no end in sight, I decided to split it up.

A/N3: This takes place during the social season but is a complete AU from anything else I’ve written. I’ve added/made up events that are not in canon such as the Derby Gala and the Capricorn nightclub (things you have seen in other series if you read all my stuff).

A/N4: You may recognize the opening sequence. I originally wrote it for this story, then stole it for chapter 4 of Unexpected, then stole it back because I had further ideas for it here.

My other stuff: Master List.

This one came from @lovingchoices14 and the prompt was for Drake x dark x jealousy.

Masquerade Ball…

“What were you doing with Liam in the hedge maze?”

The voice came out of the darkness, right in her ear, though she’d heard no one walk up behind her.

She spun toward the voice, prepared to fight. Her open palm swung out, but her arm was captured mid-swing.

A low chuckle accompanied the grip around her wrist, “Whoa there, Brooks. No need for violence.”

“Drake? Fuck! You scared the shit out of me!” Relief spilled through her followed by confusion, “Wait…what are you doing out here? How did you know-“

“Don’t change the subject. What were you doing with Liam in the hedge maze?” he asked again.

She jerked her arm free from his grasp, “None of your business!”

“Hmm.” His eyes slid down her body and she shivered.

She could damn near feel his eyes touching her physically, “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” He blinked and the physical weight of his gaze was gone.

She shook her head, maybe she had imagined it, “Nothing, never mind.”

The Derby Gala…

On the plane ride over, she’d said he was more her type than Liam, that she didn’t normally go for the stuffy, rich guys. Yet there she was, dancing and flirting with a roomful of them. Again.

He swirled the whiskey around in his glass as he watched her from the bar at the edge of the ballroom.

The more she seemed to be enjoying herself, the more agitated he became.

His mind replayed every flirty interaction between them, from the plane ride over to how it felt lying next to her in the snow in Lythikos.

When he had pulled her up from the ground and caught her in his arms as she stumbled into him, something inside had sprung to life and despite his best efforts since, had refused to die.

When she’d slipped her hand into his and proclaimed it was for safety, he’d told her that they should both be careful. He hadn’t been talking about the slippery walking conditions.

Inviting her to meet him in Olivia’s wine cellar had been a mistake. Wanting her was a mistake. Entertaining the notion that she might return even a small fragment of the feelings he harbored for her was tantamount to treason. The jealous rage that stirred in his chest when other men touched her, watched her, looked at her like they wanted to devour her was dangerous.

He knew that he absolutely, positively, most definitely should turn around and walk out of that ballroom. He should go to his quarters and mute his desire for her with good whiskey and bad porn.

If he had a fraction of common sense and self-preservation, that’s exactly what he would have done.

What he did was slam his glass down onto the bar, jump to his feet, and storm out onto the dancefloor.

“Excuse me, but I believe the lady promised me this dance.”

“Oh, I…uh…but-“

He didn’t give the young nobleman a chance to protest before he had swept her to the other side of the floor, out of his reach.

“What are you doing, Drake?”

“I’m cutting in, what does it look like?”

“I thought you said you couldn’t dance.”

“I said I don’t dance, I never said I couldn’t,” he mumbled.

“Okay…if you don’t dance, then why are you doing it now?”

He pulled her body tight against his own, his fingers digging into the small of her back, “You know why.”

“I…don’t…”

“Riley….”

Time stood still.

The use of her first name shocked her. His nearness clouded her judgment as they stood in the middle of the dance floor, not moving. The heat from his body as it pressed against hers, his scent washing over her, and the thump of his heart under her hand as it rested on his chest all conspired to make her temporarily lose her grip on sanity.

The feel of their bodies pressed so closely together left no misunderstanding about the state of his arousal. His arms wrapped so tightly around her telegraphed his need with perfect clarity. The pleading in his eyes as he stared down at her sent butterflies swooping through her stomach. In that moment, he was something she had never seen from him before.

Vulnerable.

Her hand moved to tangle in his hair. His body went completely rigid.

He leaned down.

She stretched up.

His lips stopped a fraction of an inch from hers.

She licked her lips and closed her eyes.

He stepped back and released her.

Her eyes flew open, “What are you doing?”

“We can’t….I shouldn’t….”

“Drake-“

He raked a hand brusquely through his hair, “Is this what you want, Brooks?”

“What?” She blinked up at him in confusion, thinking at first that he meant the two of them.

He gestured around the ballroom, “This? Fancy balls, expensive dresses, pretentious food… bowing and scraping to the nobility? Is this what you want?”

“Not exactly…”

“What do you want?” His gaze burned into her like he was searching for the answers to life itself.

“I…don’t know…”

“Well, figure it out, and soon, for all our sakes!”

“What does that mean?”

But he had already strode off the dance floor without answering her.

Capricorn Night Club….

Drake stood in the darkened nightclub chatting with one of Liam’s guardsmen, his eyes scanning the room, always on the lookout for her.

His eyes locked on her as she walked toward the VIP lounge in the exclusive nightclub Liam had dragged them to.

She smiled at him as she passed. A satisfied grin broke out across his face at the attention, his head turning to track her movements as she made her way from the main part of the club into the cordoned-off hallway leading to the VIP section.

A man that bore a passing resemblance to Liam followed behind her.

Drake’s head swiveled from Riley to the Liam look alike as his hand shot out and thumped into the dark-haired man’s chest, “Whoa there, buddy! Where do you think you’re going?”

“Oh, it’s okay!” the man pointed at the door Riley has just disappeared through, “I’m with the lady!”

A harsh laugh escaped him as he shoved the man backward, “Like bloody hell you are!”

“I don’t know who you think you are,” The man huffed, “but you can’t just-“

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are-“

“My name is Nick, I’m a-“

“It was a rhetorical question, dumbass!”

“I’m a count! You can’t just-“

“I don’t give two fucks who you are! I’m the head of her security,” he lied, ”Your title means shit to me and you’re not getting in there!”

Nick’s face reddened as he insisted, “I was invited!”

Drake stepped into his personal space and jabbed a finger into the other man’s chest, “You don’t hear well, do you? I don’t care what she said or what she did, you’re not getting near her!”

“Oh, I get it…you like her! Well,” Nick brushed at his chest as if Drake’s touch had sullied it, “you might have a little crush, but she obviously doesn’t feel the same way because she invited me back to-“

Drake’s voice had dropped dangerously low as he emphasized every word, “I told you, I don’t care what she did. You’re not getting through that door!”

“Who’s going to stop me? You?”

Drake threw his head back and laughed. This mother fucker had no idea who the hell he was messing with.

Months of having to sit idly by while he watched Liam court her rankled inside him. Having to additionally watch as any wanker with a title was able to fawn and paw all over her had only pushed his ire higher. He was a powder keg ready to go off and this tosser had just given him an acceptable target.

“I fail to see what’s so funny-“ Nick’s words were cut off by Drake’s fist. Blood spurted out of his mouth and nose as he staggered backward.

Nick made the mistake of swinging back.

Drake ducked the sloppily thrown uppercut and rammed head-first into the other man’s chest, taking him to the ground in the process.

Four guardsmen pulled him off Nick while he rained punches down on him. As he was pulled from the other man’s body, he managed to deliver one last kick as he told him, “Stay the fuck away from her!”

“This…this is an abuse of power! Of your position! I could report you!” Nick spluttered as two other guardsmen helped him to his feet.

Drake stopped struggling and shrugged off the guardsmen as he drew an arm across his mouth. The smile that slowly crawled across his face was full of amusement and malice as he drawled, “Oh yeah? To whom? The crown prince? The man determined to marry her?”

Nick paled, his eyes shooting from Drake’s face to the guardsmen scattered outside the doorway.

He found no sympathy and no hope of an ally in any of their faces. His shoulders slumped in defeat, “I…I didn’t realize…”

“Come on, guy,” one of the guardsmen clapped him on the back, “let’s go get you an icepack and I’ll walk you out of here.”

“Jesus, Drake!” the young guardsman he’d been chatting with earlier shook his head, “What the hell was that?”

“Nothing, Marco. Sorry. I’ll see you later. I have something I need to take care of.”

Drake stormed into the VIP lounge with rage boiling through his veins.

He found Riley standing at the ledge that overlooked the dancefloor, chatting and laughing with yet another simpering self-important nobleman.

“Excuse us, please,” he gave the man a brief glance, then to Riley, “We need to talk.”

“About what?” she asked as she stumbled to keep up with his long strides, something she had to do because his hand had a firm grip around her upper arm.

When they reached a private corner, he stopped and spun her around to face him, “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, Riley, but it stops now!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” She jerked her arm away and rubbed the spot he had dug his fingers into.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about!” he yelled, “Flaunting that Nick guy right under my nose!”

“Not everything is about you, asshole! I’m allowed to make friends!”

“You knew damn good and well he was never going to get past Liam’s guard detail, so the only reason I can fathom for you inviting him to follow you back here is that you wanted to get my attention! Well, you’ve got it! So, what’s your game, Riley?”

“Oh, wow! You think really highly of yourself, don’t you? How was I supposed to know you’d be skulking around outside the door to the lounge?”

Drake reached for her, and she flinched away from him. All of the anger whooshed right out of him as shock and shame punched him in the gut.

Did she think he would hurt her?

“Riley…I’m sorry, I-“

“Is everything okay over here?” Liam’s eyes flicked back and forth from Riley to Drake in concern.

“Everything’s fine,” Drake said from between clenched teeth, “just tell your little girlfriend here not to be inviting strangers into the VIP area. It’s a hassle for the security team.”

Before Liam could answer, his phone chirped. He pulled it out and glanced down at the screen. His brows drew together in confusion then he looked up at Drake, “Did you assault someone trying to get into the VIP section tonight, Drake?”

“What?!” Riley gasped.

Drake’s eyes stayed locked on Riley’s as he shrugged, “Guy needs to learn to take no for an answer. He was sniffing around somewhere he had no business being.”

Liam rubbed his eyes with a sigh, “That’s what the security team is for, Drake. You should have left the guy to them, it’s literally their job.”

Drake’s eyes finally left Riley to give Liam his attention, “I’d say I’m sorry,” before sliding right back to Riley, “but I’m not.”

Liam noticed. “What the hell is going on between you two right now?”

“Nothing,” Drake scoffed, “Absolutely nothing. Right, Brooks?”

She returned his gaze defiantly, “You got that right!” Then to Liam, “Drake is just being extra annoying tonight.”

Liam touched Riley’s shoulder, “Excuse us for a moment?”

“Sure, I should go find Nick and make sure he’s okay.”

“Too late for that, Brooks,” Drake smirked, “He’s already been escorted from the premises.”

An exasperated cry escaped the back of her throat as she tossed her head and stomped her foot before storming away.

Liam watched her go then turned back to Drake, “Is everything okay with you?”

“I’m fine, Li! That guy just-“

“I’m not talking about him. Could you go a little easier on Riley? For me?”

“What?”

“She isn’t used to all these restrictions, Drake! She makes friends everywhere we go, she doesn’t mean anything by it. Remember the night we met her? She took four total strangers on a tour of the city!”

“Yeah, well…maybe she should learn not to be so trusting.”

“Perhaps. But still. Just dial it back a bit, all right?”

“Yeah, all right, okay, I’ll try to ease up a little.”

“Good man! Thank you!” Liam clapped him on the shoulder, “And you're sure everything’s okay with you?”

“I’m fine, just had a bad day. I’m going to go find some whiskey. That always helps.”

He was spiraling out of control and he knew it.

He was at the bar four shots in when he saw her approaching. He turned away from her hoping she’d take the hint.

She didn’t.

“Drake, what the hell was that about earlier?”

“Go away, Brooks,” he signaled the bartender for another drink.

“You can’t just go around beating people up!”

“I can and I will,” he finally turned toward her with the fresh drink in his hand, “if you were so concerned about that guy’s wellbeing, you shouldn’t have used him to provoke me.”

“I wasn’t using him to do shit! I just thought he was funny, and I wanted him to meet Maxwell!”

Drake threw the drink back, then stood up, “Whatever. I don’t have time for this. I have shit to do.”

“Oh, yeah? Like what? What do you do, Drake? Other than hang around and harass me?”

“I do things, Brooks,” he replied tightly as he tossed a handful of bills onto the bar top.

“What things?” she challenged, crossing her arms with a skeptical smirk.

He tried to walk away but she was blocking his way. He stopped in front of her, “Things you don’t need to worry about!”

“Right. Because those things are nonexistent!”

“Is that all you care about? Career? Position?” he leaned closer, bringing his mouth to her ear as he whispered the last word, “Money?”

“I don’t care about any of those things!” She spat at him, “but dating broke, unemployed losers hasn’t exactly gotten me anywhere in life, has it?” She shrugged, “I’m trying something different right now, that’s all.”

He drew back. His jaw clenched. “Is that how you see me?”

“What?” Her pique drained away as her mind scrambled to catch up with the sudden change in his demeanor.

His feelings were hurt.

“A broke, unemployed loser?”

“No! That’s not what I-“

“It’s fine. I’m used to entitled stuck-up bitches looking down on me. Just didn’t expect it from you!”

She watched him walk away, a mixture of regret, fury, and frustration swirling through her.

The accusation stung.

The truth was, she’d been fighting her growing attraction to him since they’d met. But he ran so hot and cold, she had no idea how he felt about anything. Sometimes they got along. Most of the time he acted indifferent to her existence. Occasionally he was downright hostile to her. But then there were moments like Lythikos and the Derby Gala. Every time she thought she had him figured out, he did something that threw her a curveball.

He was frustrating, infuriating, and obnoxiously attractive. Every time he came close to her, her body ignited with an incendiary heat, one that she was sure she couldn’t, and shouldn’t trust.

Drake Walker was dangerous in more ways than one. He was angry, unpredictable, and confounding. He acted like a jealous boyfriend one minute and as if he barely liked her the next.

He was also intelligent and funny when he decided to let his guard down a little and show it. There were times when she suspected there might be an actual heart under all that bluster and sniping.

She utterly hated the fact that his mere presence provoked reactions in her body that she didn’t seem to be able to control and she was beginning to worry about just how much of a problem he was going to be.

#fervid fixation #trr au #dark fanfiction #dark romance #drake walker #drake x mc #the royal romance fanfic #trr au fanfic #trr drake #the royal romance #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #choices the royal romance #choices trr #trr #trr fandom #trr fanfic #trr fanfiction #angelasscribbles

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hope-to-hell · 1 year ago

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Fulgurite Dreams, chapter four: Stones Along the Path

Adrian Toomes x Reader. A little smut. Things are coming to a head.

———

(Hey, uh, Mr. T? What the fuck?

Listen, kid. I’ve seen you out there. And you could damn well use a second set of eyes.)

He’ll be okay. He will. He will. It’s just this moment to get through, this gasping wet red mist that catches on his lips and lashes, this not as bad as it looks. Promise.

That’s good, because you look like hell.

He’ll be okay with a few new scars that, given time, will catch on the furrows of his brow and be memorialized there. But tonight blood runs in rivulets down his face and he’s leaning back against the shower wall with his eyes shut tight;

Guess I’m not as fast as I used to be

his belly twitches beneath the spread of your fingers

and I know I said I was done with it all

and he shifts his feet

but it looks like it isn’t done with me.

and brings his hand up to cover yours.

It’s okay to worry about him, mind. He’s a tough sonuvabitch but he’s still just a man at the end of the day: a man who aches and bleeds, a man who’s gonna feel every scrape and bruise in the morning. It's okay if your words don’t come out right, if instead they manifest as a half-spoken can I just that hangs about your lips. He hears the meaning just the same. And what could be better now than his hand guiding yours around his cock, urging you to lean against him and so what if the angle’s off? You’ve got him here where the outside world can’t reach in, where it’s just you and him and the fading scent of copper.

Adrian—

Later, sweetheart. Now c’mere.

Dream about his eyes rolled back. Dream about all the many thoughts that spill like ribbons from his eyes, his mouth, his ears; he whispers none of this is real but all of it is true. He’s tangled in velvet and satin, throwing light in one moment and absorbing it the next. Wrap him in leather, in raw skin still slick with blood and fat. Hold him close, even as he slips through your fingers.

I worry.

I know.

He swallows a strange small sound, a pebble in a deep well; he breathes harshly wet and for a moment his body is unfathomably heavy, leaning on you with the weight of worlds. But his head tilts back to thump against the tile and when he opens his eyes they cut like knives through the shower’s haze.

What are you gonna tell him?

The truth, mostly.

(Kid.

Yeah?

I’m gonna tell you a story, and you’re gonna listen.)

Is it really a secret if they both know?

(For a while, we were enemies. I hope that’s changed.)

If they were both remade by this strange new world, does that mean they’re kin?

(You shouldn’t hunt alone.

I’m not— what’s happening? I don’t get it. )

He stands in the kitchen with a knife in his hand. It’s a warning and a wager: I’m willing to bet these stars can change. He stands and smiles and draws the line: this is where I kill you for your secrets, and this is where I let it go. In his mind’s eye, he flicks the blade and watches close for where it lands.

(Wind’s shifted.)

One for glory. Two for grace. Three for blood and four for bone. Five to fly and six to fall. Adrian throws the dice.

That’s how it is, honey. I don’t like it either but I have to see this through.

(You can’t fight the whole world, kid. What are you gonna do when you have to take a life?

Maybe I won't have to.

And if you do?)

Bone shards reach skyward through his empty eyes; he breathes dust and oil and fuck, don’t let this—he’s okay, he’s okay, it’s gonna be fine — oh Adrian, honey, what have you done?

Same thing I always do, sweetheart: ride the updraft. He whispers thick wet secrets in your ear. It’ll be alright.

(Besides. What would Liz say if I let you do this on your own? Let an old man be selfish. Don’t make me disappoint my little girl.)

I need to put this right. Damn kid thinks he can handle this, but it’s gonna take more than a few webs and some smartass comments. I don’t want him to carry that weight.

Once upon a time, a man walked away from a black-market empire. He took his wings and left his crew earthbound, hungering after that last big job that would’ve made all their dreams come true, that would’ve weighed down their pockets for the rest of their lives. But the thing is,

(It’s like riding a bike)

hunger has a way of driving men mad.

Time to go hunting.

#adrian toomes #toomes #Adrian toomes fic #adrian toomes x reader #Adrian toomes x you #spiderman mcu #spiderman mcu fic #spiderman homecoming #spiderman homecoming fic #fulgurite dreams

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mollypaup · 1 year ago

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(hi please read this collection of side stories from Fragile Dreams: Farewell Ruins of the Moon, one of my favorite video games ever.)

Seven Colored Bells

I looked upon those seven girls no longer breathing.

I recalled the word “deathbed.”

In that bright white alley, they lay there lifeless. I didn’t think to explore the cause behind it.

Death cannot be overturned or reversed. It stays right where it is. It doesn’t go anywhere.

The only reason I spilled tears was because of the wretched shape I was in.

I had no memory of being loved.

Especially not at first glance.

The day they were welcomed into their homes, they were given heirloom bells. It proved that they were loved like family.

In all my days, I’d never been given a bell.

And yet here I was, alive, while these girls, who were supposedly loved unconditionally, were dead.

It might have been poison. Perhaps even disease.

Maybe I, too, would be whisked off by the cold wind of death.

Either way, I was alive.

A part of my heart scoffed, ‘Served you right. Just look at the evidence. You ridiculed me, and I survived. You paid the price of cruelty with your lives. Behold! I’m alive!’

But no matter how much I yelled, none of them opened their eyes.

And my tears didn’t stop.

As I picked up one bell after another off the floor, I swore to myself that I wouldn’t grieve over them.

Not after I’d endured such suffering my whole life. I had the right to mock their life and death.

The sound of the bells that were not mine echoed in vain through the air like the tolling bells of a funeral.

Red Bell Anri

Cough! Cough cough cough!

From beyond the tiny window, fitted into the side of the tiny house, a raspy cough could be heard.

There was a tiny bed in the room, where a tiny human child’s body lay resting.

"Honey, you know you have to get some sleep."

The scolding came from a tall woman who entered the room.She’d come to put out the lantern as she rubbed the boy’s back.

"No." he replied, shaking his head.

"I’m not sleeping. Anri might come back home."

"Oh, sweetie…"

The mother’s face was troubled. It was easy to see she knew something. She knew that the “Anri” the young boy was waiting for was not coming back.

"Anri’s coming back, I know she is! She always comes home. I gave her a red bell. She’s my little sister.”

Ah! So evidently, Anri was this little boy’s sister.

I continued to watch them in silence.

Thinking about the boy, I was reminded of Anri, who was even tinier than her poor, sickly brother.

Once, she came to visit her big brother.He was so pleased and overcome with love for her, that he gave her a red bell.

Although I was not there, I could picture the scene already.

"Well, if Anri does come, I’ll be sure to wake you."

"I know the sound of Anri’s bell better than anyone!"

Anri’s bell was small and red, but she was no longer with us.

Her red bell was only here because it had been stripped from her dead body.

As I looked up at the moon, I recalled the words "desecrating the dead."

What I was about to do was the epitome of spitting in the eyes of the dead.

That was exactly what I was doing.

I had already abandoned her corpse, and now I was adding another sin to my list.

But this was my revenge. It was the perfect thing to do. This was my revenge on her for calling me mangy.

I called to the boy in a delicate voice.

I rang the bell, the sign of his little sister that the boy claimed to know so well.

The window opened.

"Anri?" The boy called to me.

Yes! It’s me!

It’s me, Anri!

He stretched out his arms to embrace me.

"What happened to you? You’re all scruffy." he asked.

I looked nothing like the beautiful little girl he knew and sounded nothing like her either.

Only the red bell remained the same.

My revenge was secure.

I’m Anri. Anri, with her red bell.

The youngest little sister embraced by her brother’s small arms.

Blue Bell Fleur

"I just don’t get the boss these days."

Behind the mill, I heard two men talking. They wore matching white uniforms smeared with soot, while smoke seeped from the mouths on their young faces.

I snuck up to where their shadows touched the earth and eavesdropped from behind a pole.

"He missed the deadline again."

"And he smacked me just yesterday. Said I left the ashtray full.”

"Huh. If he didn’t dog us like that, he wouldn’t have anything else to do.”

"Heh, he said all we do anyways is smoke cigarettes."

"I just don’t get him."

"Boy, you said it."

There was the banging sound of a mallet.

Word had it this mill was built by the skilled, but eccentric, foreman.

He’d since taken on two assistants to make furniture around the clock. But the two men just idled their days away, breathing out an endless stream of white smoke.

"It must be you-know-what."

"Wouldn’t be surprised."

"Ask him."

"You idiot. He’ll do more than just box your ears if you do. I wouldn’t complain even if he ran me through the sander alive.”

"Ugh, you just can’t win with him."

"Boy, I’ll say."

And with that, they let out white sighs.

"It’s seriously been a month since Fleur went missing? Huh, I guess she’s not coming back."

"She probably finally had it with that barbarian, but I’m gonna miss how one look at her kisser and the boss’ mood would do a 180.”

That was as far as I overheard.

Stealthily, I did an about-face and skirted the wall of the mill. From my neck now dangled a blue bell. The symbol of this mill.

Today, I had come to be the boss’ Fleur.

Approaching the window, a loud voiced boomed from inside.

"I told you, it’s just not possible! You’re not making any sense, you dimwit!”

The sound of the receiver slamming down was coupled with wood being shaved.

My ears stood on end and trembles racked my body.

The words “run through the sander alive” danced in my head.

No doubt it’d hurt like mad.

I imagined it, looking down at the blue bell.

Does it hurt more than death?

Not having experienced either, I didn’t know, but dying probably hurt more.

At that thought, the trembling stopped.

It must’ve hurt Fleur a lot.

"I can’t do this anymore!"

This time, a piece of furniture flew out the window. Things were taking a turn for the worse.

I couldn’t control my shivers and the blue bell let out a ring. The boss turned his wrinkled, brown face in my direction and scowled.

I thought he’d look right through me with his muddy gray eyes. I didn’t have the beautiful body of Fleur at all.

I was terrified he’d say I wasn’t his lovely Fleur and would run me through the sander right then and there.

He suddenly swung his hand high.

The palm of his weathered, old hand was blistered, the skin like bark. I was sure he’d strike me, but instead his hand came up to cup my face.

His rough and powerful hand stroked my head so softly.

"You scrawny little thing."

His gruff voice was more like a groan. The way it trembled struck my heart.

Didn’t he doubt me?

Didn’t he see right through me?

Should I really let him continue stroking my head like this?

I was speechless as he took me in his arms effortlessly.

"Boys, get in here!" He yelled behind the mill.

"Quit your grumbling and get back to work! If you don’t want me to wax your heads, then polish me some new wood! And step on it!”

Despite being yelled at, the two men had twinkles in their eyes.

"The boss’ Fleur is back!" They hollered, hands in the air.

Unable to speak, the blue bell spoke for me with a tinkle. At that moment, I had won over her name.

I am Fleur.

Fleur, with her blue bell.

Petted by a hardheaded boss, I am a furniture maker’s beloved daughter.

Purple Bell Silvia

Dawn was just about to break and the subdued rays of morning light were finally spreading across the sky.

I was taking my time, strolling through the bustling scene of the early hours. The clamor hurt my ears.

Angry shouts rang from the main street, while flirts could be heard in the alleys. I avoided the hubbub on my way.

Just being in a foul place like this made me remember the life I’d led.

There was a shop with its door propped open. The music that wafted from within was not what you’d consider uplifting.

The sign by the entrance was half-shrouded in dark. The world “Silvia” adorned it.

"Boss, I think you’ve had enough." A sweet voice said from behind the bar.

The bartender was a long-haired woman in a sleeveless dress who was leaning against the wall.

"I know it’s up to you, but I think you’ve been hitting the bottle hard lately.” The voice was young and lilted, like that of a male cat calling to a female.

"I think it might not-"

"Rika."

A glass clattered hard against the bar’s surface, cutting her off.

Silence followed.

"Fine… Don’t listen to me, then…"

The girl behind the counter took the glass to fill it, but grumbled in disapproval.

"I’m just saying this out of concern for you. You look exhausted these days. And the last lady to run this place… Well…you know…”

"Rika."

Again the glass hit the counter.

A cigarette was lit.

"Once you’re done, you can leave for today."

"Whaaat?"

"Do you want me to fire you?"

The woman bristled with anger, but the girl named Rika only shrugged her shoulders.

"Don’t say that. If you deserted me, I’d be all alone.”

The glass she placed on the bar didn’t smell of the pungent alcohol. It was a white liquid.

"The last owner of this place died from alcohol poisoning. I don’t want that to happen to you. See you tomorrow.”

There was the sound of high heels approaching. I darted behind the sign.

"Huh?"

Rika looked up and down the alley bathed in morning light.

"Silvia…?"

I already knew who she was calling to by that name.

Rika gave a heavy sigh for the first time and dragged her feet down the dirty street.

It was only when she was finally out of sight that I made up my mind.

I’d never heard how Silvia had been brought up before she died. She was so shy and quiet, there wasn’t much to say about her. She was the one girl I didn’t hate.

But now I was going to steal her name.

At first, I thought it was revenge. It had to be.

Revenge against them for living better lives than me.

And it was revenge against my own cruel fate.

Step by step, I made my way through the half-open door into the shop and whispered, “Mama.”

The woman was slumped over the bar, the same as when Rika first left. She sluggishly hoisted herself up to look at me and shook her head as though she wasn’t sure what she was hearing.

I whispered once more.

"Mama."

That’s when her barren eyes, laced with crow’s feet, wrinkled in a squint.

"Oh… so it’s you." She laughed with tears in her eyes.

"You poor little thing… You look just the same as when you first came here.”

Something about how she said that made her sound like Rika.

"Where have you been? You’ve been gone for so long… What have you been doing with yourself?”

"Here, drink up. You can have this, it’s your favorite. I’ll give you whatever you need. Anything at all.”

"There’s a good girl," she cooed in a slow drawl, offering me the glass.

I wonder if Silvia was also served warm milk like this the first time she came here.

"I’m sorry," I whispered for the first time to myself.

I am Silvia.

Silvia, with her purple bell.

The little girl who was held close by Mama in a small downtown bar.

Yellow Bell Lotte

A tall human was watering the garden. His white shirt and black slacks were simple and clean.

"Teacher!"

As the two young children called out, a man who was watering the grass raised his head.

"Yes? Anything the matter?"

The man they called “teacher” kneeled down to peer at the young boy through his glasses.

"Teacher, when’s Lotte coming back?" The question came from the little girl.

Even from a distance, I could see the man’s face grow dark.

"Teacher, will Lotte ever come back?"

The little boy looked up expectantly, but their teacher could only furrow his eyebrows and purse his lips.

More children gathered, questions alight on their small faces. Their matching white shirts were tattered with use.

I could imagine that Lotte, too, had joined this circle with her signature yellow bell.

The young children didn’t appear to have parents. They lived in the big, plain house with the man they called "teacher."

"Well, what’s taking her so long? She’s gone away before, but…”

The teacher murmured and excuse, but the children wouldn’t be soothed.

"We wanna play with Lotte again."

"M-Maybe Lotte’s sick."

"Maybe she’s hurt."

"I bet she misses us."

"She must miss us!"

As worry spread among the children, the teacher asked them a question.

"Let me ask you. Does it make you sad to think that Lotte’s lonely?”

"Of course."

"We miss her!"

The teacher nodded and continued. "Then, if Lotte knew how you missed her, it’d make her sad. Right?” His voice was gentle.

As I watched from a distance, I hesitated momentarily.I knew that the yellow bell that Lotte possessed was from this orphanage, which was why I’d come. But I couldn’t imagine that she really had a family in this place.

Would anyone care if she were gone?

Their worries now put to rest, the children returned to their games. But one girl lingered behind. A freckled girl with curly hair.

"But…we’re all…" The girl mumbled, looking down at her feet.

"We’re all still sad even if Lotte isn’t lonely."

The teacher put his hand on top of the girl’s head.

"I supposed there are some things that can’t be helped."

"I know what you do at night!" The girl blurted, looking at him hard.

"If you really felt it couldn’t be helped, then you wouldn’t be out searching for Lotte every night after we’ve gone to sleep!”

The teacher quickly put a finger to his lips. "Everyone’s worried enough as it is."

"But now I’m more worried about you, Teacher!"

The man simply nodded with a sad smile at the girl’s words.

"I know that. And I’m sorry."

Then, with the hose still in hand, he looked at the sky and spoke aloud. "Between you and me, I’m not all that worried about Lotte. I’m sure she’ll survive outside these walls.

"All that matters is that we all considered her family. I’m sure she wants to treasure those words too, because the family we made here is the only one we’ve ever had.

"As far as I’m concerned, we’re Lotte’s family, and as long as she knows that, everything will be okay.

And to be honest, I believe that Lotte will return someday.”

Night came and the lights in the orphanage winked out. I slowly crept out from the shadows that spread before the orphanage.

The moment the teacher saw me, he stopped in his tracks.

The light from the full moon completely transformed me.

I rang the bell, knowing it was all I could rely on.

"Lotte… Is that you?"

Yes, yes. It’s me, Lotte.

"So then, does this mean you’re ready to come back to our home?”

But of course. If you’ll have me, that is.

Back at the orphanage, the freckled girl was trying her best to calm the children who were crying from the teacher’s absence. For days now, she’d taken his place guarding them at night.

Holding the young girl to him, the teacher announced my return to all the children, to all the family.

I am Lotte.

Lotte, with her yellow bell.

A gentle member of this orphanage with a bigger family than anyone could ask for.

Orange Bell Bisque

Everyone in town called the old writer who lived in this house a weirdo.

The house was old-fashioned, and the walls seemed weighted with history. So little care and upkeep had been done to the place, it wouldn’t be a stretch to call it a dump.

The front door was always open, and not because it wasn’t locked, but because there was no lock at all.

Some would think that an invitation to burglars, but the place was such a mess that you’d lose all interest in stealing the moment you stepped inside.

The house reflected its owner; an oddball, aged and in disarray.

And this day, that oddball writer was laying in the middle of his hallway.

For a moment, I thought he was dead, but every once in a while his finger would twitch, betraying signs of life.

The bones in the back of hands stood out, gnarled under paper-thin skin, but his slicked-back hair looked young. The black-framed glasses he habitually wore had stayed on, even after his fall.

He’d probably worn those glasses so long that they were a part of his very being.

And there he lay.

Weaving my way through the filth and the clothes and the furniture, I entered the house, and he didn’t even notice.

"Bisque…" He called my name in a gravelly voice.

With each call, my body would shiver with surprise and the bell would ring.

It was a refreshing sound. The old man must’ve heard it, too.

He immediately leapt off the floor and turned his back to me.

"Not another step!" The man almost spat out.

"I don’t want you coming near me!"

And with that, he went back to the mountain of papers that buried what might have once been a desk. His hand never stopped moving as he scratched at his head.

Believe it or not, he’d call out, drop to the floor and do it all again.

I was thoroughly baffled, and so I sat in the corner of the writer’s room until night fell. The bell at my neck continued to tinkle lightly as I tilted my head.

Can this man truly be Bisque’s family?

I came to check up on him every few days, but each time he’d act just as wild and nonsensical.

When he wasn’t throwing himself on the floor, he was completely immersed in his writing. Disturbed by his unnatural behavior, I tried my best not to allow my bell to ring.

And so I stayed nestled in the corner, until I finally heard the sound of a pen sliding across the desk.

"Phew…" A loud sigh was immediately followed by a loud thud.

He’d fallen backwards off this chair.

"Finally. Finished."

The way he breathed those words sounded so unlike his usual crazed tone.

I lifted my head and the bell chimed to him gently.

With his back still on the floor, he let out a low moan.

"Oh, Bisque. Bisque, my dear…"

I was sure he’d yell at me to stay away again today, but instead he just lifted his thin, ghost-like arm and gestured to me.

Just as neared him with my careful, steady steps, he suddenly grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and dragged me down with him.

At first, I went stiff with fear, but then I heard the beating of his heart.

He gently closed his eyes and petted me.

"Ah, Bisque, is that you…? You’ve gotten so much thinner…since I last saw you.”

His bony hands were rough, but he petted me softly.

As I sat there, unable to answer, the beating of his heart became softer and softer. He continued to coo at me gently.

"Phew… Finally, I’m able to sleep…"

His last words sounded more like he was speaking them from a dream. As the hand on me never wavered, I finally realized.

My doubts were cleared.

I understood now that this was the orange-belled Bisque’s family.

And as I gently closed my eyes, I could feel the sound of my own heartbeat slowly melting free of its ice.

I am Bisque.

Bisque, with her orange bell.

The foster child who brings peaceful slumber to the master writer, whom everyone called crazy.

Silver Bell Chris

The silver bell wasn’t a particularly outstanding decoration, but it did ring the most beautifully.

I’d always wondered what kind of home such a lovely bell had come from.

It belonged to an old woman who lived alone without relatives, in a large mansion I’d never seen before.

"Madam, it’s time for supper."

"Thank you, dear."

"Madam, the lillies in the garden have bloomed. I’ve put them in this vase.”

"What a lovely scent."

"Madam, it’s started raining. Allow me to close the windows.”

"Yes, and draw the curtains, too."

The old woman was waited on hand and foot by her servants. She’d rely on their help as she sat idly in her chair, listening to her favorite music.

She’d even ask them to change out the records, but most of the servants seemed to genuinely adore their employer. But there was one thing the old woman would ask several times a day:

"Excuse me, but could you call Chris here for me?"

Later that same day…

"Oh, where is Chris?"

And again, even later…

"Please find Chris for me."

Though normally obedient, this one request was always met with hesitation.

"Madam, Chris is already…" The maids would start cautiously.

”Oh. Yes, you’re quite right.” the old woman would say, cutting them off.

"She’s not with us anymore, is she? Hmm… I’d nearly forgotten…” She’d murmur with a nod, but not a few hours later, she’d ask the same questions again.

She had them stop her favorite record. "Oh, wherever could my darling Chris be?"

One rainy night, the mansion was in an uproar.

"Madam?"

"Madam!"

The servants dashed through the halls in a frenzy. Finally, one of the maids shouted in despair.

"Why can’t I find her cane?!"

Though it wasn’t too cold outside, the sheets of rain continued to pour relentlessly.

"She couldn’t have gone outside, could she?"

A chill passed over the gathered servants before they set out. They put on their coats and called for help outside.

I tore my eyes from them and made for the rain-drenched town.

Amidst the downpour, I smelled the sweet fragrance of lily. In the back lane of a park, far from the mansion, I made out the figure of the old woman.

She was surrounded by a crowd who moved and gabbed around her.

"C’mon, lady, you’ll catch your death out here. Maybe you should see the police.”

The old woman’s shoes and designer clothes were soaked through.

A man tried taking her by the hand, but the old woman refused to budge, her face adamant.

Fed up with her antics, the men finally left, leaving her behind.

I cautiously stepped just into her field of vision and without saying a word, rang my silver bell.

It rang clear through the rain.

The old woman raised her head sharply in surprise, her blurry eyes looking at me.

"Chris…?" The old lady rasped. I rang the bell again in a nod, and then turned around.

"Chris, wait! Wait for me!" Her cane clicked as she followed me.

I may not be able to carry her all the way to the mansion, but it’d be enough to bring her to her servants.

I stopped often to look over my shoulder, to make sure I didn’t lose her. The sound of that beautiful bell was a beacon.

At last, one of the servants noticed the old woman and shouted, “Madam!”

As she ran towards her, the old woman bent down to scoop me up and held me, trembling.

The servants weren’t able to hide their surprise, seeing how much the late Chris had changed upon her return.

Not one of them said that I wasn’t Chris.

Because the old woman called me so, the maids nodded in obedience, just glad that their beloved employer had returned home safe.

I am Chris.

Chris with her silver bell.

I’m the tiny, adorable Chris, loved by her grandmother in this grand mansion.

Pink Bell Maria I

I’ve gained so much.

Gentle hands and many, many new names.

Monday’s Anri.

Tuesday’s Fleur.

Wednesday’s Silvia.

Thursday’s Lotte.

Friday’s Bisque.

Saturday’s Chris.

And for just one day, I’m no one else but myself.

It was supposed to be revenge.

Revenge for the deceased girls who’d led a better life than I. With vengeance and blasphemy laid to rest, all that’s left is me.

A lie.

Before I knew, I began wondering about the future.

When? Tell me, when?

When will I fall in love?

Once I find someone who loves me, I’ll finally be given a name. Not just someone else’s substitute, but a name all my own.

That’s what I decided.

So then, why?

Why did I have to meet him?

He lived on a cliff face that looked down on the town. His features were considered striking, his posture regal. But those weren’t the only things that made me stop in my tracks.

I didn’t really need a reason.

Because to him, it didn’t matter what bell I put on. Nothing would change the fact that I was nothing.

A bell with two stripes of light pink lay at his feet.

It didn’t belong to him.

The bell, like his love, was waste on the street. His features knew despair.

You could see the hollowness of death in his eyes.

No matter how much I stared or spoke, he never once looked back at me.

I gingerly pick up the rosy pink bell. Its soft sound should be enough to reach his ears, stir his heart and open his eyes.

Then, in a husky voice, he will speak in a tone drowning in emotion. He will call out the name of his past love.

"…Maria?"

And I’ll choke up with emotion, and smile as I say,

"That’s right. I’m your Maria."

And then, there won’t be any real “me” left in this world.

"Please. Tell me your real name."

I giggle softly and answer again.

"I’m Maria."

His brow will surely furrow as he snuggles close.

"That’s not your name. It can’t be."

But that’s the name of your beloved, right?

I loved you.

But the one that you loved was never me at all. You loved the real owner of this pink bell.

Imagine it, a rival whom even death couldn’t kill. The one woman he really loved.

I hated her, cursed her and stole her name and identity. And I’d do it no matter how miserable it makes me.

"Oh Maria! If we’d never met then I’m sure I’d have rotted away right on the spot!”

Those are the only words that can bring me salvation now. As long as you’re happy, then I’ll never need a silly name.

A storm was brewing.

The high winds that had been beating on the windows since morning gathered dark clouds and pelted the forest trees.

I leapt from the safety of the old woman’s blanket, raced through the town, and headed for the mountain cottage.

My old hideout.

I’d take a bell and think about the past each time I came here.

I go by many names now.

So whose ghost remains in this dreary mountain hut?

A brilliant flash of light, coupled with thunder, filled the sky. Every hair on my body stood on end. There was a tearing sound of wood splitting. Chills ran down my spine.

I quickened my pace without thinking.

A tremor crept down my back.

The scene that greeted me as I reached that hut was indescribable.

A massive cloud of smoked clogged my nose and burned my skin. The mountain was on fire, and the gusty winds helped spread the flames quickly.

In my panic, I dove into the hut.

The heat was as hot as stoked coals. But through the burning and stench, I knew I had to salvage my bells.

They’d been proof that the girls had lived and now they were the one place I felt at home.

I gathered the seven bells and made for my escape, but the hut entrance was already engulfed in flames.

I leapt through a broke window, feeling as through I was being burned alive. I could hear the destruction all about me.

Just outside the window was the cliff face. I jumped down from my perch, prepared to take the dive. Through it all, I kept the seven bells tightly held in my mouth.

Pink Bell Maria II

After falling unconscious, I awoke to the pattering of raindrops. I could still smell the mountainside burning, but the rain was now falling harder than before.

I knew I was far from safe.

Nestled close against the ground, I’d already lost the sensation in both my arms and legs.

I asked the heavens if this was punishment. Was this what I deserved for having taken the dead girls’ happiness as my own, in a twisted and shameless act?

"…!"

Through the ash-ridden world, a voice was calling me. No, that’s not my name.

And yet…

"Maria! Maria!"

Yes, the one calling me was none other than my beloved.

"Maria, hang in there! Don’t die on me!"

"Oh, yes!

My love! My one true love!

Don’t give up!” I whispered desperately. "Don’t give into the despair, please! Live!"

I thought that if he lost me, he’d never see his precious Maria again.

And it wasn’t just him.

Anri, Fleur, Silvia…

Lotte, Bisque, Chris…

They’d all been beautiful.

"Don’t kill me!" I shouted. "Please don’t kill the ones you love."

Trembling, I handed the seven bells over to him. "If you can, take these in my place. Just don’t let their loving families lose all hope."

He looked at me as if wanting to speak. Then, taking the bells with him, he turned and ran.

As his figure became smaller and smaller, it was eventually washed away by the rain.

I tried calling his name but couldn’t form the words. If I managed to speak, I might make the mistake of telling him something I could never say.

As I thought about how the cold rain would sweep away the fire along with my soul, I thought of the last person who’d considered me family.

I may not have been the one they loved, but I certainly loved the warm and gentle hands that touched me.

I lied and desecrated the dead, all for my revenge. And yet here I was, crying.

Here, on the brink of death, I’d come closest to those girls and could finally, truly cry for them. After all, you know how it is.

You must know, right?

All you wanted…was to live.

The rain washed the mountainside grey, draining the light from everything. I was cloaked in darkness and rain.

Then I heard the faint sound of a bell ringing.

At least I could tell that my ears were still working.

I focused my senses on the source. Then, just behind the sound, I heard footsteps and voices approaching.

"C’mon, Anri!"

I thought I was hearing things. It had to just be a memory enclosed inside that bell. After all, no one would call for me.

"Fleur!"

"Silvia!"

It can’t be… My eyelids fluttered.

Why…?

From beyond the falling ash, I could make out figures.

They circled around me.

The boy, the boss, Mama…

"Lotte!"

"Bisque!"

"Chris!"

No. The children…and the teacher.

The master writer, and Grandmother!

"No!" I tried to scream but failed.

No, don’t look at me!

You’ll see through my lies!

Don’t hate me! I was never the girls that all of you loved.

"We already knew that." was the reply from the one who used the seven bells to gather everyone here.

You snuggled close to me as I was wrapped in a warm towel. As you kept me warm, you dropped the seven bells.

"Heh heh. We already knew that. All along." He sounded on the verge of tears as he kissed my cheek.

"Don’t you see? The ones we loved weren’t the ghosts from the past.” His words forgave me.

"We all know you made up those lies to try and help us. No one else but you could have made us feel so good, could bring us so much joy.

"It was all thanks to you and your seven bells.”

I closed my eyes, the tears still streaming.

I thought my life was just one lie after another.

But no longer.

I finally understood it now.

My name will be the seven-colored Bell. A name given to me by my loving family and friends.

I am Bell.

Carrying my seven colors, I was the most loved in town.

I am Bell.

And I was the luckiest cat in the world for having seven names.

#fragile dreams: farewell ruins of the moon #animal death #stories that make me cry one million times while reading it

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smokeybrand · 8 months ago

Text

OVHOE

I’m a Black kid who grew up in the ghetto during the Eighties and Nineties. Rap and Hip Hop culture informed the bulk of my musical taste. My horizons were broader than most in my neighborhood, my grandma made sure I understood the value of Classical, Grand Ole Opery, and other genres frowned upon by the more street of my peers, but. Ultimately, I was inundated with Gangster Rap. I’m from California so of course I was. It was weird watching my experiences being sold to white suburbia and seeing how violent their reactions were toward it. Straight Outta Compton was my life. To Live and Die in LA was lived experience. Brenda Got a Baby happened to my next door neighbor. Those stories weren’t just thug lyrics on a record for people who looked like me, lived like I did. That was life for us, so Rap music, and Hip Hop at large, is intrinsically Black but it’s not exclusively so. White people have been tied to Hip Hop since its inception. Rick Rubin was the in-house Producer for Def Jam, way back when. That White boy crafted the sound of LL Cool J, The Beastie Boys, and Run DMC; pioneers of the genre. To this day, he is an honored member of the community, even if he works with artists from other genres. Mans produced Hurt by Johnny Cash. Rubin took that record to Cash and pleaded for him to make it. The Man in Black obliged and delivered one of the most powerful records ever pressed to wax. Decades later, Rubin was still making classics and consulting on others. You can’t f*ck with that guy because he is authentic in how he does his thing and that’s what makes Rap music so unique, its authenticity. So when a White boy boy like Vanilla Ice comes along, the community shows you what happens when you are not.

Rob van Winkle is a joke. A punchline. He saw what MC Hammer was doing and just copied his whole vibe. He was very successful at it. He made tons of loot doing just that. Vanilla Ice was everything Rap to a lot of Nineties Boomer Karens who wanted the edges softened on the music. Mr. Winkle played a character, went Hollywood, and got upset when Black people turned on him. Rob was a fan who knew nothing about the life he heard on wax, but wanted to know that world from a safe distance. Vanilla Ice is a culture Vulture who stole the aesthetic of Hip Hop, bleached it of all its Blackness, and repacked that sh*t in the most white bread way possible. Dude was Kids Bop before Kids Bop and made millions. Vanilla Ice is a phony. The life and experiences he rapped about, were never his own. It was something he heard or made up because it sounded dope. Studio Gangster but with none of the Gangster. MC Hammer was definitely about that life. His entourage was about that life. Hammer chose not to portray that sh*t in his rhymes too often because of marketing but Hammer will bust your ass if you press him. Genie pants be damned, he was authentic as f*ck. Vanilla Ice was not. It took damn near a decade before another White boy was taken seriously in Rap and, in my opinion, he’s one of the greatest to ever do it.

Eminem is a beast. He came into this game having the burden of proving White people deserve a place in Hip Hop. Vanilla Ice ruined it for and entire race of people but Marshall was able to re-open those doors. Cats heard Em for the first time and immediately gave him the pass. It helped tremendously he had the West Coast co-sign. I’m talking Dre, Snoop, and the entirety of Interscope had his back. He didn’t disappoint. The Slim Shady LP wasn’t my flavor but the Marshall Mathers LP definitely was. The first time I heard Till I Collapse, I knew the White Boy was The One. The flow, wordplay, passion, and vulnerability spoke true to HIS story. Em wasn’t on that record trying to convince me he was this drug kingpin or that he was going to beat your ass in the street. He spoke of his insecurities, his life in the trailer park on 8 Mile, and the struggle to be recognized as more than a novelty. He spilled his guts about his abusive mom, promiscuous ex-wife, and love of family. Em gave you exactly who he was, for better or worse, on those first two records and it hit hard. That authenticity. The respect for Hip Hop. The love of Rap. He never tried to be more than who he was and I respected the f*ck out of that. It’s why I loved Big. That’s why I loved Pac. That’s why we loved the rise of those Louisiana boys from Cash Money and the ST. Lunatics. Authenticity. Game recognize game. Struggle sees struggle, even if it looks different. Black Rap accepted Eminem because of how real that cat was, is, and that lack of realness is why we stopped f*cking with Aubrey Drake Graham.

K. Dot has made it his life’s mission to destroy Drake and i am here for all of it. I’ve never liked Wheelchair Jimmy. I’ve always thought he’s corny. Just so goddamn fake. The first record of his I ever heard was Best I Ever Had. It was the softest, most simp sh*t I had ever heard in my life and yet, somehow, that sh*t as hot in the streets? See, by the time that h*t dropped, I was a grown ass man. I had moved passed, matured away from, most of the gangster sh*t. I didn’t care about Lil Wayne or whatever the f*ck was going on in Rap back then. I vibe hard with College Trilogy Kanye and Kid Cudi. Drake was mad Lightskin energy and I couldn’t f*ck with it, so imagine my surprise when Weezy F. Baby decided to sign that goofy ass Degrassi Alum to Young Money. The second Drake record I remember? F*cking Bedrock. That is who Drake was to me. As time went on and more stories came out about dude, there was no way I could respect that Canadian. Ghostwriters, stealing entire albums from his label artists, chasing after girls of questionable age; Drake was gross. He doesn’t have his own sound or identity, just kind of stealing whatever is hot at the time. Mans came in sounding like Lil Wayne. Now, he sounds like Young Thug. What Kendrick say? He’s not a colleague, he’s a colonizer. Which is exactly how I’ve felt since I found out Take Care was a whole ass Weeknd album!

Take Care was supposed to be Abel’s major studio debut but Drake just stole the record, recorded his vocals over the Weeknd’s, and dropped that sh*t. He got beat up by Puff Daddy for doing that same sh*t to him. Kendrick is exposing everything Drake has been accused of over the years, putting it in one place so we can all hear it, and letting us make our own decisions about dude. It’s insane because, that bar about A-Minor, is some sh*t I’ve been screaming about at the top of my lungs for years. He f*cking and a dinner date with a teenage Millie Bobby Brown in Australia, where the age of consent is a soft sixteen years old! How about the time he was on stage and kissed a seventeen year old, on stage, at one of his concerts? After saying, out loud, he could go to jail for doing that exact sh*t? What about that time Billie Eilish openly admitted to having a texting relationship with Mr. Graham, long before she was anywhere near of legal consenting age? K. Dot referenced at least two cats in his inner circle who have a penchant for the little kiddies, one of which is convicted, so why does this creep Drake get a pass? This is more about a rap beef, it’s about the measure of your character. Drake is a mixed race kid, raised by his white mother and grandmother, in upper middle class Toronto. He listened to the same records I did growing up and fell in love with the image of Hip Hop. He wanted that for himself, to be legitimized by the Black culture with which he held a tenuous bond. Rap was his way of being Black but he had nary a one true Back experience. So he faked it. He faked it until he made it. And for the last decade, he’s built this house of cards which afforded him millions, access to real Blackness but never the respect of Blackness, and an open buffet of questionable relationship with questionably aged girls, while absolutely ruining Rap music along the way. Mans is Vanilla Ice Returned. I hate Drake, bro. He’s the phoniest mother*cker to ever make it in Hip Hop and I’m glad Kendrick has decided to knock over that house cards. It’s well overdue.

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acupofbullshit · 11 months ago

Text

The ugly, ugly truth of a stone to the heart.

“Even on my worst days, did I deserve babe, all the hell you gave me? Because I loved you… I swore I’d love you until my dying day.”

Ladies, theybies, gentlemen and kinfolk alike gather round, Gather round!

For I have quite the tale to tell you.

It’s a cautionary true tale of tragedy, heart ache, heart break, love, loss, kindness and a lesson in why empathy isn’t always the best policy.

Our story spans the better part of a decade and… none of it’s enjoyable.

The people in this story are extremely real and is based entirely on fact, truth and genuine circumstance; that being said please do not take it upon yourself to absorb this traumatic situation to make it your own or to use this as a shield to hide behind your own feelings for the situation and the people involved.

If you care too greatly for those involved and you simply want to stay away from the details or would rather live a Schrödinger’s lifestyle I implore you to back out now, stop reading and call it a night… that’s enough social media for tonight.

If not, please read on.

To start I’ll answer some questions as I usually do.

Q. Why are you doing this?

A. I’ve been hounded relentlessly for it on NGL and there’s a character limit there so I figured if you really wanna know so bad? here we are.

Q. Why do you feel the need to do this?

A. Two reasons

1. He’s gonna say I’m crazy and hide the truth so might as well actually be crazy and spill the beans

2. I’ve accidentally opened a door to social media where some of you feel genuinely entitled to the details of my personal relationships and the damage is done.

Q. Will you share your life openly on social media in the future?

A. Maybe… maybe not.

If this experience has taught me anything it’s you really cannot trust the people around you and sometimes you need to trust that the universe knows details you don’t and hears conversations you can’t.

If the circle needs to close, let it close.

It doesn’t matter how much you love them or how badly you want things to change.

Q. Does the other party know you’re sharing these details?

A. Probs not, hey? But I also don’t care?

Not once did that man think about me or our children at any point through his indiscretions… so… 🤷‍♀️

Q. What happens if your kids read this in the future?

A. I’m extremely honest with my girls and they’re already aware of the important details and this is a lived experience for us all.

I’m not sharing aaaaaaaaalllll the traumatic shit because… I don’t want to relive that? Just the relative need to knows.

trigger warnings in effect for infidelity, abuse, anger, sadness, depression, miscarriage and everything else that feels like anguish.

Are you ready kids?

Because it’s gonna be a bumpy ride…

“I didn’t have it in myself to go with grace”

Let’s take you back 10 years. It’s 2014, MH370 Is missing, Ebolas a problem, Vine is popping off and Fancy by Iggy Azalea and Charli XCX is taking the world by storm.

I’m a newly single 21 year with 2 kids under 3 and my friends are trying to set me up with a cute boy they knew who, I was CERTAIN wasn’t interested in me.

The boy could barely look at me without frowning and when I tried to speak to him he always looked like he was in pain. There was no way he liked me… and yet he was asking me on a date.

He was a little younger, lots of fun and very handsome… and also NINETEEN. And he didn’t have kids of his own. And liked to party. And he didn’t finish school. And he couldn’t drive and he didn’t have any responsibilities and he had his whole life ahead of him… why on earth would this man chain himself to a woman with 2 young children?

Trading in Kesha and Skrillex in dark rooms overflowing with booze and dimly lit with lasers for Peppa pig and Disney movies on the couch illuminated with a nightlight and a 3 years olds giggle… not the most ideal trade for a young man and yet still, he promised he wanted it.

He wanted a family, a life, a house full of love and children of his own someday.

“Even if it does work out and he actually likes me it’s a recipe for disaster … this is a bad idea” I thought to myself.

10 years later I kick myself for not trusting my instincts and hate the fact that, like always, I was right.

Ok I’m not always right.

Once I thought there were 100 seconds in a minute and 60 centimetres in a metre... yeah yeah, I know. I KNOW.

But I am always right about PEOPLE. who they are, how they act as their true selves and their core motivations.

When you’ve been through enough trauma to madden a small army you get pretty good at seeing things for what they are… and even better at delusionally pretending you can’t and especially so when love is involved.

Back to the story.

Time wore on and we were happy... Mostly.

Or at least we were right up until our first major hurdle as a couple… infidelity.

The genius accidentally showed me someone’s nude photographs on his computer while trying to open an anime for us to watch.

How was it handled?

He said I planted it there to make him look bad and that I was trying to set him up.

Listen, I’m crazy… but I’m not INSANE.

I dye my hair pink on a whim and drive interstate for a meal. I’ll laugh so hard at a seal screaming at a traffic cone I’ll accidentally trigger a panic attack.

See? Crazy, but not insane.

Naturally I rebutted and refuted his claims but he doubled down which is when he learned gaslighting was an effective tool to weaponise against someone with admitted lapses in memory.

Yes, you can start cringing now. It only gets worse from here.

We hadn’t even hit our first anniversary before the cracks were well and truly embedded and they ran DEEP.

And I stayed. Stupidly, because I thought somehow I DID somehow plant them there or it WAS somehow my fault.

What if it WAS an old photo that he just happened to have saved to his desktop that he forgot about? Benefit of the doubt right?

Wrong. WRONG.

I look back on that poor young gullible woman and I’m filled with rage. He’s nice, sure but he’s not worth the thousands of dollars in therapy and the years of happiness lost.

Stacey, you should have run. Got out clean! Dodged a bullet!

It doesn’t matter if there was another failed relationship, this wasn’t on your hands you don’t have to prove you can outlast something out of spite anymore.

BUT I DIGRESS.

we move on, things change.

We put in some work together, I change jobs he goes back to school to get his apprenticeship… things are going kinda great! (Aside from my medical mishaps and me losing my job that is)

…And then we got new neighbours.

That’s when the real trouble began.

Within a year of them moving in he had made friends, destroyed a marriage, broke up two families and forced us to move.

Why? Because he just had to try and (maybe) succeed in fucking his best friends fiancée (our next door neighbours).

That one was hard.

I had just endured a miscarriage and was undergoing a likely cancer diagnosis… I’d spent the day before having holes poked into my cervix to remove suspicious cells and I was worn out and exhausted.

After a long ass day of being in pain and raising girls I had just put dinner on the table and felt ready to cry. He tried to cheer me up and show me a “a funny meme” at the table. What he ended up showing me was my very pregnant next door neighbour masturbating in a towel.

I didn’t laugh at the hilarious portrait. He wasn’t laughing when I threw him out of my house and slammed the door. The neighbours saw, they whispered “see, he said she was insane”

I didn’t care.

He deleted the evidence of the affair and tried to convince me I didn’t actually see anything and i had just made it up. She got ahead of the curve and told her partner I was just an awful woman with an axe to grind.

“It’s the stress of the situation, it’s because you’re sick. You’ve just lost your job. You need me”

I could scream now.

Therapy made me believe I was somehow responsible for this adult child’s inability to regulate his impulses

“He has adhd… and addiction issues… relapses will happen but you love each other. He can’t be fully held accountable for his actions you’re going to have to learn to work around these problems”.

“You both want to work on this right?”

Right?

It’s not like you have a lot going for you anyway…

One more shot… just one more.

And then while we were in the thick of working on our relationship to each other he left for work again and lived in Newcastle 5 days to 7 days a week for 6 months.

I stayed here, trying to work full time, raise 2 kids and wrap up a custody battle.. he forgot I even existed. He’d forget to call… forget to message… forget to tell the girls good night…

You can guess what happened.

Of course you can, you see the pattern. You’re not blinded.

And you know what? I definitely saw it too.

Except now? He’s adored by my girls and were newly engaged I can’t just back out now.. I can’t take away their parent.

It’s not their fault he does these things and he’s mostly so good to them… maybe I could just learn to live with this….

Maybe if I just lost the weight or tried harder to be a better wife or was more demure and less abrasive… maybe I needed to change my hair or my style or my entire personality… maybe tattoos might help.

Maybe if I changed everything about myself it might make it easier for him to want to love me…

Stacey you fucking Brussel Sprout you’re TRAUMATISED.

He didn’t need to gaslight me anymore. I was doing it to myself FOR him.

Can you believe we haven’t even hit the half way point yet.

The next ones though… these were DOOZYS.

It’s now 2019. We’re supposed to be getting married in 3 months. Guess who’s texting pictures of his dick to women on the internet again? SPOILER ALERT: It wasn’t me.

The wedding is off. We’re just living together at this point out of sheer necessity.

And that’s when things really took a turn.

I won’t get into the details because.. this bit is really REALLY sad but the highlight reel runs: a broken hand from punching a hole through the floor, a trip to the emergency mental health unit for one, $30,000.00 in debt and three of us in crisis accomodation over Christmas in a hostel later I’m now free… and he was in the local gatts bed the day I left.

Moving forwards I have my own place, I’m feeling better, I worked on myself and I was feeling great about life again.

He and I are still friends trying to maintain a friendship for the girls who still adore him. They don’t know any different and I don’t have the heart to tell them.

And then covid happened.

And he started staying more and more frequently… and he’s changed and he’d worked on himself and things were different this time…

I wanna puke I’m so dumb. DUMMMMBB.

For a while though, things actually were great. We were working together as a team, the girls were thriving and things were going well…

So why won’t he commit to long term goals?

The tension was palpable. Our friends were CONFUSED. I was devastated.

From the very beginning all I had ever asked for was for him to love me and the girls unconditionally and that we’d get married and grow our family together.

This was only ever expanded to include “and to not cheat on me”.

He swore these goals were shared. Promised these were things he wanted too and that he definitely wanted them.

So why, after 7 years of back and forth would he not ask me to marry him and make things official? He’s asked before right? Why won’t he ask again?

Why after 7 years did we have no savings, no shared major assets and no real plan to expand our family? Why did we not have a 5 year goal?

Because he didn’t want too in the first place.

I begged.

Cried.

Pleaded.

“What can I do?” I’d lament.

“Why is this just not working” I’d whisper between sobs. And he’d comfort me. Reassure me it’s not me, things are just tough… the excuses were endless.

“Why am I not enough?” I was torturing myself.

We were in the throws of twice weekly couples therapy that I’m paying a shit tonne for.

I’m doing the homework, I’m working on my communication, I’m engaging in the sessions and baring all because I’m committed to making this work.

Him?

“It’s hard for me, you know I don’t like reading. Talking about myself makes me uncomfortable, I lost the homework binders, I hate doing these exercises they’re dumb and they do nothing”.

And then guess who unexpectedly fell pregnant? Me. It was me.

I was thrilled. He was mad.

I don’t think he actually expected this to happen, I mean I know he didn’t because he accused me of cheating on him for it to have happened. I didn’t, by the way.

No matter though, a routine check up revealed this little angel wasn’t proceeding.

I spent my New Year’s Eve in a hospital alone and scared having the news confirmed to me that the child I had longed for hadn’t made it and it was time to proceed with the next steps… and then we went to a pool party so he could ignore me.

“We can’t let our friends down Stacey, they’re expecting us. It might do you some good.”

My mind was elsewhere. I was a shell. On another astral realm while my body just robotically moved on the physical plane.

He? Was on an inflatable unicorn in the pool living his best life.

Splashing and smiling and laughing like nothing was wrong.

Was I wrong? Was I wrong to feel this way? It had only been 10 weeks maybe he’s right and maybe I was just too attached to an idea…

A few days later I proceeded to endure the most traumatic medical procedure of my life. After bleeding uncontrollably for hours at home I attended the emergency department where they completed a bedside extraction without pain relief because all the ORs were contaminated with covid patients.

A 24 year old nurse named Bethany who confessed earlier she was so overwhelmed and wanted to leave the profession held my hand and let me cry into her shoulder while another nurse held my legs apart so the doctor could do what he needed to do.

He stayed home and played Spider-Man to pass the time. Granted it was during covid and it was suggested he wait outside, I didn’t expect him to go home brag about finishing the game.

Y U C K

Then there was the incident at our best friends wedding… l wasn’t myself again yet after losing the baby the month prior but it was our friends wedding and I wanted to be there.

We booked a hotel room on the premises, I wanted to make it special. I put in some EFFORT to look as hot as I could… it didn’t work.

He got trashed and threw up in a garden because he didn’t want to spend time with me. I wanted to sit next to each other and dance on the dance floor and feel the love in the room…

He staggered to the hotel room.

I stayed a little longer because it was our best friends wedding? And I wanted to enjoy it?

I danced with my friends mum.

Hopped in the Photo Booth with some friends, ate some cake and then my social battery ran dry.

Exhausted, it was my turn to stumble back to the hotel room. My swollen feet rubbing in my heels, a little tipsy from the wine and lost because the room numbers didn’t make sense.

I find my way back and he’s passed out on the bed, fully suited, shoes still on and phone in hand.

Silly man. I thought. Had too much fun.

“I’ll get his shoes off for a start.. now I’ll put his phone on charge for him…” it was still unlocked. Messages open. He was sexting our old neighbour again.

I dropped the phone. Stifled my cry.

I sat cross legged in the bottom of the shower and sobbed for hours.

The usual.

I was embarrassed and ashamed.

My friends can never know… at their wedding?!

He’d be dead by morning.

I kept it to myself. I mean I confronted him when he found me in the shower but that one I wanted to keep to myself.

I wish I didn’t.

It wasn’t long after that he went away for work AGAIN. our entire life was him disappearing for weeks to months at a time for work. This time it wasn’t too far away and it was a short trip to Bathurst for a few days but I had a hunch…

Sigh.

This is just a joke now.

Cycle repeats. There’s another woman, there are photos, there are messages and I feel sick except this time there’s an ultimatum. Do it again and this time I’ll burn your life to the ground.

He promises and I do too. He promised he’d do the right thing, I promised I’d set fire to everything we’d built together just to watch the flames cleanse and scorch the earth between us.

He went straight back to love bombing and I’d just checked out at this point, going through the motions of life waiting for the inevitable error.

Because I knew it was coming.

It could take a week, it could be 5 years but I knew it would come…. And boy oh boy did it come.

The wheels well and truly fell off the wagon when he forgot my 30th birthday and said I was dramatic for expecting him to know he had to plan something.

… what.

It’s your significant others birthday… a milestone one… you didn’t have to build me a palace dude I just wanted a fuckin’ card and maybe for you to plan something with the kids.

I was biding my time. I knew our relationship was over.

We were now approaching 10 years of …. This… and there was still no ring on my finger. No love in our house and no children running free.

25 May 2024, the break up date was set in my mind.

I was waiting it out when again… 2 little pink lines came up in August.

I didn’t want to allow myself to be hopeful but I did.

The more time went on the more excited I got and the more distant he became.

“It’s just nerves after what happened last time”

*pterodactyl screech*

NO IT’S NOOOOOTTTTT.

The Second trimester rolls around, we’re starting to tell everyone... I’m jazzed. I feel like my life’s falling into a disjointed step and things are looking relatively good… that deadlines looking really silly now. Maybe I was wrong? I wanted so BADLY to be proven wrong. I had HOPED I was wrong.

The only thing that stopped me from announcing our news to everyone we knew? We were waiting on our harmony test to confirm a gender before I told my parents who I knew would be over the fuckin’ moon.

A 15 week routine check up confirmed our daughter Emery lost her heartbeat sometime that week.

I was devastated.

Gutted.

Drowned in grief.

And I felt so alone.

I felt like I was mourning this loss and a bit more on my own and I couldn’t understand why. I knew my daughter was gone but I couldn’t understand what else I was grieving.

Subconsciously I think I knew.

Like another cruel twist of fate I woke up in the middle of the night in excruciating pain. No waves of rolling pain it was just ow. It’s labour but it’s wrong.

In the middle of the night I drove myself to the hospital and delivered my little girl on my own. The staff were incredible and concerned I was alone.

They dosed me up on morphine and I silently wept for hours.

By the time he arrived to the hospital to “support me” I was ready to go home.

I drove myself home to cry my eyes out and get our kids ready for school and he went to work like it was another normal day.

Weeks go by and I’m lost; spiraling into a deep depression and I can’t anchor myself to anything to slow the decent.

I’m stuck somewhere between sorrow and anger and a weird dissociative state that I can’t shake.

I’m trying to run my household, turn up for work, parent my children, look after myself and be a good friend and an attentive partner but I’m falling short at every turn. Everything I touch becomes sick with melancholy.

Everything I’m trying isn’t working.

And then it hits me. I’m grieving alone.

I am GRIEVING alone.

I am doing it ALL by myself. All the household chores, all the errands, all the things required to maintain a family and a relationship. I’m going to my appointments alone. I’m going through the motions alone. I’m crying alone. I’m awake at night with my heart in pieces alone. I’m reading the books alone, I’m trying to cope alone and I’m trying to love again alone.

Our intimacy disappeared as soon as he knew we were expecting and it just didn’t come back.

He was always so angry at me because I couldn’t get it together and he’s constantly on his phone… I know what this is…. I’ve seen this movie before and I know how it ends.

My heart sank.

Dread seeps in.

The insidious feeling creeps into the back of my mind and I cannot shake it.

So I did the cardinal Cardi B sin.. I went through his phone that night and I found some things I definitely didn’t like.

He was cheating the entire way through our pregnancy, loss and afterwards.

Including the night I delivered.

Who is she? Some girl i met on TikTok. How long has it been going on for? Not long, a few months.

I saw red.

I cut sick.

I went feral.

You don’t need me to tell you why.

I was definitely done this time. The ick was severe.

I screamed in agony. Ugly hot tears spewing from my eyes with pure unbridled rage. How dare you. How very fucking dare you.

I threw what I could get my hands on, clawed at my own skin to try and hold onto the pieces of my soul that were so desperately trying to escape my body… I had descended into madness.

I spat words laced with venom from a place of hurt, building and bubbling over the last 10 years all coming out like an unstoppable crescendo.

My body in a state of shock didn’t know whether to turn my brain off as a response to trauma, have a panic attack or violently grieve through the pain I felt. Somehow, it did all three.

I’m not proud of the woman I was that night… not the nights immediately after.

Grief on grief on grief on grief… I had already lost so much it had just compounded into this hideous snowball.

My best friend, my child and now my love.. what could possibly be next?

Things became extremely uncomfortable when I confirmed to him I was definitely done this time. I couldn’t look at him and feel comfort and I couldn’t find solace in his eyes anymore. All I felt was a burning hot rage and bitter, BITTER betrayal and I wanted to rip down the walls of the house we built together.

He kept telling me we could make it work that it was a mistake and he was regretful and he was committed to change this time around.

Too late bro.

The little part of me that still loved you died the second I read you had called HER the day I delivered a corpse but you couldn’t call me to check on me?

Vile.

I had always thought that I wasn’t a prize, that I wasn’t worth shit and that nobody would love me and I should be grateful for the small bits of love and the bare minimum I got.

I thought that the love and affection I had so desperately tried to cultivate just wasn’t real and only existed to serve as a plot device in fairytales.

I thought that if I left him my life would be over and the walls would collapse in. That I couldn’t live without him in my life… like I didn’t know how. I wasn’t ready to let go or maybe I didn’t want too.

Our shared trauma bonds didn’t allow me to see what a life without toxicity could be.

It was awful and tumultuous but it was familiar and it was safe.

I was terrified of starting over and petrified of being alone.

That I would somehow be judged for not being able to make this work and that somehow it would be me to blame that I couldn’t keep his eyes from wandering. That my daughters would somehow hate me for taking away their father figure.

Stupid, I know.

That night was the greatest thing to ever happen to me. As soon as I verbalised to myself and to him that whatever this was was… whatever the last decade was… was done it was like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders and the dark rain cloud drowning me had dissipated.

I began to feel free.

The person I thought I lost slowly began creeping back in… I felt more and more like myself everyday.

We made the decision to run the lease out and still live together for the time being. It was only a few months. It was achievable… right?

I hated the animosity I still felt but I loved the person I was rebecoming. I thought I could do it.

I am an idiot and I was wrong.

I hadn’t told anyone about what was happening except my 6 closest friends who have supported me through this like absolute legends. If you were anywhere near my socials you would have guessed something was up but I didn’t really elaborate to anyone outside the 6.

I was happy and coping as best I could. But I wasn’t immune. Crying fits, bouts of anger and just real mean shit wasn’t uncommon… it was quickly becoming apparent this was terrible for my mental health and couldn’t be sustainable.

I can’t live with looking at the face of my trauma and he can’t live with me wanting to rip his throat out of his body any time I see an exposed neck.

Something has to give.

Flash forwards to New Year’s Eve. Some time had passed and a very nice man who had been checking in on me as a friend messaged me nicely on Instagram to wish me a happy new year and said that they were grateful to know me and was excited for us to be excellent friends in 2024.

I echoed the sentiment.

He then replied to a photo I had posted to my story to say I looked very good and that the picture itself was Lock Screen worthy.

A little cheeky, a little flirty… but I liked it.

But just like anything in this story, it’s not quite that simple because even though he was a third party with limited knowledge of the state of my personal affairs except for the fact I was vaguely single and based of that information decided to compliment a girl on the internet… he unknowingly and unwittingly set off an uncomfortable chain reaction resulting in me learning exactly who my ex lover really was and what they were actually capable of… and this poor man was unfairly caught in the crossfires of someone else’s mistakes.

And that’s something I’ll be regretful for, for the rest of my life.

Unbeknownst to me, while I was reading the nice message of appreciation for my friendship and a cheeky compliment that had my self confidence on the rise so too, was my ex partner.

Reading over my shoulder in a veiled attempt to pry into my personal life.

He was big mad.

Mad someone had the audacity to be kind to me. Mad someone had the gumption to think I was pretty. Mad someone had the gaul to tell me so. Mad someone had the hide to appreciate my friendship and what I could offer.

He was MAD mad.

I promise you, if you saw a screen shot from this extremely tame and respectful interaction you’d sit there and think … “is that it?”

No grand display of love or devotion, no vulgar sexting, no big feelings and nothing even remotely derogatory towards my ex partner. Just two pals saying “happy new year and hey, you look cute tonight by the way”.

Until that very moment when he dropped a cheeky flirt it had only ever been platonic between us…Except for the night we met 2 years ago but that’s a story for another time haha.

So why… why was this man reacting like I’d tipped his mother’s ashes down the sink? Like he was somehow still entitled to me and the love I want to give and receive?

He stormed out of the room and disappeared for hours to sulk… I was confused. We weren’t together, it’s not my place to pry into his personal life and whatever’s got him upset… I guess I’ll let him go…

until I get a message from the nice man that read something like:

“Hey, uh I don’t want to start shit but I’m a little concerned… who is this guy and why is he liking my photos from years ago?”

… what.

The screenshots came in.

They didn’t know each other. I was their only mutual friend. I hadn’t mentioned this man by name. He doesn’t go by his legal name on the internet let alone his Instagram handle… How did he know who he was?

“I’m so sorry I’ll handle it”.

We duke it out. Not my best choice to do it infront of a giant glass window.

Our new years guests couldn’t hear what was happening but they sure could see…

I was in protective mode for a man I barely knew but why should this man be a victim of intensive cyber stalking for complimenting me? Why should his privacy be invaded like that because my ex couldn’t get his shit together and fumbled the bag?

None of that is this nice man’s fault.

Besides, WE WEREN’T EVEN TOGETHER. WHY DID IT MATTER SOMEONE ELSE WAS NICE TO ME.

More venom fell out.

“There’s been a line behind you waiting for an opportunity this entire time, you only held your place at the front because I left that place open for you”

Not my best work, but definitely a pivotal moment for my own self confidence because… there WAS a line. I AM desirable. I AM wanted. I CAN be loved and I don’t need to torture myself by staying with someone who can’t offer basic respect let alone something more.

I’ve got goals. I’ve got places I wanna be. I have achievements I wanna tick off and I don’t want to be held back anymore by an emotionally deficient fuck boy.

And I realised I can live my best life with my good Judy’s by my side, my girls by my side and my family by my side.

I mean it would be nice right to have someone love you and see you and love your kids unconditionally and have the same shared interests or goals… but I’m the master of my own destiny and fuck anyone that gets in the way of that.

Anyway, he flipped it.

So much so he did the unthinkable.

Now I understand being upset. I understand acting on impulse and I understand hitting someone where it hurts when they’ve wronged you if it’s deserved.

WHEN it’s deserved.

Over 10 years of knowing someone you come to learn quite a bit about them and what really gets them excited and in turn what really upsets them.

He absorbed my secrets, my fears and my insecurities just to weaponise them against me.

Cheating on me is one thing.

Lying to me is another.

Taking one of the worst parts of my life and making me relive it for your own entertainment and manipulation? NEW LEVEL OF FUCKERY UNLOCKED.

Over the next few days I started to receive some pretty nasty anonymous messages… some I posted to my story some I didn’t.

Most were targeted at me and my appearance, some were targeted at the man that was messaging me to spread rumour, some at my kids and some were targeted at my ex partner.

I’ve been the victim of a hate campaign before so these messages were admittedly quite triggering. They preyed on the most insidious thoughts that live in the back of my mind.

Who was this person? Why would they say these things to me? The only people sending me these messages are people I already know and I can’t imagine these people saying such awful things…

My mental health took a slight sidestep and I went full undercover operative.

I set up my own little investigation. No one was more surprised when it lead me to him.

No.. I must be wrong it couldn’t be…

Until it was with out a doubt confirmed when he stupidly dropped the nice man’s legal name in an anonymous message.

There were only 4 people who knew we were talking to each other let alone his name and I definitely didn’t send the message… neither did the nice man… my best friend certainly wouldn’t have done it so it left only one option.

I paid for premium access to the NGL app. Got the clues I needed about the sender of the messages and confronted him.

He lied.

He always does.

Even when confronted with the truth.

Tried to gaslight his way out of it. Again. But it wouldn’t work this time.

The proof was right in front of us. I had the very compelling evidence. It couldn’t be disputed.

After trying to lie for a 4th time he confessed it was true and he did send some of those nasty ass messages in an attempt to manipulate my self confidence, sow the seeds of deceit between the nice man and I so I wouldn’t want to talk to him anymore and to make me feel sorry for him for all the hate he was getting online.

Again, like a bull charging at a waving flag I saw RED.

“You have a month. Get out of my house. Never speak to me again.”

This was a new low. A real ugly point. I had never cheated on him. I’d never betrayed his trust. I’d never been intentionally mean like this.

Why…

W H Y .

I immediately unfriended him off what I could. What I couldn’t, I blocked.

We weren’t friends. We never truly were. Friends don’t hurt each other like that. Friends don’t do shit like that. That’s enemy behaviour.

Only someone who despises you would do those things, any of those things let alone all of those things over a prolonged period of time.

I didn’t think this could get any worse and yet there I was… publicly bullied by my ex on the internet for his own enjoyment.

It’s time. It’s time to tell everyone. My parents… my siblings… our wider network of friends… my girls.

My girls….

Sitting the girls down was tough… an activity I never want to do again.

A conversation I thought we would have with them together to tell them we couldn’t make it work and their stepdad would be leaving - the last little honourable thing he could do… apologise to them… be honest with them… love them… and let them go gently ended up with me in tears telling them on my own that everything had fallen apart and mum was sorry.

My best friend holding one daughter while I held the other. And we all cried.

My best friend was the one helping me to explain everything to our daughters and work through the complex emotions we were all feeling. Drying tears, answering questions and reminding them this isn’t their fault…

They were devastated. My eldest fumed and my youngest sobbed in pain… their first real heartbreaks.

I’m grateful for her everyday. I’m grateful for her kindness, her love and her support but this wasn’t heartbreak she had to endure. This wasn’t her responsibility to step in… it was his.

He aimlessly folded the same piece of washing and watched the conversation unfold.

He didn’t say a word.

If I had felt guilty before asking him to leave, putting my girls first or leaning into the nice man’s advances I definitely didn’t now.

… And I still don’t.

“2nd of Feb dude, you gotta be outta here. It doesn’t matter if you don’t have anywhere else I won’t put us all through this anymore you need to make your arrangements and your exit from stage left”

I’m in my healing era. My lover girl era. My ‘be a better friend’ era. My ‘be an excellent mum’ era. My stand up for myself era. My evolution era.

And I will not lie, romance has indeed found me along the way.

And I’m so okay with that.

It’s unconventional. It’s different. It’s kind and respectful. It’s considerate and tender. It’s FUN. it’s goofy and it’s pure…

I’m pretty sure it feels like it’s supposed to.

It’s not a fight to the death every day. It’s not a struggle. It’s not nights crying myself to sleep wondering where I went wrong (it was most nights that we were together… I won’t lie). It’s not toxic fights that have me worried about what’s going to be broken this time.

I don’t need to wonder if this man actually likes me, he makes sure I know.

It’s honest and supportive and REAL…

and it’s a steep learning curve.

I have a lot of unlearning to do and behaviours to quash to be a better version of myself… not just for myself but for everyone in my orbit but for the first time in a long time I’m excited for what happens next.

The next few months will be hard financially, emotionally and physically.

But I have a kick ass gang of friends, 2 amazing daughters who under the circumstances are thriving, a fantastic therapist (shout out gabz the big dawg) and someone I can invest all my extra love into and is more than happy to send it right back.

I’m going for surgery in a week, I have a plan in place to correct my health and I’m pushing myself to be the best possible version of myself not just for me or for them… but for you too, dear reader.

Given so much of my life was shared openly and then used against me to hurt me by people I trusted and loved I can’t say for certain this level of openness will remain.

Some aspects of my life will be kept just for me, my girls lives will still stay off the internet until they’re ready (occasional happy snaps and tidbits will still flow freely don’t worry about that), I’ll still share the cool shit I’m up to with work, the dumb shit my friends and I get amongst and life events with my new significant other will be shared when and if I find one.

But only if and when I want too.

And I won’t use social media to cover up my extreme unhappiness.

Not everything you see on the internet is real and I too have played a part in that.

Relationships are complex, no one has the perfect one and keeping up appearances only gives you more heartache than what it’s worth.

So if there’s any wisdom I can impart on you it’s this:

💜 You are more than your relationships.

💜 Fuck the haters, they’re gonna chat shit anyway you might as well give them something to talk about.

💜 You are precious and deserve to be protected and loved and to be happy.

💜 don’t settle because you’re expected to.

💜 You can cut parts of yourself down but no matter how far you trim you’ll never fit into the box you think you should be in.

If you don’t fit, get a bigger box.

💜 Nothing on the internet is real.

💜 Sometimes letting go is necessary to heal.

💜 Love will find you in the most unexpected of ways and in the most unexpected places.

💜 Listen to your friend that gets the weird vibes, they’re usually right.

💜 The NSW healthcare system both sucks and is excellent at the same time.

💜 Do what you want, it’s not too late to start over. You’re gonna die eventually… live the life you want.

💜 Live in the now and the future. The past is a place we can visit but you cannot live there.

💜 Just because you’re happy sometimes it doesn’t outweigh the heartache all the time.

💜 Don’t sacrifice yourself. For anyone.

💜 People will understand eventually.

💜 Just because you can do everything on your own doesn’t mean you have too

💜 You shouldn’t suffer in silence or alone.

💜 HABITUAL CHEATERS WON’T CHANGE

And thus ends a 10 year tale of a strong AF girlie who is owning a new, better phase of HER life.

She rescued herself from the damn tower, set her daughters free, reacquainted herself with her besties and picked up a cutie on the way out to get Starbucks.

I’m writing new pages in a book I thought I’d finished and I’m excited to see the life that’s out there waiting for me. I’m excited to reacquaint myself with myself again. I’m excited for new experiences, better relationships with everyone around me and not having to wear shoes inside to avoid the broken egg shells and bits of ego on the floor.

And him? Feeling sorry for himself I guess. Or not. I’m not sure and I don’t think I care to find out.

Maybe he’s realised what he’s lost, maybe he’s awake in the middle of the night languishing in pain, maybe he’s grieving or maybe he’s just fine and couldn’t care less.

Either way, my thoughts don’t live there anymore, they live with me.

“You had to kill me, but it killed you just the same cursing my name, wishing I stayed… You turned into your worst fears…

And you're tossing out blame, drunk on this pain and crossing out the good years… and you're cursing my name, wishing I stayed… Look at how my tears ricochet” - Taylor Swift

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