#and i cannot wait to show you that stupidity in january | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sabraeal · 2 years ago

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don’t speak boyshit, Chapter 7

[Read on AO3]

“You’re not sick.” The hag says it with authority, the kind she only has because she’s not the one whose skin is squeezing her bones like it’s last year’s uniform. “Go to school.”

Kamitani grunts, shrugging his shoulders like it might make his body sit right for once. “You don’t know that.”

“Of course I do, I’m your mother.” Everyone says he’s got his mom’s eyes, straight down to the squint, but he knows his don’t look as stupid when they roll. “You probably just have some test you don’t want to deal with. What is it? English? Japanese? Chemistry? Or are you worried about midterms already?”

“I do just fine in chemistry, no thanks to--” He grits his protest between his teeth. “Whatever. Exams aren’t for weeks yet. Can’t you see I’m actually--?”

That hag just shakes her head. “Try something else. Did you forget to do your homework? Oh, or maybe you’re avoiding some--”

“I just feel weird, all right?” he snaps, arms folding across his chest like a fence. “Like, I don’t know, all itchy or whatever.”

“Oh.” His stomach may already be a restless pot about to boil, but it flips when that woman smiles, all knowing. “I get it. This is some puberty thing--”

“I’m just sick, okay?” His face has got to be feverish enough now to make some mercury rise. “How are you so sure I’m not?”

The hag huffs, like he’s being the ridiculous one here. “Because if you were sick, you wouldn’t be down here complaining. You’d be in your room under the covers, acting like you’re going some ill antelope, wandering off from the herd to die.”

Well, he’ll give it to her, that’s a good point. “Can’t you just get a thermometer or something?”

“Fine.” She throws up her hands. “But if it’s normal, you’re going to school

Ten minutes later, he’s glaring at the tiny numbers like he could make them inch up to thirty-seven degrees from will alone. “I still feel weird.”

Mom claps him on the shoulder. “Walk it off, champ.”

That weirdness clings to him all morning, makes his tie sit too tight-- Hebihara snaps at him in the hall to straighten it, and Kamitani makes sure to shove that thing so deep in his bag it’d take a team of archaeologists to find it-- and his sweater itch. Which he could deal with; having the check engine flash every few days is pretty much his whole experience with puberty. It’s just--

“Is that the girl from the advanced class?” Saginuma leans over his desk, little shard of his chips falling from his mouth because he’s a fucking animal. “You know, what’s-her-name?”

Usokawa huffs, all nervous. “W-What’s she doing down here?”

His palms go clammy, stomach clenching in anticipation, and still, he doesn’t put it together, not until Side Ponytail stands up and calls out, “Inomata? Are you looking for someone?”

He doesn’t mean to look up. It’s just a reflex, a quick glance to figure out what Usokawa’s on about so that he can just call him an idiot and move on. But instead she’s there, idling awkwardly at the door like she doesn’t belong. Because she doesn’t.

Well, if he thought living through some mystery illness sucked, figuring it out is worse. Every nerve fires at once, trying to figure out which combination will get him out of his seat and through the door. Anything to keep him from having to talk to her again.

The other girl’s up there too now, the shorter one, giggling as she asks, “Kashima-kun, maybe?”

Kashima’s already halfway out of his seat, all curious because he’s too nice to look annoyed, and that’s when she lifts her chin, glaring out over the short girl’s shoulder. “I’m looking for Kamitani.”

Usokawa’s head whips around. “Dude,” he whispers, eyes round behind his glasses. “What did you do? Fail a test or something?”

Worse. He didn’t answer one of her questions.

“Nothing,” he mutters, getting to his feet. “Come on, Kashima, let’s go.”

The kid stares, like somehow he’s not sure how words work. “M-me? But Inomata-san’s looking for--?”

“I’m grabbing some bread.” With a huff, Kamitani grits out again, “Let’s go.”

Still, he‘s just crouched there, wasting precious seconds. “But I brought lunch--?”

“Don’t care.” He grabs Kashima’s wrist, hauling him up. Inomata may have gotten one door all cluttered up with his classmates and their questions, but there’s a second one. A fact he’s going to make good use of. “You’re coming with me.”

Kashima makes a good show of protesting, sputtering and stammering as he drags him across the classroom floor, but for all his carrying on, he doesn’t try to stop him. Not even when Kamitani jerks him over the door jamb, school shoes only missing the metal slide by inches. It’s one less sound to draw her attention, which is all he cares about.

“Kamitani,” the kid bleats out, glancing over his shoulder like he thinks any moment Inomata is going to bear down on them with the wrath of a righteous god. “I don’t see why we have to--”

“I’m hungry,” he grumbles, maneuvering Kashima in front of him. Kamitani hardly needs any help navigating the crowd-- he’s tall enough that people get out of his way without encouragement-- but the goody-goody needs to be babysat. The last thing he needs is his insurance to get a crisis of conscience right before the reckoning bears down on them. “You need a better reason?”

“But I don’t see what that has to do with me?” he yelps, eyes so wide they start eating up his eyebrows.

Too bad Kashima’s not a dog, or better yet-- a younger brother. At least then he’d do what he’s told. “I like company.”

Kashima glances back over his shoulder, brows shuffle like a deck of cards. “No, you don--”

“Hey!”

Great. Kamitani grits his teeth. Barely a meter down the hall and they’re already out of time. “C’mon, Kashima, get a move on.”

His eyes are wild, trailing over his shoudler. “But, Inomata--”

“Stop!”

Her shout’s got enough steel in it to arrest a grown man, but Kamitani hasn’t coasted through all of gakuen by doing what angry women shout at him, and he’s sure as hell isn’t about to start now. Not by listening to Inomata. He doesn’t even spare a look back, propelling Kashima down the hall with the same shove that’s tagged more runners than anyone else on the team combined. But when he goes to follow--

He pulls up short, like a dog on a leash. Inomata’s already pale, but next to the navy of his sweater her fingers are white as stripes, crushing the wool beneath them. He tugs, just a bit, to test her, but they don’t budge, not a millimeter. Damn, that’s some grip.

It’s a mistake to look up; her glare’s waiting, pinning him the way beetles are to cork board. “You can’t just avoid me because you don’t want to listen.”

Watch me doesn’t work when she’s got hands like a vise. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m not just avoiding you,” he informs her, enjoying the dubious twist her mouth takes. “I’m going to get some food, and I don’t want to talk to you. It’s different.”

Inomata doesn’t have nails to speak of, but what little she has pricks through the wool. “If you would just hear me out--”

“Don’t want to.”

She snorts, just like a boar, annoyed. “I’m only asking for you to give me a minute--”

“Oi, Kashima!” he calls out, drawing wide-eyed confusion from where the crowd’s carried the kid down the hall. “Can you wait up a sec?”

Inomata’s grip tightens. He’s going to have bruises at this rate. “You wouldn’t.”

He rolls his head along his shoulders, letting his mouth twitch toward a grin. “Try me.”

“Kamitani?” Kashima stumbles against the flow, tripping over a few first-years before he finally ends up close enough to hear over the noise. “Did you need me for something?”

“Just a sec.” He stares down at her; funny how much easier it is to catch all the daggers her glare throws at him when he has the high ground. “Okay, now go ahead and say what you want to say.”

All that huffy stubbornness deflates underneath the pressure of Kashima’s polite confusion. “We’re not done talking about this,” she warns, but it’s nothing to tug away from her now, the strength gone right out of her.

“Yeah, yeah.” I have unlimited access to Kashima, his grin tells her, and by the way she pouts, Inomata receives the message loud and clear. “We’ll see.”

With a huff, she spins on her heel, storming down the hall with a much smaller wake.

Kashima struggles to stand at his shoulder, staring after her. “What was that all about?”

“Who knows,” he lies, rubbing at his wrist. “C’mon, let’s get back to class.”

“W-what?” Kashima is constitutionally incapable of glaring, but he comes close now. “But you said you had to get lunch!”

It’s easy to shrug his shoulders, to let all this roll off his back like water off a duck. “Just remembered I brought mine.”

The girls always groaned over gym second year, complaining that having it first period ruined their work or whatever, but in Kamitani’s opinion, having it straight after lunch is worse. Sure, a few of them might have smudged some make up, but he’d take that over the stomach cramp he’ll earn running the track on a full stomach.

At least the girls change earlier now, using part of the lunch period to go swap clothes in the bathrooms, rather than making all the boys wait outside while they switched clothes in the classroom. That shit used to take forever, and by the time the guys were done, it felt like they’d lost half the time on the field. Barely get through calisthenics before Mamizuka-sensei was waving them inside.

Now the only chunk out of PE is how long it takes fifteen boys to change into a t-shirt and shorts. Which should be three minutes tops, except--

“Dude,” Usokawa coughs. “What did you do?”

He’s got a whole policy about Usokawa’s bullshit: don’t fucking get involved. But he’ll admit-- once he’s got his sweater over his head, he does try to figure out what that idiot is on about. The guy’s barely got two brain cells to rub together most days, but sometimes whatever’s rattling around in there is entertaining.

It just so happens that today it’s him. At least, that’s what he assumes from the stare he’s fixed with. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“With Inomata!” the idiot hisses, just loud enough to sound like a whisper without actually being one. “She came here for you didn’t she?”

“Yeah, man! Are you in trouble or something?” Saginuma’s shirtless, the cotton rucked up in his hands ready to wear, but he pauses to lean in anyway, like they aren’t on the fucking clock. “Did you break a rule? Flunk a test?”

Kamitani glares. “I don’t flunk tests. I’m not you idiots.”

“Right, you just come close,” Usokawa allows, still wearing his stupid uniform. “Then what is it?”

He grunts, dragging his shirt over his head. “Why are you asking me? She comes here for Kashima all the time, and I don’t see you guys asking him what fucking color his underwear is.”

Kashima flushes; with his shirt off, it races right down to his chest. “Kamitani!”

“Well, yeah, but you don’t hang out with her like Kashima does.” Saginuma finally puts his shorts on, hands sitting on his hips. “So it’s weird, you know what I mean?”

“No.”

“Hey wait.” Ebizawa’s halfway through tying his sneakers and looking too thoughtful for the effort. “Didn’t you both disappear during the hanami? Kashima said he saw you walking off after her.”

Kashima holds up his hands, like that’ll keep him from glaring a hole right through his nosy face. “I just said you walked off in the same direction! Not, er...”

“Oh ho ho ho!” Great, now Usokawa got his chin pinched between his fingers, looking far too smug to survive this conversation. “Maybe Kamitani-kun is in some other kind of trouble then?”

His teeth grit around a, “What?”

“You know how it is. You meet a girl under the sakura, petals are falling around you, there’s magic in the air...” Usokawa flutters his eyelashes like he’s the one with his back to the tree. “Stuff happens...”

“Get your head out of the gutter.” he snaps, shoving his head through his shirt. “Like I’d do anything like that.”

“Yeah, c’mon,” Saginuma laughs, shaking his head. “Any other girl in our class would be happy to be cornered by Kamitani, so why the hell would he go do that with Inomata?”

The thing is: he agrees. Or well, as much as he can ever agree with something that comes out of these idiots’ mouths. He’s spent the last six years dodging confessions from nearly half the female student body because girlfriends are a fucking pain; the last thing he’d ever do is to turn around and shack up with the most annoying chick he knows.

And yet when Saginuma says it like that, like there’s something wrong with her, his hand starts to itch. The kind that makes him think that Saginuma’s smiling face looks really fucking punchable.

“You don’t need to say it like that.” Kashima’s always been the sort of kid that flaps in the breeze, couching all his confrontation in ums and ers and burying his meaning in a whine. But now he looks straight at Saginuma, inches taller than the last time the school measured. “Inomata-san is a good person. She might be a little high-strung, sure, but that doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with her.”

No, but now Kamitani has a strong worry there’s something wrong with him. He drags a hand down his face, like somehow that might scrub the last ten minutes from his head. “Whatever, can we just go run our fucking laps now?”

Ebizawa groans. “Only you would look forward to that, Kamitani.”

He grunts, shoving on his shoes. “It’s easier than putting up with you morons.”

“Thanks for staying late, Kamitani-senpai.” Sato’s hair is too short to tie up in a ponytail-- I never liked stringing that through a cap, she huffed when the first years asked her if she’d ever grow it out-- so she just pushes a strand of it behind her ear. “I know it’s the club’s off day, but it’s a huge help to have two hands on deck for inventory.”

“We should have made the whole club hang back,” he grumbles, brushing some dust off his sleeve. He’s not sure when the last time the storage shed was cleaned out, but it certainly wasn’t by any of the captains he’d played under. “At least maybe then they’ll stop just throwing stuff in there without looking. I’m sure as hell not gonna go clean up their shit again.”

Makino-senpai would have huffed. She would have waggled a finger and told him that just because she was the club manager didn’t make her their mom either. But Sato just tilts her head back, a small hand rubbing at her chin. “That’s not a bad idea. Do you think you could bring it up to them? I would, but I feel like they might not take me seriously since I’m, you know...”

A first year, hand-picked by Makino-senpai from the middle grade’s team last fall. That should be enough clout to box the ears of these idiots, in his opinion, but, well-- he’s not stupid. The old hag might be the bane of his existence, but she hasn’t rattled on about lack of respect for having possession of two complete chromosomes for nothing.

“Yeah,” he grunts, shoving his hands in his pocket. “I can box ‘em around the ears for good measure, too.”

She laughs; the same trilling one that blonde girl does, the one in their class that’s always hanging around Kashima. “Well, sure, okay. Just don’t do that literally, senpai.”

“Don’t see why not.” He shrugs, scratching an annoyance between his shoulders. “They probably deserve it.”

“Probably.” Sato’s the kind of cute that always has half the team sighing and making eyes-- and the other half complaining that they prefer someone mature like Makino-- but when she grins, it stretches tight across her teeth, bloody-minded. “But if you do that, we’ll have a heck of a time getting to Koshien this summer with half our players benched.”

Yeah, she’ll fill Makino-senpai’s shoes just fine. “Fine,” he allows with a sniff. “I’ll let ‘em off easy.”

“Thanks. And again, I appreciate that you stayed behind.” Her shoes scuff on the sidewalk before going silent, and for the second time in as many days, his stomach drops. Sato’s a nice enough kid, he’d hate for her to ruin it by being a girl about him being decent. “Make sure you tell your girlfriend I’m sorry for keeping you.”

“Girlfriend?” He shakes his head. If this is a come on, it’s the first time he’s heard it. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Oh?” There’s nothing leading about that sound, only curiosity, and when he whips around she’s not looking at him. Oh no, she’s looking down, tracing the slope of the hill, right down to where it blends into the entrance, and-- “Isn’t that her standing by your bike?”

He’s not trying to be quiet, not even a little, but still that girl has the gall to startle when he grunts out, “You really don’t know when to quit do you?”

“I--!” Her back arches off the post like someone’s put a current through it before the rest of her follows, propelled forward until she scuffs up to a stop in front of him under the awning. Her mouth works, as wide and round as her stupid eyes, but all she comes up with is: “You!”

“Yeah, me.” Air hisses through his nose, but he grits his teeth before he can get any further. “Have you been waiting here since class got out?”

“Wha--? Not the whole time!” Her whole face ripens like a tomato, so quick he’s surprised she doesn’t faint from the rush. Kashima’s never mentioned what Inomata’s post-graduate plans are, but whatever it is, it better not involve lying. You know, since she’s shit at it. “I went to club.”

Kamitani’s always been tall, but that last growth spurt second year really gave him something to work with. He uses every last inch of it to loom over Inomata, folding his arms and letting his doubt fall as heavy as a piano from a window.

“I did!” she insists, defiant and squirrely all at once. “I just I told the president I had a personal issue.”

“Inomata-san skipping out on school duties.” His whistles, impressed. “Didn’t expect to see that today.”

Most girls blush all delicate, just a rosy tint on their cheeks that makes them look all cute or whatever, but Inomata approaches it the same way she does everything: head on, looking like she’s got a rash all up and down her throat. “I’m not skipping! I’m excused for personal reasons.”

He snorts. “That’s supposed to be because your grandpa died or something. Not because you’re late to being a pain in the ass.”

“M-me?” She huffs, fists on her hips as she reminds him, “You’re the one who won’t finish our conversation!”

“Uh, I did.”

“You didn’t.” She glowers, like somehow he’ll be intimidated by an ill-tempered girl. Like she hasn’t met he mom before or something. “You just laughed.”

A grin threatens to escape containment, twitching at the corner of his lips. “That seems like a pretty good answer. Especially since you wanted to ask me to give you romance advice.”

“I wanted you to tell me about boys,” she snaps, that rash reaching finger up to her cheekbones. “I don’t see why you’re being so strange about it, it’s just information. You’re already a boy, that makes you practically an expert.”

There’s something sad about Inomata trying to stroke his ego like this, like if she just greases his wheels a little he might not squeak when she pushes him. “You don’t care what boys think, you care what Kashima thinks.”

If he thought she was flushed before, she looks like she could be an entry for spontaneous combustion now. “I didn’t say that!”

"I mean, you did.” He steps closer, enjoying the way she flinches. “That’s the whole reason you even want me, right? Because I’m his friend or whatever.”

“I...” Her mouth works, trying out about half of a dozen words before she lets it snap shut, glaring at him like somehow that’s his problem.

He reaches out, grabbing his bike off the rack. “Great talk.”

“No, wait! Fine. I--” her breath hisses through her teeth-- “I did say that. About how being friends makes you a good candidate for being a tutor.”

Kamitani shrugs, stunted by the death grip he had on his handlebars. “Sucks for you then. I don’t know anything about what he likes. Frankly, I don’t think Kashima’s got a handle on it either.”

“I understand,” she blurts out, looking anywhere but at him. “I do. But even...even just regular boy stuff would be helpful. Anything, because I don’t really...um...know...about...” Her voice drops to a whisper. “Any of that...”

He shifts, annoyance dragging its nails beneath his skin. “No shit. Who would want to hang around and let you nag them?”

Kamitani has a reputation-- one he’s been building since middle school, when girls started giving him sly side-eyes and talking to his shoes instead of his face-- as a guy who doesn’t care about tender feelings. As the one who finds boxes of Valentine’s Day chocolates in his cubby and tips them in the trash. Someone who can field a confession with a simple, “Not interested.”

But sometimes, sometimes, he knows it can be too much. Back in the middle grades he tossed out a box of a dozen homemade chocolates; it wasn’t until he glanced in the bin that he saw the wrapper wasn’t from any store he knew. Freshman year he’d ragged on a batter limping to home, only for them to find the kid’s ankle swollen twice the size of a baseball back in the dugout. Only a few months after, D-- that guy left, the hag had sent him up to his room for something stupid and he’d yelled out, this is why Dad couldn’t take it anymore.

So, he doesn’t need to see behind Inomata’s fluttering hand to know what kind of expression she’s hiding. Or that once again, he’s let himself too far of the leash.

He stifles a sigh. “Fine. What do I get out of it?”

Her gaze jumps the fence of her fingers, wide and utterly blank as it fixes on him. God, this girl didn’t think about this stupid plan at all.

“As I said--” he lifts his handlebars again, trying to disengage the bike from the rack-- “great talk.”

“Wait!” Her fingers are white against his grips, bracing the bike in place. Impressive, considering that she probably doesn’t know what a free-weight is, let alone lifts them. “Study!”

He blinks. “What?”

“Study.” With a shuddering breath, she looks up at him, eyes flinty enough to start a spark. “Midterms are coming up, aren’t they? I can help you study.”

That stops him in his tracks. Inomata’s held the top spot in their class five years running, both Nezu and Yagi nipping at her heels but never landing a bite. She might not be a popular pick for slumber parties-- or parties at all, for that matter-- but around exam time there’s always some idiot that tries to tempt her into a study group, only to be met with a shoulder so cold it could freeze fire solid.

And now here she is, offering it up on a platter. Not something he can sneeze at, little as he’d like to admit it

“That’s a month away,” he reminds her, wary. “You think I want to put up with you for that long?”

“You? Put up with me?” Those eyes of hers spark, bright enough to melt this whole rack into modern art. “I’m the one who would be putting up with you. What were you on the last set of exams? Sixty-seven?”

Seventy-six, but the last thing he needs to do is help her point. “That’s just because I don’t give a shit. I could get higher if I felt like it.”

It’s not possible for steam to come out of someone’s ears, but Inomata looks like she’d love to give it a try. “What do you mean you’re not trying? Why would you purposefully--?”

“See?” This time he does grin, leaning right down into her face. Close enough that she blinks. “You already want to take up my time talking about boy shit. What makes you think I’m gonna double that time by adding studying?”

Her cheeks puff out, annoyed. “We can do both at the same time. And--” she says the word like he’s pulling teeth-- “I’ll give you my notes.”

Now that-- that’s something. He’d seen a glimpse of them before, snapped shut before he could take in more than the neat handwriting and detailed diagrams. Girl couldn’t draw a pig to save her life, and yet he’d seen jawbones with detailed articulation, and a cluster of crisp little hexagons up in one corner of the page. Color coding too, if he was to hazard a guess at the purpose of all those little tabs in her notebook.

“Never mind,” she sighs, grip loosening. “If you really don’t want to, I can’t--”

“Fine.” He jerks his thumb behind him. “Get on.”

She blinks, eyebrows rumpling right over the long slope of her nose. “Excuse me?”

“I’ll do it. You convinced me.” This time, it’s his chin that tosses over his shoulder. “Now come on, get going. I don’t have club but I don’t got all day for this either.”

Her eyes dart behind him, but she doesn’t move, just stands there looking confused. “Go where?”

They say people trade arithmetic for trig when it comes to learning higher functions, giving up something simple to make space for the hard stuff that comes after, and for a moment Kamitani has to wonder if Inomata’s given up her basic conversation skills to fit all that stuff she needs to be number one. “My place.”

Her eyebrows jump up, chasing her hairline. “Right now?”

“You said you’d help me study, right?” With a yank, he pulls the bike free-- both of the rack and Inomata. “Not gonna get a better time than now. Unless you’d like the old hag knowing you’re over our place, hanging out with me.”

Her mouth pulls into a grimace. “Ah, yes, well I suppose it would be best to get everything ironed out today.”

“Great.” His leg swings over the crossbar, toes scraping on the pavement. “Then get on.”

“On your bike?” She peers behind him, dubious. “There’s no room.”

“Of course there is,” he scoffs. “You’ve just got to hold my bag.”

Her eyes round, horrified. “You want me to ride on the bag rack? That’s illegal.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “We could get in trouble.”

“Sure,” he agrees. He’s never seen it happen, not in a podunk little town like this, but it could. “Are you coming or not?”

#inokami #inomata x kamitani #gakuen babysitters #gakubaby #hayato kamitani #kamitani hayato #maria inomata #inomata maria #my fic #future fic #year three #idiots to lovers #slow burn #dating lessons #there was a whole series of scenes after this that are now going to be ch 8 #where maria and kamitani embark upon the world's most stupid discussion trying to hash out the particulars of this arrangement #and i cannot wait to show you that stupidity in january #but for now please enjoy kamitani being embarrassed and having NO IDEA how to handle a basic emotion

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smileyyoungchan · 2 years ago

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White Queen - Choi SeungCheol

Inspired by: White Queen - Queen

Genre: ANGST

Warning: mention of death (but nothing too specific actually)

(I highly recommend to liste to the song while reading)(this is actually my favourite Queen song, hope you’ll like it) (parts in italics are lyrics from the song that inspired me the most)

What’s White Queen about?: The song details the story of the speaker’s lost love, (The White Queen) for whom he continues to wait for in agony.

This story is a part of a project, and you can find the other ones here 🥰

It was the 5th of January.

Two months before Seungcheol’s life had completely changed.

Everyone kept saying to him ‘don’t worry, the pain will eventually stop, in the meantime, if you need someone, I’m here for you’.

But he learned that no one was, actually, there for him.

And upon that, he couldn’t really stand all the gloomy eyes everyone had when they talked to him.

His eyes were sad too. How couldn’t they be? But he always tried to bottle the emotions in the back of his heart.

So sad, my eyes she cannot see.

The thing he always regretted more was that little box, that he kept inside the pocket of his jacket.

It was a ring, and engagement ring, he had planned to give her on their last date.

Problem is: he didn’t knew that was the last one, and his coward heart wasn’t ready yet to ask her to be his wife.

Many question marks floated in his mind, as he though ‘what if?’.

What if he had asked her that night? Would her still be alive?

What if I drove her home that stupid night?

And so on.

But it was too late.

My goddess hear my darkest fear I speak too late It's forevermore that I wait

That bench was all that left.

He liked to sit there, every single night, even in winter, waiting for he to show up one more time.

The cold weather kept pestering him, and he tried to sit and squish his limbs closer, to keep the warm from running away.

But he hated to put his hands inside the pockets, cause he always had to face with the remorse of that little box he kept.

When the snow finally started to fall from the sky he decided to get up from the bench, instantly regretting it, cause the cold air found a way inside his jacket.

One step that was followed from another one, and another one, and another one…

The night felt breathless.

No one was around, and honestly he couldn’t blame them for preferring the warm inside the house. He would have chose that too if he still had his other half. But he didn’t. Not anymore.

On such a breathless night as this Upon my brow, the lightest kiss I walked alone

If he could only had one more chance…

But he couldn’t.

#drabbles #seventeen #seventeen drabbles #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #seventeen x reader #svt au #seventeen fluff #seventeen fanfiction #scoups x reader #scoups imagines #scoups angst #angts #seventeen angst

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sigmafied · 2 years ago

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spoilers for the bsd season 4 trailer (for those who have not seen it yet!)

first of all, the art is absolute GORGEOUS. ranpo and poe just look so nice in these few seconds and i love the detail with karl being scared as well. definitely a step up from past seasons (not that the style was bad in any sense!) but i can just tell that they’re taking time to make this season look amazing.

DECAY. OF. ANGELS. fyodor’s rat lookin’ ass somehow looks scary but great at the same time?? I DID NOT EXPECT TO SIMP FOR NIKOLAI BUT NOW I AM THEY MADE HIM FUCKING GORGEOUS. LOOK AT HIM. his voice is definitely how i imagined, the amount of teasing and mocking i can see in his voice now and later on down the road is massive.

finally, i have to finish off with soukoku. let’s start with dazai. i love this expression that he shows here compared to the manga. in the manga, he does show genuine surprise and possibly even concern as he’s figuring out just how and why his past is being dug up now. assuming that this is that same moment (although i could be wrong and it could be where he mentions that he and jouno will “get along pretty well” but that’s beside the point-), dazai seems to show more surprise in terms of impressed or trying to keep his normal facade as a confident and almost carefree man. you can see the mixed emotions he’s expressing with this one frame, whether it’s anger, concern, impressed, or maybe even terrified.

then, we have chuuya. this man… MY GOSH THEY MADE HIM LOOK SO FINE AND GAVE HIM THE SAME POSE AS IN THE MANGA IM LIVING FOR IT. i will take any second or singular frame of chuuya i can get to cope with the manga. ngl, kinda hoping they keep the “hey, stupid detective agency motherfuckers!” line. i cannot wait to hear miyano and taniyama’s voices this season.

in conclusion, i am and will continue to rewatch this trailer and january 2023 needs to come sooner :D

#bungou stray dogs #bsd season 4 #duckii rants

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ahtsumu · 4 years ago

Text

目送 ; oikawa tooru

「alt. title: five times oikawa didn’t look back and the one time he did」

�� pairing: oikawa tooru x f!reader

↳ synopsis: you spend a lifetime watching him go, sometimes with your stomach tied in knots, sometimes with tears in your eyes, but always with love.

↳ genre(s): angst, fluff, basically an emotional rollercoaster, non-linear storyline

↳ warning(s): profanity, depiction of a panic attack, suggestive themes

↳ length: 5.4k words

↳ a/n: hq fam how we doing after 402 ?? LOL anyway this is my birthday gift to oikawa tooru: my sun, moon, and stars, second to none, yadda yadda. the title is taken from a book with the same name, in case you were wondering. please pay attention to the roman numerals ahead of each section!! enjoy!

“This is the last call for Japan Airlines flight 717 to Buenos Aires, now boarding at gate number twelve. This is the last call…”

Goodbyes are hard when you know they’re forever. Or at least a while.

The clamour of Haneda airport dims to a faint buzz as the two of you continue standing with touching shoulders–– facing the jetliner instead of each other–– in futile hopes of delaying the inevitable.

Oikawa knows that you’re holding in your tears by the light tremors running through your body. Permitting himself to steal a look at your side profile, he notices the familiar tensing of your jaw and hard-set look in your red-rimmed eyes.

Tch. You said you wouldn’t cry.

Impulsively, he unzips his backpack and pulls out a familiar turquoise banner. It feels like just yesterday the team handed him the silk fabric with everyone’s farewell gifts wrapped inside.

Out-of-sequence memories of the Spring High qualifiers flash through your mind. The orange-haired Karasuno player’s spike ricochets off Oikawa’s forearms. The numbers on both sides of the scoreboard slowly inch up like they’re taking turns. Oikawa’s white knuckles against the metal basin. Red eyes. Heaving chest. Something soft against your skin. Rule the Court.

And just like the last time, he gently drapes it over your shoulders, brushing his fingers against your neck as he does so. God, how he wants to kiss you.

“But it’s yours,” you protest weakly, making no move to give it back.

“It won’t be for a while.” His voice cracks when he speaks. But it will be mine again when I come back for it.

He wants to kiss you. One last time.

He wants your mouth against his like absolution to a sinner because he knows that what he’s done to you, what he’s doing to you right now, is comparable to desecration. But he remembers the look on your face that night he broke the news to you. How your megawatt grin caved into a wince when the length of his contract with Club Athletico San Juan finally registered in your mind.

You swallow your feelings of betrayal. You knew what you were getting yourself into.

“Five years is an awfully long time to be apart,” you say after a while.

Oikawa bites his lip. He doesn’t have the heart to say that five was just the starting number. If he does well there, he’ll probably stay longer. He’ll probably do well there. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

Seconds drag into minutes. The cavity in his stomach festers as he waits for your response, but he has a feeling that he already knows your answer.

So instead, all he can do when your floodgates finally burst open is cup your face in his calloused palms and wipe away some of your tears before offering you his own watery smile.

Through your blurred vision, you watch as the boy in front of you steels his resolve and disappears from your life through the jet bridge, ignoring his heart as it begs for one last look over his shoulder.

Oikawa nods numbly when the old man sitting beside him asks if he’s leaving home for the first time. Home, he realises, isn’t anywhere with walls, isn’t an address, isn’t even a person. When someone says they want to go home, it’s not a space that they yearn for, but rather, a time.

He watches Japan grow smaller through the window and feels himself yearn for the time he still had your heart in his hands. It felt like he was holding the sun.

You wouldn’t consider July 21st to be a special day. Nothing special happened earlier that morning when you woke up without your usual alarm. Nothing special happened when your friends texted you four simple words–– come to Azukihana beach!–– during breakfast. But (and this will come to you much, much later) something special happened when said friends left you to guard their things as they dashed to the supermarket for more snacks.

For now, it’s just July 21st, and you’re lying with your back against a towel on the first day of summer break, soaking in the sun, peacefully flipping through a book.

“DON’T FUCKING DO IT, YOU COLOSSAL PIECE OF SHIT!” The familiar voice tears through the beach. Was that Iwaizumi? You set the book down and sit up to check.

And suddenly, the yellow and blue volleyball that had been leisurely rolling your way halts perfectly before your toes. Behind it jogs a shirtless brunet you’ve definitely seen around school.

Oikawa Tooru stops right behind the runaway volleyball and peers at you through half-lidded eyes. “Sorry about that,” he says, flashing you a charming smile.

After casually picking up the ball with one hand, he flexes his abdominal muscles as he straightens back up. Chestnut irises attempt to discreetly sweep over your features but you catch his gaze in the act, quirking an unamused brow. You also catch the intrigued twitch of his lips that follow.

You’re not stupid. Despite having never met him, you know a lot about the Grand King (as many call him). He’s the constant subject of Iwaizumi’s ire and you’ve heard a lifetime’s complaints about him at joint-family luncheons.

But here’s what’s important: you know that he tears himself apart to be the player his team needs him to be, that he sometimes makes Iwaizumi wish he’d passed the Shiratorizawa entrance exam, and that he fiddles with hearts like origami and sets fire to those beautiful fragile trinkets right after.

And in the interest of self-defence (but against what the devil on your shoulder begs), you choose to not place your most prized possession on the table.

A simple “no worries” passes through your lips. You return to your book. A page turns.

Oikawa Tooru is dismissed.

Though your gaze is trained on the page, you can feel his presence at your feet for a few seconds longer. You wonder what his next move is. Much to your surprise, instead of trying to strike up another conversation, he simply lets out an airy hum and strolls back to the sand court where he came from without a second glance.

Iwaizumi wonders why Oikawa is smiling so victoriously after watching the whole ordeal, but your tan family friend has, unlike the calculating Grand King, failed to notice one important detail:

your book is upside down.

And, as if in a trance, your eyes have followed Oikawa all the way back to his sandy kingdom.

Once the sun has set, Iwaizumi checks his phone and notices a text he’d missed in the afternoon. It’s from Y/N. Unease digs itself in his chest when he realises it can’t possibly be for anything except…

hey what was that about?

This can’t be good. Thumbs rapidly typing a response, he races to quash any interest you may have budding in Oikawa. You… you’re good. Nice. Smart enough for UTokyo. A bit naive, but he’s been around your overbearing parents long enough to see it’s not entirely your fault. And even though you run in different circles at school, he feels obligated to protect you from monsters that hide beneath pretty surfaces. He’s known you since the two of you were in diapers.

just trash being what it is

Iwaizumi watches the three grey dots on your side appear, disappear, reappear, and disappear again. And that’s when he realises that he cannot help you. The villain in this arc of your story has already sunken his teeth in your tender, unsullied flesh.

trash?

He sighs.

oikawa

It isn’t a surprise to Iwaizumi when summer break ends and Oikawa’s chestnut eyes start hunting for someone in the cafeteria during lunch. He doesn’t raise a brow when he hears that the second-year captain has been sneaking into Class 7, sometimes with flowers in his hands, and strolling out with a dazed look on his face. He slaps his teammates out of shock when Oikawa mentions his troubles with pursuing some girl–– but not before slapping himself first. Because the Oikawa he knows is not a chaser.

“Her name’s Y/N,” the brunet says, suddenly realising that he has never introduced any of his temporary interests to the team. But it’s been well over two months and he’s starting to think he’s been friend-zoned. Or worse. “I think she hates me.” He laughs melodically, then cocks his head in contemplation. “Is it weird that I kinda like that?”

Iwaizumi hides a satisfied smile behind a sip of water. Oikawa’s revelation has cleared the unease your name brought to his chest. Just a little. Perhaps he’d misread you. You have a bite of your own.

iii.

It’s routine for Oikawa to slink into Class 7 with a dazzling grin during morning break, but he’ll sometimes show up with flowers instead just to remind you that his affections, along with his modus operandi–– haven’t changed since he first started visiting you in September.

The girls in your homeroom have grown used to seeing the six-foot-tall volleyball captain hovering around your desk like a butterfly. Most treat him as part of the scenery nowadays. To them, Oikawa Tooru is no longer the mysterious, out-of-reach deity the rest of the school still paints him to be.

So when he strolls into class on a chilly January afternoon with your name a tune on his lips, they leave him be. Recently, the ladies of Seijoh have focused their attentions on some fellow on the swim team, anyway. Oikawa doesn’t feel as upset as he thinks he should about his shrinking fan club, but when his gaze finds yours already steady, expectant, utterly adoring on him, he understands why.

“For the lady,” he says like he does every time. A cluster of yellow flowers wrapped in brown kraft paper plop onto your desk. He pulls a chair up to your side, purposely ignoring, again, how two certain grooves in the wooden floor keep growing deeper with his visits.

You remember the first time he started bringing you flowers.

A posy of pink flowers sits awkwardly on your desk, untouched.

“I tell you I’d rather take your serve to my face than attend the bunkasai with you and your response is to give me weeds?” you reply with your chin in the palm of your hands, amusement blossoming over your features.

“Stop being a tease, Y/N-chan, they’re flowers,” he huffs, crossing his arms on your desk. “And I know you want to take them. The florist even said I have immaculate taste.”

“Really? Then what do these mean?”

Oikawa falters.

“Hmm?”

“Pink camellias,” he finally says, carefully enunciating the flower's name, “means that you’re a fucking tease. And that you should come to the bunkasai with me.” You snort and tell him to quit volleyball and join comedy club, feeling a strange warmth in your chest when he laughs.

The two of you fall into the same rhythm as always, talking a little bit about this and that, throwing in witty remarks where they belong, never passing up the chance to make fun of each other’s little idiosyncrasies. He’s enraptured by the way you string words together to describe the story behind your class’s bunkasai performance and all the gears in your brain whirr when he explains the strategy he’s using against the team Seijoh’s playing later that day.

When the bell rings, he reluctantly drags his chair back to the desk he stole it from. Just before he slinks back out the door, though, you tell him with a stern gaze that the Ushiwaka from Shiratorizawa he just spent the break shit-talking doesn’t hold a candle to Seijoh’s Grand King.

It’s like you had just stepped under a new light. Oikawa pauses in front of the doorway, trying to decipher what it is that’s different about you. And suddenly, the roses in his cheeks are in full bloom. Delighted and puzzled at his own realisation, he turns around without a second glance your way and strides back to Class 5. Oh, man, he muses as he passes through the emptying corridor. Oh, man. Iwa-chan is going to love this.

Your phone buzzes later that evening.

seijoh v. shiratorizawa 1-2, the text reads, quickly followed by, GAH.

Your lips twitch, though it doesn’t reach your eyes. Tapping your fingers against your phone screen for a response that’ll cheer him up, you suddenly remember a phrase Oikawa said earlier that day. It drew a laugh from you when it came out his contorted face. He was obviously still hung up over with the words of the opposing team’s ace. Hopefully, it makes him feel something else coming from you.

you should’ve come to shiratorizawa, you send, grinning.

His response is immediate.

l m f A O

what flowers would you like at your funeral?

And then you’re reminded of his petalled gift on your desk, now comfortably sitting in a glass vase at your bedside. Pink camellias, he said? Curious, you open your laptop and type in the name for its meaning.

Longing, you remember, watching your boyfriend chatter about something–– probably aliens–– animatedly. The yellow flowers on your desk, you realise, are ones you’ve never seen before.

“Oikawa, what’s the name of these?” you suddenly ask. He stops in the middle of his sentence (he was definitely talking about aliens, by the way), and grins smugly.

“Jonquils,” he says with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “spelt J-O-N-Q-U-I-L-S, means that your boyfriend’s going to colonise Mars one day. And if you’re lucky, you can be the first queen of Mars. How ‘bout that?”

It doesn’t mean what he says it does, by the way.

ii.

Splashes of pink and orange have already settled into the blue sky above when you step onto the rooftop of Seijoh’s humanities building. Despite the breeze that has swept through the air, the flame of curiosity in your stomach burns just enough for you to turn a cheek to the cold.

Come to the rooftop at 6 PM.

It’s 5:59. Impatient, you study the note in your hand again. Maybe you’ll be able to glean something from the laconic letter this time.

Much to your irritation, no one had seen the author of this note. They had expertly placed the unsigned card on your desk with a single rose and Hershey’s chocolate kiss on top during lunch. Elegantly scrawled, their seven words have had your brain running circles all day around their identity. Could it be…? No–– he seemed completely normal earlier today. Still, you can’t shake your suspicions. They borderline hope.

Who else…

You inhale the cool air deeply and lean back against the rooftop railing, eyes burning a hole into the metal entrance. The door swings open with a high-pitched groan. Your breath catches in your throat.

… if not him?

Time briefly stops when Oikawa Tooru steps through the entrance, still in his volleyball uniform, sweaty from practice, cheeks the same colour as the setting sun. There’s an unusually tentative look on his face, though it’s immediately wiped off and replaced with the realisation that this is real when he sees you slightly slack-jawed, blinking once, twice, three times before letting out a breath.

“You look surprised. Expecting someone else to confess today?” he asks, crossing his arms in front of his uniformed chest. Despite how his features are contorted by his poorly hidden jealousy, you can’t help but feel a flood of blood rush through your veins, lighting every inch of your skin on fire.

Because whether he knows it or not, Oikawa, the Grand King of the Court, prettiest boy in all of Miyagi, has skipped the table and placed his heart straight into your hands.

“Of course not,” you retort. “I just didn’t think you’d… well, do something like this.” And I didn’t want to get my hopes up. Iwaizumi’s words still find their way into your mind sometimes. I didn’t want origami made from my heartstrings.

Oikawa’s demeanour changes and his eyes dart away from your face. Shoving his hands into his windbreaker’s pockets, he admits, “I’ve honestly never done something like this before.” A faint blush spreads across his cheeks.

“Really? You’ve never stepped foot in the fourteenth shrine of Sendai?” you tease, referring to how Seijoh students have claimed this very rooftop as one of the God of Love’s many temples. You both know he holds the school record for the number of visits to this rooftop. At this rate, he could be one of its caretakers.

“That’s not what I meant,” he replies with a scowl, though the awkward tension between you two dissipates. And it feels like the two of you are back at your desk in Class 7, snickering uncontrollably while throwing playful jabs at each other. Sensing the change in atmosphere, Oikawa finally steps forward to join you by the railing.

Humming softly, he rests his elbows on the metal bar, props his head up with his hands, and sets his gaze on the lowering sun.

It’d be unfair to say that you didn’t at least try to enjoy the moment of peace with the boy beside you. But there’s a burning question on your mind that you can’t put off asking any longer.

“Why me?” you finally blurt out. “You could have any girl in this school. What made you choose me?”

The brunet whips his head around, disbelief written all over his face. “You think I chose to chase after the most annoying girl in all of Miyagi?” He laughs. “Ridiculous. I’d never willingly put myself through that unnecessary angst.”

You scoff and cross your arms.

“I think that when you like someone, it’s harder to explain why,” he quickly adds. “‘Cause it’s not supposed to make sense. I bet that the inability to explain your feelings is a prerequisite for true feelings, actually. It’s logical to say that you’d date Person A because they’re smart, or Person B because they’re hot, or Person C because they’re rich. But I’m pretty sure that that’s not… that’s not falling for someone. When you fall for someone… you just do. No logic required. You weren’t an option I ultimately settled on, Y/N. One day I just woke up and thought, if not you, then no one else.”

A beat passes. A flurry of words floods through your brain, only to evaporate when the devil on your shoulder decides that words aren’t quite adequate for what you want Oikawa to hear.

So instead, your feet take you one step closer into his space. Impulsively, your fingers find their way to his nape and your eyes flutter shut and suddenly–– suddenly, your parted lips brush against Oikawa’s. Instantly, he deepens the kiss, soft lips surging against yours like a pulse under pressure. You barely register his arms snaking around your waist, tighter and tighter until the space between your bodies is completely closed off.

Breathless, you finally detach your lips from his. Oikawa, who still has you encircled in his arms, pouts at the loss of contact, though he sulky façade only lasts a second before it gives way to a grin that stretches from ear to ear. He looks magnificent. Cheeks red, lips flushed, chest heaving, eyes wide with excitement. You want to kiss him again.

“One more.” It’s as if he read your mind. “To celebrate that last one.”

When Oikawa finally detaches himself from your lips, it’s to respond to the buzzing in his pocket. Noticing your raised brows, he explains that it’s an alarm for practice. The Spring High Prelims are just around the corner and he doesn’t plan on graduating without never having taken his team to Nationals.

“That’s my cue,” he states with a warm–– read: not apologetic–– smile. He doesn’t grab your hand or look imploringly into your eyes in hopes that you understand, never mind that you just shared your first kiss, never mind that you just became his girlfriend.

If Oikawa’s looking for any sign of your objection, he won’t find any. Instead, you step out of his space with an acquiescent nod. You knew what you were getting yourself into.

“Play well,” you say softly.

But before he heads for the creaky rooftop door, he presses one last kiss to your lips. And then he turns around, whistling as he goes, leaving you beaming behind his back with the light of a thousand suns.

iv.

When Matsukawa hands you the turquoise “Rule the Court” banner after the team lunch with a shit-eating grin on his face, the only resistance you offer is a resigned sigh.

“I’ve been dating Oikawa since we were second years,” you say flatly.

“Sorry, Y/N-san, but it’s the team’s hazing ritual,” he replies, not appearing sorry at all. “And you’re the only one who hasn’t done it.” He jerks his head at the blonde girl standing a little farther from the group with Hanamaki. “Emiko-san did it at the last game.”

“Plus, it’s the Spring High qualifier semifinals!” Kindaichi adds. “It’s an even bigger deal for you to do it now, especially since you had to miss our games on the first two days for school.” The team murmurs in agreement.

You shudder at the thought of your impending distress. Sit in the front row of the cheer squad and raise the banner with a scream every time your boyfriend serves? Fleeing from the Sendai City Gymnasium back home in an expensive taxi suddenly becomes very appealing.

Seeing the expectant and hopeful looks on the rest of the team’s faces, however, you begrudgingly place the banner in your backpack, signalling your acceptance of the horrible, cringe-worthy tradition.

“Where is Oikawa-san?” Kindaichi asks, rotating his turnip-shaped head around rapidly. “He was just at the team lunch. Iwaizumi-san’s missing too…”

Kunimi shrugs, pulling out his copy of the team schedule. He starts herding the team towards one of the courts. “Our game against Karasuno starts about an hour, so we should start warm-ups in around fifteen minutes.”

Worry creeps up your spine. For the past few days, all Oikawa has talked about is this match against his bratty kouhai’s team. And in the past two weeks leading up to today, you haven’t been able to even catch a glimpse of his face outside of break or lunch. To suddenly go missing before warm-ups doesn’t seem like Oikawa. You’re about to ask the team if he’s ever done this before, but your phone starts ringing a familiar tune and the question is set aside.

“Iwai––”

“Third-floor bathroom by the orange pillar. Come alone. Don’t tell anyone. Emergency.” Through his harsh and abrupt tone, you pick up traces of fear.

“What––”

“It’s Oikawa.” The call is cut before you can ask any more questions. Heart suddenly racing, you tell the team that your mother just called with questions about your new smart blender and excuse yourself to “explain what the manufacturers mean by salsify”. No one sees you bolt towards the nearest set of staircases with Oikawa the only thought on your mind.

There are very few things in this world that scare you. Stray hairs in the bathroom, the dark, essays longer than three pages… but the terror that short-circuits your brain when you find your boyfriend in the bathroom–– knuckles white around the sink, chest heaving violently, frenzied pupils surrounded by broken blood vessels–– trumps any fear you’ve faced before.

Iwaizumi stands helplessly beside him.

“Is he having a panic attack?” you question, still unable to move your feet. You’ve never seen Oikawa like this before. He’s the Grand King who hums while he walks, who spams your phone’s camera roll with peace-signs and funny faces, who winks and flirts and teases without regard. But watching the long-deified setter crumble like a measly human before you, you realise that Oikawa is also the guy who tore his meniscus from overexertion, who trades sleep to study his opponents play, who works his body to the bone just to stay a hairline above a certain Karasuno setter.

“A scout for the Schweiden Adlers said that Kageyama will soon surpass Oikawa in skill.” Iwaizumi explains how they had overheard the conversation lowly in your ear. “I got us into this bathroom just before he completely lost it. 5-4-3-2-1 isn’t working. And he won’t listen to a word I say.” What’s 5-4-3-2-1? Well, if it isn’t working then don’t focus on that right now.

Your eyes dart to Oikawa’s quivering body again. “I don’t know how to pull someone out of a panic attack.”

“The goal is to ground him. So use physical touch, make him feel something with texture, and get him to talk,” he responds instantly. Mechanically. Like he’s all-too-familiar with this set of instructions. A heaviness grows in the pit of your stomach when you realise what that means for Oikawa. And yet, from that very dread sprouts strength.

Slowly, you tread over to Oikawa and place a hand on his arm. His muscles tense under your touch but when you murmur over and over that it’s “Y/N, your girlfriend, the most annoying girl in Miyagi”, his fingers loosen ever-so-slightly from the metal basin. He lets you lead him to the bench by the door. He lets you drape the Seijoh banner over his shoulders like it’s armour and wrap your arms around his waist. He lets you press your cheek to his sweat-drenched back.

Get him to talk.

“Remember that quote you showed me from that interview of yours? What was it again?” you question softly.

No response.

“If you’re going to hit it, hit it until it breaks,” you say into his ear.

Through the mirror, you see his eyes widen with recognition. In the brief moment of lucidity that washes over Oikawa’s glistening face, you repeat the original question again, followed by his own quote.

Again and again.

And Oikawa finally says back.

“If you’re going to hit it, hit it until it breaks.” Focus re-enters his gaze. He blinks as if just waking from a spell.

“That’s right,” you say as firmly as possible. “So don’t you dare break first, Tooru.”

An unreadable blend of emotions scrawls itself over his features. While Oikawa washes his face with cold water, you remember rumination and resolve but can’t decipher the rest, giving up anyway when Iwaizumi pushes open the bathroom door. When the light washes over Oikawa, his face shows no signs of the episode he just had. It’s just like how the sky moves on after a storm, how the sun beams to say, “I’m here now. The rain has gone.”

But sometimes it still rains in spite of the sun.

A sunshower. It sounds so beautiful. But it’s wonderfully sad.

The three of you wordlessly make your way to the court where the rest of Seijoh is likely getting ready to warm up. What are you supposed to say after that? What can you say?

Once the smell of air salonpas and sweat finally greets your nose, Oikawa slips the Seijoh banner off his back and hands it over to you. Guessing that’s your cue to leave, you tell him to play well like you always do before starting to head for the upper deck. Softly, Oikawa asks you to wait.

“Stay for warm-ups,” he adds. “Please.”

From your spot behind the Seijoh divider, you carefully watch for any signs of another breakdown. To your relief, he goes the entire half-hour without a single crack in his disposition, exchanging laidback grins with the team, bantering with Iwaizumi. At one point he even has the audacity to taunt the Karasuno setter Tobio-chan, as Oikawa often says with a sneer.

Sunshowers, Y/N. Sunshowers.

Just before the referees call for the teams to line up at their ends of the court, Oikawa jogs over to you, eyes folding into thin crescents when he smiles.

He pulls the Seijoh banner out from your hands and gingerly cloaks it around your shoulders. Oikawa presses a quick kiss to your lips and murmurs, “Thank you.” Something in face tells you that it’s supposed to mean more than gratitude. Before you can read more into it, he turns back around and jogs to the line where his team awaits. Oikawa grins ferally.

Knowing that your luminous eyes are fixed to his back like his own set of wings, the monster crows on the other side suddenly look more like humans.

vi.

Oikawa isn’t surprised that his text is still unopened. At twenty-seven years old, he’s had his fair share of dead-ends when it comes to love. But he hadn’t expected radio silence from you of all people.

After closing all the tabs of Team Japan’s latest matches, he powers off his laptop and checks his phone again to reread what he wrote to your old number one last time. Still nothing. It’s highly probable you’ve changed phone numbers at least once in the last nine years, but the disappointment’s still there after he powers his phone off for the night. Tomorrow’s a big day and he’s not the same victim of self-destruction he had been in high school.

Or so he thinks, realising that texting the last person he loved the night before the 2021 Olympics volleyball finals might have been slightly irresponsible on his part. A thought arises in his head, though he quickly quashes it. Asking Iwaizumi to pass the message along would be a little overboard, wouldn’t it? Oikawa chuckles, imagining he response he’d get from his best friend (and Team Japan’s team trainer, that traitor).

“Go the fuck to sleep or I’ll put you to sleep, you dumbass simp,” he hears in Iwaizumi’s gruff voice.

He convinces himself that you’ll be there like you’ve always been. After all, he’s spent a lifetime with your pair of watchful eyes on his back. Satisfied, he drifts into a dreamless sleep.

The volume in the Ariake Arena is astronomical. Blood pounds against his ears as he sets the ball in the air, a monstrous grin carving into his face when his teammate José spikes the set straight down the net, drawing a wave of oohs and aahs from spectators on both sides.

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes at the flashy Team Argentina setter and finishes taping up Ushijima’s arm.

Oikawa turns haughtily towards the opposite team, gaze zeroing in on Team Japan’s raven-haired setter and the shrimpy ginger beside him. It’s been a while since he last saw them this close in person–– the chance encounter with Hinata in Brazil happened well over three years ago and he hadn’t had the time earlier in the tournament to say hello. Of course they’re the final boss in this arc, he muses, though the thought is void of vexation. Instead, begrudging pride blossoms in his chest. Truthfully, he had expected nothing less from his kouhai.

And he expects nothing less than finally tasting the ambrosia of victory against that monster–– no, an entire generation of monsters–– today. Monsters who happen to be the kids he grew up beside.

He wonders what you’d say at the sight of Japan’s greatest players all gathered on one court. On instinct, his eyes dive into the bleachers, searching for your face. Knowing he’s not likely to find you like this, he tsks, deciding to look for Iwaizumi instead. Maybe he knows where you are.

The referees signal for both teams to line up at their ends of the court. As he steps onto the white boundary line, he notices Iwaizumi’s gaze transfixed on someone in the upper deck on Team Argentina’s side. The neutral expression on his face morphs into shock, then recognition. And then he glances at Oikawa.

The latter’s brows furrow before everything clicks in place.

Who else…

All your memories together hit him at full force–– your face shimmering with tears in front of gate twelve in Haneda Airport, the feeling of your shallow breaths against his neck, the savvy lilt to your voice as you speak.

… if not her?

For the first time in his life, Oikawa Tooru looks behind his shoulder.

And there you are, leaning against the railing with the old Seijoh flag draped over your shoulders, a tender, splendid smile on your lips.

“Play well,” you mouth.

And Oikawa feels the sun rise back into his hands.

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loser-hub · 4 years ago

Text

Valentine's Day Headcannons! Is it early? Yes! Do I care? Not a bit! A part two with some Pro's is coming soon!

Warnings: A hint of spice here and there, all characters are aged up to 21+ at least!

Izuku Midoriya

Has had your date planned for a month, at least, having planned since Christmas.

Valentine's Day is the day about love, couples, expressing your feelings and spending time with your significant other. Or that's what every commercial says when the month changes, bombarding everyone with pink, red and kisses.

Izuku soaks up every moment of it like a sponge.

He's not the best at expressing his feelings, always stuttering and tripping over himself, so he relies on acts of devotion, affection of gift giving to show you how much he appreciates and loves you.

Has a notebook dedicated to the day. Countless scribbles about what you like, what you don't, what you're allergic to, and any fact that could help him plan the perfect date.

The day starts and its all about you from the get go.

Gets you clean with a bath with candles, rose petals, bath bombs, bath oils, the absolute works. Spent way too much time and money at Bath & Bodyworks picking out your favorite things in case you were low.

Nervously picks at his nails while he waits, now second guessing himself and doubting if he might've gone overboard with everything.

Invite him in and he'd be on Cloud Nine!

The rest of the day goes however you'd like, whatever you want and he's at your beck and call. Driving you around to your favorite stores to staying home and chilling out on the couch, he just wants to spend time with you and see you happy. If you're happy then he's happy!

After getting cleaned Izuku takes you up to this scenic hill outside the city that looks over a field of flowers, allergy pills at the ready! He sets down a plaid blanket and breaks out his picnic basket full of your favorite foods and drinks.

He'll keep you there until the sun sets, holding you close to his chest as you two watch the sky turn to pinks and oranges.

Bakugou Katsuki

The polar opposite of Izuku's feverish planning.

He's more of an "oh, it's V-Day? Cool, I guess" kind of guy.

Shows up at your door out of the blue, no warning, no nothing, a box of chocolates under his arm as he thrusts a bouquet of flowers into your face. "Coincidentally" your favorite kind.

"Saw it was Valentine's Day and I'd be a fucking shitty boyfriend if I didn't bring you something, I guess. Get dressed, we're going out...somewhere...wherever you want."

Drags you out and pulls you along, opening his car door for you, closing it, being the gentleman that he secretly is.

Takes you to a little café on the outskirts of town he found one evening while patrolling, it seemed really nice and cute and thought of you when he saw it. So why not take you here for a little date?

Hands stuffed in his pockets he wanders inside, glued to your side.

Although like Deku, he's not the greatest at verbal affection. Sure he can scream and yell his feelings in anger but expressing how he felt about you? That stumped him.

Bakugou also prefers acts of service and gift giving as his love language, this man cannot articulate his love for you to save his life.

So moments like these are the most endearing moments of his character.

Let's you order whatever you want and subconsciously gets the same so you both can talk about how good/bad it was and so, if you did like it, he could cook it for you at home.

Shoto Todoroki

Oh dear please help this poor boy.

He has no idea what Valentine's Day is.

You'd have to be the one to suggest doing something or surprise him with a date, because he has no idea.

Its not that he doesn't care but he's simply never put stock into the lovey dovey holiday meant for couples, love and all that.

Show up at his door for a change!

He'll be pleasantly surprised and oh-so happy to see you there, even if he's rushing out the door so Enji, Natsuo and Fuyumi don't get wind of your arrival.

You'll never be left alone if they realize your there.

He prefers to drive, he doesn't know why but being in a car with you driving to a restaurant is strangely domestic. Since it is V-Day and you've so nicely explained to him what it means and the context around the holiday, you two decide to go to a fancy upscale place for a change.

Shoto decides to go all out, taking himself and you to a dressing shop and has you pick out an outfit while he gets a black suit with a red tie.

Its not often Shoto cleans himself up but when he does, wow.

Not to worry about reservations, all he has to do is show up and break out his gold credit card and the receptionist's eyes bug out of her head. Being Endeavor's kid has its perks on occasion and the staff takes you two to a secluded booth specifically for hero's and their partners.

Lit by candlelight you two share a multiple course meal, desert and feed each other rose topped chocolates.

An overall cheesy yet romantic date that he'll never forget.

Tomura Shigaraki

He's one of the ones whose bombarded with lovey dovey shit the second January turns to February.

Every MMO RPG in his collection does a Valentine theme in some way so its impossible for him to escape all the pink and red.

Those are the worst two weeks of the year.

He drops everything and plunges himself to the most gorey and eventless games he can find to get his mind off V-Day...well, before you came along.

Now seeing the themed events makes him pause, change his mind even, reconsider if you feel so inclined.

It all came to a head once he saw matching skins. Husband and wife, partners in crime, the list was endless for the game you two played together. Yep, he was going to do something.

Going out of the hideout during a busy holiday like today was out of the question so you rightfully suspected nothing would happen, Shigaraki wasn't going to whisk you away to a secluded hill and have a picnic. He wasn't that kind of man and he might scrape off bits of skin if put in that kind of situation anyways.

Nope, instead you were scooped up off the couch and hauled to his room. Plopped right down in the other chair of your couples gaming setup.

Your headphones on, game loaded up, hand on the mouse and your boyfriend mumbling how he needed "help" for the event.

"Tch, don't read too much into it Player Two, I get more XP if I'm in a group so you're coming with me. Just be my Love Healer and I'll DPS our way through the bosses."

Needless you weren't going to ask why your character was suddenly in a frilly dress with a bouquet instead of your normal staff.

Dabi

The most casual and uninspired ass you can possibly imagine.

Days all mix and warp together for Dabi so he doesn't know what day it is until he sees an abnormal amount of couples out and about. The shameless displays of affection was nauseating.

But hey, the shopkeeps were too busy with entitled Karens to notice some of their stock had gone missing.

No one pays attention to the burnt chicken nugget holding a massive stuffed bear and a plastic bag full of sweet on today of all days, normally he has to keep to the streets and be a sneeki beeki boi but this is the one day except for Halloween that he can get away with being in public. The stuffed animal a convenient hiding place when he gets looks.

His cover is blown when the plush is pushed into your open window first. He loves hearing your scream of surprise when he sneaks in but he can't do that very well with a four foot bear on his back...maybe next year.

Gets everything set up while you're worrying over him and making sure he wasn't seen or followed. You're too cute for your own good, worrying about him over yourself and what the police would do if they found out.

Today is definitely needed, for both of you. Time alone to just chill and cuddle.

Wrapped up in blankets, drinking some shitty stolen wine, eating sweets and laughing at how stupid the main characters of the rom-com marathon are.

The morning after you find yourself alone but at least now you'll never fall asleep alone with your Dabi scented teddy bear.

#valentine's day #Valentine's day headcannons #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha headcanons #bnha headcanons #izuku midoria x reader #deku x reader #bakugou katuski x reader #shoto todoroki #tomura shigaraki x reader #dabi x reader #tw: fluff #tw: mild spice

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qqueenofhades · 4 years ago

Note

Modern AU Heartrender Husbands gives me the vibes of like they'll watch eurovision bc Fedyor wanted to and Ivan only begrudgingly agreed but in the end it's him who's standing really close to the TV with a bottle of beer loudly criticising the jury vote

Anon, your Mind. As 100% ever, I am so very easy to enable. As before, this is set in Phantom!Verse, and serves as a sequel of sorts to this (and as a further prequel to PEL).

Brighton Beach, 2014

It’s their first spring in their new home – they arrived in America in August 2013 and got this place, fittingly, right around Orthodox Christmas in January 2014 – and that means many things to them. Their apartment is in a formerly rent-controlled brownstone tenement right off the boardwalk, but prior to their arrival, it was occupied for fifty years by an old bat from Krasnodar Krai who apparently never, ever, threw anything away. (Fedyor is too scared to ask if she actually died in this apartment and her mummified corpse is lurking at the bottom of all the junk.) That is why he and Ivan were able to afford it, at least, but now that the weather is warmer, they have been spending all day cleaning, hauling boxes of crap to the dumpster, and trying in vain to get the smell of pickled cabbage out of the kitchen. It looks exactly like your Great Aunt Masha’s house, the one that traumatized you as a child and has never left your nightmares since. Home sweet home.

The upside is that the location is great, the apartment is surprisingly spacious and lovely – a big bedroom, a bathroom with two sinks and a deep claw-footed tub, a living room with high windows that let in lots of light, original crown molding and hardwood floors – and if it was located in the really chic parts of Brooklyn and inhabited by a tech-startup hipster rather than a Russian émigré spinster with definite hoarding tendencies, it would rent for some astronomical monthly sum. Fedyor has a three-ring binder full of paint swatches, sketches, furniture samples, and other plans to give it a total overhaul (he’s thinking a nice pale green for the living room?) But the one thing that spring definitely means is Eurovision, and it is just the ticket to relax from their grueling schedule of throwing boxes of junk away and hoping they don’t stumble upon a withered hand in a glass jar. He likes America and he’s excited for their new life, for all that they had no choice but to leave Russia in a hurry, but Eurovision is Eurovision.

Actually watching it, of course, is easier said than done. For one thing, Fedyor can’t find a blasted station that is airing it, when he could have just switched on the TV and found it right away back home. For another, Ivan is deeply dubious of the whole endeavor, having watched five minutes of it once when he was eighteen and turning it off in disgust, never to return. Fedyor spends a lot of time wheedling him to give it another chance. “Come on, Vanya. It’s fun!”

“It is a lot of homosexuals gyrating in leather to very bad music,” Ivan snaps. “They look ridiculous. And sound even worse.”

Fedyor glances at them – the fact that they’re sitting on the couch, he’s on Ivan’s lap with his legs draped over Ivan’s thigh, and Ivan’s arms wrapped around his waist – and coughs. “I’m not sure how to break this to you, darling,” he says, “but you are also a homosexual.”

“Maybe, but you would never catch me dead up there.”

“Of course not.” Fedyor rolls his eyes. “You might actually have to smile.”

Ivan makes a scoffing noise. Then he notices the full-on puppy-dog face that Fedyor is now giving him, and says, “Oh no. Oh no, Fedya. Do not look at me like that.”

“Why not?” Fedyor shamelessly snuggles closer. “Is it working?”

The predictable outcome is that Ivan grudgingly agrees to watch it with him, though they’re on American time now and Eurovision Song Contest 2014, held in Copenhagen, Denmark, is six hours ahead of them. Ivan thinks that it’s stupid to sit down and watch a lot of gyrating homosexuals in the middle of the day, when there’s still so much work to do, and tries to demand that they just watch the recording later. Fedyor says this is nonsense, you simply cannot watch a recording of Eurovision, and after a lot of investigation, finds the online streaming channel on his laptop and hooks it up to the TV so they can watch it there. Then he prepares his popcorn, his alcoholic beverages, and his glitter glasses, corrals his recalcitrant husband, and readies himself to experience pure joy. No wonder Ivan doesn’t get it.

However, the effect is both swift and remarkable. By the end of the first semi-final, Ivan is put out about the fact that Russia came seventh in the popular vote but was knocked down to eleven by the jury (this is evidence of an anti-Russian conspiracy, according to him) and when only Moldova, a tiny no-name non-EU former Soviet state, deigns to award them the full twelve points, he is openly incredulous. “Moldova?! That is all we get?! MOLDOVA?!”

“Well,” Fedyor says delicately. “There is that little situation in Ukraine, so I’m afraid we are not that popular right now.”

“That is bullshit,” Ivan grouses. “This is a song contest. The Tolmachevy Sisters are not Vladimir Putin. I am sure they have worked very hard to be here.”

Fedyor glances at him and wisely decides not to say anything. He is likewise a little peeved when the Russian contestants get booed by the Danish audience, but Ivan looks like he’s about to leap through the screen and throttle every single one of them. He thrusts out a hand. “Give me a drink, Fedya. I need it to suffer this indignity.”

Fedyor cracks the lid off a cold one and hands it over – there is the Brighton Bazaar just a few blocks away, stocked with Russian goods, so they are spared the ordeal of drinking Yankee beer – and Ivan takes a long slug. He thinks they can skip watching the second semi-final two nights later, since Russia isn’t in it, but Fedyor puts it on anyway. They both like Austria and “Rise Like a Phoenix,” sung by the bearded drag queen Conchita Wurst (there have been a few dumb comments about her from the usual suspects), but Ivan hits a fist on the arm of the sofa. “She was not better than the Russian girls,” he says loyally. “I still think that they should be the ones to win.”

“Right, well,” Fedyor says. “I think the only ones less likely to win are the Brits, and they never win, so we might be waiting a while.”

The grand finale, on May tenth, is an inadvertently hysterical exercise. They get up early and put on the pregame show, like the Americans do with their bewildering fixation on the Super Bowl, and Ivan gets even more furious when the Tolmachevy Sisters are booed again. “Are they not supposed to love everyone at this glitter bacchanalia? So much for the Scandinavians being tolerant and accepting people! The song is nice! They are nice girls! What is wrong with them?!”

“Come over here and give me a cuddle, Vanya,” Fedyor suggests. “Otherwise you will blow a blood vessel long before the show starts.”

Ivan growls like an escaped tiger from the zoo, but consents to sit down next to Fedyor. They both drink copiously once the festivities get underway, singing along loudly (and not that melodiously) to the various entries, Fedyor’s arm draped around Ivan’s neck as he sits on his lap and critically judges the acts before the official results pop up. Once again, the only twelve-point awards Russia gets are from former Soviet countries (Azerbaijan and Belarus) and Ivan looks like he’s going to have a conniption before Fedyor kisses him and he gets distracted for the next three minutes. “This is disgraceful,” he mutters, when they break away. “Not you, Fedya. Just the horrible way they have clearly rigged this show against us.”

“You know,” Fedyor says. “That’s Eurovision. You declare war on your neighbors when they don’t give you twelve points. Now they have the EU, they’re not supposed to fight anymore, this is the only way they can get all those old rivalries out. Just be glad that Australia isn’t in this year. You might have really blown a gasket.”

“Australia?!” Ivan shifts Fedyor to a more comfortable position on his lap and grabs for his third bottle of beer. “AUSTRALIA IS NOT IN EUROPE! It is not even anywhere NEAR Europe! WHY DOES AUSTRALIA GET TO BE IN EUROVISION!?!”

Fedyor laughs out loud. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Ivan says. “But this is still the stupidest thing I have ever seen.”

“Shh.” Fedyor nuzzles him. “Just give in, Vanya. Just give in.”

Ivan consents to turn his grumbling down to a simmer, and is somewhat mollified that Russia comes in sixth overall, which is better than even Fedyor thought they were going to do. Austria takes the champion’s crown, they can both agree that Conchita Wurst deserves it, and get up and dance around their still-junk-cluttered living room as she gives her bravissima performance. A few things have been thrown during the judging, but they can’t add much to the existing mess, and in Brighton Beach, “damage caused to the apartment because Russia got shafted during Eurovision finals” might actually be a legitimate excuse. As he leans against Ivan’s chest and grins into his neck, Fedyor has to admit that this place may just feel like home yet.

#ivan x fedyor #heartrender husbands #fivan #pel asks #henchmen deserve happiness too okay #anonymous #ask #fivan ff

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aestheticallyholland · 3 years ago

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NEVER NOT | GOODBYES . . .

❃ PAIRING tom holland x fem!reader

❃ DISCLAIMER i do not own the artists (and the reader) that are going to portray the characters, but i do own some of the their names. the plot of the story is inspired to the book and movie 'to all the boys i've loved before' but with changes. the gifs and photos used in this series are edited by me but i get credits to the originals. also, this series is first posted in wattpad by me. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST IT SOMEWHERE ELSE !

❃ WORD COUNT 1.6k words

❃ AUTHOR'S NOTES just to remind those who have come this far of this series that this is the last chapter of the series! if you still wanna be tagged on the last chapter, feel free to comment on this post to see the ending of this series. now sit back, or lay down, and enjoy this second to the last chapter of never not !

NEVER NOT MASTERPOST | LEI'S LIBRARY

"I don't have to be so afraid of goodbye, because goodbye doesn't have to be forever." - Jenny Han, To All the Boys I've Loved Before

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

FOR THE PAST WEEKS BEFORE TOM WAS LEAVING FOR CALIFORNIA, he and Y/N spent it together as what they have promised to each other. They would also invite Harrison and Erika with them from time to time.

Tom also spent it with his family since he would be away from them too, not just from Y/N.

Tom and Y/N could not stop exchanging with each other a bunch of 'i love you' and holding on to each other. They would have lunch together while in school and dinner at Y/N's home since her dad would cook for them.

There was a day wherein Aiden and Tom spoke to each other and apologized because of the fight they had before. It was also the time that Tom told Aiden that he was leaving for his acting career.

Few days before he was leaving, he had his last day in school. He already talked with his teachers and the principal regarding his acting career and cannot go to school anymore.

At the same time, he also spent it with some of his friends together with Harrison. Y/N gave him time to spend it with them.

And an unexpected moment happened during that day.

"Hey, Tom and Y/N." A very familiar voice called out for them and the couple looked back at that person.

"Camille?" Tom asked and she just gave them a small smile.

"Mind if we talk for a bit?" She asked and both Y/N and Tom looked at each other in confusion.

They arrived outside the school building to talk since Camille asked. They sat down in the bleachers where the view was the lacrosse team playing. Tom will surely miss playing lacrosse with his teammates.

"Look." Camille started and looked at the couple. "I just want to say that I'm sorry for everything. Most especially to you, Y/N." Camille's eyes focused on Y/N who just looked at her back.

"I'm so stupid enough to call you my enemy just because of some boy that I liked." She pointed at Tom. "All these years, we could've stayed best friends until now you know? But because of my jealousy, I ruined it." Camille continued and already felt tears forming in her eyes. Y/N felt her chest tighten and went near Camille. "I'm sorry, Y/N. I mean it now."

Y/N gave an arm around Camille's shoulder and pulled her closer for a hug. Camille was now crying more when Y/N pulled her for a hug. Y/N felt that everything was better now that Camille apologized for her mistakes. "I forgive you now, Camille." She whispered, loud enough for Camille to hear. Y/N looked at Tom who was smiling at what was happening.

"Really?" Camille asked as she pulled away to look at Y/N. Y/N just gave her a reassuring smile as an answer. Camille hugged her once again by surprise which made Y/N giggle and hugged back.

"Thank you, Y/N. I swear, I'll be better for you this time." Camille said while hugging Y/N.

"I take your word on that, Millie," Y/N said and Camille's eyes widen as soon as she heard that nickname that Y/N just called her.

"You called me Millie again," Camille said and smiled. Millie was the nickname that Y/N made for Camille. She would always call her by that name since they were best friends.

"Millie?" Tom asked Y/N.

"It was the nickname I used to call her," Y/N answered and Tom nodded in agreement.

"So Tom," Camille called him. "I heard that you got that role for the new Spider-man."

Tom scratched the back of his neck before answering. "Well yeah, I did. I'm glad I was the one who got it." He answered.

"Does this mean that you'll be leaving?" She asked.

"Yeah. I'm leaving next Monday already." Tom answered.

"Would you be okay with that, Y/N?" Camille asked Y/N who just smiled and looked at Tom.

"It's his dream after all. I support him for that." Y/N answered.

Camille looked at Tom and Y/N and just smiled. "You really are a perfect match, you know?"

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

[ last week of january 2016 . . . ]

Y/N, together with Tom's whole family, Harrison, and Erika, came to the airport to see Tom leave for California.

"Facetime us from time to time, dear." His mother said while giving him a kiss on the cheek. "I will mom, don't worry," Tom said while hugging her.

"Here is a book of mine to keep you up when you feel stressed out." His father said and gave him a book that he wrote. Tom got it and hugged his father.

"Man, I'll miss golfing with you." Harry, his brother, said when he gave his older brother a hug. "And beating you In golf too." He added which made Tom punch his chest lightly.

"You sure you're not coming with me to pursue your photography career?" Tom asked him and Harry shook his head.

"I have to finish school first," Harry said. "I'm still sixteen, bro." He added.

Tom also gave a hug to Harry's twin brother, Sam, and also had a quick chat with him. Seeing this made Y/N feel so happy that she got a boyfriend who was so loving towards his family.

"He'll be a great actor, you know." Y/N heard Harrison's voice talking to her. "I would show you his performance in Billy Elliot soon." He added.

"You should," Y/N answered Harrison who gave her a smile before Tom approached them.

"Man, I'll miss you," Harrison said. "I'll catch up with you there soon though." They gave each other a hug and patted each other's back.

"I know, mate," Tom answered back to Harrison. "Take care of Y/N for me, okay?" He told his best mate and Harrison nodded. Tom also turned to Erika who was there and gave her a hug too.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of her too," Erika said and pulled Tom closer for her to whisper in his ear, "Don't let the ladies swoon over for you when you get there. Got that?" Erika said and pulled Tom back. "Don't worry, I got my eyes only for Y/N." He said to Erika and she just smiled and gave him a high five.

Lastly, Tom turned his attention to Y/N. Save the best for last, he said to himself.

His family and their friends walked back a little to give them some time alone. As soon as Tom had his eyes on her, she couldn't help but cry a little but she also gave a smile. Tom walked closer to her and wrapped his arms around her.

"Fuck." Tom cursed under his breath. "It's hard to leave because of you, you know? Should I just cancel?" He joked that made Y/N punch him lightly. "I'm kidding, love."

Y/N raised her head up to look at him properly. Tom cupped her cheeks with his hands and leaned his forehead to hers. "Wait for me, okay?" He whispered. He pressed his lips to hers for a while and eventually pulled away.

"I will, Tom. Even if you take years, I'll wait for you." Y/N answered and sobbed. She looked away for a while.

"Look at me, love," Tom said and that made Y/N look up to him again. "I will never not think about you." He said and kissed her forehead that made her smile and held on to his arm.

"And I'll never stop loving you, Tom," Y/N said. "I'll miss you so much,"

"I'll miss you the most," Tom said. He hugged her once again with his head on top of hers for a while before pulling away and gathered all his luggage. He waved to his family and friend before walking away.

All Y/N could do was watch him leave until she noticed that her hair was tied with the scrunchie that her mother gave to her. Her eyes suddenly widen and had an idea on her mind.

"Tom! Wait!" She called after him and ran towards him before he could go through the gates.

As soon as Tom heard her voice, he stopped walking and looked back to see Y/N running towards him. She suddenly jumped onto him and he caught her and spun her around.

He put her down before saying anything to her, "What's wrong?" He asked her, concerned.

Y/N then untied her hair and handed him the scrunchie. "I just wanted to give this to you. Something that you can keep while you're away. Something that will make you think of me." She said.

"But, isn't this the only thing that you could remember your mom?" He asked her.

"She will always be in my memory, Tom." She answered with a smile and Tom smiled back at her. He held out his hand and Y/N placed the scrunchie around his wrist. They hugged once again and pulled away then Y/N pressed her lips to him. After a few seconds, she finally pulled away and leaned her forehead to his.

"I love you, Y/N Y/L/N," Tom whispered.

"I love you, Thomas, always."

❃ TAGLIST @allthisfortommy @kait4073 @lovebittenbyevans @l0ve-0f-my-life @spiitfiires @robertpattinson-th @jackiehollanderr @butterflies-glitter

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x fem!reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland series

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adenei · 4 years ago

Text

Day 13: January Word Challenge

A/N: I hope you’re ready for some angst! Here’s a one shot of Ron showing up at Shell Cottage...the first time.

*****************

Tea

Ron stumbled in the door of Shell Cottage, looking up to see Bill and Fleur sitting at the small table in their kitchen. Bill immediately stood up, his wand in hand and pointed at Ron. “What are you doing here?” he asked instinctively.

“You’re supposed to ask me a question only I know,” Ron said weakly.

“How were you so lucky the night of the battle at the Astronomy Tower at Hogwarts?” Bill asked.

“Harry gave us his bottle of Felix Felicis to split. I shared it with Ginny, Neville, Luna and Her- Her-” Ron broke down in tears.

He’d left them. He fucking left them, and he couldn’t find them again. His fists were swollen, his eye most likely black and puffy. There was blood all over his clothes. He was sure he looked a mess, but he didn’t care. All the bones in his body could be broken and the only thing he’d still be focusing on was getting back to Hermione.

“Where are Harry and Hermione?” Bill asked, his wand still at the ready.

At the mere mention of Bill’s words, Ron broke down further, falling to his knees, and covering his face with his hands. Bill finally put his wand down, realizing something was very, very wrong. He walked over to his brother.

“Tell me they’re not dead,” he said quietly as he placed his hand on Ron’s good shoulder, not that Bill knew which was which. When Ron didn’t answer, Bill became more frantic. “Ron, please, tell me they’re not dead!”

Bill moved his hands to grip Ron by both shoulders now, in an attempt to get Ron to look at him square in the face. He immediately let go when Ron yelped in pain at Bill’s touch of his injured shoulder.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Bill asked as Fleur rushed over now as Bill’s hands flew backward and Ron grabbed the splinched shoulder.

“Ron, you’ve got to say somezing. We want to help,” Fleur said gently.

“I- I left,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

“You what?” Bill said, the tension in his voice cut through the still air of the cottage like a knife.

“I wanted to go back as soon as I’d apparated out of the wards,” Ron said as another round of sobs racked his body.

“I’ll make some tea,” Fleur said immediately.

“And get some food out. It looks like you haven’t eaten in weeks,” Bill added.

“No! If they can’t eat, I won’t either,” Ron said stubbornly.

“Ron, you have to eat something!” Bill argued.

“I can’t! It’s bad enough I already left them. It’s not fair. I need to get back to them. I need to find them!” he was becoming more and more hysterical.

Fleur moved back to Ron after setting the tea kettle on the stove. “Ron, you must calm yourself. You will not be able to find zem if you cannot calm your mind.” Fleur’s gentle voice allowed Ron to finally take deep breaths and settle himself slightly. “Zat is good. Now, I know there is a lot that we want to know. Can you start with your shoulder?” she asked.

The tea kettle started to whistle as Fleur made her way back over to prepare cups for everyone. Ron took that time to get himself under control. The last twenty four hours had been an absolute whirlwind, and he hadn’t had time to process much of it. For now, he was safe, but Harry and Hermione were still out there, and he needed to get himself together if was going to figure out a way to get back to them. He was no help right now, blubbering on like a buggering idiot.

Fleur walked swiftly back over to the table and set a cup down in front of Ron. She didn’t say anything more as she waited for Ron to speak when he was ready.

Ron eventually took a deep breath in. “You heard about our Ministry break-in in September?” Ron asked as Bill and Fleur nodded. “Well, we were staying at Grimmauld Place, but Yaxley caught hold of us as Hermione apparated us back and compromised the location. She was able to shake him off and got us to safety, but in the process, I was splinched.”

“On your shoulder?” Bill asked as Ron nodded.

“May I see it?” Fleur asked gently.

Ron took a sip of his tea before reluctantly shedding his jacket. Taking off his sweater was still challenging. He felt a stab of pain in his heart as he thought of Hermione helping him undress in the tent. Fleur sensed his need of assistance and moved around the table to help him. Once his sweater was removed, it revealed the awful tear that Hermione had done her best to mend using the dittany.

“Oh my!” Fleur said in shock.

“Ron, that looks awful,” Bill said as he shook his head.

“I know, but there wasn’t much we could do. Hermione-” her name caught in his throat, “she did her best to fix it, but we only had dittany. There were no other potions, and we had no means of getting anything else. We couldn’t take the risk after the Ministry debacle. So she’d apply dittany and I wore a sling.” Bill and Fleur looked at him, confused by his last word. “It’s a muggle thing to help stabilize the shoulder,” he explained.

Fleur disappeared up the stairs, no doubt to get potions and supplies to help the healing process. Ron sipped more of his tea while he waited for her to return. When she reappeared, she looked at him concernedly.

“I do not know how much zis will help, seeing as how it ‘as been over a month since ze injury, but I will do my best.” Fleur took one of the vials out. “Drink this first. It eez a blood replenishing potion, and you likely need it the most.”

“Why?” Ron asked.

“Your body does not replenish its own blood after eet ‘as been lost. By ze looks of the wound, you lost a lot of blood, and zere has not been any replenishment yet. Drink,” she said sternly.

Ron did as he was told, and then took the other bottles Fleur had given him. Once she was satisfied, she pulled out one more bottle that had some sort of cream inside of it. “Zis may hurt, but it is necessary to help start ze healing process.”

He closed his eyes as Fleur rubbed the salve into the deep gash on his shoulder. She was right, it did sting significantly, but Ron powered through it with a grimace on his face.

“Now, I cannot say you will not scar, but zis will at least allow you to heal fully. You should apply a small amount twice a day.” Fleur placed the lid back on the container and handed it to him.

He reached for his sweater, and Bill helped him put it back on. “Can you tell us what you’re doing here now?” Bill brought the subject back around to Ron’s presence at Shell Cottage.

“I- I can’t tell you everything, Bill. Just that- we’re dealing with Dark Magic. Really Dark Magic, and it got inside my head. Harry and I got in a fight and when he told me to leave, I- I did.” Ron was so ashamed of himself. “I need to get back to them! I should have never left! That wasn’t me. It wasn’t! How am I supposed to find them again?” He looked desperately at his brother.

Bill didn’t give much away. Ron could tell he was angry over what Ron had done, but anger wouldn’t fix this. “We’ll help you find your way back to them. Lee’s wireless show may be able to help give us clues. But Ron, you need to promise me you’ll stay here until you’ve healed or you’ve found them. It’s too dangerous to go disappearing out there on your own.”

Ron nodded. He appreciated his brother’s words, but at the same time he knew how monumental of a task it would be. Hermione had taken every precaution in her protective enchantments. He was sure they’d be travelling under the invisibility cloak, and even if they did slip up, how would he know where they’d be? It was impossible.

“I have one more question before you should sleep,” Bill said.

“What is it?” Ron asked.

“Did your fight with Harry get physical?” Bill asked.

“What? No! Why would you say that? We just yelled a bunch of shit at each other,” Ron defended. He knew his best friend. Harry would never intentionally hurt him, with or without magic.

“Then how did you come across that black eye?” Bill pressed.

“Oh, er, I ran into snatchers when I apparated away from the campsite.”

‘You WHAT?” Bill said angrily.

“Ron, you could have been captured and killed! What were you thinking?”

“How was I supposed to know they’d be in Diagon Alley?”

“They’re everywhere, Ron! I thought you were smarter than that!” Bill was angry, and it showed on his face and in his words. It took Fleur’s touch on his shoulder to ground him. He inhaled slowly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Honestly, you’re smarter than I ever thought of being at your age.”

Ron snorted. “Yeah, right. I know it was stupid. I didn’t know where else to go. If I went home, they’d know Mum and Dad were lying about the Spattergroit.”

“You know they’re being watched?” Bill asked, somewhat surprised.

“Yeah, Harry saw Umbridge’s notes when he raided her office. He was the one who tipped Dad off in the lift.”

A look of understanding crossed Bill’s face. “Ah, that does make sense now. Dad suspected it must have been one of you, but he had no proof. They did a good job covering things up quickly.” Bill looked at his brother. “So, you fought your way out, then?”

“Er, yeah.”

“How many were there?”

“Five, I think. Managed to get one of their wands, too,” Ron said as he pulled it out of your bag.

“Hold onto it, you never know when you’ll need it,” Bill told him.

“You should get some sleep,” Fleur said as Ron finished his tea. “I will show you to the guest bedroom upstairs.

“Thanks,” Ron said. He slowly stood up and grabbed his rucksack. Ron began walking toward the stairs when Bill called to him.

“Ron,” he asked hesitantly. He didn’t continue until Ron met his eyes. “The snatchers didn’t use any Unforgivables on you, did they?”

Ron stared at his brother for a few moments. He owed it to Bill to not lie to him. Merlin knew he already couldn’t tell him enough because of the secrecy of the hunt.

“Yeah,” Ron said quietly.

He turned and walked up the stairs before Bill could question him more. Ron didn’t want to talk about it anyways. He’d never wish the Cruciatus Curse on anyone. He knew the Death Eaters would use violence, but he still wasn’t prepared for it.

In all honesty, Ron allowed himself to believe he’d deserved it. If he’d never left, he wouldn’t have been in that position. Maybe it was punishment. Ron pushed the thoughts from his mind. He couldn’t dwell on that. The most important thing was to get back to Hermione and Harry.

He belonged with his best friends, and he knew that now. The information he’d gained from his short stint on the street would be a matter of life and death for his best friends. Harry and Hermione would inch closer and closer to capture the longer it took Ron to get back to them. Of that he was certain.

#hp dh #deathly hallows #Ron Weasley #shell cottage #tw: strong language #tw: implied violence #31 days of January Word Challenge

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louiseleblancdiggory · 4 years ago

Text

O children

Chapter 1

--January 1987--

Aelin crossed her arms, the soft silk of the armchair she was sitting on feeling strange against her skin. Once upon a dream, she had wore beautiful silk dresses and slippers, matching headbands and scarfs.

That had been a lifetime ago, however. A world ago.

Now, as she seated in a finely decorated room, bookshelves reaching the high ceiling, big windows with carefully built details showing a well kept garden, the only feeling she had was indifference.

Pristine things were always bound to die in a dirty world.

And she had no interest in dying. Not yet.

Even without turning around, she could feel her family’s presence behind her. She knew both Aedion and Lysandra had a limp hand against their guns, and that Elide was surely in a position that would allow her to reach for her knives quickly. This was a peaceful meeting, he had said, but one couldn’t be too careful in a world of traitors. She herself was armed beneath her clothes, the black shirt, pants and jacket hiding any evidence of guns and knives strapped to her body.

She didn’t waver her gaze from the sight in front of her. There was a dark wooden table in front of her, a chair behind it and, instead of a wall ending the room, it was a huge window. Beautiful gardens, small hills and even a pond could be seen. Maybe if she focused long enough, the indifference would be turned to anger. Maybe if she stared at the finery too strongly, she would have the urge to break it.

Instead, she just listened to the rain outside, a small opening in one of the window’s details letting a drop at a time enter the room.

Drip drip drip

She heard the wooden double doors opening once more, footsteps sounding in their direction. She didn’t turn around, still watching the rain and the morning sunlight mixing together. She didn’t raise to meet anyone, not even the host. She just watched and watched and watched.

Her gaze finally broke from the window, looking to the once empty armchair by her side. Where nothing had been before, now a broad shouldered man sat. His silver hair caught in the sunlight, and he spared her a single glance before turning to her companions. Aelin did the same, examining the five men and one woman standing behind him. All seemed just as grave, all seemed just as cold.

She didn’t speak to any of them either, simply turning back in her seat, looking at the man now on the other side of the table.

Dorian Havilliard looked at Aelin Galathynius and Rowan Whitethorn, something like hope shining on his sapphire eyes.

Aelin wanted to crush it.

“Good morning.” He said, his accent so much different from hers. Where the words rolled out of her tongue like a slow and soft melody, Dorian’s words sounded more rushed, more impatient.

No one said anything, the silence sounding eerie. Aelin’s eyes shifted to the window again, her body feeling light and heavy at the same time. She thought the window was perhaps supposed to be a mockery, a slap on the face of those who didn’t even know why they were suffering. She thought of the windows of the houses in her neighborhood, the windows that showed a broken world when you stood inside, the windows that showed broken people when you stood outside.

Drip drip drip

Even the drops sounded softer here. Aelin knew the sound of blood, the sound of a hanged person dripping out until death was kind enough to take them. It had always sounded so dirty on the public squares, it had always sounded like doom. Here it sounded like a natural thing, like a sound you could get used to while reading a good book.

Perhaps this had all been a trap and she would die here. Aelin wondered if her death would sound like soft rain or like dirty doom. She wondered if her death would be relevant enough to even sound like something at all.

She clenched her fists, looking back at Havilliard. He was staring at her, something like fear and worry evident on his face. Although Aelin could see he wanted to, the man didn’t utter another word.

She rested against the armchair, crossing her legs and laying her hands on her lap. “Happy New Year, Mr. Havilliard.”

He looked somewhat relieved she had answered. Maybe he had been staring at her because he wasn’t stupid enough to hope Whitethorn would be the first to reply. That man relied on people’s tension, lived off the feeling of other people’s discomfort.

Aelin turned to Rowan, finding his eyes on her. They slightly narrowed, the pine green and hazel shades in it hard. “Happy New Year, Mr. Whitethorn.”

He nodded almost imperceptibly. “Happy New Year, Ms. Galathynius.”

They both turned back to Dorian, mouths shut once more.

This was a game of power, and there was too much that Aelin could lose. She guessed it was the same for Whitethorn.

“I want to start a rebellion.” Dorian said calmly as if he was talking about the weather.

“You’re a fool.” Rowan said before Aelin could even think of what to say to that bold statement. Aelin thought his voice would sound like an ancient song if it wasn’t so cold, so emotionless.

Dorian almost cringed, and the silence fell on the room again.

“Why?” Aelin heard herself asking, the single word sounding like a gunshot in the room. Dorian turned to her, surprise and gratitude on his eyes. Rowan also turned to her, but his expression was unreadable.

“Because you and Whitethorn are—“

“I know what I am. And I am sure Mr. Whitethorn knows what he is.” She said, a small and predatory smile on her face. She cocked her head to the side, hair brushing her shoulder. “I want to know what you are, Mr. Havilliard.”

“I beg your pardon?” He mumbled, cheeks heating. Rowan was still staring at her, and Aelin spared him a glance before turning to Dorian again.

“What are you, Mr. Havilliard? Why are you doing this? You have the world in the palm of your hand.” She gestured around with a single finger. “Your father is one of the governors. You can rule this world if you wish. And so I wonder, why join the rabble?”

Drip drip drip

“I don’t believe anyone should rule the world, Aelin.” He answered after a moment of silence. His gaze became intense, his words going from cold politeness to hard determination. “And I believe you don’t either. None of you do. You are one of the most important figures of opposition, just like Rowan. If I want to save the world, why not start with those already working in the process?”

“The world can’t be saved, kid.” Rowan said, his voice maybe even harder in order to throughly shatter Dorian’s hope.

Aelin didn’t look away from Dorian, but she nodded slightly. “No, it cannot.”

“It can be changed.” Dorian whispered, almost as if it was a sin speaking of change.

In this world it was, she supposed.

“Why?” She asked again.

This time, Dorian didn’t hesitate, didn’t take a moment of silence. “Because it’s the right thing to do. Because no one should dine while people starve, no one should be able to play God. Because maybe the two of you are right and the world is impossible to save, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t need the hope that it can be one day. Because the two of you are that hope.”

Two of the men behind Rowan scoffed, and Aelin turned to them, a leer on her face. “Did you say something, dears?”

“Galathynius.” Rowan said, voice hard. Aelin’s eyes snapped to him, the leer never leaving her face.

“Whitethorn.”

They stared at each other, the silence that was once eerie feeling heavy. Aelin had heard of him before, even if they had never met. His reputation preceded him; the man’s presence was enough to make anyone uneasy. Six foot six, lean muscular body and a face that was always locked in an expressionless state, there was nothing about Rowan that wouldn’t make you want to walk on the opposite direction when you saw him on the streets. The man looked like he was always a step away from crushing someone’s throat with his bare hands.

Unfortunately for him, Aelin had lost most of her self preservation a long time ago. She didn’t care about his reputation, much less about his surly demeanor. She didn’t care about Dorian, didn’t even trust him, but something about people laughing whenever change or freedom was mentioned made her blood boil. If someone didn’t desperately ached for any chance of freedom in their world, then perhaps they were the ones she shouldn’t trust.

“Control your lap dogs, Mr. Whitethorn. I don’t particularly care for any of you, but he laughs at the matter one more time,” she said softly, but there was a threat hidden in the words. “And I’ll fucking rip his spine out.”

Rowan’s eyes narrowed, and Dorian let out a surprised cough.

She turned back to Dorian, completely dismissing Rowan. “Tell me, why should I trust you?”

“Why not?”

Aelin grinned. “I can give you a long list for that. Besides, I’m the one who needs convincing here, not you. Bewitch me, Mr. Havilliard.”

“You don’t have to trust me. You can sleep every night with a knife under your pillow for all I care.” Dorian said, fixing the sleeves of his suit. “I’m sure you read the documents I sent you. I’m offering a full compound for you to work, resources and whatever you wish. If I wanted to betray any of you, I would have already and would have spent way less energy doing so.”

“Betrayal tastes better with time. It’s like good whiskey.” Aelin claimed, reaching forward and taking a decoration from his desk. It was an old coin, slightly bigger than the normal ones. Aelin started playing with it with her fingers. “Why not wait months and then betray me?”

“The world is dying. I have better things than to waste my time with games.”

“Everything is a game. The ones who don’t think that are usually the ones who refuse to admit they’re losing.” Aelin tilted forward, grin diminishing on her lips. “Tell me, are you losing the game?”

“If you think this is a game, you’re mad.” One of Rowan’s companions— one who had laughed— announced, and Aelin’s head snapped back to him.

She smiled viciously at him. “And if you think this is a joke, you’re just as bad as them.”

Rowan turned around, looking at the man. “Enough.”

The guy had the decency of looking slightly embarrassed. Aelin wanted to smile at that, wanted to poke at him some more, but there were more pressing matters at hand. She turned back around. “You still haven’t convinced me.”

“I guess you’ll have to trust me.” Dorian said.

“Trust is earned, not given.”

“So don’t trust me. I asked for a rebellion, not for friends.” He snapped, and Aelin raised her eyebrows. Some part of her, the very stupid one, wanted to believe him. Wanted to get up, shake his hand and dive in. He had the money, the resources, and it was very unlikely that the regime would ever think that the son of one of the most influential governors was the person working to bring them down.

And yet, the smart part of her, the part that had to learn how to survive after her whole life was taken away from her, kept telling her no. Don’t trust him. Don’t let your guard down. Trust those who you know can be trusted. The easiest way of not having a knife on your back was to make sure only a very limited amount of people even had access to them.

“I will… consider.” She said slowly, getting up. Dorian looked at her, half pleased, half surprised. “I need to talk to my companions before I take any decision, and I still don’t know if I should trust you, Mr. Havilliard.”

He nodded silently. Aelin then turned to Rowan, a smirk on her lips. “Good luck convincing this one, though.”

Aelin turned around, both Lys and Elide already on her side, Aedion at her back. She then turned the smirk to the man who had laughed. “Hope you learn some manners, wolfie. Next time I won’t be kind enough to threaten you. Bad temper, you see.”

Aelin felt immensely delighted when he didn’t respond, only clenching his jaw. Despite Aelin’s indifference towards the man, she had to admit that it was impressing how Rowan had control over six people just by uttering a word.

“Good boy.” Aedion whispered as they passed the group, walking out of the room.

“I’ll send for you, Mr. Havilliard.” Aelin shouted over her back. “Send someone after me and you’ll receive their intestines in a box.”

——————

“What do we think?” Aedion asked the moment they finishing looking at their shabby house for any bugs. The place was falling apart, the walls grey as the paint fell off of it. It was cold and mostly dark, the furniture either old or of low quality. But it was secluded, and didn’t call any attention. Most of all, it was livable.

Elide sat on one of the chairs, looking at each one of them before sighing. She raised her hands, and Aelin stopped thinking about her own opinion to listen to Elide’s.

I think he’s both right and wrong. She quickly signed with her hands, facial expressions matching what she was trying to convey. He was right when he said we don’t have to trust him. We are in constant risk as of now, joining him would just be a different type of risk. He’s a stupid idealist, but he’s also rich. And would be a good cover if we actually want to do more change.

“We are doing some change.” Aedion grunted, hands moving a little more slowly than Elide’s. All three of them had learned sign language since a young age, how to communicate and express their feelings and thoughts through signs that were usually accompanied by facial expressions to make it even more clear what they wanted to say. Elide had been born mute, and learning how to properly communicate with her was the bare minimum Aelin and the others could do. Whenever they were in public talking to others, they wouldn’t sign since Elide could hear them —unless they were talking directly to her—, but whenever it was just the four of them, signing was just a natural thing.

Elide believed everyone should know at least the very basics of sign language, and Aelin couldn’t agree more with her. The world had gone to shit, but she also wasn’t going to sit there and pretend like it was perfect before. Most people had as little care for people like Elide now as they had thirty years ago, and it was fucking infuriating.

Not as much as we want, Aed. Elide gestured, her eyes showing determination but the rest of her facial expression showing that ever so slight supplication. Not nearly enough. Her eyebrows creased as she said the word nearly, putting emphasis in what she meant. Elide didn’t think they were useless, or that no change had come from them, but she was right in the regard that it was only a speck of sand in a whole beach.

“What about Whitethorn?” Lysandra asked, her green almond shaped eyes narrowing as she stared at one of Elide’s blade on the table. She moved her hands quickly as she raised her face, prominent jaw and high cheekbones shaping her harsh face so beautifully that sometimes Aelin understood why Aedion stared at Lys so often. “It’s not like the guy is easy to deal or to read. I’m more worried about him than Havilliard.”

Elide raised her eyebrows, nodding slightly.

“Yeah.” Aedion muttered, running his hands through his hair. He turned to Aelin. “So?”

“I don’t know.” She sighed, rubbing her temples. She moved her hands along with her words. “I’m not worried about Whitethorn. He looks like an asshole, and his crew looks even worse, but they have literally nothing to gain by betraying us. We are all in the same shit, even though we’re trying to get out of it in different ways. I just don’t know about Havilliard. He’s the governor’s son. One word from him and I’d be on my way to be hanged.”

“He could be telling the truth.” Aedion said.

“He could be telling a lie.” Lysandra countered.

Aelin turned to Elide, founding her black eyes already looking at her. Aelin trusted everyone in her group just the same, but she had to admit that when it came down to final decisions, she usually consulted Elide last. Since birth, Elide had faced a world that welcomed her in a different way. Aelin could voice her opinions whenever she wished, she could talk to anyone and they would understand, they would listen. In Elide’s case, so many people were cruel and didn’t give her the attention and treatment she deserved. The regime had never made her life easier, had never implemented sign language in public schools, had never declared that public workers should know the basics of ASL. In many occasions, Elide had been forced to keep her thoughts to herself.

Aelin couldn’t even imagine the strength it took to do so.

And Elide had done it perfectly. Aelin usually looked for her for advice because her friend saw and analyzed the world in a different way. She had to be quicker and smarter to live in a world that didn’t care about people, especially people like her. Elide was intelligent like no one Aelin knew, could observe and retain information because that’s what she had been forced to do since birth. She had become so good at expressing herself through facial expressions and gestures, that she also became a master in understanding other people’s minimal gestures and tells.

Elide Lochan was a genius, and Aelin trusted her judgment above all.

Elide gave her a simple nod, but her eyes were slightly wide, the white light from the lamp making them glint with cold determination.

Aelin nodded back, resting against her chair. “We join him.”

Aedion raised his eyebrows. “We do?”

Aelin assented, cracking her knuckles. “We wait a few days before sending our response, of course, but we join them eventually. Havilliard has the resources, and if I will be betrayed, I might as well do it in style.”

Aedion snorted, and both Lysandra and Elide smiled viciously.

And that had been that.

———————

--Mid-January 1987--

Aelin had to admit, she was surprised to learn that Rowan had accepted Dorian’s proposition as well. In her mind, he was too above everyone else to bother joining a rebellion.

And yet, fifteen days later, there they were in that same room, in those same places.

Dorian seemed more at ease now, but both Aelin and Rowan remained with their guard up, the people standing behind them just as cautious.

“You have no idea how glad I am both of you accepted.” Dorian said, sounding somewhat relieved. “One would do, but the two of you is perfect.”

“Why?” Aedion asked. He had requested Aelin’s permission to talk during the meeting before they entered, and she had given him— had given all of them— a green light to step in. “Why Whitethorn and Aelin?”

Dorian sighed, resting against his cushioned chair. Aelin resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She honestly didn’t know if he tried to look as magnanimous or if it was something natural after living all these years surrounded by money and people kissing your ass, but she found it ridiculous.

“They are the different sides of the same coin, you see?” Dorian explained, grabbing the coin Aelin had toyed with two weeks ago. “Whitethorn is the heads. He’s calculating and calm. He appeals to the part of the population that is more centered, more cold when it comes to the regime. People who want change, but will take certain paths to achieve it.”

From the corner of her eye, Aelin saw Rowan narrowing his eyes, but he didn’t deny anything.

Dorian turned the coin to its other side. “Galathynius is the tails. She’s unpredictable and wild. She appeals to the part of the population who can be moved by emotions, the part of the population that has suffered long enough and is willing to do anything to survive. You see, the people want change just the same, but, like Aelin, they will create their own path to achieve it.” Dorian threw the coin up, letting it fall to the mahogany table with a loud thud. Aelin stared at the rolling coin until it stopped, the tails side being shown. “They appeal to parts of society the other can’t. Rowan is too calm for the raging ones, and Aelin is too untamed for the controlled ones.”

Aelin couldn’t tear her eyes away from the coin, the tails side looking like it was burnt.

“We are your puppets, then?” Rowan asked, and only then Aelin raised her eyes to look at Dorian.

He smiled, setting his joint hands on top of the coin. “You are what you wish to be. You’ll work with Aelin, you’ll be by her side to show the population that we should not be divided now. That people with different ways of doing things can unite themselves when they stand against the same enemy, when they have the same morals. You are different, but also a mirror of each other’s deepest thoughts. You are to be a leader, Mr. Whitethorn, and you better be a good one.”

Rowan huffed, but didn’t say anything else.

Aelin had to admit, Dorian knew how to make pretty speeches. She didn’t know if it was his perfect face, the sapphire eyes contrasting with his rich brown skin and pitch black hair, the full mouth looking like it was always smiling just above his defined jaw. She didn’t know if it was because he had been raised among politicians, their ability to manipulate people somehow passing to him. Aelin didn’t know, and she honestly didn’t care as long as he didn’t try manipulating her.

“Once this is over,” she said, voice dangerously low. “Elections will be held, Mr. Havilliard. A proper government will be set. I hope you know that. And despite our differences, I believe Mr. Whitethorn agrees with me.”

Rowan didn’t deny, and Aelin though that was the closest to a yes she would ever achieve.

“What are you insinuating?”

Aelin smiled serenely. “You’re not dumb, Dorian, and neither am I.”

He shifted on his seat, eyes narrowing. His whole friendly demeanor changed, and Aelin wasn’t even remotely surprised to learn that the boy had a deeper personality than he let on. “Is this a warning?”

Aelin’s smile only grew. “It’s a threat. You try to take control by force and I’ll paint the walls with your brains.”

Aedion coughed pointedly behind her, and Aelin turned around to find him staring at her wide eyed. Lysandra and Elide, on the other hand, were trying to contain their smirks.

Aelin turned back to Dorian, angling her head to one side. “But let’s not start this with tension, right? You do understand that it’s all business.”

Dorian smiled, but Aelin didn’t believe in it for a second. Rowan didn’t either, based on his low scoff. “Of course.”

Dorian got up, straightening his suit before putting up another smile to all of them. “You’ll meet my… crew later this week when we go to the compounds. For now, I believe it would be good if you got to know each other. After all, you guys are a team now.”

Lysandra snorted. “I feel like I’m in primary school again. Is this the say your name and one fun fact about you type of shit?”

Dorian grinned at her. “Do you want us to know a fun fact about you?”

Lys rolled her eyes, and Aelin genuinely smiled. If circumstances were different, she would have loved seeing Lys and Dorian going toe to toe.

Trying to calm the mood before a fight broke, Aelin sighed, turning to Rowan’s group and pointing to Aedion. “This is Aedion Ashryver.”

“A pleasure.” Aelin heard Aedion saying from behind her, and she would bet all her money he had done a mock bow.

Aelin huffed at that, then jerking her head to the right. “This is Lysandra Ennar.”

“Hello.” Lysandra murmured, a saccharine smile on her face.

Aelin laughed. “Don’t trust her. She has a pretty face, the inside is not so pretty though.”

Rowan was staring at Aelin with calculating eyes, his face as stoic and hard as ever. His companions were easier to read, though. The tallest man, ebony hair and large figure, was eyeing each one of them calmly. The two identical men— one of them being the one who had laughed two weeks ago— were staring directly into Lysandra’s face. The fourth man was standing behind one of the twins, his flawless black skin and perfect facial features making him seem more of a model than a rebel. She guessed it came in hand sometimes, just like Lysandra’s beauty did. This one was looking at Aedion, as was the fifth man, tanned skin accentuating his pretty tawny eyes and blond hair.

The woman, their only woman, was however staring at Elide. It was such an intense gaze that Aelin wondered if the brunette could see the engines inside Elide’s head turning, her ebony eyes reading into every single one of them, noticing things she would surely tell Aelin later.

Aelin jerked her head to the left. “This is Elide Lochan.”

They now all stared at her, and Elide just stood there, chin high. Aelin looked at her friend, an identical leer showing up on their faces. Aelin turned back to them, shrugging. “She doesn’t talk much.”

Elide tilted her head a little forward and a little to the side, giving them a somewhat polite smile.

Aelin fake whispered. “Wouldn’t trust her either if I were you.”

“She doesn’t speak?” Dorian asked. Aelin sat back as Elide shook her head. Dorian nodded, resting against his table. “Anything I can provide to help?”

Elide turned to Lysandra, quickly moving her hands.

Lys turned to Dorian, a bored look on her face. “Paper and pen would be helpful to have around.”

Dorian nodded once more. “I’ll make sure there is always paper in the dining room, her bedroom and conference room in the compounds.”

Elide assented and then nudged Aelin’s shoulder, silently telling her to continue. “Well, you all know who I am. Won’t bother with presentations.”

The twins scoffed, and the woman had a ghost of a smile on her face.

Aelin was surprised when she saw Rowan rolling his eyes. It had been by far the most human action she had seen him performing. “The twins are Fenrys and Connall Moonbeam.”

The two smirked at her in sync, their posture and smiles making them seem like wolves in human pelts. Aelin didn’t bother even moving her head to acknowledge them, she just swept her eyes through their figures before looking expressionlessly at Rowan again.

“Lorcan Salvaterre.” Rowan jerked his head at the tall man with ebony hair. Aelin raised an eyebrow at him when she saw his sneer, and he only narrowed his eyes in response.

Oh, she would have fun poking that one.

“Vaughan Fagan, Gavriel Mulligan.” Rowan indicated the black and tawny men. Aelin could almost swear she saw a small smile on Vaughan’s face. He and Gavriel seemed like the calmest ones in the group. If she had to actually deal with the bunch of them for a while, she would probably prefer to dealing with the two. The twins seemed like idiots, Lorcan seemed like an asshole, the woman didn’t seem at all friendly and yet she looked like a kind person compared to Rowan.

No, those two would do.

“This is Lyria Salvaterre.” Rowan said, and Aelin’s eyes immediately went from the girl to Lorcan, going back to the girl at the end. She raised an eyebrow, and Lorcan’s eyes narrowed.

“My sister.” He grunted, his voice low and rough.

Aelin smiled sweetly. “Never said she wasn’t.”

He grunted, and Aelin felt a soft and almost imperceptible shove on her back. Judging by the direction it came from, it was Elide’s. It was the girl’s way of telling Aelin to tone it down, to be careful around Lorcan. Although she wanted to poke some more, she rested against her chair, eyes going to Rowan.

“I guess you don’t need an introduction either.”

“No, I don’t.”

They stared at each other, both willing the other one to talk and both not knowing what else to say. They weren’t friends, they weren’t colleagues. To be honest, Aelin couldn’t care less if the man lived or died. She was indifferent to him the same way he was indifferent to her. She wouldn’t be happy if he died, but also wouldn’t be sad.

Rowan Whitethorn was a person like anyone else to her. He didn’t scare or intimidate her, didn’t anger her or even made her feel anything other than boredom with slight peaks of the need to draw a reaction out of him. But she had that with everyone.

He was a step she needed to climb to achieve her purposes.

“Well, so good to see you two… bonding.” Dorian said, cringing at the last word. Even him, with his annoying optimism, knew things weren’t going so smoothly. “Why don’t we start talking plans? Strategies? Surely you guys have thought of something.”

Half because she actually wanted to do it, half because she wanted to see everyone else’s reaction, Aelin casually answered his question. “We explode the republic center.”

All heads immediately snapped to her, faces in different degrees of shock.

“That would take years to plan.” Rowan said matter-of-factly.

Aelin grinned at him. “Good thing I’m not planning on dying soon.”

He scoffed, eyebrows scrunching. He looked almost like a normal man at the moment. “You’re insane. This would be insanity.”

She only grinned wider, winking at him. “Afraid?”

Aelin knew it was a low blow; question his decisions, his courage during their first discussion. They were to be partners, equals. It certainly did put Rowan on a spot, because he shook his head, snickering. “Let’s hear your brilliant plan then, Galathynius.”

“Since you asked so nicely.”

TAGS:

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A/N: To write this, I did a long research on ASL, the experience of mute people and talked to people who understand about the topic. That does not mean I can’t commit mistakes or improve, so never feel hesitant about correcting me if I screw up. I want it to be a good representation, not just something I threw in the story!

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invincible-selfxmade-punk · 4 years ago

Text

My So Called Rise Against Life

All lyrics written and owned by Rise Against

No band, not even AFI, sings the soundtrack of the last 20 years of my life like Rise Against has. I was dragged to my first Rise Against show by Emily. Emily, the suicide girl, quite possibly the hottest girl in Corpus Christi, barely 5'1 and 98 pounds soaking wet, covered in tattoos and with Angelina Jolie's lips. To this day I cannot imagine why a girl who looked like that wanted to hang with me. I had never been to a gig at that little club called The Underground where the disenfranchised youth of Corpus Christi congregated. This was the very cusp of my punk rock midlife crisis and I went in scared to death because I'd heard concerts of this nature were violent.

At this point I was already considering the decision to become straightedge. I was curious but knew little about it. The sum of my knowledge was this: two of the guys in AFI were, and the guy at the mall was. The memory of this guy never leaves me. Like a stray dog with a tennis ball, catching a welcoming scent on the air, then chasing after a passing stranger who never looked down, I chased after him and each year I spent in that fruitless pursuit felt like seven. His friendship I would never win, but he would remain on the outskirts of my life, like the brass ring I reached for again and again only to fall on my face. I would see him that night too, but I didn't know this when Em invited me out. It was billed as a hardcore show. I had no idea what hardcore was back then, I just assumed it meant a rough crowd of millitant straightedge vegans that would have a sixth sense that I wasn't one of them and chase me out the doors. Rise Against was headlining and an equally unknown band called Avenged Sevenfold was opening. I'd never heard of either. Emily wanted me to go and I wanted to get out of the house for the night so it wasn't that hard for her to twist my arm in the matter. I met her at her apartment which was filth ridden, with drug paraphernalia everywhere, a wall size Misfits poster that took up the entire SIDE of her apartment, and electric guitars propped next to skateboards. As she slipped out of her clothes and into something slinky much to my viewing pleasure, she pointed me to her freezer with a purloined bottle of tropical Schnapps from the liquor store she was working for. Toasting in miniature tea cups I downed the bright blue liquid. I remember it so well, the frost covered bottle, cold in my hand, the electric blueness pouring into what looked like a child's tea party set up. This wasn't the last drink I would take, that would come two months later, yet I remember every detail of the experience. Suited up in skimpiness, we were off to the races. We hauled ass in Emily's SUV and she sat behind the wheel, dwarfed by it's hugeness and her smallness, joint in hand, careening down the expressway and swerving around orange construction barrels. As we exited into the worst part of town I had ever seen I must have looked uneasy. She turned to me and proudly exclaimed "Don't worry, I know this place! I used to score crack here!" We walked in and the first person I saw was the straightedge boy, who was taking money at the door. It was a good sign of things to come. It would also mean I would completely ignore Avenged Sevenfold's set in s stupid quest to get his attention long enough to make conversation. But Em was a champ, she stayed with me through the whole thing. In fact, I don't remember having the guts to say a word. She talked to him, I watched him talking to her and twenty feet away M. Shadows was screaming his sexy, tattooed, egotistical lungs out but I was utterly oblivious. From there we went to the merch booth where Em bought me an Avenged Sevenfold poster that I kept for years on my wall before finally giving it away right on the cusp of actually starting to listen to them. She also bought me a Rise Against patch that is still on my Dickies bag today though it is nothing more than a mess of black thread. We wandered over to the PETA booth, watched some gruesome videos, signed up for mail and picked up a cookbook I would later use to make one of the mall kids a vegan birthday cake. Then Emily spied someone she knew and I followed her over, still looking suspiciously through the crowd sure someone was just going to come up and punch me for no apparent reason. Still following, I watched as she struck up a conversation with this cute guy in glasses. I politely listened in as they talked about how they haven't seen each other since Warped Tour. For the life of me I can't remember what they talked about. I was distracted by a guy that looked like Davey Havok. Their conversation muffled to a drone until the guy looked at his watch and said "Oh crap!! I need to be on

stage! I'll talk to after the show!" and it was at that moment I realized Emily had been talking to Joe Principe of Rise Against. This was our cue as well though there was already too much of a crowd to get near the front. There were maybe one hundred people there and Tim held every one in the palm of his hand. I was amazed. I had never heard them before in my life so I can't tell you the set list but I knew from that time on I wanted to hear more. At the end Emily and I waited at the stage to talk to Tim. I had no idea what to say so I just shook his hand and now I wish I had held on a little longer. Emily got a shirt signed and talked to him for a while. Again I was too preoccupied with the AFI look-alikes in the crowd that I wasn't paying much attention. To this day I wonder if the dude I thought looked like Davey was actually Zacky Vengeance. I'll never know for sure. Soon enough Joe was with us again and he and Emily were engaged in conversation when he turned to me and said "Did that hurt?" I had NO idea what he was talking about, I was too overwhelmed by his very presence. I actually thought he was pointing past me to the PETA booth and I stupidly sputtered "What KFC is doing to chickens?" I swear to god when I'm miserable and in need of cheering up sometimes all it takes to make me smile is thinking "Hey, Joe laughed at my joke." The night drew to an end, Emily went out with the band, and being married, I went home. Next to singing a line with Dave Peters of Throwdown, that first night with Rise Against was the best night of the last ten years of my life. The next time I would see Rise Against they would be back in Corpus, opening for Bad Religion. This happened during what I call "The Emo Dave Era". I met Dave because of Rise Against. He was a little emo boy wearing a Rise Against shirt, skipping school at the mall. I stopped him and asked him about it and well that was it, he just kept coming around. I would end up knowing him for five years and eventually hiring him to work for me. By the second time they came to town Siren Song of The Counterculture was out and I remember bragging to Dave that if it was any other band I would have just downloaded it, but for them I would actually spend my hard earned money. I remember DRINKING in the songs, trying so hard to memorize all of the tracks before the gig hit. I remember the second Rise Against gig for many reasons. It was the first gig I went to alone at a time I was in the grip of panic attacks whenever I had to be in wide open spaces by myself. Two of my "mall daughters" met me at the gates and stayed with me the whole night. I remember that. I remember Dave hitting the merch table before me and buying me Rise Against stickers that I regarded like they were jewels and kept them in some special place until I hid them so well I hid them from myself. Dave and I and the girls were in the front row together, and sadly none of them I am in contact with now. Not only that, but Dave and one of the girls I was up front with would end up working for me and stealing over $1300 from my business during their tenure as my employees. Years from knowing this though we happily stood side by side and sang along for the whole set. What I remember most about that second gig was standing in front of Joe and when he sang "Single file like soldiers on a mission." I saluted him and he saluted back. Tim was wearing the exact same shirt he wore at the first gig but I was probably the only one to notice it. And when Tim asked "Who was here at our first gig when only 20 people showed up?" I proudly raised my hand. All the memorizing I did was pretty much for naught because I was so excited to be in the front row I damn near forgot every word to every song, but for some reason I knew every word to 1,000 Good Intentions. The first Rise Against show was in August, I can't tell you the date of the second one. I made my commitment to becoming straightedge sometime between December and January. I don't know the exact date because I was so scared about the whole

thing I kept it to myself "You're the new revolution The angst filled adolescent You fit the stereotype well..."

.All I know for sure was that I'd been edge several months by the second Rise Against gig at Concrete Street in Corpus. he second Rise Against gig also brings to mind another phantom of my past: a girl I was close to named Amanda (not the Amanda I went to Warped Tour w/, that Amanda I've always called Di because her screen name was Dionysus). This was Amanda's first night aout after being kidnapped and raped. Her parents were druggies and didn't want the cops involved so the guys who did it just got away with it and I'd see them at the mall all the time afterward and I couldn't do shit. It was her and her big sister who met me at the gates and stayed with me all night. I loved those girls. . . . Again, digressing. From First To Last opened and we spent the whole set talking about how much they looked like AFI. I ended up leaving the gig early, going to the house of one of them who still lived with his folks, ringing the doorbell and leaving a note in the mail box that said 'YOUR SON RAPES LITTLE GIRLS----just thought you should know'. It didn't really help anything but it made me feel better. During this mindlessly courageous time I was blinded by my commitment. I jumped into being edge with a fervor reserved for things like joining the Hari Krishnas or Jehovah's Witnesses. It was a complete make over of every idea I'd ever held. I didn't know a great deal but once I found it, I knew it was all I had been looking for. The only other person I actually knew who was edge was the straightedge boy, who now had become god-like in my mind. He was the first face of straightedge for me, the ideal, the standard, the one thing I felt I had to live up to. Sadly, by this time he was long gone, moving away from the mall where we worked and on to better things. This fact only drove me forward in a Holy Grail level quest to find him. When he was there I was terrified of speaking to him and then when he wasn't I kicked myself for not having the courage. I was sure that if I did make my way to him, he could impart some knowledge, some advice that would make my whole solitary experience make sense. The soundtrack of that quest was Blood to Bleed: "Steps I take in your footsteps Aren't getting me closer to what is left of the dreams of what I once claimed to know Within my bones this resonates...." Within weeks of each other three amazing things happened: Ceci, my best friend Amanda(Dionysus) and I went to Warped Tour to see AFI and in the process saw Rise Against as well. Then The Sufferer and the Witness came out, and at the same time Jadey and Ceci came to visit me in Corpus for quite possibly the most idyllic summer of my life. It was that summer we saw Rise Against for the third time. At that Warped Tour again we were in front of Joe, and again when Tim sang "Single file like soldiers on a mission... " we saluted Joe and he saluted us back and it was like a little piece of heaven fell to earth, the moment was so perfect. The set was

short because it was Warped Tour but we didn't care. We were together, we loved each other and we sang along with every song we knew. Sufferer and Witness came out in July right in time for Warped Tour and the girls coming down for a visit. I remember this so well because I had a cd of the straightedge boy's band and it seemed so important for me to play it for Jadey and Ceci. Do you remember that line in The Lost Boys: "Now you know what we are, now you know what you are." ? That was how it felt for me, this romanticized notion that my edge was not my own and it was all owing and belonged to someone else. I wanted to be able to trace it like a family tree to say, if I had not met him I would not have found out about AFI, I would not have made my committment, we would have never met, so therefore the life and friendship we have shared has all traced back to THIS. Well, they weren't all that impressed. I have a very clear memory of us being outside the Sonic Drive In and Jadey asking me "Please turn that noise off and put in something else." That something else was the The Sufferer And The Witnessand it stayed in the player for the rest of the trip. Ready To Fall was the song that defined the next year, much later, that I made my edge my own. In my journey I had looked to so many others for advice or reassurance or validation. I did this because I didn't believe in myself. I thought I was weak and sought in others what would make me strong. Sometimes I received it, like messages sent back and forth the guys in Throwdown and the near religious experience of seeing them live all the times I have, of singing a line with Dave, shaking his hand. Most of the time though my search was in vain. I remember very clearly seeking out help online. One guy told me I would never know who I was until I went to a hardcore show. This wasn't exactly bad advice, hardcore shows had the most amazing energy flowing through them and it did feel good to be surrounded by like minded people. The only thing I really learned about myself through going to hardcore shows was that if God had wanted me to hardcore dance, He would not have given me boobs. There was another guy who told me only the most insecure person would EVER wear a straightedge shirt out in public and if you were sincere about it, you'd keep it to yourself. I thought that guy was nuts. The whole POINT of being edge to me was proving I was not like the idiots around me. "With your eyes Glazed and half-smiled Explain to me the details of your God-given right You point your finger In my face but You can't remember what you did last night" I asked another guy what to do if I was tempted to drink again and he told me if I was tempted I was never really straightedge to begin with and I should just do the scene a favor and kill myself already. Then there were the kids that thought I was just the bees knees and were coming to ME for advice. I had no idea what to tell these kids, but I wasn't about to tell them not to wear sXe gear or kill themselves. Because of my own search for answers I refused to turn any kid away. One day they were telling me I was their hero and begging for advice, the next they were telling me I was out of my mind and to get lost. It took a good four years before I learned not to believe them in either case. "This could be my great awakening But how would I know when it's all noise to me? Are these words falling on deaf ears?" Right in the middle of this I had the good fortune to meet a guy named Chris X from Philly. He neither worshipped nor ignored me. He was simply THERE. I have the most vivid memory of this one morning. I had the same dream about the straightedge boy only this time I stepped out and stopped him and asked him if the hormones levels in milk made people more aggressive the way steroids did and asked if I should stop drinking it. Why this popped into my head I will never know. As usual the alarm rang before the blurry form opened his mouth and imparted wisdom. I woke up at 5 am and suddenly HAD to know

the answer to the question. It happened that Chris X was up too. I contacted him and he took the time out of his morning to discuss this with me completely out of the blue. I don't know why this sticks out in my memory but it does: Him being up at five am and taking an hour out of his morning to answer some moronic question from a girl he didn't know and being so nice about it. He is still edge, we are still friends and he is still there when I need him. He is the exception to the rule. Friends fell away and I remained steadfast, yet alone. Slowly though there came the time when I realized I needed to look no further than in the mirror. It wasn't like this was a new thing. I was told this many times and yet I never believed it. Right about this time Rise Against released Ready To Fall: "But here in this moment like the eye of the storm It all came clear to me I found a shoulder to lean on An infallible reason to live all by itself I took one last look from the heights that I once loved And then I ran like hell" The heights I once loved were ego driven, the compulsion to wear a straightedge shirt every day and X's for every gig and dare anyone to tell me otherwise. It was that romanticized notion of my edge,--that it hadn't been mine and all I was, was owed to someone else. It was as if I believed someone had physically stood between me and a fridge full of alcohol that first year and kept me from it. Or that someone had been there to comfort me when my husband was drunk or in a bad mood and was calling me names or throwing me around because I dared come home with a book of Marxist writing or simply did not shut up and go along or renounce my beliefs. I healed myself, I comforted myself and I did almost all of it completely alone. It was slow in dawning but it finally came to me that I was the only one I had to inspire or impress, and my own approval was all I needed. This revelation was scored by every track on Sufferer and Witness. The fourth time I saw Rise Against, I met Ceci in Austin to see them at Stubb's. Stubb's BBQ is a grand place to see any band because if you get there early enough, you can have lunch on the balcony while watching the band's sound check. We found this out the first time we went there, seeing The Rollins Band open up for X. Going to the Rise Against show I told myself "It's not big deal, I've seen them three times before, I'm just going to kick back and eat and enjoy the sound check" but as soon as Tim and Joe took the stage I could barely consume a thing I was so overwhelmed. As we waited in line after lunch for the doors to reopen, I met Ceci's brother Jordan who is, wildly enough, still my friend. Jordan. He hovers on the edges of my life, always there with a kind word whether I actually deserved it or not. He is the only good thing to come out of my friendship with Ceci. Evergreen Terrace opened that show and we were right in front of the guy in the Straightedge Soldier tshirt and that and a brilliant cover of "Mad World" was all I remembered of their set. Circa Survive came on next and Ceci and I took turns booing them and flipping them off. Not that they were necessarily bad, but we were in no mood to entertain the mopey emo set at that point. Soon we were all piled together up front, again in front of Joe. I didn't get to salute him at that gig. Ceci's arms were too tightly around me. Ceci, her girlfriend Grace, Jordan and my husband were tangled in a sea of arms, so tightly that I wasn't sure of whose hand I was holding most of the night. Though by that time I was perfectly comfortable in my commitment, Blood to Bleed still only reminded me of one person and Ceci knew this. I felt she understood me then, I felt she was one of the very few who knew me best. Beside me was my husband, but in my heart was a dream of someone else, of someone who shared my commitment and my ideals, a dream of an idea more than a person, the perfect guy/relationship/life I would never have. Two months later I would find out my husband was seeing a girl from work

that had got him hooked on heroin. Two months later he would come to where I worked and attack me in front of multiple witnesses and when called, the police would do nothing. Two months later I would sit sobbing in the back of a police car because I was too afraid to go into my own apartment and get my things. When responding to my call the enormous officer would glare down at me and say "Why are you afraid to walk in your own home? Are you on drugs or are you just retarded?" Instead of accompanying me inside to get my things they would search me for drugs. Two months later I would realize why Henry Rollins hated cops so much. Two months later. after ten years together, I would leave my husband. I did not know any of this then. All I knew was that in that instant my heart was bleeding inside of me for want of some friendship I would never have, the one thing I believed would make my life complete. It was that friendship, that idea of a person, of perfection, of everything I wanted myself and my life to be, that seemed like the holy grail of the second part of my life. Looking back, maybe it held value only because it was unobtainable. I had not yet learned to find it in myself so I sought it so furiously in a stranger. So, with the ridiculously angelic vision of the first straightedge boy I ever met in my head, and my unfaithful husband beside me, in that crowd at Stubb's, Rise Against tore into Blood To Bleed. It was our first time to hear it live together as they had not played it at Warped Tour. Ceci looked down at me, wrapped her arms around me and held me tight because she knew exactly who I was thinking of and why. As she held on to me with one hand and ran a hand through my hair, we both screamed out those lyrics that had haunted me and driven me on for years. "This place rings with echos of lives once lived, but now are lost Times spent wondering about tomorrow I don't care if we lose it all tonight Up in flames, burning bright.... Within my bones this resonates Boiling blood will circulate Could you tell me again what you did this for?" And just like I was blind to what was about to erupt with my husband I was just as blind to time bomb ticking inside of Ceci that would turn her into a complete stranger the next time we met, at the very same place it would turn out. Had I known that this was the last time she would hold my hand and sing with me and look down on me with love and empathy in her eyes, I would not have wasted my sorrow in grieving for a friendship that never was and instead would have known to grieve for the real friendship I was losing. I should have grieved for hers, but in retrospect, it was no more real than the idea of the one I chased after so fruitlessly. "I don't love you anymore is all I remember you telling me never have I felt so cold But I've no more blood to bleed Cuz my heart has been draining into the sea...." And the strange footnote to that day, that time, that moment of hope and loss and all that was to come is this: Even though his friendship I never actually earned, in his status of a wise, polite stranger, that straightedge boy I never really knew was far more civil than Ceci. His responses, however short they were, however long it took to get them, were genuine. It is such a small thing, his honesty, yet it is more than I can say for ninety percent of the people I've known in the last several years. Another song we sang together that night was Prayer of the Refugee. I had no idea then but that song was about to describe my life. "We are the angry and desperate The hungry and the cold We are the ones who kept quiet and always did what we were told But we've been sweating while you slept so calm in the safety of your homes We've been pulling at the nails that hold up everything you own."

The split with my husband was brutal. First I had to deal with police that didn't care, who told me at one point "Well, if he tries to kill you, call us back, otherwise there's nothing we can do. He's your husband and he has the same right to live here as you do." Thanks to the police not doing anything, I was thrown out of the apartment I had paid for for ten years. The battered women's shelter was full and I would have found myself homeless had it not been for my friend Lilo. Suddenly I was having to start from scratch and then, upon finding a place, having to pack up ten years worth of my life and move it all by myself. "I hit the ground and I'm still running but I need a place to stay tonight I swear I'll be gone in the morning I just need some place warm to close my eyes." Every day I worked until the afternoon, went home and packed until 2 am, fell asleep until 5 am and then got up and did it all again. Then once I was packed I had to move it all. I can't remember why I didn't ask for help but I moved it all alone except for the bed, entertainment center and tv. "The drones all slave away They're working overtime They serve a faceless queen They never question why Disciples of a god That neither lives nor breathes But we've got bills to pay Yeah we've got mouths to feed I won't go back..." This was such a strange time. There was no way to hide what was going on: my husband came to where I worked and jumped me in front of everyone there, I had to tell my boss "My husband kicked me out and I'm homeless at the moment, could I possibly get my check a day or two early to put a deposit down on an apartment?" and I had to own up to the fact that I was straightedge and my husband was a heroin addict. "We're broken but still breathing We are wounded but we are healing We pick up right where we left off Breathe on the ashes that remain So that these coals may become fire To guide our way.." This made my life suddenly seem a really bad B movie. There was nothing to do but go on. I would have asked myself "What would that straightedge guy do in this situation?" if I'd had any idea. Instead I asked "What would Dave Peters of Throwdown do?" and of course the obvious answer was "punch something". As much as I wanted to, I couldn't do that. However, I knew for sure what he wouldn't do and that was curl up in a ball and cry. So I didn't do that either. It was a such horrible time and yet when I look back all I remember is my own strength and the exhilaration I felt when I finally left. "So give me the drug Keep me alive Give me what's left of my life Don't let me go... Pull this plug, let me breathe On my own, I'm finally free..."

Lilo and Di swore I looked great, like I had suddenly gotten 10 years younger. They said I was glowing, but unless I had come in contact with radium I certainly didn't see how. I remember thinking "Well hell, maybe the Socialists were right. Maybe 16 hour days are the way to salvation." "Wake me up inside Tell me there's a reason To take another step To get up off my knees and, Follow this path of most resistance. And where ever it takes us, Whatever it faces and wherever it leads" As I came into my own power, the straightedge boy who had loomed so god-like over the first years of my commitment shrank back down to human size. Deep down I still hoped that if he was to know of all I had gone through he would be a little proud of me for surviving with my integrity intact. But if he didn't, well that was okay too. Survive I did, survive I continue to. "Somewhere between happy, and total fucking wreck Feet sometimes on solid ground, sometimes at the edge To spend your waking moments, simply killing time Is to give up on your hopes and dreams, to give up on your... Life for you, has been less than kind So take a number, stand in line We've all been sorry, we've all been hurt But how we survive, is what makes us who we are" When I had my own place and my own life again, to celebrate I bought myself a Christmas present: a tattoo of a sparrow carrying brass knuckles in her beak. It reminded me of this lyric that had been echoing in my head the whole time: "And if strength was born from heartbreak Then mountains I could move If walls could speak I pray that they would tell me what to do." I enjoyed more than six months of solitude in my cozy little apartment on Airline. I filled my weekends with walks on the beach, solitary shopping excursions for meatless dinners, and nights were spent at the House of Rock and the Underground watching bands, enjoying the freedom of staying out without getting yelled at or called names. I spent Christmas alone on Lilo's floor stuffing myself with processed cheeseballs and watching movies. It was my first UnChristmas. The Jehovah's Witnesses would have been proud! "Warm yourself by the fire, son, And the morning will come soon. I’ll tell you stories of a better time, In a place that we once knew. Before we packed our bags And left all this behind us in the dust, We had a place that we could call home, And a life no one could touch."

But I am flawed and cowed and crippled by the Christian concept of forgiveness. And by the time I would be seeing Rise Against again, my husband would be back by my side. In West Texas his mom had ran him through the MHMR system, let them start him on 7 different drugs, ---including three different tranquilizers and pills for hallucinations and seizures, which he never once had,--- used him to get on welfare, disability, and Medicare. Once he's served the purpose, she called a friend in the sheriff's department and had him pulled from her house, drugged out of his mind on meds at the time, and stuck on a bus to Corpus Christi. The Glasscock County Sherriff's Department called me at work to TELL me "Your husband is on a bus to Corpus, he'll be there at two am. He's your responsibility now." On the bus, because of his state of stupor, he was robbed of everything but his clothes and as much as I wanted to just shove him into the closest homeless shelter, I couldn't. Had it been me, as unlikely as that would be, I would want someone to have compassion. "We are the children you reject and disregard These aching cries come from the bottom of our hearts You can't disown us now, we are your own flesh and blood And we don't disappear just because your eyes are shut" I took him in. At first it was easy. Thanks to the drugs he was sleeping 18 hours a day. Finally I started to investigate what they had him on, what he could do without and how to get him back to normal. I'm not sure how I did it, but I weened him off of every drug he was on. At first it was out of necessity since I was making too much money for him to stay on state sponsored help and he'd have run out eventually. Looking back though, had he sustained that amount of drug intake for long he would have probably died. So he was back for good and conversely Ceci and Jadey and nearly every other friend I had at the time would have turned their backs on me and flocked to other, cooler individuals. All those kids that convinced me they would have killed themselves, starved themselves, cut themselves to shreds, OD'ed, etc had they not met me, who all imposed their problems and lives on mine for five years or more and took up every spare moment of my time and every inch of my heart all turned 18 at once. In turning 18 they realized they knew it all and I was no longer worth their time. "And if you think your words will ever make a difference Think again and carry on..." My husband and I are still together, but all those friends are long gone. I wish I could say he gave up all his demons, but he didn't. He simply traded the big ones for a myriad of lesser evils. He will never be straightedge. And though he claims to be proud of me, to this day he is convinced, utterly falsely, I am hiding some secret affair with the straightedge boy from years ago. I sat him down one day and asked "Do you get that we are straightedge? Do you get that in being straightedge we could not possibly cheat on our significant others and remain straightedge? Do you get that no matter how much he influenced me I barely knew him and he barely gave me the time of day? Do you get that what you are accusing me of is utterly impossible?”

Despite his insistence on this, the idea doesn't bother him enough for him to give up his own addictions and become edge himself. He no longer asks me to change and he is no longer violent, thank god. I no longer ask him to change, though I pray every day he will. We have been together for twenty years now and I have never been with anyone else. This doesn't keep me from dreaming of some nice sXe man who shares my ideals. But I think of it much like I imagine racing on the autobahn, knowing it will never actually happen and knowing I’d never do it even if I could. "We live on front porches and swing life away We get by just fine here on minimum wage If love is a labor I'll slave til the end..." Things in my life settled down for a bit as we prepared to see the boys again at Stubb's BBQ. Through myspace I found my friend Linda that I had not spoken to in fifteen years. As we sat on the balcony at Stubb's I kept one eye on the stage and the other on the door waiting to see her again. When she walked through the doors it was like the last fifteen years never even happened and instantly we picked up right where we left off and again were tearing through Austin with her at the wheel like we had so many times in the past. Because of this joyful reunion I was not first in line when the doors opened, I was buying rainbow necklaces in the gay shops in town and snickering over whether the guy behind the counter was flirting with my husband or not. - That was a strange memory for me, being in the very back of the audience for once, singing alone as Aaron sat on a rock and read a Robert Jordan novel. I was happy to be there, the music was incredible, but the feeling was all wrong. I was isolated and alone, in the back row with my fist raised and Aaron tugging at my arm every other song asking "What song is this? Do I know this one?". I wondered if Ceci was there in the front row, holding on to someone else and convincing them she would have killed herself if they hadn't come into her life. I imagined others in the front row, in our place, saluting Joe, singing our songs while I was the interloper that did not belong anymore. We walked out of the sold out show before the encore, a long drive home facing us. Aaron never lets me stay for the encores. He always wants to hit the road. As we walked to the car, with Worth Dying For wafting through the air above us, I blew a kiss to the wind and told Ceci goodbye. "Feel me rise in the strength I've found inside the warm embracing air Like a glacier melting watch me dissipate I searched for love in an empty world but all I found was hate" It was the lyrics of Rise Against that echoed in my head when I sat down to read the words of Marx and Lenin for the first time as a whole other world opened up for me. It was Rise Against that drove me on as I worked sixty hour weeks. "We're losing daylight but I can't work any faster Under the veil of dust we go on..." Their lyrics saw me through every major event of the last several years of my life. Appeal to Reason was released in the Fall of 2008 and though the year found me miserably poor and unemployed, I still bought it the day it came out. It was on my mp3 player and as I sat in the welfare office applying for food stamps I would hear the lyrics "Despite these petty fortunes we still can't afford a life...." for the first time and I would pause a moment just for the whole zeitgeist effect of it. For Christmas of 2008 I received an email from Ceci after a year and a half of ignoring my every attempt at contacting her. I had tried everything, even terribly childish measures to get some kind of reaction but every letter---first polite, then angry, then groveling-- every call, email, and package was met with silence. A year and a half passed and then I got the email saying "I got the new Rise Against and it made me realize how much I loved and missed you and loved AFI and I want to be friends again. I know you can't forgive me but can we be friends again? There's this song on that new Rise Against that

reminds me of you." True to the bond we had once held there was certainly a song on the new Rise Against that reminded me of us too: "Identities assume us as nine and five add up Synchronizing watches To the seconds that we lost I looked up and saw you I know that you saw me We froze but for a moment In empathy I brought down the sky for you but all you did was shrug" This was exactly what happened the last time we saw each other when she turned up her nose and pretended not to know who I was, just a week after sending me a letter saying how much she loved me. This led to the year plus of her not speaking to and ignoring all attempts at contact I made, even the immature ones. "And if you see me please just walk on by Walk on by Forget my name and I'll forget it too Failed attempts at living simple lives Simple lives Always keep me coming back to you." But too much time had passed and although that Christian weakness crippled me so with my husband, for once I stood strong and had no trouble in keeping the door to my heart shut. I told her not to contact me again. "I count the times that I've been sorry Now my compassion slowly drowns If there's a time these walls could guard you Then let that time be right now."

That doesn't mean that my mind does not still light to her like a bee to a flower, the years we were friends, that feeling of love and camaraderie and the bond I imagined we had. The last three Rise Against albums play the soundtrack of our friendship whenever I turn them on. When I play Appeal to Reason I wonder if this song reminds her of me:

"It kills me not to know this but I've all but just forgotten what the color of her eyes were and her scars or how she got them" If I close my eyes I am there again in that Port Aransas condo, the night we met face to face after talking online for so long. We are huddled together in the bedroom sharing the earphones of a cd player listening to Placebo's Sleeping With Ghosts. I am pulling down the zipper of my boot and showing her three freshly razored X's cut into my ankle, the blood still stuck to a wad of tissue pressed between my sock and skin. She is crying and wrapping her arms around me and telling me she understands everything and that someday she will show me her scars too. "I'll show you mine If you'll show me yours first Let's compare scars I'll tell you whose is worse Let's unwrite these pages and replace them with our own words..." She never did show me her scars. I wonder now if she even had any. There are lots of songs that transport me back then when she was my world. But now I know nothing about her nor anyone else I knew then was real and I wonder if that song ever reminds her of me and the way she led me to believe I was her lifeline, right up until the moment she cut me off and forgot me like a favorite toy after adolescence destroys the need for such playthings. "As the telling signs of age rain down a single tear is dropping through the valleys of an aging face that this world has forgotten ..." This is the music that accompanied my feet hitting the pavement of park sidewalks and treadmills, it is the melodies that buoyed me through endless work weeks and settled into the recesses of my heart in times of quiet contemplation. As I read words written years ago by writers we were never allowed to study in school, it is the soundtrack that played in my mind when those concepts began to make sense. When I read Ten Days that Shook the World by John Reed, what I was hearing in my head was

"but these ghosts come alive like water and wine walk through these streets singing songs and carrying signs, to them these streets belong.." As I struggled to understand the Communist Manifesto I was thinking to myself: "Unknowing, we lie and wait for the rain To wash away what they have made Face down in the dirt with your foot on my back In the distance I hear thunder crack C'mon Stand up! This system of power and privilege is about to come to an end Here come the clouds The first drop is falling down" I look back at many things and laugh. I remember when I was first looking for straightedge shirts I came upon one that said SUPPORT LEFTIST HARDCORE. I had no earthly idea what it meant and was way too scared to ask anyone. Now I can quote Trotsky. When I first turned edge I stopped eating meat for several months until my husband found out and started calling me a Communist. At the time it seemed like the worst thing in the world to be called. He still calls me a Communist but now with laughable results. I'll cock my head, say something to him in Russian, he'll mumble under his breath 'Yeah you only say that because you've had sex with the entire Communist party!", I'll roll my eyes and we go back to our common denominators of movie quotes, comic books, and making fun of people. I always loved the way the Russian alphabet looked and shortly after we were married I got a tramp stamp with his initials in Russian. He now claims it actually means "Welcome aboard, Comrade." I just laugh and we kid each other and life goes on. In the great Holy Grail of a search for wisdom that I thought could only come from the first straightedge boy I knew, I had one great fear: what if I found him again and he was no longer edge? I was terrified of this, sure that if he fell I would too, that if that touchstone was gone, all would be lost. This no longer worries me. I would be sad if it happened, but it would not affect my journey nor cause me to stumble because I have found my own way. It was hard way full of work, trial and error and pure blind luck. Maybe it would have been easier if things had gone differently and yet it is all mine and no one else's.

I have now seen Rise Against eight times each with its own small dramas, like when I was working for Job Corps, worked an 18 hour day, literally passed out in my car from low blood sugar and exhaustion—luckily before I had started the engine. I somehow made it home, downed two peanut butter sandwiches and went to the show where I had no energy to dance, but just stood there and sang.

The last show was the best in years for me. I was in the second row behind a little boy and his mom. His mom was my age and it was her son’s first concert. He was there to see NOFX. They put on an incredible show and I did my best to keep the crowd off the kid. As a reward, the mother gave me their spot and they went to the back when Rise Against came on. I had not been in the front row since that show with Ceci. I felt like I was twenty again. Rise Against is the music that scores ALL of this in my memory. It is the sound of hope and loss, of new directions and ideas, of the brass ring becoming just another small cog in the great, silent machinations of my soul. It is the music of discovering that the strength of the world lies inside my own heart. It is the sound of me walking away from what I loved, it is the joyous noise of friends you're certain is lost forever coming back to you. This is my so-called Rise Against life

#rise against lyrics #rise against #long post under cut #spilled ink

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deans-baby-momma · 4 years ago

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Mommy’s (Not So) Good Girl-20

A/N: Only 5 more chapters after this one and GREAT NEWS!!!Only 5 more day of September so I will be posting a chapter a day until Sept. 30th. Then I am going on a small hiatus (again) to try and cope with this new “illness” and all it’s lovely side effects.

I look at Dean wide-eyed as my mom’s voice sounds through the door. He jumps off the bed and I quickly crawl back under my comforter, pulling it up to my chest.

“Yea Mom,” Abby says, her voice shaking. “Come on in.”

Mom opens the door and I can tell when she realizes that Dean is in my room. She looks at him shocked and stops halfway in.

“What are you doing in here?” she asks him.

“I wanted to make sure she was okay. I saw a dispute between her and that Coleman boy. I wanted to find out what that was about,” Dean explains and it looks as though my Mom buys it because she smiles sweetly at him and then continues on into my room.

“That’s sweet of him, isn’t it Abs?”

“Ye-yea,” I stutter out. “He’s a good stepdad.”

“Can I have a few minutes with her?” My mom asks as she looks at Dean. He nods and heads out the door, looking back over his shoulder at me once he is behind her.

“What’s up Mom?” I ask as soon as he is out of sight.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry that your friend couldn’t make it tonight.”

“Huh?” I ask, confused.

“Your friend who you call ‘Daddy’.” she says, with a wiggle of her eyebrows. “You did invite him, didn’t you?”

“Oh. Yea, I called him but he had to work,” I lie through my teeth. “It’s okay. It’s no big deal.”

“It was nice of Dean to give you a kiss at midnight though, wasn’t it?” she asks as she sits in the very same spot he had taken just ten minutes ago. “He really watches out for you and Ben. I think he’d make an excellent stepdad.” She pauses and then adds, “and a wonderful dad.”

I feel sick to my stomach! Is she insinuating what I think she is?!

“Mom, are you pregnant?”

“What?” she laughs as she answers. “No. I’m not pregnant. But the thought has crossed my mind. Dean lost so much when his brother died. He is the last living member of his immediate family. I just think it’d be nice to give him someone to carry on the Winchester name.”

‘Oh my god!’ I think to myself. ‘Mom is actually considering carrying Dean’s child! No, no no!’

“Yea, that would be nice. But-” I pause to be able to word my inquiry correctly. “Does Dean want kids? I mean sure he is awesome with me and with Ben but does he want his own?”

“I don’t know,” Mom says. “But if it were to happen, he’d have to be happy about it, right?”

“Mom, you cannot get pregnant without talking about it with him first.”

Mom sighs and then her shoulders slump. “Yea, you’re right. What was I thinking?!”

I breathe in relief that it seems that she has decided to forgo her plan of “accidentally” getting pregnant.

I couldn't go to sleep after Mom dropped that bombshell.

What was she thinking?! Did she actually believe Dean would be happy if she were to get pregnant? Would he? I know for a fact that they use protection, so he is trying not to knock her up right?

During Thanksgiving I had found an empty condom wrapper in her trashcan as I was gathering up the garbage in the house so I knew Dean, at least, had been thorough and had wrapped up.

I lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, trying my best not to think of Dean impregnating my mother. That would just be so wrong!

Hopefully I talked some sense into her and she won't proceed with her nefarious and outrageous plan. I can only hope that if she were to get pregnant that it is after some honest discussion with the man and that he was on board with the idea as well.

Although, I don't think Dean is actually ready to settle down and have his own family.

Yes, he a excellent role model for Ben and the whole neighborhood thinks he and Mom are perfect for each other, they don't know he's also fucking me. Not so ideal now, is he?

VALENTINE'S DAY

Once again the campus is inundated with decorations. Big, red floating hearts seem to be posted everywhere, along with cutouts of that stupid baby with the bow and arrow and balloons seemingly come out of nowhere, getting right in the way.

Why college students insist on celebrating this holiday is beyond me. It's just another excuse to get drunk and try to bang someone. So many of my classmates throughout the last couple of years have had to pull back on their studies or completely drop out because a good Valentine romp ended up with a nice little surprise come Thanksgiving; a surprise in the form of a cute little baby.

I refuse to be one of those girls who get so blindly drunk she succumbs to the lame attempts by fellow college guys and 9 months later, alone and with a child to care for.

I swat away at the millionth red bag of air as my phone pings in my hand. I look at the screen and smile when I see 'Daddy' has sent me a message.

>Happy Valentine's Day sweetheart

>>Happy Valentine's Day Daddy. I miss you.

>God, I miss you too. My party was boring without you here.

Mom had thrown Dean a surprise birthday party at the end of January but I'd had a big exam to prep for so I couldn't make it home to attend.

>>I'm sorry. I had to study. I'll make it up to you, I promise.

>How about today? Right now?

>>Now?

>Look up.

My head jerks up and there he is! I look around and my eyes fall on that black muscle car I remember from my childhood. The one that's been parked in the garage at home for months; Dean's excuse to spend time with Ben fixing it up and keeping it running.

Leaning against the top of the shiny ebony vehicle is the man who plagues my dreams, at night and during the day. The way the sun shines creates a flawless glow around his head, almost like a halo. I smile as I cross the street toward him.

"What are you doing here?" I can’t help but to ask, but secretly giddy that he is here.

"Couldn't let today pass by without seeing you Abby. Thought you might allow me to take you to lunch, show me around your 'home away from home'," he says as I step toward him and he opens his arms. I gladly walk right into his embrace, moving my books to one arm.

I want to tiptoe and kiss him but I don't want anyone seeing anything that would raise questions, inquiries I didn't want to answer. Right now, a hug looks innocent. Just a guy hugging a girl in greeting.

“Sure,” I say as I smile up at him. “I was just gonna drop my books off in my room and then go to the food cart down the way. C’mon.”

As we walk toward my dorm, I can’t help but feel special, feel important. Dean took the day to come an hour away to see me, on the day of love no less. Wait, does that mean what I think it means? Is there a more significant reason he is here? Is he here to declare feelings for me?

I shake those thoughts from my head, determined not to question his visit but just enjoy it. So what if he drove almost 70 miles? He does it because he cares. Nothing more than that. I’m not going to scrutinize it; no, I’m going to enjoy the few hours I get to spend with the man. What’s that old saying, ‘don't look a gift horse in the mouth’? Yea I’m not going to do that.

When we get my dorm room, I unlock the door and walk in, holding it open so he can follow. Thank goodness Sheila isn’t here because I really don’t want to share any time I get to spend with Dean with anyone else. For a few hours today, he is mine.

Placing my books on my desk, I turn to see Dean looking around the room with his head nodding slightly.

“So, you want to go with me to the food cart or-” I say nervously. Wait, why the hell am I nervous? Oh yea, that’s right; there is a bed not even 5 feet away and the man I have dreamed of being in that bed right there. My dream could actually come through. Getting back on track, I clear my throat. “-we could go to the cafe across campus. It’s a bit of a walk but it’s decent outside today. You know, for the middle of February in the north.”

“Yea we can do that baby,” he says with a smirk. “As soon as you tell me what’s wrong. You’re acting all shifty. Should I have called first? Do you have a date for Valentine’s Day?” He quirks and eyebrow at me.

I giggle and respond. “Uh, no. No date. Just you’re in my room. And my bed is-” I explain as I point toward the furniture. “-is right here. I’ve dreamed of you and me in that bed, ya know.”

Dean steps closer and I can see the humor of the situation on his face. “And? What are we doing in the bed?”

I feel a flush come up my neck. Why am I embarrassed now? It’s not like we haven’t done it. “Fucking,” I answer honestly, which earns me a wide smile from the man in front of me.

“Well, how long will your roommate be gone?”

“Couple hours, I think.”

“Okay, so what do you say we go grab a bite to eat and then come back and make those dreams come true?”

Finally feeling bold again, I rip my sweater over my head and say, “Why wait?”

Dean hurriedly jerks his shirt off and I watch in awe. He unbuttons his jeans and pulls them down his legs before standing up again. This man is going to be the death of me.

“I need you Abby,” is all he says before I rush him, tackling him to the mattress.

@lostinaseaoffictionalbliss @spnbaby-67 @tftumblin @sea040561 @delightfullykrispypeach @larajadeschmidt13 @vicariouslythruspn @squirrelnotsam @death-unbecomes-you @sandlee44 @blacktithe7 @deanwanddamons @hoboal87 @marvelfanbrenda @vicmc624 @smoothdogsgirl @elliloumom @stoneyggirl @kricketc29

#series #Mommy's (Not So) Good Girl #dean winchester #lisa braeden #abby braeden #ben braeden #dean x lisa #dean x abby #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #spn fic #spn fanfic #between season 5 and 6 #Smut #angst #fluff

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beautifulterriblequeen · 4 years ago

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What if moonshadow elves lost knowledge about themselves?

Hello, hope you have a nice day ! :D

(wait, is it day, for you?) hem! Anyway.

I was analylzing Moonshadow elves again and now I’m asking myself something, wonder what you would think about it:

Remember my “epiphany about the moon arcanum”?, when I said there’s maybe another side of their arcanum Moonshadow elves don’t know about? Something more life-light related:hope.

At first I said “they don’t know about” without really thinking about it. But, what if it’s true? I mean, what if there truly is a part they don’t know about their arcanum, or maybe forgot along the years? What if the war made Moonshadow elves focus so much on death-kill and all they kinda…. lost some of their knowledge about themselves?

(I think I remember one of your old analysis (I think it was you, I can’t find it anymore), where you compared “young ethari” in the endcredits to the actual one. Where we saw him first doing jewelry, full of hope about life, and the actual one who let that aside to focus on the war)

Add to this their community is described as “really close-knit”, which means more or less isolationism and so a stagnant, unable to evolve society. A society where the same rules were applied for centuries and so inevitably lost their deep meaning with time.

I thought it was maybe exaggerated to think this way, but then I remembered the creators said there is 5000years of history in TDP. Even with longer lifespan, there’s no way elves didn’t forget some things with time. (I compare this situation to another one: some discoveries were recently made in egypt, and we learned that a few thousands years ago egyptian themselves re-discovered things they had discovered several centuries prior and forgot)

So I tried to find proof in the show and the novelization, and guess what? We have some! (or, well, it’s more my HC, but as I said, it’ just a theory)

I think this way especially because of Runaan, who was so sure there was “only one way to release”. But then, Zym came and cut Rayla’s ribbon. My personal HC on this is that only the life who was supposed to be avenged can release the assassin from the binding. It would make sense when you know Moonshadow elves “take life but they do not take it lightly”. But even if I’m mistaking, the central fact is that there is more than one way and, clearly, Moonshadow elves don’t know it (if the leader of the assassins doesn’t, then who could?)

What I find interesting here, is that Runaan recites this ritual at the beginning, about how precious life is, like a litany but the way he insists (especially in the novel) about killing Ezran even after he saw the egg, could be the proof it’s just that, a ritual. A ritual whose words lost all their sense, their deep meaning for his people.

Ok, it’s not much, but I think the combination of isolationism, stucking to rules without understanding them deeply and time, is the perfect recipe to lose your way, no?

Oh, and a crazy other point in between these two theories about “hope” and “lost knowledge” woud be: If there is another aspect of the moon, other elves more hope-related (like Ethari or Rayla), why not another form?

Like sunfire elves have heat and light-being mode, Moonshadow elves could have something else too?. It’s probably stupid, I’m only thinking this way because of how Rayla feels while in moonshadow form in the novelization. It’s not that she hates it or something, but it makes her feel dizzy, as if she wasn’t suited for this. And if not, maybe it’s because she’s suited for another form?

(sorry, I hope I’m coherent on this one, I’m a little exhausted and my thoughts are a little messy ^^’)

______________

Okay, @lily-lilou, just let me catch my breath, this whole thing is a ride and I loved it. We definitely vibing here, fam.

whew

Okay, from the top, because I’ve had a lot of these thoughts myself and I’m so stoked to see someone else independently coming up with them!

Yes 100% to Moonshadows losing a part of their own history. (And yeah, I do have a post somewhere on Ethari’s evolution. Probably called it that iirc) If we’re right about Moonshadows having lived in Katolis before the lands were divided, living right near their own Nexus as the Sunfires still do, then when they packed up and left, it’s very possible they literally couldn’t bring everything with them.

I have a quirky little hc that there are still, to this day, Moonshadow villages hiding behind ancient protection spells in Katolis, and that people wander past them every day and have no idea. But it’s one thing not to be able to pack up your actual village. It’s another to leave behind records of your people’s past, their accomplishments and dealings and discoveries.

*eyes Lujanne’s truly massive library, with its huge walls covered in runes and books* This is where the full history of the Moonshadow people probably is kept. And no one has access to it but her.

Those who headed east would only know what they carried with them, and what was handed down orally through the generations. But see, if my headcanon about the Moonshadow assassins being created at that time ends up being true, then that’s probably bad news for history and truth. When you create a whole new class within your culture, you need to bolster it with ideology. You use myth, cultural norms, and current events to make it seem important.

You tell everyone that being an assassin is the most honorable job there is. And then it’s suddenly cool to be an assassin.

If there were no Moonshadow assassins before the humans were booted out west, then everything Runaan says to Rayla, everything he believes, is pretty young compared to his people’s full history, which he may not know, at least in its true and undistorted form. It’s an illusion. Rhetoric. Propaganda meant to hold soft elves who deeply value life to the hardest task they’ll ever undertake: taking that life from another, for a cause they cannot turn away from, a purpose they are culturally indebted to. Because their people, their princess (?), was the one who asked for the humans to be spared, and so every mistake the humans make from that point on is the Moonshadow elves’ duty to handle.

Runaan was wrong about how many ways there are to release. Has Zym truly been the only victim who wasn’t actually dead, in a whole thousand years? Honestly, probably not, knowing how politics works. But see, if you have an elite squad devoted to serving Xadia, and you tell them that their hands will literally fall off and they will die if they don’t do their jobs because there is only one way to release the ribbon they’re honor-bound to wear, they will take their target or die trying. And if you maybe exaggerated reports of the victim’s death for political purposes and actually have them in a dungeon, or they fled to the human lands as a refugee, or any number of other squirrelly options that Moonshadows aren’t naturally inclined to consider, then you can literally get away with murder-by-proxy. Or containment. Or intimidation. Or whatever your purpose is in taking out a human target who may or may not even be guilty of the crime you allege against them. It might not even be Zubeia and Avizandum’s fault. Unless they can detect truth and lies, they can be deceived by someone unscrupulous with an agenda of their own.

Long paragraph long, there are a lot of problems with the existence and practical duties of Moonshadow assassins. They’re kind of like the War Doctor: born form conflict, and thus only able to serve it, instead of peace. Yes, we all want Runaan to get his happy ending, retire, go home to his soft husband. But really, the whole institution of the assassins needs to go. It was born of war, and if Xadia and the human lands make peace, truly, then the assassins should be dissolved. As I said in one of my fics, Moonshadow assassins are Xadia’s dark magic, turning death into power. It’s gotta stop on both sides.

One of my oneshots for January’s Ruthari Week played with the idea of Ethari having a moonform instead of a shadowform, because yes to elves having two kinds of forms in each culture! I would love to see that for all the elves. And if we use Sunfire elves as a kind of roadmap, with “sun” and “fire” being the heat- and light-beings, then maybe the other elves get their two forms from their names as well. Or so my headcanon went for that fic: a moon form to balance the shadow form, where the elf’s body can glow like the full moon. I didn’t really touch on what that form’s ability would be, but I suppose, logically, it would serve as a portable full moon, powering other nearby Moonshadows even when the moon was down, or new, or a small crescent.

Okay, that’s just fun. I like that idea a lot. The only time “just stand there and look pretty” can be used as a battle tactic!

I can see Rayla getting to have the rare Moonshadow power. That would make her a good balance for Callum and his unusual arcanum as a human. Part misfit, part superpower. It would also probably be a power that puts her closer to Ethari’s soft and protective attitude, no matter what the power really is, since the assassins in Moonshadow culture have clearly adopted their natural shadowy form as a mission tactic, attacking specifically on full moon nights. Literally any other kind of power is probably going to be softer, lighter, more lively and bright, in concept if not literally so. Maybe the other power kicks in on new moons? or is available at any time? I really hope we get a second Moonshadow power of some kind. I am down for all the extra worldbuilding!

Thanks once again for your thoughts! *fist bump* Moonshadow elves. You get it.

#asks #tdp speculatoin #tdp headcanons #moonshadow elves #rayla #runaan #callum #submission

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ghost-in-the-hella · 5 years ago

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anything pricefield with 17. “We should go somewhere. Just the two of us. How does that sound?” :)

Once again, I seem to have misplaced the “short” in my short story. Enjoy me absolutely eviscerating Max’s parents, though. Unbeta’d and unrevised, so please take it with a grain of salt.

---

Dinner with the Caulfields hasn’t gotten any less awkward in the three months since the storm. If anything, it’s gotten worse.

Chloe’s been trying. She really, really has. She always walks around the corner from the house when she needs a cigarette no matter how hard it’s raining, and she’s down to three smokes a day at this point anyway. She hasn’t smoked pot at all, apart from a couple times when they were hanging out with Max’s friends and they offered. She made very, very sure to cover the scent on both herself and Max before they got back, but somehow she suspects Max’s parents still knew. She grew out the last remnants of blue in her hair because Vanessa wouldn’t stop making snide comments about it. Of course, as soon as she cut off everything but the three or four inches of remaining blonde Vanessa just started snarking about her hair being too short. She never complains about being compelled to sleep on the couch even though Max said she’d be happy to share her room. Even though there’s a fucking guest room right next to Max’s room, but “oh what if Maxine’s grandparents want to come for a visit; we can’t have the sheets smelling like cigarettes” - never mind that nobody’s come to visit at all since they’ve been here. Even though her nightmares since they left Arcadia Bay have been The Worst and it’d be really nice to have a living person nearby when she wakes up from them in the dead of night.

She’s even been looking for a job so she can start paying rent like the Caulfields keep unsubtly hinting they want her to. Funny thing, though: turns out high school dropouts with no work experience, a criminal record, severe PTSD symptoms, and highly visible tattoos aren’t exactly in high demand in the workforce. Go figure.

Earlier that day she even had her first interview in over a month: an underpaid barista gig at a local coffee shop. She’d showered and brushed her teeth and made sure she was wearing clean, unstained, untorn clothes and everything. She’d even shaved her legs, which was probably stupid because it’s January and there was no way in hell the interviewer would see her legs, but she was just so desperate to make a good impression she wasn’t thinking clearly.

So of course she fucked it all up. Honestly, it was fucked before she even went in. They probably only even called her in to meet a quota or some shit. The person interviewing her liked her tattoos, which seemed promising, but he liked her criminal record and total lack of experience a lot less. Classic Chloe Price: fucking up every opportunity before she even enters the room.

So when the Caulfields start laying into her over “family” dinner, she’s even less in the mood for it than usual. It starts with a couple of none-too-subtle digs about the smell of cigarettes, and what an unpleasant smell that is for a non-smoker to endure when they’re trying to eat, and Maxine, dear, can you even imagine marrying a smoker and how awful that would be; why, they’ve all got one foot in the grave already. Chloe put on cologne and brushed her teeth again after the cigarette she stress-smoked after her interview, but Vanessa’s got the nose of a bloodhound.

This is followed by a series of apparently-casual-but-actually-very-rehearsed comments to Max about colleges in the area, and what a great idea it would be for her to apply to one of them when she finishes her GED so she can further her education and still live at home with her parents; certainly she won’t want to stray far from home again, not with, well, everything that happened at Blackwell (not that the Caulfields ever actually talk about what happened at Blackwell). Nobody asks Chloe how her GED is going (surprisingly well, actually) or what her plans for college might be (waste of time and money, probably), and Max just quietly pushes her peas around on her plate and tries to answer without answering.

Once this line of questioning (pressuring) is exhausted, Ryan turns his attention to Chloe - the first time anybody but Max has addressed her directly since she returned this afternoon. “So, Chloe. Maxine tells us you had a job interview today.”

Max almost chokes on her peas, flicking frantic blue eyes toward Chloe to silently scream that ohfuckshedidnotmeanforthistobedinnerconversationpleasepleasepleaseforgive.

Chloe swallows the impulse to put a calming hand on Max’s knee to reassure her; no way that would escape Vanessa’s eagle eyes. Instead, she clears her throat and focuses on the crumbs in Ryan’s beard. “Uh, yeah. Coffee shop.”

“That’s great!” Ryan’s enthusiasm catches Chloe utterly off-guard.

“It… is?” She glances at Max to nonverbally inquire whether Max’s dad has perhaps been replaced by a pod person in the past five minutes. Max shrugs silently, looking as baffled as Chloe feels.

“It is!” Ryan affirms. “I have to say, it’s good to see you showing some initiative. Of course, it’s been, ahh, a real... trip down memory lane, having you with us. But, well, one cannot live on nostalgia alone - however much Max may disagree, with her polaroid and her vinyl collection.” Ryan chuckles, shaking his head as he gazes fondly at his increasingly confused daughter. “And, of course, one cannot live on charity alone.” His gaze settles on Chloe once more, every trace of fondness now abruptly vanished.

“...Dad?”

“Now, now, Maxine; I know it’ll be an adjustment, but--”

“Are you kicking me out??” Somehow, Chloe manages to squeeze the words out even though her lungs feel like they’ve been punched out of her chest.

Ryan and Vanessa exchange a look, and holy shit they totally fucking are.

“Dad? Mom?” Max’s voice is trembling. She sounds like she’s about to cry. It’s hard to confirm, since all Chloe can see is red. “Are you?”

“‘Kicking out’ is a bit harsh,” Ryan objects without denying it. “But it’s been three months, Maxine, and we all agreed that this arrangement would only be temporary. It simply seems--”

Max stands abruptly, her silverware rattling on the table. “She-- She didn’t even get the job, Dad! It’s just an interview; she might not even--”

“Maxine, really!” Vanessa exclaims, mortified.

“Now, Maxine; we’re not going to just throw her out on the street. But--”

Chloe can’t listen to another word of this. She’s fucked. She’s completely and utterly fucked. She already lost her parents, her hometown, everything she owned, Rachel, everyone and everything but what she’s managed to scrape together here in Seattle… And now she’s going to lose that, too. She’s not going to get the job. She won’t have anywhere to live. Max’s parents won’t let her visit. She’ll probably never see Max again. And honestly, Max will be better off for it.

Chloe’s not sure how she got to Max’s room or how long she’s been there, but the next thing she knows she’s being spooned by a puffy-eyed Max on the too-small bed Max slept in the five years they were apart. Max is saying something to her, and it takes a few minutes before Chloe can make out anything more detailed than the sweet softness of her voice, the slight, familiar rasp to it like she’s always just woken up.

“I’m sorry,” she’s whispering over and over, “I’m sorry.”

“S’okay,” Chloe murmurs when she can persuade her vocal cords to engage. “S’not your fault your parents are dicks.”

Max freezes for a moment then squeezes Chloe tightly. “I’ll talk to them,” she promises.

“Nah.” Chloe shakes her head. Her eyes hurt. “No reason you should tank your relationship with your folks just because I’m a fuckup. I’ll figure something out.”

“You’re not a fuckup!” Max objects, pulling away so she can look Chloe in the eye. “You’re not,” she insists when Chloe gives her a skeptical look. “My parents are just…” She lets out a burdened sigh.

“Dicks?” Chloe suggests.

“Yeah.” She strokes Chloe’s hair in silence, and Chloe lets her. She relaxes into the quiet of the moment. It’s going to be okay. Somehow, it’s going to be okay. She has no idea how, but Max will make it happen. Eventually, Max’s hand stills and Chloe can feel her chest tense as words attempt to form in her mouth. She waits patiently for whatever Max is trying to figure out how to say. “We should go somewhere. Just the two of us. How does that sound?”

Chloe lifts her head from Max’s shoulder to look her in the eye. Max looks slightly nervous, but mostly she looks determined. “You’re serious?”

Max nods. “Completely. Anywhere you want.” She scratches the back of her neck and gives Chloe a sheepish smile. “Well. Anywhere you want that we can realistically get to, anyway.”

“Hmm, good point. We probably can’t drive to Paris.”

Max laughs. “So you want to? No nagging, no job interviews, no--”

“No separate beds?” Chloe cuts in.

Max makes a face at her then giggles. “No separate beds,” she agrees. “Just Max and Chloe and the open road.”

“Uhhh, no shit I want to! But your parents--”

“They’ll get over it.” Max shrugs. “Or they won’t. But if it’s a choice between staying here without you or leaving with you, then I’m with you to the end of the road.”

There are a million things that Chloe should say. Admonishments, expressions of gratitude, admissions of fear, declarations of love. Chloe swallows them all when Max leans in for her kiss.

#writing prompts #prompt fic #LiS #Life is Strange #pricefield #Chloe price #max caulfield #Max's parents are the worst tho

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