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hide-in-imagination · 2 years ago

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"Roads That Cross... With Memories"

You can read the previous chapters here: (1),(2), (3), (4), (5), (6), (7), (8), (9), (10), (11), (12), (13), (14), (15), (16), (17), (18), (19), (20), (21), (22), (23), (24), (25), (26)

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Happy early Christmas, everybody! ♡

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In the blink of an eye, three whole days had passed since the return of Juliana. The Roller was lively, the music and the colors seeming more vibrant now that everything was back to how it used to be. Well, not everything, but as Nina’s fingers flew around the keyboard, the familiar sound of typing joining the cheery voices of her friends, she contemplated that things were always changing, nothing ever stayed the same forever, and that was okay because it allowed growth.

Luna wasn’t the same now that she knew who she truly was, but she’d gained more family and the ability to finally let go of the wondering and the empty space. Nico was no longer there, but he’d left for New York chasing his dreams. Nina herself would soon be graduating high school and doing God knows what. Something related to writing, for sure. She had some ideas, but it was still hard to imagine that by this time next year she’d be at university. Her life, and everyone’s lives, were going to change so much, and in ways only the future could tell.

All of this she wrote on her laptop— Her musings about time and how fast it went by. Permanence. Change. Future. Her mind was full of these things because time, slowly and tortuously, had snuck up on her.

Gastón would be flying back to England tomorrow.

Nina’s fingers stumbled and stopped their typing. Procrastinating writing philosophical thoughts was probably not a good idea. It helped her think though, and think she had, all these days, exhaustively. She didn’t think she’d thought this much about Gastón since when she was first crushing on him years ago.

She also thought a lot about herself. About what she wanted.

She thought of Eric too.

She even thought of Xavi, sweet Xavi, and of a hundred hypothetical guys she could maybe meet in the future.

Future. Past. Possibilities. Fears. Wishes.

In the end, even if she rationalized everything and tried to find the right answer like in the question of a test, what really mattered were her feelings.

There was no ‘right’ answer because no one knew what would happen— She could only decide on what she wanted.

And she did.

Taking a deep breath, Nina grabbed her phone to follow through on what she had set out to do this morning. She tapped her screen, going through different chats until she found his contact.

N: Can we talk this afternoon?

N: I have my answer.

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

Keen eyes looked through documents; checking, evaluating.

“Okay, as far as I see it, everything’s in order.” Ana smiled. “This event is going to be great.”

Ámbar placed a hand on her chest and sighed in relief. “Thank you so much, Ana.” She received the papers from her and tucked them in the folder. “I want this to be the best Roller Jam ever. You’re invited, by the way.”

Ana laughed lightly. “Thank you, I’d love to come.” She put her phone and pen back into her purse and began to stand. “I’ll get going now, I have a hearing in a couple of hours.”

“Yeah— Oh! Ana! Before I forget.” Ana stopped to hear her. “Could you contact that accountant friend you told me about and see if they can come here one of these days?” Ámbar asked. “Because with the Open Music I could somehow manage, but this event is bigger and there’ll be a lot more things to consider, I could really use their help.”

“Of course,” Ana said with a smile. “I’ll call her later and ask her, but I don’t think she’ll have any problem.”

“Awesome. Thank you so much, Ana,” Ámbar said for maybe the fifth time that day, but she was truly a godsend. “I really don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’re completely welcomed.” Ana waved as she walked away. “See you later, Ámbar.”

“See you!”

Ámbar grabbed her notepad and scratched ‘Check the documents with Ana’ out of her To-do list. The preparations for the Roller Jam had been going smoothly thus far. She had shown Simón some reference pics she’d found on the internet of Día de los Muertos decorations and he’d helped her pick what would work best for the event. The budget was approved by Vidia and she had almost all planned out. To be honest, she thought she could have this done in a matter of days if it were only the Roller Jam she had to worry about, like back when she did the Flash Open, but now she had her everyday manager responsibilities on top of it, which left her very little time to work on the event.

She’d thought of just doing it in her free time, but Simón quickly advised her against it. ‘If they’re not paying you for pulling extra hours, don’t do them; it’s not worth it. I learned that years ago.’ Sometimes she forgot that he had so much work experience. She felt sorry for him for having felt the need to start working so young, but she also admired him a lot for it. He knew so many things that she didn’t, like something as crucial to life as cooking a meal, and he always gave his best at everything he did. She hoped that he could live his dream soon. He was a great musician and he deserved to be recognized for it, he deserved to give his best at what he really wanted to do.

And then… what about her?

Ámbar paused with her pen in hand. It wasn’t like being the manager of the Roller was her life dream. After this job was over… what would she do with her life? What did she want to do?

She spent some minutes looking at the document in front of her, pretending to read it while actually contemplating life.

A presence came up to her table.

“Hey, Ámbar.”

Ámbar looked up, snapping out of her thoughts. She was immediately surprised. This was unexpected.

“Can I talk to you?” Matteo asked her, hesitant, probably because he also knew how unusual this was. “As in, in private?”

Ámbar’s brows drew together a little. “Uh… Sure.” It was a strange request but she saw no reason to say no. It wasn’t like she was being very productive at the moment.

She stood from her seat and Matteo walked towards the dressing room, so she followed him there. Once inside, she closed the door behind her. “What’s up?”

“Well, first of all, I wanted to say that I really like your Día de los Muertos idea for a Roller Jam,” Matteo said. “We were all worried, to be honest, when you first became the Roller’s manager, but I gotta admit, you’ve come up with very good things since then, and I think you deserve some credit.”

Ámbar blinked. Okay… had she entered some alternate dimension without her knowing or something? Why was Matteo telling her this? “Wow, um, thank you…? I’m doing my best to be the best manager I can be,” she said.

“Of course, of course. And the best girlfriend you can be too,” Matteo added, this time jokingly. “Should I be offended that you never threw an Italian party for me while we were dating? Nor did you do it for Benicio. Now that I think about it—Do you know if Simón has any Italian heritage? Maybe you have a type.”

She liked him better when he was being formal and appreciative.

“I’m trying to forget I ever dated you, and Benicio was nothing more than a momentary lapse of judgment,” she said coolly. “Now, is there a point to this conversation?”

Matteo looked nervous again. “Right. Yes. I, um… I wanted to ask you for a favor.”

Of course. “And what would that be?”

“Would it be possible for me to perform a song at the Roller Jam?”

Ámbar frowned a little. “Um… I mean, Simón and Luna are gonna sing one, but you’re not from México, Matteo. Why do you wanna sing? To promote your new song?”

Matteo averted his gaze, hesitant. “I’m not from México…” He said slowly, “…but Luna is.”

Ámbar’s brows shot to her hairline and her jaw dropped.

“I wanna do a surprise for her,” Matteo said fast while she snorted in disbelief, “so if you could also not tell anyone that I’ll be singing, that’d be great. It’d only be one song—”

“You do realize that you’re asking me, your ex, to do a surprise for the girl you dumped me for.”

“I broke up with you for many reasons; only one of them was Luna. And you broke up with me too— And,” he added quickly before she could refute, “didn’t you just say that you wanted to forget we ever happened?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, whatever.”

Matteo looked away and tucked his hands in the pocket of his pants. “For what is worth… I’m sorry for how I acted during our relationship. I know I wasn’t the best boyfriend, especially the Luna thing… Though, in my defense, Gastón was the one who dared me to make her fall for me.”

“Gastón did what?” And he had the audacity to act all goody-goody? “Oooh, I hope Nina doesn’t forgive him,” she spat. It was common knowledge to everyone with eyes that Gastón was hoping for something with Nina judging by the longing stares he sent her 24/7. After this? Ámbar was tempted to introduce her to another guy herself.

“Hey, I was the one who listened to him.”

“I know,” she told him with a glare; he wasn’t even subtle about it.

A flash of shame passed across Matteo’s face much to Ámbar’s satisfaction. Good. Now they could lay this whole thing to rest. “Thank you for the apology,” she said in a kinder tone. “You’re two years late, but I guess it’s better than never.”

“Well, with the way you were acting, I didn’t feel much like apologizing to you.”

She glared at him again. Fair. Didn’t mean she had to admit it.

“You’re still asking me for a favor, remember?” She said. That shut him up. “And I was not the only one insufferable— In fact…” She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “What about Simón?”

Matteo frowned. “What about him?”

“Well, you were unfaithful to me, but you antagonized him for two years straight, including when you publicly humiliated him in that Vidia interview. Did you apologize to him?” She asked with indignation.

Matteo stared at her for a moment with a silly face. “Wow. Who would’ve thought you’d ever get this defensive over someone other than yourself.”

“Matteo.”

He sighed, getting back to the point. “I tried, some time ago. He didn’t let me. He told me to forget about it, that it was all in the past. That I’m a different person now and he is happy we’re friends.”

Ámbar deflated and face-palmed. “Of course, he did.” She looked to the side with mild annoyance. “I can’t believe I’ll have to get angry in his stead for the rest of my life.”

“Or… you could learn from him and don’t hold grudges,” Matteo suggested.

Ámbar looked at him like he was insane. “Do you even know me at all?” She extended her hand in greeting. “Hi, Ámbar Smith, we dated for years, do you recall?”

Matteo laughed slightly, and for a moment it looked like that would be all— they’d buried the hatched, finally. But then his face clouded with worry. “You’re treating him right, right?”

For the second time in this conversation, Ámbar’s jaw dropped to the underworld. “Oh my god, I can not believe this— Another couple’s counselor!” She threw her hands up. “They’re just everywhere these days!”

Matteo frowned confusedly. “Another?”

“I’m not gonna talk about my relationship with you Matteo,” Ámbar told him in all seriousness.

“I just wanted to make sure—” She gave him a pointed look. “Okay, fine, I get it,” he backed off. He stared at her. “So…”

“So?”

“Can I perform at the Roller Jam?”

Ah right, that.

Ámbar narrowed her eyes, calculating.

“You would owe me a big favor,” she started. “Immediate the moment I call it in; non-negotiable. If I decide I want you to repay me by singing ‘Pocket full of sunshine’ dressed in a bright yellow duck costume in front of the whole Roller, you do it.”

Fear flickered in Matteo’s eyes. “…Simón wouldn’t let you do that to me.”

Ámbar smiled. “Simón would be the first to want to see that.”

Matteo remained quiet.

Ámbar offered him her hand, smiling wide and devilishly. “Do we have a deal?”

Matteo looked at her hand with clear reluctance and sighed. He shook it. “Deal. But please have mercy.”

Oh, how she loved having power over someone.

“I make no promises.”

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

As tedious as handling the lockers could be sometimes, there were occasions in which the peace and quiet could be very useful. Lately, for Simón, the downtimes in this room had been the perfect opportunity to work on new songs.

He spun his pen around in his hand, staring down at the words he’d written on his notepad.

Es la fuerza que golpea fuerte al corazón

La fuerza incalculable que hay en una canción

Un volcán de cosas buenas que entra en erupción

That was it, those were all the lyrics he had for now for this song. He couldn’t even call it a song yet. It was more like a concept, but he liked it, so he’d written it down so he wouldn’t forget. They had other songs in the making with Pedro currently, more romantic ones, some fast, some slow. Those were far more developed than this, so maybe, he thought, he should be working on finishing those instead of pondering over random words that came to him, but who was he to question inspiration? Nothing would ever start if he did.

Not like he was having much luck at coming up with anything beyond these three verses. But, well, that wasn’t unusual.

He had the beginnings of a melody though, like a tiny spark that if he managed to fuel enough could turn into a full-blown bonfire. He started humming and left his pen on the counter. Maybe focusing on the melody first was the way to go for this one.

Loud, sharp footsteps and voices snapped him out of his reverie and made him turn his head to the left just as a woman stormed in, followed closely by a glaringly worried Eric who looked like he’d sprinted to reach her.

Simón remembered this woman. She had come in here with her son only 15 minutes earlier or so.

He did not remember her glaring at him like this back then.

The woman seethed. “You.”

Simón abandoned all thoughts of lyrics and music.

This was not good.

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

Ámbar had just sat down mere minutes ago when the commotion reached her.

She lifted her head from her papers just in time to see a woman furiouslywalking up to her. She was pulling a little boy by the hand with her, and Simón and Eric appeared right behind them, concern on their faces.

The woman looked middle-aged or maybe younger. She had short, dark blond hair and wore a wine-colored open cardigan over a black floral top. A mom look if she had ever seen one. She stood right in front of Ámbar’s table, her whole stance one of outrage. “You’re the manager?”

Ámbar straightened up and stood from her seat immediately. “Yes, is there a problem?”

“My son just fell down in the middle of the rink because the skates you provided had stuck wheels,” the woman fumed. She showed her the skates in question, lifting them momentarily with her free hand. “Look at him, he could’ve broken something for your negligence! How is this possible?!”

Ámbar gave a good look to the boy next to her. He didn’t look older than eleven. The resemblance with his mother was obvious in the matching sand blond hair and features. He was wearing a Spiderman t-shirt and jean shorts, which left in plain sight his bleeding right elbow and knee. He looked like he’d been crying.

Ámbar swallowed and stretched out her hand. “Can I see the skates?”

The woman handed her the skates and Ámbar checked the wheels immediately, swiping them down with her right hand to make them spin. Indeed, two wheels weren’t working, one on each skate— They were completely tightened up.

“See?” The woman said with indignation. “Who wouldn’t fall with skates like that? My son has been rollerskating since he was five years old— He never would’ve fallen if it weren’t for those things!”

Ámbar could’ve pointed out that even professionals fall sometimes in this sport, that skating of any kind comes hand in hand with falling, but she gathered it was in her best interest to not agitate this woman even more.

She looked at Eric, who was standing by the tables in front of the stage, watching everything that was happening with a worried expression. And he was not the only one— Delfi and Jazmín were a few tables over there, not to mention at least four other customers who were listening to all of this. This was bad.

“Eric, could you please bring the emergency kit from the dressing room? Quickly.” Seeing him following her command, Ámbar looked back at the woman. “I’m so sorry this happened,” she said, heartfelt. “You can treat his wounds here, you should have everything you need.”

The woman only looked offended. “And you think that is enough? Look at my son!” The kid’s gaze was on the floor, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else but there as his wounds shone bright red. “I will not allow this establishment to work like this! I want restitution and I want that boy fired!”

She pointed her finger at Simón, who was standing close to the bar. His face paled, and Ámbar’s heart jumped to her throat. “If he goes around handing defective skates, I don’t want to even imagine how many more people have gotten hurt! Do you even train your employees in this establishment?!”

Ámbar’s heart was pounding in her chest. She’d never had to deal with a situation like this. Sure, she’d gotten many scoldings from her godmother over the years, but this was different. She was the authority figure here, she was the one that was supposed to have everything in control, she was the one who had to take responsibility and fix this because it was her job, her subordinates, her establishment.

The woman’s attitude annoyed her. Her suggestion that the Roller as a whole sucked annoyed her. ‘Train their employees’? No one had trained her in how to become a manager— they just threw the position onto her hands and now she had to deal with this.

Ámbar clenched her hands, the only crack in her composure she would allow, the only outlet for her nervousness she’d concede. She had a problem at hand and she had to find a solution. Anything else could come later.

“I can assure you that measures will be taken so that something like this never happens again,” she spoke conciliatorily, with all the professionalism she could muster. “The well-being of our customers is our number one priority. As for restitution, if it’s alright with you, you and your son can order anything you want in the cafeteria, free of charge.” Eric approached her then, handing her the emergency kit she’d requested. Ámbar offered it to the woman. “Here, you can treat him while you wait for your orders.”

The woman was still in a huff but she accepted the medical box and followed Pedro as he led them to a table on the other side of the Roller.

Simón went to Ámbar when they were out of earshot.

“Ámbar, I swear I don’t know how it happened,” he said, earnest, distressed. “I check the skates and do maintenance every day— Those wheels should’ve been fine.”

“Are you certain you checked every single one of them?” She asked.

“Yes.”

“Absolutely sure?”

“Yes!” He repeated, slightly exasperated. Tensions were running high and she could see in his face that her not immediately believing him hurt, but she had to ask, it was her job.

Ámbar looked at the woman on the other side of the cafeteria. She was treating the kid’s wounds. Pedro walked over, returning to the bar, probably to prepare whatever beverage or meal they had asked for.

“Pedro,” she called him over. “Come here for a bit.” She looked to the side. “Eric, you too.”

She rounded up the three guys in front of her.

“New policy,” she declared. “Each time you supply rental skates, you will check the wheels right at the moment you hand them out, in front of the client’s eyes. Understood?”

They all nodded. “Yes, Ámbar.”

“Good.”

Eric raised his hand shyly. “Um, what will happen with the woman?” He asked with apprehension. “She told you to fire Simón, but you’re not going to do that, right?”

Two tables over, Jazmín snorted. “She’s not gonna fire her own boyfriend.” Delfi shot her a look. “What? We were all thinking it.”

Ámbar glanced at Simón and her heart fell at how ashamed he looked.

She shot a glare at Jazmín but kept her voice professional. “I will do no such thing because it’d be too extreme for an isolated event in which no real harm was done.” She fumed. “That woman should be grateful I even let her order for free because his son only got a scratched elbow and knee, and nothing assures me that he wouldn’t have fallen just as bad on his own even with perfectly good skates.”

Everyone stayed silent, subdued by the tension that permeated the air.

Ámbar sighed. “Anyway, you’re dismissed, get back to work. Pedro, once you have the total of the woman’s order, you bring the receipt to me, okay?”

“Yes, Ámbar.” He walked away.

She turned. “And Jazmín, please, don’t make a video out of this.”

Jazmín pouted. “But it’s so—”

“No. It would reflect badly on the Jam & Roller. I assume you don’t want anything to happen to this place?” Jazmín looked chastised. “That’s what I thought.”

Everything else handled, she walked toward Simón, who was still standing by the bar.

“Take the rest of the day off, okay?” She told him gently. “We’ll talk later, don’t worry.”

Simón just nodded and walked away, his gaze not meeting hers at all. Ámbar wished she could go with him, he looked really affected by this, but she still had a situation to deal with.

Drawing in a breath, she squared up her shoulders and got back to work.

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

To be honest, Gastón had all but assumed by now that her answer was no.

He knew he should have some hope, but a big part of him had seen the calendar move forward, the day before his flight arrive, and gathered that, if he left tomorrow without Nina saying anything, wasn’t that answer enough? There was still time, yes, but he couldn’t stop the calamitous thoughts swirling through his brain, telling him that she could just not have the heart to tell him no directly and so she was just waiting for him to leave as a way to soften the blow.

Maybe that’d be okay. He had put her in an uncomfortable position to begin with— Maybe it was fair for it to end in whichever way she found easier.

That was what he’d been thinking until he got her texts.

‘Can we talk this afternoon? I have my answer.’

Gastón’s heart had leaped to his throat. It still seemed to be there now, as he made his way to the park where they decided to meet, the same one where they had… where he had called things off. He couldn’t help but wonder if that meant something.

He tried to steady himself as he walked toward their meeting place. Whatever Nina’s answer was, he had to take it, good or bad. He wished he had an inkling of what to expect. During the past few days they’d talked some, but only in passing and with their friends around. He had no idea what was going through her head, and he wished that every single glance he saw her exchange with Eric, every single word or smile, didn’t make him assume the worst, but they did.

The thing was, regardless of what Nina chose, his life would carry on the same way. He would still miss her every minute of every day. The only difference would be in the quality of that pain— It could either be bittersweet, or a dark void he’d had to pull himself out of.

As Gastón neared the appointed spot, he saw Nina in the distance, sitting on a bench already, her hands joined together on her lap. She saw him too and stood, waiting as he approached. She was wearing a cute navy-blue dress; a cardigan and black tights for the cold.

She looked pretty.

She always looked pretty.

“Hi,” she said when he reached her.

She was smiling, even if nervously. That was a good sign, right?

“Hi,” he said back, and ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Um, I didn’t get the time wrong, did I? Did you wait long for me?”

Nina’s eyes widened. “Nonono, I just got here a few minutes ago,” she reassured him. “I— I was too nervous and couldn’t stay still,” she admitted, “and, by the time I realized it, I was already here.”

He cracked a small smile. “I get the feeling.” He couldn’t blame the weather for the sweat on his palms after all.

There was a little silence which he took the lead to break. “Um, should we sit or…?”

Nina looked at the bench. “Um, no, like this is fine.”

Gastón’s heart fell. That had to be a bad sign.

“Okay,” he said either way.

The park they were in was very frequented by high schoolers and kids in the early hours of the afternoon, but thankfully, it was almost empty this close to the evening. Gastón wouldn’t like to be seen by any bystanders right now. Was the nervous energy between them as painfully obvious as he felt it? If anyone passed by right now, could they tell his heart was crashing against his ribs?

The lack of people made the silence between them even more evident. A silence which both of them tried to break at the same time.

“You first,” Gastón said after the mishap.

“Nono, you go first, it’s fine,” Nina told him.

Gastón changed his weight from one foot to the other. “Well… Nothing, I just…” He took a breath and mustered the strength to look her in the eyes. “I just wanted to say that, whatever your decision is, I respect it. I won’t be mad or anything, it’s alright.” Eventually, it would be.

Nina looked down, nervous. “Well, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking these past few days…” She was fidgeting with her hands. “And I think that…” Her eyes looked at his, just for a moment. Then they drifted. To his jacket, to a spot behind him. “…considering our history, the statistics and all that, the chance of us working out long distance is very low.”

Oh.

The air seemed knocked out of his lungs. “Oh.”

So he had hope until now.

Gastón had seen withered plants before. He never thought he’d ever feel like one.

“Because, I mean, we already tried it once, and it didn’t work,” Nina said, more quickly. Maybe it was a new tactic; rip it off like a Band-Aid, make the pain last less. “Repeating the same factors in the same conditions and expecting a different result is not… very realistic.”

Gastón focused on breathing through the growing lump in his throat. “Right,” he managed to say. His voice came out weaker than he would’ve liked, but at least it sounded steady.

He wanted to scream that it wasn’t the same. That he wasn’t the same. That he knew better now. That he’d never make the mistake of letting her go again.

He gulped. Gulped it all down. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

His head was in disarray. Now what? What was he supposed to say? He had to reassure her, probably. It’s okay, I understand, he had to say.He had to say it. He willed the words to leave his mouth. It’s okay, I understand, can we still be—?

“But I don’t care.”

Gastón blinked. He realized that at some point his gaze had fallen, because when he brought it back up, he found Nina’s eyes, staring directly at him. She wasn’t fidgeting, she wasn’t looking at his shoes— Her eyes were on his.

They stayed on his.

“I don’t care,” she said again, determined, light, with the beginning of a smile pulling on her lips. “My heart doesn’t care if it’s impossible or if it’s a one-in-a-million chance— I want to be with you.” She moved closer. “Even if it means only talking to you through the phone or seeing you in a screen, I want to be with you, Gastón. Because I love you. So much. And I need to give my heart a chance of being happy. I need to know if this could work. And… and if it doesn’t, well, I tried. We tried. But I won’t give up without having given it my all.”

The words fell from her lips like light itself; bright, hopeful, and heartfelt. Her eyes were shining. Maybe she herself was light.

Gastón had been wrong before. She wasn’t just pretty— She was dazzling.

A soft smile grew on his face. “I always knew you were braver than me, Nina Simonetti.”

He took the final step towards her and cradled her face in his hands.

“I promise that this time I’ll give it my all too.” He stared into her eyes and her hands went to hold the back of his own. “Because if there is one thing in this world that is worth it, it’s you.”

Nina smiled. She smiled big, with teeth and all, and her eyes were a little wet, making them shine brighter.

Gastón could’ve stared at them forever, but there was something else more pressing.

Nina surged to meet him when he leaned down for her lips. The wave of warmth and affection that flooded him couldn’t be put into words— There was nothing that could describe the utter joy, relief, love that filled his chest and spread through his veins at the feeling of her mouth pressing against his, soft and perfect. He had missed kissing her too much. He had missed her too much.

Her arms wrapped around his neck and his circled her waist, holding her close.

No more names in the sea— No more fate. They would make their own destiny, because this was something worth fighting against all odds.

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

When Simón was accused, back in Cancún, of having taken money out of the register, it’d been an unpleasant moment but he didn’t worry too much because he knew it was Benicio and not him who did something wrong.

When that customer had come to confront him that afternoon, he hadn’t known what to do. Anything he said sounded like an excuse and she didn’t stop to listen to him much either. Simón only remembered feeling this humiliated after the Vidia interview, but even then he’d had someone to blame, and the option to escape the situation. This time, he had neither.

Simón walked straight to the mansion after Ámbar released him from work, not in the mood to do anything else. Only when he arrived did he hesitate. Usually, he always went to Ámbar’s room, but this time, he didn’t know if he should do it. He’d caused trouble for her today. A customer had yelled at her today because of him, and he couldn’t even give explanations because he didn’t think he was guilty, but he felt guilty— It was hard not to when that woman kept pointing at him and demanding he be punished for his failure.

‘She’s not gonna fire her own boyfriend.’

That only made him feel worse; he shouldn’t get any special treatment.

In the end, Simón waited for Ámbar in her room anyway. She’d told him they would talk later and it seemed like a cowardly move to make her walk all the way to his guest room to find him. He took a shower to relax a bit and put on some comfortable clothing he kept in Ámbar’s room. He had like two drawers for himself now. At that moment, he didn’t know if that was nice or if it made him feel like an intruder.

He turned on the TV but he was too anxious to really pay attention to what was happening on the screen. Mostly, it just added background noise to his worries. He turned it off immediately when Ámbar walked in two hours later. He didn’t know what to expect. He thought maybe she’d be angry at him or act awkwardly around him because of what happened, but much to his surprise, Ámbar greeted him like normal. She sat next to him on the bed’s edge and asked how he’d spent his free afternoon. He recounted what little he’d done with uncertainty still hanging over him.

It didn’t take long for Ámbar to show that she was angry— At the customer.

“…she ordered more food than they could eat and asked for it to be packed to go— That woman was a freaking leach,” she was currently venting, telling him how she’d spent the rest of her afternoon. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d even suspect she tightened the wheels herself. Of course, money is not an issue, but it annoys me that I have to pull money out of my own wallet for that woman.”

Simón, who’d been listening with his gaze down, lifted his head upon hearing that. “Yours?” He said, appalled. “No, you don’t need to pay for it, I thought it’d be discounted from my salary.”

Ámbar’s brows drew together. “That wouldn’t be fair, you didn’t do anything.”

Simón scoffed weakly. “Exactly.”

She held his hands and looked at him earnestly. “No, seriously, my love, I know it wasn’t you. Or any of the guys.”

It was Simón’s turn to frown. “How do you know that?” Had any new information come to light after he was gone?

Ámbar let go of his hands and sighed, looking away from him. Her face looked glum suddenly, like whatever her answer was was not something she wanted to say. “You hadn’t arrived in Buenos Aires yet,” she started, “but did Luna ever tell you that she fell during her test to be the rink assistant because the skates they gave her were defective?”

Simón felt like he was stuck in a state of confusion by this point. He hadn’t expected the conversation to go this way. He tried to remember. “…Yeah, now that you mention it, I vaguely recall that.”

“Well…” Ámbar brought her hand together on her lap. “The reason why that skate had a stuck wheel was that I tightened it in secret right before her test.”

His face must have shown his utter bafflement because Ámbar turned to face him quickly, making placating gestures with her hands. “I know, I know, it was wrong, she could’ve broken something— I just really hated her at the time. I lowkey hoped she broke something.”

“Ámbar!”

“I’m sorry, okay?” She said painfully. “I can’t change what I did, but I promise I won’t do anything like that again. Not to her, not to anyone.”

Simón schooled his aghast expression, although he was still reeling from her admission, but he could see the earnest look in her eyes and he believed her.

“Anyway, that experience shows me that it’s actually very possible for someone to sneak into the lockers, tinkle with some skates, and leave with no one being the wiser.”

“You’re saying that’s what happened now?” He asked. “But who would do that?”

Ámbar scoffed. “Who else? Benicio and Emilia, of course,” she said, pissed off. “Or one of them, I don’t know. But it was at least one of them, I’m sure of it.”

Annoyance flared inside Simón as well. He shook his head in disbelief, at both them and himself for not thinking of that before— God, it was so obvious. “I can’t believe them, what did they gain from this?”

“Bother you, bother me, or maybe they just get off on wreaking havoc,” Ámbar said, and bent down to discard her boots.

Simón looked at her. “Why don’t you ban them from the Roller?” After this, she had to, right?

Ámbar sighed, sitting criss-cross on the bed. “I thought about it, but I can’t,” she said regretfully. “I don’t have proof that they did anything and, even though the Red Sharks team doesn’t exist anymore, Vidia knows them. I’m…” She looked to the side, “honestly scared of what they could say to my superiors if I try to ban them.”

Any lingering annoyance, tension, or worry from the day’s events evaporated at the look on her face. Simón reached over to hold her hand in his own. “You’re scared they might fire you,” he realized.

“Yeah.” She looked at their joined hands. “I mean, this is not my ideal job or anything. But the Roller is my ideal place. Or, it used to be, at least. It was more of a home to me than my own house for years. So it feels kinda… special, to me, to be the manager now. I guess I just don’t… want that to end on bad terms.”

He ran his thumb up and down the back of her hand, taking in her words. He smiled. “From queen of the rink to manager… I don’t know if that’s a big leap or merely a formality.”

That drew a smile from Ámbar.

They spent some time like that in comfortable silence. After a moment, Simón moved a little closer to her, still holding her hand.

“Can I ask you something?” He said quietly.

She looked at him. “Of course.”

He hesitated for a second longer, thinking how to formulate the question. “Why… If everyone admired you already as the queen of the rink, why did you pick on Luna? Why did you choose to antagonize her so much?”

Ámbar’s face dimmed. She looked down.

“I just don’t understand how you could already hate her so much as to want to hurt her when she had just arrived here,” he said, gently, trying not to make her feel attacked in any way; he just wanted some clarity. “I… I never truly understood why you ever hated Luna in the first place. You explained to me the thing about the Red Sharks Festival and why you were so pissed at her party at the beginning of the year. But everything before that… Why was it?”

He’d been wanting to ask this for a while. He had pieces, and he thought he knew a little, but he would never fully understand if she didn’t talk to him. He wouldn’t force her, of course. He’d considered just leaving it in the past and not mentioning it since it’d been a while since Ámbar’s attitude changed, but now, after what she’d confessed to him, he felt it was the right time to ask and see if she’d explain. Just for closure. Just to understand her better.

Ámbar took a breath and let it out slowly— a soft, long sigh that seemed to give her strength just as much as it snuffed all the energy she ever had.

“Well, Matteo was a factor,” she started, and her tone could’ve been mistaken for indifference if he didn’t know her better than that. “It was obvious from the beginning that he liked Luna, and that hurt, but… it hurt combined with everything else. Because it wasn’t just Matteo that liked her immediately— She was so easily liked by everyone. I had worked so hard to build my image and my popularity, and in just a matter of days, it was like everything revolved around her.” She grimaced. “I know it sounds like just petty jealousy but…” Her gaze stayed down, but even then he could see the cloud of something cover her face. It was a moment before she let the words out. “I had nothing.”

Finally, the aching sadness hiding in her voice came to light between them, and it was like a knife in Simón’s chest.

“If I wasn’t the queen of the rink, I had nothing,” she continued. “If I wasn’t the best at everything then people didn’t admire me, and if people didn’t admire me then… what did I have?”

Simón’s throat tightened. It absolutely broke his heart how matter-of-factly she said all this, like it was a truth she’d known her whole life, and it weighed on her, left her void until he feared she’d vanish before his eyes.

Where was Sharon? He wanted to say, to complain. He felt a spark of rage in a dark corner of himself he usually tried to deny existed. Where was this woman that she allowed Ámbar to feel so alone in the world? Where did she get off trying to ruin everyone’s lives and then running off, abandoning all her responsibilities? Why was it so hard for her to show Ámbar a mere speck of love?

“I had Delfi and Jazmín, I guess,” Ámbar answered herself before he could say or do anything. Simón felt so powerless; frozen as he processed her grief. “We didn’t have the best friendship in the world, but… I should’ve appreciated them more.” A moment passed and she straightened a bit, shaking herself slightly. “Whatever, it’s… that’s it. I felt like Luna was taking everything from me. My house, my boyfriend, my place in the Roller… so I wanted to take everything away from her too. I wanted her to hurt like I did.”

Simón had seen the dark flame of anger and resentment in Ámbar’s face before. Many times, even before he got to really know her. This was the first time that seeing it hurt.

He tightened his hold on her hand, the only thing he dared to do to not disrupt her. He didn’t agree with hurting Luna, of course not, but she already knew that and there was no need to say it. What he wanted her to know was I hear you, I’m with you.

Ámbar met his eyes and the shadow of rancor faded away into a resigned smile; a tiny, sad thing. She shrugged weakly. “But whatever I tried didn’t work. All I achieved was to make my life more miserable. I lost all my friends, I lost you…” Her gaze fell to their hands. A tiny smile appeared on her face again, but this time it came with a softness in her eyes. “But for some inexplicable reason, even when I was at my worst times, you still had faith in me.”

She reached over and held his hand between both of hers. “You saw I could be better under all that rage and that pain, and eventually, I started believing it too. And I realized that, although Luna shook my life forever… there was nothing I could do to change that. I didn’t get anything from raging at her being Sol Benson. I didn’t get anything from making her suffer, because even if it satisfied me somewhat, my life didn’t get any better because of it— In fact, it only seemed to get worse. So, I let it go,” she said with a light tone. “I let go of that rage I had for things I couldn’t change and Luna also couldn’t change.” She shrugged. “And here I am.”

The lightness felt almost out of place after everything that had been said, but it was still a relief to see Ámbar okay, at ease, after how much she’d suffered. Simón almost didn’t want to— it felt too much of a solemn moment— but he found himself growing a tiny smile. He was so proud of her. For living all she went through and not letting it pull her under. For turning her life around against all her learned behaviors and finding the best version of herself.

“Her little goody-two-shoes act still irks me sometimes though.”

Yep, definitely still herself.

Simón gave her a look, but there was no bite to it. “It’s not an act; she’s genuinely a good person.”

Ámbar waved it away half-heartedly. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

He played with the fabric of his sweatpants. “So… can I assume you two won’t fight anymore?”

“Can I assume she’ll stop being annoying?”

She rolled her eyes at the look on his face and held his shoulder with her free hand. “I’m kidding. I promise I’m not gonna antagonize your best friend anymore. We’re actually on pretty decent terms now. And even if we weren’t, I’d never put you in that position. You’re worth more to me than any rivalry I could have with anyone.”

A surge of affection squeezed his heart. Simón brought her into his arms and hugged her tightly. “Thank you.” He pulled back to look at her. “Truly. For telling me all this. For trusting me, and for giving Luna a chance. It means a lot to me.”

She held the back of his neck. “You mean a lot to me. So everything that’s important to you, it’s important to me too.” Her hand slid to cup his cheek. “There’s very little in this world I wouldn’t do for you, Simón.”

His chest hurt again. His whole interior twisted and tore apart as if she had clawed him open, but it was the best feeling in the world.

Simón pulled her close and kissed her. “I love you.”

Ámbar smiled. “I love you too.”

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

Ever since Juliana came back, the Roller guys were more insufferable than ever.

Benicio was sitting in the cafeteria, nursing a glass of juice as he waited for Emilia to start their morning practice. Lately, everywhere he looked he could see the losers’ smiling faces, hear their ridiculous laughs over the stupidest things, and worst of all, he had to live knowing they used his rink every afternoon.

Benicio clenched his jaw. He missed the old days. He missed seeing the logo of the Red Sharks followed by his picture on the screens. But no matter. People would respect them eventually. Everyone would come to know he was the best, one way or another.

He tapped his fingers idly on the table, switching between looking at his phone and throwing glances at the entrance of the Roller. Waiting would be more fun if he could look at Ámbar while at it, maybe get a rinse out of her— she looked so gorgeous when she got mad— but for some reason, she wasn’t at her usual table today. Maybe she would arrive later. Or maybe he was the one too late to catch a glimpse of her before she went out somewhere.

The next time he lifted his head to check if Emilia had arrived, it wasn’t her nor Ámbar who he saw. Simón was marching towards him before he was even aware of his presence on the other end of the Roller. He stood in front of him with an accusatory look just as Benicio left his phone on the table.

“I know it was you and Emilia who tightened those skates.”

Benicio repressed the urge to smirk. Oh yeah, that had been a masterstroke on his part. At first, he’d been dubious about how much of an uproar such a small thing could cause, but it was just a matter of choosing the right target. Oh, how he would’ve loved to stay there yesterday to watch it all go down, but it was too risky, so he and Emilia left when the woman marched to berate Ámbar.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he responded innocently.

Simón scoffed. “You’re always like that; throwing the stone and hiding your hand, blaming others. Even back in Mexico. You’re a coward, Benicio.”

“Don’t project on me, Simón,” he said simply. He laid back on his chair, his hands clasped together casually on the table. Maybe he had to look up at him due to their positions, but he was the true superior one here. “Whatever problem you had doing your job has nothing to do with me. And, I mean, why do you even worry? You have your little girlfriend to defend you. Oh, right, your boss, sorry.”

Simón shook his head, staring at him with a mix of annoyance and incredulity. “You’re just never going to stop, are you?” He said. “Does seeing me with Ámbar really make you that jealous? Well, pity, because that’s not going to change.” A smile full of hostility and condescension appeared on his face. “All your little stunt with the skates achieved was that we had a very deep conversation and now we’re closer than ever. So, thank you. And give my thanks to Emilia as well, okay?”

Benicio tightened the grip of his hands until it hurt. Simón placed his hands on the table and leaned closer, dropping the fake smile. “Stop wasting your time and don’t cause any more trouble for Ámbar or you’ll be dealing with me,” he said sharply, his expression dark and serious. “If you really cared about her, that’d be the minimum you would do.”

Simón stormed away, not deigning him with the luxury of a comeback.

Benicio stayed in his seat, festering in his anger.

Simón could laugh all he wanted now but Ámbar would be his in the end. Step by step, he would make sure of it.

…

------------------

Okay I’m sorry for pointing this out myself but it’s so funny because:

Simón: Ámbar is so much cooler than me, she’s seen the world, her default is luxury, she’s smart, she’s driven, she’s gonna go out there and eat the world up and I’m gonna be here waiting tables.

Ámbar: Simón is so cool, he knows so many things that I have no idea about, I don’t know how he manages to be a waiter, I wouldn’t have the patience for it, and with a smile no less! He always gives his best, I admire him so much, I hope someday I can be half the person he is.

🤣🤣🤣🤣

Also, how ironic is it that me, the writer, realized this juxtaposition just now as I was writing it? 😂 Like, I didn’t plan on Ámbar having that introspection moment there, it just happened, and then I went… oh. skjfdnskf. Simón, my boy. He had a rough time today but it ended on a high note <3 He’ll miss that eventually.

#simbar #simbar fic #simbar fanfic #soy luna fanfiction #My Writing #roads that cross #also you're welcome if you like... that* pairing *wink wink*

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itspileofgoodthings · 2 years ago

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Hiya! I’m a psych and ed major currently thinking about my future. I’ve been interested in teaching for a long time, but for all the awesome parts of it, there are some aspects of teaching that scare me. (Everything from active shooter drills to grading to good, old fashioned imposter syndrome.)

So: which parts of teaching scare(d) you the most, and how have you dealt with those fears?

This is a great question! I’m on year 4 and I feel like so far I’ve been scared of all of it at one point or another? Though things like school shootings I just don’t think about/can’t think about besides knowing what the drill is for lockdown situations. The rest is so completely out of my hands that I just don’t think about it/pray for the grace to know what to do if the time ever comes.

Honestly the kids scared me for the longest time. Especially teaching the older high schoolers. Sophomores and seniors were pretty much completely overwhelming the first two years. Grading still scares me! Parent emails scare me. Administrative evals scare me. Student evaluations scare me. Students who “hate” me scare me.

As for how I deal with the fears—I think there’s three things.

The first is the one day at a time of it all. Which I know is true of every job and every situation but teaching changes so much from day to day in a GOOD way. Parent emails can be SO annoying (can they all stop forever) but once they’ve sent it it’s generally out of their system and a restrained/polite answer will deal with it just fine. And they move on and you move on and everyone moves on. Teenagers can be so deeply unpleasant but it doesn’t carry over from day to day in most cases because they’re just up and down and dealing with so much! So at the beginning of my career I would just be like “wow I am dealing with this impenetrable wall of hatred/boredom” and then time just proves how short their memories are. I had to talk to this girl once about her attitude and she cried and it was terribly unpleasant and I hated it and then she stopped by my classroom at the end of the day to pick something up and it was like she’d forgotten it happened. And obviously that doesn’t always happen, but my point is: the unpleasantness you deal with is ever-shifting because teenagers are not hardened. Even if they are, they are simply too young to be TRULY hardened so things can and do reach them, and things can and do change, and the daily proof of that is such a protection against this way of thinking/fear that you’re up against this brick wall. Also just, when a day finishes, even if it was bad, it’s over forever. It’s never going to be exactly the same again.

The second thing is just …. Time. The passage of time. The fears are part of it but they too are not permanent and in fact will be undone with time and experience. I hated being new and inexperienced; I hated it so much —I felt like a reed shaken in the wind. I knew I had no idea what I was doing, I knew I was so young and vulnerable, I could feel it physically and mentally and emotionally but I knew I wouldn’t feel that way forever. I hated that I had to wait a long time before all those feelings went away, but in the short-term all I had to focus on was getting through the day and that was how I reached the long-term. I’m on year 4 of teaching, as I said, and there is this new rock-solid foundation to my teaching that I could only get to/create by struggling through those first 3 years. I had to face all of those fears and just be afraid but not quit anyway and then I came out the other side a different teacher.

And then the third thing, and honestly the biggest thing for me in dealing with the fears, was figuring out if I liked it and was good at it enough (no one ever likes anything 100% of the time) to make the fears worth it. And honestly I am. I’ve started to joke over the years that the two qualities of a teacher who makes it vs. a teacher who doesn’t are laziness and arrogance. I could give nicer names to the laziness—flexibility, adaptability, but you HAVE to be able to bend and adjust and keep moving forward but it is incompatible (imo) with true type A behavior/mentality. True type A teachers who go crazy over the details and can’t let anything go drive me insane and I want to SHAKE them and I kind of don’t think it’s the way to be! (Though I know a handful who thrive despite this so …. take this as my view.) but also that arrogance! Or again, to choose a nicer word, confidence. Lots of days I didn’t want to teach, especially in those early days, but I knew that I was good at it, that on some level I was made to do it. And that’s the real thing that carried me through and still carries me through all the fears. If it was just me and my fears and gritting my teeth and bearing it I would have quit long ago. But I was also always good at it, even at my newest, stupidest, most inexperienced. And so it was exciting! I’d feel so small and stupid and exposed and raw and I’d be so upset and frustrated but then I would have a moment or a lesson where the class was spellbound or I connected with a really tough kid or somebody watched me teach and said “damn you’re good at this” and honestly I think that’s a quality teachers have or don’t have and if they don’t have it there is nothing at all to be ashamed of in that but imo they shouldn’t be teachers. Because without that feeling of excitement and pride and fulfillment that comes from doing something that you KNOW you’re good at and you love I think this job is too hard. I tell this story a lot but in my student teaching my supervisor pulled me aside at a certain point because I was hitting a wall and she said “some people hit this wall because they aren’t meant to be teachers and that’s okay, they can leave and go find what is meant for them. You’re hitting this wall for other reasons but I don’t want you to quit on teaching because I think you’re good at this” and it was so important for me to hear and remember because it’s a) something to hold on to, b) something that will fill you up and fulfill you even on days when it’s so hard. For me that love of teaching and the being good at it are the most central and important pieces and I was lucky in that I had several people tell me at various points “I think you’re so good at this, you have something that people can’t teach (ha!)” and I needed to hear that so badly because it was true! And also because it gave me the confidence to keep going. And of course there were long stretches where no one said that to me and so I just had to rely on my internal belief that that was true but because it WAS true it could carry me through. If that makes sense.

So yeah those are the three things. Also all of the above only applies in a school that is mostly functioning as it should and has the pieces in order that it needs to and tbh that isn’t many, many schools. I teach in a college prep charter school that focuses heavily on rigor and excellence etc. and tbh I couldn’t do what I do in a regular public school so keep all of that in mind. Also sometimes people ARE good at it and like it but need a break or need a change for other personal reasons—I don’t mean to make it sound like every teacher who quits just doesn’t have what it takes because the job can be very crushing.

This is such a stream of badly edited consciousness, but I hope it helps or is enlightening in some way!

#bungletheglasscat #thank you for asking!#I feel like these are not great answers but they are true for me!#probably lots of other teachers would say other things.#so pls take this post with all the Maria-flavored salt covering it :)#teaching tag

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bookaddict24-7 · 1 year ago

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REVIEWS OF THE WEEK!

Books I’ve read so far in 2023!

Friend me on Goodreads here to follow my more up to date reading journey for the year!

___

40. Princess on the Brink by Meg Cabot--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

This series has been a wild ride as we literally watch Mia grow into an adult. One of the reasons why I actually enjoyed this one (and the next book in this series) is because Mia is faced with big changes that force her to mature and re-evaluate her life. One of the people I find that have held back Mia, despite the age difference, is Michael. PRINCESS ON THE BRINK challenged her relationship to literally the brink because honestly, it's about time something gives. Michael and Mia are in such different stages of their lives that if something like what happened in this book hadn't happened, then Mia would never grow as a character. This isn't to say that she overreacts when given the news of Michael's new project, she definitely does. But you know what? She's a kid who's partially stunted because no one has really told her that her actions are childish. I enjoyed this one because it challenged Mia to think beyond her golden bubble of immaturity. She is also faced with the reality of someone's personality being finally challenged. I just really enjoyed this one because it was pure chaos and basically is the pre-cursor to Mia having to grow and change as a person. We got through those immature books and creepy age gap romance to get to this point, where Mia is finally being forced to re-examine her life.

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41. Princess Mia by Meg Cabot--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Ah, perhaps one of my favourite books in this series. This book is all about Mia growing up now that her life is missing a couple of people who may or may not have been holding her back from growing as a person (and as a character). I think this was a great story about a girl who took back control of her spiralling life (with the help of family and surprising friendships) and made something new with it. While there were obviously still moments of whining and complaining, there were a lot less and also...she's still a teenager! In all of the books in this series, this is potentially one of the books where she is the most well-adjusted she's ever been. Also, one of my least favourite characters in this also shows their true colours (trash) and another one is...surprising. It goes to show that we can't always assume someone is a certain way, especially when viewed through the eyes of a fourteen year-old who thinks the world is out to get her.

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42. Forever Princess by Meg Cabot--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Finally, the best book in the series and arguably where I think the series should have ended. Mia is nearly eighteen and she has finally taken control of her life. She's much more mature (with the definite moments where her youth still slips through) and you can truly see all of the growth she's gone through. It's wild to think that we walk alongside Mia as she goes from the insecure and whiny fourteen year-old to this senior student who is more self-aware and who has a better understanding of her role in her world. I also loved this one because of the angst. This age gap feels more appropriate and I think having that in mind makes the impending obvious relationship a little more level (even though she is still a high school student--albeit one with greater responsibilities than the average senior.) But even still, knowing how she has grown and how she views the world now, it's interesting to note how she reverts a LITTLE bit to the girl she was two or three books before. This only proves to me that Cabot did a great job throwing in that massive life change because even though there is a little bit of Mia walking back to how she was, she's changed enough to register the way she is acting and manages to balance it out with who she now is. I tried reading the next book in the series and I just wasn't into it, so this is it for me. I really enjoyed this and I'm so happy that this ended the way it did. We went through so many highs and lows with Mia, and so many moments of growth and empathy. I can only imagine all of the young readers in my generation who grew up with Mia and read about her hijinks and idolized the independent, yet naive Princess Mia. While there were definitely moments where I questioned the messages young readers might have (or might in today's reading world) taken away from the story, I think this is a perfect example of the patience one can have while reading from the perspective of a young teenager. I'm glad I finally finished this series and I'm glad I can finally say goodbye to Princess Mia!

___

43. The Midnight Club by Christopher Pike--⭐️⭐️⭐️

I feel catfished with this book. The story was intriguing and sad af, but it wasn't at all what I was expecting--especially coming from Christopher Pike (a person who rivalled R.L. Stine's Fear Street world back in the day.) I also blame myself for foolishly going off the trailer to the show that aired a year or two ago. There is definitely a bit of a mystery as the characters start to die, but I found this to be more of a story about life and the hope that lives within some of us when said life is threatened by an illness we can't control or stop. THE MIDNIGHT CLUB is a book about grief, love in the face of death, and the power of stories. I think marketing this as horror does this story a disservice because it could alienate readers who want stories like this one. It wasn't perfect, but man did it pull at the heartstrings. Even more than a month later, thinking about this book and the stories we're told makes me want to cry. I'd recommend this to anyone who wants to read a book that explores grief, the fear of death, and the acceptance that sometimes life cuts us off mid-sentence. Don't go in expecting a horror novel.

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44. When In Rome by Sarah Adams--⭐️⭐️⭐️

You know when you read a romance novel, think "hm, that was cute" and then promptly forget what it was mostly about a month later when you're writing the review? This is me right now. I read the synopsis and am trying to remember what this was about. I do remember him being grumpy and her totally misreading what it is that he does for a living because of how he looks, and her totally exhausting life (and twist at the end) but...that's it. Listen, this was cute in the moment, but not the most memorable.

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45. Heart Bones by Colleen Hoover--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Another day, another Colleen Hoover off my to-read list. I read this back when we had those weirdly warm days in April, sitting outside in the sun and enjoying the juicy drama that is this trauma-porn YA read. I read it in one day because much like her other stuff that I've devoured, HEART BONES was an addicting read that begged for me to see where the story ended. I have a soft spot for these kinds of MCs, the ones that have their whole lives uprooted and are faced with new people and the potential life-changing power of love. I'm still not sure how I feel about the ending of this one, or the climactic events, but I did enjoy watching the MC grow as a character as the story progressed. Her relationship with her new-ish family was my favourite aspect of the story. It wasn't the Bella and Edward-esque romance, but the connection she had with the people around her. It was also the way she treated her step-sister when it came to a potential ED (even though, in retrospect, I know it could be a little too simplistic.) All that being said, while this wasn't my favourite Hoover book, I did enjoy it. Again, I'm also a sucker for this trope.

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Have you read any of these books? Let me know your thoughts!

___

Happy reading!

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prophets-prose · 1 month ago

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Only for a Moment

for flufftober 2024! prompt: gravestone

pairing: none (mxf)

warnings: none, does include themes of death but nothing specific

a/n: I'm still new to tumblr and the writing community so I'll make formatting changes as I go but yay fluff!

It was almost sunset, the cooling September breeze blew like a current around the woman. The cemetery had no other visitors within its sprawling iron gates. She stood alone, her hands in her jacket pockets fiddled with the loose change she was keeping. Before her was a headstone. She stood at the foot of the grave, silently present and reaching out energetically to any remanent of the person buried there that might be left. Her concentration was broken when she heard someone approaching her from behind. As the visitor got closer, she recognized his energy and movements, and any and all fear melted away.

"How did you know I'd be here?" the woman spoke as she turned her head to face her visitor. He stopped in his tracks when she met his eyes. She looked not sad or upset, but had a certain longing look that only comes from years of loneliness.

"Because I know you," the man replied, "Say the word and I'll turn back, leave you alone."

The woman took a deep breath before responding, taking the time to truly evaluate her next words. "No, its okay. Stay."

The words hung briefly in the autumn air, then carried on with the faint breeze that rustled the leaves in the old trees towering around them. He made his way over to the woman, careful to step between the graves. The man met her at her left side and joined her in her mourning.

"This is the first time I've done this alone," the woman said with little emotion in her voice, "It feels different."

"Different how?" the man asks, hoping he's not overstepping.

"Different, like…" she pauses in thought, "incomplete."

He stayed silent, but a mutual sense of understanding stood between them. The man knew who the person buried before them was to the woman and could empathize with her in that moment. It was also then that he fully took in the tombstone in front of him. Inscribed in the stone was the deceased's name accompanied by birth and death dates, as well as a phrase carved into the base.

"Memento mori," he read out loud.

The woman replied with its translation, "Remember that we must die."

After a beat of silence, the man took a few steps around the grave and pulled a coin out of his pocket, placing it on top of the headstone. He then rejoins the woman at the base of the grave and wraps his arm around her shoulders in a caring gesture. She welcomes the warmth that his body's proximity brings and reciprocates by wrapping both arms around his torso.

"Thank you," she speaks into his chest, "for coming, it means a lot to me."

The man smiled and wrapped his other arm around her in a proper hug, "Of course, sweetie, I'm here for you. Always."

She hadn't felt safe in a man's arms in a long time. But in that moment, she felt grounded in a cosmic connection that cemented her belief that she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

"nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky"

#flufftober 2024 #day 1 #day one #cemetary #fluff

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asoulofatlantis · 1 year ago

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I absolutly get that it is a running-gag for Falcom that is supposed to make you facepalm and/or rase an eyebrow just for them to end up getting together eventually anyway, with you being all “I knew it!” by then. But I can’t help but feel that in this particular situation, it was rather an as*hole-move to do that. As far as we are concerned at this point in the game, Millium is dead. We lost her. Forever. So making Jusis put her in the sister-zone, when he clearly loves her way more than that, while she is theoretically speaking gone forever, just feels absolutely wrong. Because with the other possible couples who do that, you know (or knew, in case of Joshua and Estelle) that they have still time to figure things out. In this case, we need to assume that this ship has sunk and so there should have been a bit more honesty here. He could have at least said “I truly loved her. In which way tho... I do not dare to think about any further, given the situation.” or something like that. I do understand of course that Falcom knew Millium would come back and thus it would have been more fun for them to play the sister-zone-card a little longer. But it still feels wrong to see Jusis, who has lost Millium, to evaluate his feelings for her and not reach the point were he realized that he actually loved her, given how when you lose someone, you usually get to think about all the things you should have said and done to this person.

I do believe at this point that Altina is doing this just to get Rean into trouble with his harem XD

Rean just asked for “permission to burst into tears” but Lloyd thinks this is a party XD I guess that leads us back to the original point of those two not understanding other peoples feelings XD

The reunion to end all reunions is really off to a good start. This girl left her homeland for many good reasons but it was obviously she missed her closest friends and after over half a year, she more then deserved to be finally reunited with them.

Tio had it rough too without any doubt and she hasn’t seen her friends in a while either and with operation birdcage and all that bullshit going on while she was unable to do anything, it sure must be nice for her to be finally reunited with the core members of the SSS.

She is trying to hide it, but that must be one hell of a special reunion for Juna too. And hearing “You are on of us” must make her pretty happy as well. Although I do believe it is still up for debate were Juna did end up in the end. I wonder if we will ever find that out...

To be fair, I am pretty sure Alisa knows more about Lloyd then she ever wanted to know too XD

Honestly... if you have played the Sky-Saga, this is a moment you have been waiting for. Our protagonists shaking hands. That feeling is something only the Trails-Saga can provide you with.

This is such a powerful scene. It hits you right in the feels and it gives Lloyd a huge sympathie boost as well. He could have handled the situation with Rean very differently, given things that happened, but he did and said exactly the right thing and as someone who loves Rean with all my heart, I couldn’t be more thankful for this.

*sniffel* What a great reunion to end all reunions indeed.

And here we go again... Its time for some walking and talking and more talking and some walking and then even more talking and even tho there are some interesting or amusing conversations, all in all this ends up as being a pretty let down between the great reunion and the amazing stuff that is going to happen afterwards...

And this is only round one. This is like the CS3 ball all over again. So lets get this over with so we can move on to greater things.

#Reasons to (not) replay CS4

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theselfloveproject · 2 years ago

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Finding Happiness Intrinsically

This morning I woke up so with so much gratitude. I'm not going to sit here and go on about all the things but I just need to express this externally because showing gratitude to the universe outside of yourself hits differently for me. I feel like it's just a more direct approach. Sometimes I get in a negative space and forget how abundant I am in life despite my shortcomings. I have come such a long way financially, mentally, spiritually, and emotionally. I'm still a work in progress but damn have I been working....and working fucking hard! FOR MYSELF! I love myself so much and I haven't been the kindest to myself in the past. 2022 has taught me many lessons but the most important were self-love and preservation. I've overextended myself to others in friendships for the better part of my adulthood at the cost of my own peace and happiness. I found myself in a position where I needed to decide between them and me. Although it hurt, I chose me and I will forever choose me from here on out. It is okay to re-evaluate those you keep nearest to you and decide that their presence no longer serves you and the journey you are preparing for. You can do this at any point in your relationship no matter the longevity or nature of the relationship. This year I am truly focusing on myself, my husband, and the beautiful life we've created together. There is an abundance of blessings coming our way and I've never been more excited for the future while also living in the moment. Remember that life is just an experience and some of those experiences hurt in order to for you to learn and grow. The more you resist learning from your mistakes, the more painful the next experience will be JUST TO TEACH YOU THE SAME DAMN LESSON. Life is not that deep. The world is not out to get you. You either resist and suffer or surrender and live in peace. BREATH. EVERYTHING IS OKAY!

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nekos-nightmare · 2 years ago

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LITTLE HEADCANON

( PM, the Guild x Reader).

CHUUYA

Because of work problems, he always works quickly, that's why you sometimes can't keep up with his speed. Each time Chuuya will carry you like a princess or carry you from behind, depending on your request. Even though he keeps saying that he uses an ability to reduce your weight, you don't need to care. He didn't use it, Chuuya just wanted to feel your warmth and see it as a good opportunity to be with you.

MORI

Unlike Elise, Mori always uniquely treats you. Instead of always pouring all his money into, dresses, or jewelry, he always subtly presents your favorite gifts. Mori is sometimes strict and scolds you for safety issues but at the same time is very gentle in a scary way. (sometimes very childish too.)

AKUTAGAWA

Always looking at you with sharp and cold eyes, Aku always seems to ignore or not care. Once when you were injured, Aku suddenly showed an indescribable expression on his face and then got mad and it took a long time to cool down his mood, later Aku always tell the Black Lizards to protect you closely. However, whenever he passes by your workplace, he will always buy sweets or something cute to leave on your desk.

ODASAKU

He's always in a hazy state, looking like a sleepy person. But every time your voice speaks, Oda seems like he was woken up in the middle of a nightmare. Oda like chat with you whenever he gets the chance, he will find topics that interest you and mostly talks about you and the things you like. After each mission, he usually brings a bouquet of seasonal flowers and silently places it in front of your room door.

HIROTSU

As a gentleman, Hirotsu always perceives and evaluates you subtly. He always pays attention to even the smallest details, from expressions to gestures, from which he knows how you are feeling today and then has a conversation based on your feelings to make you more comfortable. Usually, Hirotsu would personally make tea or coffee, all of which were high-value cups of tea but even so his skill and technique it's not trivial, but it's more advanced and wonderful skills.

POE

He often spends time in the library and on detective books. One time, Karl gets lost around and you suddenly appear to help him find and care for little Karl. Although Poe was a bit shy at first, the two gradually became closer through topics. Poe often remembers special occasions and gives you book clips or hair clips. Although they are small items, they all contain a lot of his emotions. Every time the moon is full, Poe always looks towards the moon and silently prays to be with you forever and is grateful to Karl for allowing him to meet you.

FITZGERALD

Fitz always buys what you like as well as too many unnecessary expensive things and that made you feel a bit overwhelmed. When the two of you discussed this, he didn't understand it much, but in order not to make you sad, Fitz tacitly agreed and went around to ask his subordinates for advice, even though they were bewildered and thought the change didn't last long, it's only a matter of time, but inside him, he truly changes for you. In the following days, everyone was surprised including you, Fitz has changed a lot in his bad shopping habits but the habit of pampering you to the fullest is still hard to break.

—————————————

Sorry for being gone for so long and I'm back, at least I survived…

#bsd x reader #chuuya x reader #mori x reader #akutagawa ryunosuke x reader #odasaku x reader #bsd hirotsu #hirotsu x reader #poe x reader #fitzgerald x reader

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books · 3 years ago

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Writer Spotlight: Alexis Nedd

It's New Release Tuesday! We caught up with Alexis Nedd (@alexisthenedd) to talk about her debut novel, Don’t Hate The Player, which is out today. Alexis is a Brooklyn-based pop culture “fanthropologist” who has only ever loved things in a big, obsessive way. As the Senior Entertainment Reporter at Mashable.com, she covers television, movies, and video games, focusing on sci-fi and fantasy universes like Game of Thrones and the MCU. When she’s not writing for money, Alexis is writing for no money on her socials, where her feeds consist of deep dives on weird history and analyzing pop culture as an artifact of society.

Don’t Hate The Player is a YA romance novel that follows two competitive eSports players as they navigate school, parents, and other IRL stuff, while preparing for their biggest (and only) tournament yet. As real life and online life collide, both find the boundaries between online and IRL slipping into each other.

Can you start by telling us a little bit about Don’t Hate The Player?

In one corner, we have Emilia Romero, a popular, high-achieving Puerto Rican girl who secretly plays Guardians League Online with the elite Team Fury. No one in her real life knows she games, and everything hinges on it staying that way. In the other corner is Jake Hooper, a quiet, detrimentally empathetic nerd who’s had a crush on Emilia for years. He plays GLO with Team Unity and thinks he’s otherwise invisible.

When Guardians League Online announces a huge tournament in their city, Jake is shocked to see Emilia competing. Jake is now the only person who knows her secret, and they have to work together to keep it...all while the tournament brings their teams closer and closer to an ultimate Fury vs. Unity showdown.

Outwardly, Jake is an awkward, suffering bundle of anxiety, quite successfully hiding his integrity and wit. What was enjoyable/difficult about writing a neurodivergent romantic lead?

I started working on DHTP around the same time I learned I had ADHD. Getting that diagnosis as an adult ushered in a really strange and painful period of reevaluating my childhood, knowing that I was neurodivergent and didn’t get the help I needed. I gave a lot of the traits I used to think made me “wrong” or “bad”—the anxiety, the spinning thoughts, the self-deprecating coping mechanisms—to Jake because writing them into a lovable character felt like correcting the narrative I had grown up writing about myself.

It was difficult to excavate all of that because that level of self-evaluation totally sucks and takes forever, but by the end, I could look at Jake and think, “if I can’t hate him for feeling this way, I have no business hating myself for having felt that way.”

DHTP comes alive in its use of online gaming maps and chatrooms. How did you approach getting those virtual places right?

I made my first internet friends when cameras on phones or laptops were still rare, so I got to know a lot of people through chatrooms and forums. People’s personalities, real or constructed, come off so strongly in those rapid-fire conversations. That solved one of the problems I knew I’d have coming into this book—how do I introduce the reader to a group of characters who aren’t going to show up until the end and make them seem like part of the story the whole time? Answer: Spy on their group chat.

It was so fun to play all five roles in those chapters and determine who uses acronyms or memes, who always punctuates, what their in-jokes say about them, and so on. Truly some of my favorite parts of DHTP are in those chats.

How important do you think it is to meaningfully include online culture in YA literature?

After the year we just had, when most social interaction moved from the analog space to the digital, I consider the transformation of “online culture” into just “culture, full stop,” complete. I say this knowing I am a fully discourse-poisoned individual, and other people or writers may have the freedom to think less about that all of the time. A significant chunk of life takes place on screens these days, so if I’m writing about life... I’m going to write about the screens.

One of the big themes of DHTP is that what happens online is real whether you like it or not. So what looks from the outside like a mummy and a snake beating a guy up outside a space church can actually be the beginning of an IRL love story. Just because it’s silly doesn’t mean it’s not important.

What makes a good beginning to a story?

I don’t have any definitive advice on this, but with DHTP and the second novel I’m currently working on, I think my favorite method is putting your main characters in a situation designed to make them act the most themselves. For DHTP, we meet Jake at a party he was invited to out of politeness, so his discomfort and anxiety are front and center. Until he meets Emilia, who is only at the party because it’s in an arcade where she can indulge her gaming obsession without her parents watching. There, now we know some important things about both characters, and from here, it’s a 75k+ word journey to get them to kiss.

What’s the first book you remember loving?

This is the hardest question anyone has ever asked me. Are you sure you wouldn’t like a nice explanation of string theory instead? I’m sure I had others, but one of my formative obsessions was A Series of Unfortunate Events because as a child, I was so often frustrated with adults who didn’t believe a single word I said just because a child was saying it. Those books capture that frustration and, more importantly, do not resolve it, which I think was kinder than telling young people that everything would be OK if we read a lot of books and placed value on facts.

As a writer, how do you practice self-care when juggling work commitments and the creative processes of writing and editing?

I simply do not. After two years of working full-time and writing this book (most of it during a global pandemic), I have mastered none of the skills required to unplug and take care of myself beyond remaining alive and upright. I do not want to project the image of someone who has the self-care matrix figured out.

You don’t have to have it figured out to make something you’re proud of. You can be exhausted and smelly and know you should probably work on that soon and still create. I don’t recommend it, but it’s possible. Ask for help when you can.

What would Emilia or Jake’s blog look like if they were on Tumblr? What kind of content would they (re)blog?

Emilia’s blog would be a secret Guardians League Online stan account. She’d reblog fanart and write incredible deep dives on strategy and lore. No one would know it was her blog, but talkswithknox.tumblr.com would be required reading for people who want to know the deep magic of the game.

Jake is mostly here to read good takes on his dashboard and learn something he didn’t know when he logged in. He has never written an original post, and that’s fine.

Thanks so much for taking the time, Alexis! Don't Hate The Player is on shelves from today (and it's really, really good).

#writer spotlight #alexis nedd #don't hate the player #neurodiversity #writeblr #bookblr #books #writers on tumblr #authors on tumblr #gaming #mmorpg #writing advice #long post #worth it #ya literature

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justmypartner · 3 years ago

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Still Breathing: Chapter 21

Summary: AU | When a case goes sideways, Hailey wakes up in the hospital with a revelation that leaves her evaluating her life. While she recovers at Med, she meets Jay, an aloof, yet intriguing patient that catches her by surprise. The two get to know one another as they take on the task of rediscovering what it’s like to truly live, and eventually learn their lives intersect in more ways than one.

Writer’s Note: SURPRISE!! Coming at you a day earlier than usual for reasons that will make sense after you read. Be sure to read my end note on AO3 for an explanation. This is the final chapter before the epilogue:(( I can’t thank you enough for the love and support for this story. I truly am so emotional thinking about this story coming to an end, but it feels bittersweet knowing just how loved it has been. I will let you get to reading, but before I go, I must leave you with a few warnings.

TW:// mentions of panic attacks and canon compliant violence

Read on AO3 or below

Hailey peered out the window, watching the pattern of the waves down below as she finished clasping the last earring in her ear. She thought over the last time she was breathing in that view. She laughed to herself, realizing just how quickly life could change. Because the last time she saw that view, time felt like an hourglass running out. Every moment with Jay felt like borrowed time, and she worried that every second that came and went would be their last. But that day, that moment, all she could see was the start of forever with him.

She flattened her palms against the front of her dress and looked back at the reflection of herself in the mirror. Something shifted in the air, and a feeling overcame her, a feeling she knew like the back of her hand. The one that allowed her to know someone was in the room before she even had to turn around and see them.

“Pretty sure you’re not supposed to see me right now,” she tossed the words over her shoulder, taking one last glance at herself before spinning around. Her eyes widened as she did, losing herself as she fully drank him in.

His hair had started growing again. He was allowing it to get long, his wavy curls cascading across his head in a way that made her want to reach out and drag her fingers through them. He also had the slightest hint of stubble on his face, sharpening the contour around his lips and the line of his jaw. He wore a black dress shirt and black jeans, a perfect match to the slinky midnight-colored dress she wore. She took note of the fact that he had left the top button undone, displaying the chain around his neck and the medallion against his chest. God, he was breathtaking.

“You do remember we’re already married, right?” he grinned, the question pulling her out of the trance he left her in. She shook her head with a suppressed smile, watching gingerly as he took sluggish strides toward her.

“Yeah, but there are rules for a wedding day,” she spoke with a condemning tone, quickly realizing her protests were useless as his hands coiled around her waist.

It had been eight months since the surgery. Two months post-op and fully healed, they began him on his last rounds of chemo — the final measures necessary to rid his body of cancer for good.

Six months after that, with clear scans and a more than hopeful attitude, Hailey held his hand as his doctor declared him in remission.

She jumped in his arms at the news, and they felt that feeling they felt so many months ago. That feeling as if they were being handed forever all over again. Something else took place all over again, more specifically, something was said all over again, though that time Jay was the one to say it.

“Marry me,” he whispered in her ear.

She pulled away as he kept her lifted in his arms, her feet hovering inches above the ground as she questioned him with her eyes. He just looked at her with certainty, a steadiness in his expression.

“What do you mean?” she finally asked, pulling her left arm from around his neck to flash him the ring on her finger.

He set her down, their proximity unaltered with his arm still around her waist and hers still around his neck.

“I think we already did that… months ago,” she laughed as she wiggled her fingers before his face.

“Yeah, but we still haven’t made it official. Let’s go to St. Joe, invite everybody to come out, and we can get married on the beach. Officially, with a license and an officiant and real rings,” he told her.

A few weeks later, there they were. They were in that room at the inn by the water in St. Joseph, preparing for their second wedding, their real wedding, and the start of the rest of their lives.

“I want to do something after,” he told her. She finally gave in to the fact that the usual superstitions didn’t apply to them, bringing her hands to rest against his chest as he cradled her in his arms.

“Mm? What’s that?”

He held up his hand in front of her. “I want to get a tattoo, make this official as well,” he said, running his thumb against the line of marker on his finger.

They had spent months going through permanent markers, relining the “ring” on his finger every time it would fade. She told him she’d get him a real one, but he insisted he liked the inked one better, that he would only want a real one when they formally married one another.

She brought the back of her hand against his forehead, playing at checking his temperature. “Are you feeling okay?” she feigned concern.

“What do you mean?” he drew back with a crinkle in his brow.

“Jay Halstead, willingly signing up for something that involves needles? There has to be something wrong,” she muttered, hardly hiding the smile behind her stoic expression.

“Ha ha,” he laughed dryly. “Keep it up and I’ll cancel this wedding,” he threatened.

“Nope, can’t do that. We made vows, mister. You’re stuck with me,” she trilled, rising on her toes to press a kiss against his cheek. “Jokes aside, I think the gesture is really sweet, and I’ll be by your side if you want me.”

“You’re good to be stuck with,” he settled, leaning down to lay a peck on her lips.

“I do want you by my side,” he smiled. “Always.”

— — — —

They made things official by the water, surrounded by the team, Voight, Trudy, Will, and even Mama Jo. Hailey could tell by the nostalgic look in his eyes that he could feel his mom there. She could tell because in some way, even having never met her, she could feel her presence too.

She slipped a real finger on Jay’s hand for the first time, a sterling silver band that matched the one he had given her, and they recited new vows under the presence of a minister far more qualified than Will. It wasn’t quite the same as their first time around, but it was still special, just in a different way.

Afterward, they went back to Mama Jo’s for a reception. Hours in, while everyone was well entertained and a few drinks deep, they snuck away to the only tattoo parlor in town.

For the fifteen minutes in the chair it took to make that black band around his finger permanent, he squeezed her hand until it was numb, and she couldn’t help but tease him relentlessly. A major abdominal surgery and a year’s worth of chemo treatments wasn’t enough to take him out, but he acted as though that tattoo would.

“Told you that you left a permanent mark on me, Hailey Halstead,” he said when it was over, holding up his hand before her.

She smiled, bringing his finger to her lips briefly before rolling his wedding band over the top of it.

“There’s one more thing we have to do tonight,” she proposed.

They found themselves back on the beach. Hailey ran across uneven sand as best as she could, hoisting her dress up as she pedaled her legs away from Jay. She laughed as she could feel him chasing her close behind. When he caught up to her, he grabbed her by the waist, twirling her into his arms and stealing them away into a slow sway back and forth with the movement of the water. It was their first dance as a formally married couple, under the stars, and in that same spot they danced when she first told him she loved him.

“I love you,” he was first to say that time.

“I love you,” she told him back.

“While we’re still breathing,” he added.

Her face brightened under the low light of the lighthouse, the moon, and the stars above when she realized he was reciting their vows. “For our always,” she returned.

— — — —

A month later, Jay was cleared for duty. When he was sick, she always imagined him coming back to work. She imagined what it would be like to see him in the field, to translate their unspoken language and their ability to be so in sync with one another to the job. It took them half a day to realize the feeling of being made for one another was more than just related to life outside of the job. Their partnership was natural and effortless. It was as though they had spent years working side by side, learning the other’s tells, reading each other’s next steps before they even happened.

One morning, weeks after they had been working together, Hailey stared at the open door of her locker. Specifically, she stared at the polaroid pressed against the metal. It was the first one they had taken when Jay gave her the camera, the one where he pressed a kiss against her cheek as the shutter released and wrote that he loved her across the bottom. She looked at it every day before and after work, and it became a reminder of the life she found outside of the job.

Before work every day, they’d remove their rings and put them on the top shelves of their lockers. It was their way of keeping their rings safe, but also their way of separating their marriage from their partnership. Personal from professional. At work, she was Hailey Upton, the detective. Anywhere else, she was Hailey Halstead, Jay’s wife. At the end of the day, they’d slip the ring onto the other’s finger, and it became a physical way of making that designation.

They were big on rituals. Another tradition they started was a pinky promise to start the shift. A pinky promise to have each other’s backs and to return to one another at the end of the day.

“Alright, Halstead,” he called out from behind her that morning, pulling her attention back to focus and her stare from the open door.

“Give it up,” he instructed, wiggling fingers asking for her hand. She smiled, offering him her left hand as he slipped the ring from her finger and placed it into her locker. She did the same with his ring, placing it on the top shelf of his.

He then held out his pinky and she wrapped her own around it.

“Promise,” he said.

“Promise,” she smiled.

Something that day made her look at the picture in her locker a little longer. She wasn’t sure exactly what it was other than some strange feeling in her gut, but she chalked it up to nostalgia and quickly shrugged it off. She ran a thumb over his handwriting slowly, pulling away quickly when the sound of his locker door shutting behind her startled her. She took a breath as she gave the picture one last look, then she sealed away the memory behind the closed door.

— — — —

She could feel side stares flung in her direction that morning as Voight briefed the case. A suspected kidnapping of a thirteen-year-old girl. The picture on the case board made her blood run cold. She’s not her, she tried to tell herself. Though no matter how many times she repeated it, all she could see was the face of the girl she failed to save.

As Voight spoke, she kept her eyes straight ahead, worried she would look down and see red on her hands, that she would hear a breathy voice calling out for “Kelly”, or that she would feel across her body and find a bullet in her shoulder.

As Voight was dealing out their tasks, she looked up to meet Jay’s eyes. There was a simple question in them.

Are you okay?

She blinked slowly back at him.

I’m fine.

She knew he had read right through her, still, he didn’t question her any further.

Later, they met in the hallway as he emerged from the observation room at the same time she left the box with their one and only person of interest. They had found him through a messaging app on the girl’s phone, but as Hailey questioned him, the more she realized he was nothing more than a creep and a junkie.

“I don’t think he has anything to do with it. He’s a little skittish, but I think it has more to do with the dime bag in his pocket than the girl,” she said, shaking her head.

“Mhm,” he agreed with a nod, looking over at her delicately with his bottom lip pensively pulled between his teeth.

“I still think we let him sit for another 30, make him sweat a bit, then cut him loose,” she tossed the folder in her hand against the top of the cabinets beside them in annoyance, a sigh of frustration releasing from her lips.

“You okay?” he asked, dipping his head so he could look into her eyes.

She opened her mouth with the intention to give him a half-weighted fib, but instead, she just folded her lips in and shook her head. Tears formed in her eyes. She wasn’t even sure why, but there was no stopping them as a few trailed down her cheek. She quickly wiped at them, taking a deep breath through her mouth to compose herself.

He nodded, looking around them before grabbing her by the elbow and pulling her out of the hallway and into the observation room. His grip never faltered, he closed the door behind them, and pulled her into his chest.

“We’re in partner mode,” her mouth protested, though she didn’t stop her body from softening into him.

“I don’t care. You’re my wife, and I need to hold you right now,” he said, readjusting his grip to tighten around her and resting his cheek against the top of her head.

“We need to find her…” she grumbled against his shirt. “And she needs to be okay. I can’t deal with another dead kid.”

“We’ll find her,” he said, leaning down to say the words into her ear.

She felt like crying again, but she instead just nodded, pulling back and resting a hand against his chest.

“Thank you,” she told him, sliding her hand from the front of his shirt as she opened the door to leave the room.

“Hey, we’ve got a solid lead. The owner of a cafe in Pilsen says his security cameras picked up footage of a girl matching our vic’s description being pulled into a warehouse across the street. Time-stamped about an hour ago. Voight’s going to meet us there,” Kim said, pulling on her coat.

Hailey looked back at Jay, and he gave her a soothing nod as they hastily pulled their weapons from the safe.

On the drive over, Hailey kept seeing that girl’s face in her mind, the light leaving her eyes as she took her last breath. Suddenly, that feeling in her gut from earlier that morning returned. Only this time, it was followed by the sensation of everything spinning around her and the air growing heavy in her lungs. She tugged at her collar when a tingling sensation ran through her body, and her mind suddenly drowned in an unruly state of panic.

“Hail?” Jay asked, glancing over at her from the road. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know, I just—“ her breath caught in her throat and she shook her head.

“Woah,” he said, swerving the truck to the side of the road.

The second they were stopped, she hopped out and doubled over her knees by the curbside. She coughed a few times, but though she felt nauseous, nothing came out. He handed her a bottle of water as his hand rubbed against the back of her vest.

“I’m sorry,” she said, between sips. “This case is just… bringing up a lot.”

She took a few more gulps of water, breathing heavily in and out through her mouth a few times before pressing her eyes shut. She counted out her breathing in her mind. In for a few seconds, hold, release.

“I’ll tell Voight we can’t make it,” he said, pulling his DC from his vest.

She waved him off, her posture straightening as she tried to shake off whatever it was that had overcome her. “No, I’m good.”

“Hailey—“

“Jay, come on. I need this, and they can’t clear that place without us,” she took one last deep breath. “Seriously, come on.”

He agreed with reluctance, walking around to his side of the truck as she hopped back into the passenger seat.

The place was eerily quiet as they entered. She and Jay took the back, Kim and Kevin took the side, and Voight took the front with Adam. It was large and empty, in a way that every footstep, no matter how quiet, echoed five times over.

She and Jay went dark, then split up. She took the left side, he took the right. She was a minute deep into questioning every noise, wondering if it was her own echo or a thing to be threatened by. She was sure the pounding in her chest was bouncing off the walls as well, but she remained steady and pressed forward.

The light from her flashlight caught a glimpse of someone, and she froze. Then she recognized it was the girl, and she was able to release the slightest breath of relief as she saw that she was still alive. The girl was chained to a rusted beam, blindfolded, gagged, and bound at the feet. She shook off the Deja Vu that flashed through her mind, her head on a swivel as she ran over to the girl.

The girl screamed at her touch.

“Shh,” she breathed out, looking around before holstering her weapon. “I’m the police. My name is Hailey. I’m here to help.”

She took the blindfold from her face, soggy red eyes full of terror meeting hers instantly.

“Hey,” she whispered. “You’re alright. I’ve got you.”

Next, her fingers carefully tugged the gag from her mouth.

“Behind you!” the girl screamed. Hailey rolled to the right as a pipe swung down, just missing her shoulder. She scrambled against the ground as the man came at her again, a full-force swing sending a reverberating clang through the building as he missed and collided with the floor. She pulled her gun, and he took off running.

“I’ll come back for you,” she promised the girl before taking off after the man.

His knowledge of the building allowed him an advantage. He weaved in and around barriers, gaining a significant distance from her as she chased his trail of echoing footsteps. She saw a flash of light as he opened a door to the outside. She groaned, reaching for her DC and turning it back on as she held chase after him.

“If anyone can hear me, I’ve got eyes. Offender just fled outside through a side door on the west side of the building. I am in pursuit.”

She opened the door, kicking it open with her foot as she swiveled back and forth with her weapon held out before her. Just as she crossed the threshold, she felt the metal door slam against her. A shot of pain surged through her arm, and she fell to the ground. She tried to stand, but before she could get anywhere, something stuck the back of her head. Her vision faded. An excruciating ache and the sensation of blood trickling down the back of her neck were the last things she felt before her body collided with cold concrete.

— — — —

“Are you doing anything right now, you know, besides stuffing your face with diabetes?” Jay’s green eyes looked back at her from across the elevator at Med. She moved her spoon around the cup in her hands, then looked up to find those fluorescent lights of the space had dimmed.

It was dark. He was standing on the walkway up to her house, and she felt nervous as she peered down at him from the entryway of her front door.

“Promise to keep my secret, to not look me up if I tell you my name,” he requested. She walked down the steps and offered him a pinky finger. He let out a laugh and wrapped his finger around hers.

“Pinky promise.”

She blinked and found herself sitting across from her therapist, indistinct words coming from the woman’s mouth before she stood and walked out to the lobby, exiting the building to find Jay greeting her with a shy wave from the truck.

She opened the passenger door, transporting her to the top of his roof. She was in his arms, her head against his chest as he swayed them together under twinkling lights and the dark Chicago sky.

“I’m falling in love with you,” she heard his voice say.

She looked up and they were no longer on his roof, but back outside of her house. Her hand was held in his, rested over his heart, and the world was quiet. She wanted to kiss him, but she couldn’t move, she couldn’t speak, she couldn’t do anything. Then, she felt herself shivering as water dripped from her arms, and she looked down to find herself sitting on the edge of the tailgate of his truck. He was stood between her legs, shirtless, with a towel wrapped around his bare shoulders. He was looking at her with water droplets dripping down the sides of his face, and his mouth quirked up at the corners. The next thing she knew, his lips were on hers, like fire burning against her.

Then as quickly as it was lit, the fire went out, and he was gone. She looked around to find herself sitting alone in an empty hallway at Med, tears falling down her face. She could sense someone beside her, and when she looked over, Will was patiently peering over at her with a sad look of support.

Those moving pictures picked up as she saw her life in swift flashes. Out of order, she saw those same job-related accomplishments from before, woven in between every memory of joy, pain, and sorrow she had endured during the past year.

She saw family, she saw Jay, and she saw life.

Then everything slowed. She saw herself walking towards Jay in the hospital room, his necklace and his list in her hand. When she got closer, they were no longer in the hospital, but on the beach. The setting sun was shone behind him, they were surrounded by everyone they loved, and she was slipping a ring onto his finger.

As she did, the world fell dark around them. They were still on the beach, but it was far later in the day. She was in his arms, and his words pulled her out of disorientation.

“I love you,” he told her.

“I love you,” she said back.

“While we’re still breathing.”

“For our always.”

She blinked, and she was staring at that photo in her locker. She turned around and he was looking back at her with his pinky held out between them.

“Promise.”

She saw his smile one last time, then everything faded to black.

#upstead #jay x hailey #hailey x jay #jay halstead #hailey upton #upstead fic #upstead fanfiction #chicago pd #justmypartner fics #collection of Em’s fics

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laplacemail · 2 years ago

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With a flourish, the butterfly seems to understand what is asked of it. It flies away, upwards. Flutters in the air for a bit, so small compared to the endless white that surrounds it. Ancient power that dances in the early morning light, it returns to Adonia. Decides to rest longer. There is another flash of blue when it does, then red. Beautiful colors that the fey sees for a moment, and then it disappears. He returns his attention to the young girl next to him.

Is that not what she is, behind her bravado? Next to him, time expands infinitely. But Adonia is not deaf to silent pleas, nor he will act in ignorance. Time will pass much quicker. His own has stopped, removed by his own hands.

He gives Ez no visible reply, only a watchful gaze. She is aware he is gauging her answers, like a teacher evaluating a student. And not unlike a parent trying to figure out what exactly what to say to a child. If she did not read it, then he wonders how much she truly knows. The truth would break her, he is certain of it. But 'truth' is not something people can hide forever. Nor should you be forced to pay for the mistake of your forebears.

"I see." That is all he says about it. For now, at least. For now, there is no need to reveal a something that is so blatantly exposed. "I will not claim to know your suffering, or what he went through in detail." He could, but he feels no need to. It is different from when he needed to apply the same technique on the Krezkovs... and he is aware that whatever will come of it is bitter. Bitter and tainted, bitter and it tastes like death.

Adonia lets his gaze linger on Ez once more, and he keeps with him another secret: that it will get worse. By the way she speaks, Adonia can deduce that nothing was spoken to her. A man cursed threefold. At the end of the road, death would be a kindness extended to him. A death Adonia himself will see denied for a long time. Pharasma simply will have to wait a little longer, if she manages to grab him before a certain someone else does. He wonders if the woman next to him would agree with such an end.

Probably not.

"Bold words, but correct ones. Yet not everyone would share your way of viewing things. People closer to you than you might think. That you differ is proof enough - at least for now - that I would require of you." He does not blink, and listens carefully. It is too early, and they have earned a short moment to put misunderstandings aside. At least between both of them. Antares and Arlas would not have the same issues that Adonia has. He calls out to her in a voice that is too soft.

Not honeyed, not malicious. Adonia's wrath is a dangerous lance. When it is pointed at someone - somebody - it pierces. It tears through flesh. It strikes true, always. Right now, he puts his own judgement aside.

"You should take this." From his still extended hand, the result of his handicraft. A small flower ring, multicolored and vibrant. "Much like the ones in the orphanage, these will not wither. Nor they will be destroyed. This is not a trick, nor it is a pact. It is not a boon.

It is simply a gift. You will not slight me if you decline, nor I will seek revenge if you return it to me. It is an offer of friendship." Adonia thinks it is frankly amusing how she seems unrepentant about what anyone would point out as a rebellious streak. Thinking about it this way almost brings a smile to his face. Instead, he puts down the ring and reaches for his bag. Finding what he is looking for, he pulls out one of the many parchments he brings with him and works in silence. The gentle light green symbols flow for a moment, slowly... before letting power guide them to where they need to be, transcribing itself onto paper. Neat and precise, this too is a gift of friendship. He hands it over to Ez. A way to change the subject, a way for Adonia to pretend he did not realize how uncomfortable she looks. She will unveil the truth when she is ready. When she can stand on her two feet, not under someone's shadow. Whenever she is ready to spread her wings and soar, carried by her own strength.

"Even if you do not regret it, a friend of mine would be incredibly annoyed if it happened to his steed. You may use this one instead. And if you need more, you may simply ask me and I will provide. Free of charge, of course. So you may find shelter from the darkness, and return safe and sound."

Ez rises two hours before dawn, attaches her prosthetic, washes her face, runs her fingers through her short-cropped hair, and spends twenty minutes stretching. Then, with her sword at her hip, her chalice tucked into its pouch around her neck, and a hunk of bread in her hands, Ez heads out to survey the surrounding area.

She stops short when she sees Adonia sitting in the snow, surrounded by a black mass of ravens.

Cautiously, Ez steps closer to him. The ravens croak their indignation, but they make room for her, and she pauses for a moment before she sits down beside him. The ravens surround the two of them once more.

It’s quiet here. Even the rustling of the ravens’ wings is muffled by the snow.

When Adonia speaks, Ez tenses. She knows it’s a mistake even as her body stiffens; she’s giving away too much, showing her hand, revealing the heart that’s only ever barely hidden on her sleeve. Van Richten always chided her for it. Too soft. Your self-control must be your armor.

“I didn’t read it,” Ez says, haltingly, trying to measure her words. “I wouldn’t-- disrespect him like that. Even though he left it open, it wasn’t open for me. So I only caught a few lines of what you wrote. About the Vistani.” It’s a sore subject, even now. Especially now.

“Van Richten’s son was kidnapped by Vistani, and something terrible happened to him. Van Richten had to kill him.” The words come out flat, without the emotion they’re owed. Ez doesn’t know how to talk about this. As a rule, she doesn’t talk about this. But van Richten is the closest thing she has to family, the closest thing she has to a friend, and she doesn’t want him misunderstood. “He knows we aren’t all spies. He’s just… not inclined to trust us, especially given that the Vistani here seem to follow Strahd.”

“I’m not sorry I stole the horse from ‘the people you’re on good terms with’,” she adds, her chin tilting up in defiance. “Strahd’s not stupid enough to walk into the antimagic field of that tower. It was the only place I could think to run to, and I wouldn’t arrive before nightfall without a horse. I wasn’t planning to keep it. And I didn’t hurt anyone when I took it. We don’t all have the luxury of choosing not to steal to live.” The last words carry something odd in them, an old hurt, but Ez does not elaborate.

The butterfly flutters its wings and the wintry light plays over them, sending a ripple of iridescent blue over their delicate orange surface. The creature must come from whatever magic grows the flowers in Adonia’s hair, Ez thinks absently; it certainly doesn’t belong here.

“Anyway. I wouldn’t attack you or your friends for who you are. You’re just… people.” Ez picks at her bread and scatters crumbs to the ravens. One croaks inquisitively and hops closer, pecking hopefully at them, then scoops the lot of them out of the snow while its comrades squawk their scathing criticism. Ez scatters more for them, and they hop about with obvious delight.

“People are allowed to be what they are, whatever that may be, tiefling or fey or… whatever. I’ve met good lycanthropes, good dhampirs. Never a good zombie.” She shivers involuntarily at a sudden intrusive memory-- gnashing teeth, wet moans torn from rotted throats, a pile of corpses deep enough for a little girl to hide in-- and hopes that Adonia assumes it’s the cold. “There could be one, though, I guess. Good ghosts, yes. Good fey. If people just want to live their lives, if they’re not hurting anyone, it’s not my business. But the ones who do hurt people… normal folks can’t deal with them at all. It’s not like two humans fighting each other. It’s a predator hunting its prey, and the prey needs someone to stick up for it.”

#the last rose of summer ; adonia #kesil #sorry for your enormously long uphill battle girlie i promise it will be worth it

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altariaas · 3 years ago

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your face all made up (living on a screen)

Adrien knows, to some degree, that it’s the important things that are the most important to say out loud, but it would help to know that someone’s actually listening. It would also help if things would stop breaking every time he acknowledged his emotions, too.

i’ve taken a total of three steps into this fandom but sure, let’s skip to season 4 and fall face-first into the Angst™, as it goes. I just think Adrien should get a little raw powers of destruction sneaking out of control in his daily life. as a treat. Post-Rocketear so lots of spoilers etc.

Adrien walks home from the fight against Nino’s akuma with a raging headache, a developing case of massive anxiety, and a purpling bruise the size of a basketball on his shin.

The last one isn’t actually from the akuma. Those injuries got neatly miraculoused away, along with Nino’s heartbroken betrayal. No, the bruise is from Adrien’s incredibly stupid attempt to funnel his tornado of emotions into something concrete by kicking the front gate, only to completely miss and slam his shin into the solid steel rungs instead, sending him stumbling back in a pained fit of trying to think up creative curse words that won’t result in his father murdering him if he overhears.

Metaphorically, of course. Father’s not a murderer, except when it comes to the slow death of Adrien’s social life.

Though he really…can’t entirely blame that on Father, either.

And there comes the developing case of anxiety. Adrien swallows, a feeble attempt to banish the souring feeling in his stomach and the aching tightness in his chest. He wraps his arms around himself, staring up at the mansion and fighting the increasing urge to run. The inside of his cheek stings as he chews at it, already abused from how hard he’d bitten there earlier when Nino had started making…observations. Accusations. Wildly misdirected statements that definitely aren’t any insight to how Nino truly feels about what might be the truest version of Adrien’s slowly splintering self, if he’s going to be dramatic about it.

Overly passionate, Father’s voice echoes hollowly somewhere in the back of his head. Prone to fits of drama, just like his mother.

Spinning abruptly on his heel, Adrien beats a steady path away from the mansion gates and toward…somewhere. Somewhere that won’t make that developing case of anxiety worse, and where no one can witness his fits of drama.

The urge to send the front camera a rude gesture in farewell is violently stifled as Adrien keeps his arms wrapped tightly around himself, like the action will keep everything in neat and perfect and safe from view. He feels more than hears Plagg rustle curiously in his front pocket, but Adrien ignores the action, keeping his eyes fixed ahead.

Then the sharp reminder of how it felt when Ladybug ignored him in favor of Rena Rouge comes back and bites him solidly in the guilty part of his feelings, so Adrien pats his front pocket reassuringly.

“Just taking the long way home,” he murmurs.

Plagg’s eyes are calculating, almost greener than usual as they stare at him, and Adrien feels uncomfortably perceived. Not in the cold, bug-under-a-microscope way he feels sometimes when Father looks at him, but a hot kind of uncomfortable, the way he feels when someone looks right past the Adrien Agreste mask and sees—

What? What do they see? An awkward boy stumbling back against a wall because he never learned what his real self was supposed to look like? Hollow flirting and annoying with a capital a?

Fits of drama, Adrien reminds himself. He shouldn’t take it so close to heart. Not when Nino looked so devastated, so heartbroken. Not when Ladybug’s been giving him uncomfortably clear signs that Nino might’ve been right.

“If you say so, kid,” Plagg finally replies. “But I better get that camembert sooner than later.”

A half-smile tugs at Adrien’s mouth. “Sure, Plagg.”

At least Plagg still wants him around, masks and all. It’s a small comfort, but Adrien clings to it, his arms tightening around himself. Sure, things didn’t go…wonderfully, today, but it’s not all so bad. He got slammed into a van a couple of times, and maybe a couple of busted ribs, but that’s nothing, comparatively. And sure, Father’s finding more flaws in him to coldly evaluate than usual, and Nathalie’s growing paler and sicker by the day, and Ladybug’s either freezing him out bit by bit or starting to forget about him entirely and he isn’t sure which is worse, and his schedule is slipping further and further from manageable by the day and Nino dislikes a side of him so much it sent him straight into an akuma and—

“—kid, stop!”

Adrien’s thoughts cut off abruptly as his foot catches, his sense of balance going horizontal as he stumbles, and proceeds to nearly slam the rest of him face-first into the concrete. Plagg’s sharp warning echoes in his ears as he rights himself with a panicked yelp, hopping once while frantically hoping no one was around to see — whatever that was.

“Kid,” Plagg starts, but he doesn’t finish. He’s left the front pocket, his eyes bright green as he stares at him.

Adrien blinks, shaking the slight sense of vertigo off. “Sorry, sorry, I—”

Huh. What did he do? Rubbing the back of his head, Adrien glances at the street he stumbled over. He frowns.

The culprit is a jagged, snaking tear in the concrete, half a meter deep and the length of Adrien’s arm. He stares at the spiderwebbing cracks that branch out of it, fine grains of crushed concrete already scattering in the slight wind.

Weird, he thinks. He doesn’t remember fighting Nino this far down the street. Lucky Charm should’ve fixed that, even if he did.

“Adrien,” Plagg says, and there’s an uncharacteristically cautious edge in his voice. “What was that?”

Adrien cups a hand around Plagg, running a finger over his head in apology as he draws him out of view again. “Lost in thought, I guess,” he says, ducking his head. “Sorry.”

Plagg doesn’t reply, still staring at him with a look Adrien can’t quite identify. He feels oddly disoriented, like he actually did fall and hit his head, and now it’s spinning in retaliation. Across the street in front of him, the stoplight flickers — red, then orange, then red again. It flickers out entirely, before snapping back to a bright, acidic green. Adrien rubs his eyes.

“Let’s…let’s go home,” Plagg finally says, tucking himself back in Adrien’s shirt pocket. He doesn’t entirely meet Adrien’s eyes as he does, but he curls up against his chest, solid and warm, and it’s almost enough to banish the ache that lies beneath.

“Okay,” he says, softly. “Home, then.”

————

There’s a memory Adrien has, from when he was younger. It’s one he holds tightly to his chest, tattered and frayed as it is.

He was much smaller than he is now — barely six years-old, maybe, and small enough to hide behind the large statues his mother would put funny hats on to make his father laugh. She’d done just that earlier, standing tiptoed on the staircase as she’d slipped a terrible orange bowler hat on the pretty lady Nathalie said was from Greece. Adrien had giggled behind his fingers and his father had laughed, an unfamiliar sound that’s faded in memory now, but a bright and real one nonetheless.

It had been a good day, until mother had come down with a cold during dinner and Adrien had jolted out of sleep from a nightmare about giant, ugly orange hats that snatched up his mother with their ribbon-like fingers and took her away from him forever.

He’d sprinted through the house like the horrible hat monsters from his dream were on his heels, slipping in his socks up to the cracked door of his father’s study.

He hadn’t needed to knock, then, or even schedule a meeting. He’d slid through the doorway and barreled into his father, only to be caught by strong arms and swept into his father’s lap, warm and safe from any monsters that dared to follow him here.

“I’m worried about your mother, too,” his father had said. “But it’s just a cold, you see? Nothing to go slipping and falling down the stairs about.”

He’d received nothing but a sniffle in response.

“Alright.” Fingers had pinched around his nose as his father sighed. “How about we read a story then, until you’re not so frightened? Just you and me.”

The book they’d started that night was about a prince and a planet and a rose, and Adrien still remembers the sound his father’s voice made as it resonated where Adrien’s cheek pressed against his chest, his arms holding tight and warm around him, like nothing bad could slip in from outside and hurt him.

It’s a favorite memory of his, one Adrien finds springing back to mind whenever Father gives him a smile, half-formed and distanced as they are.

Lately, though, it’s a memory that stings to think about. It makes it harder to look Father in the eye, for some reason.

————

“And like, I really can’t say this enough, but I’m so sorry.”

“I told you, Nino, it’s fi—”

“No seriously, dude, I’m really sorry, I—”

“Nino.”

His friend finally jerks out from his puddle of miserable apologies, and Adrien gives him a weary smile. “It’s fine. You didn’t hurt me.”

“I dragged you into the boiler room then got akumatized,” Nino says, distressed. “That’s worse than like, the plot of eight different horror movies.”

“Your head was shaped like a giant blue tear, it wasn’t that scary,” Adrien assures him.

“I am ninety percent sure I remember shoving you to the floor,” Nino moans, not reassured in the least.

Part of Adrien’s mind, the part that sounds a little too much like a spurned cat whom hell hath no fury, or however the saying goes, wants to pipe up with the fact that getting shoved to the floor was five-star treatment compared to what Nino (akuma, Nino’s akuma, that’s important) had proceeded to do to him afterwards.

The bus-slamming thing had hurt.

Not as much as hurting Nino would’ve, though.

So instead, Adrien gives Nino the kindest smile he can, lays a gentle hand on his arm, and says, “As if the akuma gave you the biceps to pull that off.”

“Hey,” Nino knocks their shoulders together, his guilt ridden expression easing just a bit as he gives him a half-hearted grin. “I’m ripped, bro.”

It takes Adrien a moment to reply, too busy fighting the overwhelmingly — traitor — urge to follow the warmth of contact with Nino like a starving animal. He doesn’t need to fight for too long — his brain throws everyone thinks you’re a joke at him just in time for Adrien to hunch his shoulders in and give Nino an awkward little grin of his own.

Maybe his brain’s a traitor too, though, because he doesn’t remember Nino even saying that about Chat Noir.

He thinks.

Hopes.

Actually, his brain can go sit in a corner if it’s going to keep throwing stuff like this at him. Shaking anything and everything knowledge-wise that belongs to Chat Noir from his mind, Adrien turns his attention back to the scribbled game of hangman they’ve been playing on the corner of Nino’s history notes. Group projects are supposed to be fun, anyways, especially with Nino.

“Uh, c,” he guesses.

Nino adds a single c to the blank letter spaces. Adrien squints at the paper, his mouth downturning at the suspiciously familiar arrangement he has so far.

_adia_t, ca_ef_ee, d_ea_y

“Nino,” he says, carefully.

Nino smirks. “Mm-hm.”

“If this has anything to do with perfume ads—”

“Uh-huh?”

“Then I hate you.”

Nino cackles, scribbling in the rest of the rest of the accursed phrase as Max loudly hushes him. Adrien rolls his eyes and huffs, but he’s unable to stop the small smile of amusement. It quickly fades as his words to Nino echo with an uncomfortable emphasis in his head.

You’re being stupid, he tells himself. Adrien pushes away the nagging feeling. Nino knows he’s not serious. He knows Adrien doesn’t actually hate him. Just like Adrien knows Nino didn’t mean it, when he said all that stuff about Chat Noir.

His fingers tighten around his pencil. He’s not supposed to be thinking about that. Nino apologized, to Chat Noir himself, and just because Adrien can’t get the sting out, it doesn’t mean that Nino meant anything genuine by it.

Overly dramatic, Adrien reminds himself. Way too emotional.

The ache in his chest makes itself known again with a pang, and Adrien bites the inside of his cheek, glancing at Nino from the corners of his eyes.

Maybe he should tell Nino he cares about him, just to be sure. The words form in his mind, only to catch abruptly in his throat, thick and cloying. He thinks of how thoughtlessly he’s been able to tell Father he loves him. Thinks of how easy it’s always been to tell Ladybug how much she means to him.

He thinks of how neither of them seem to like meeting him in the eyes, lately.

He swallows the words, opting to smile brightly at Nino instead. It’s probably for the best. Nino’s always been better at picking up on people’s feelings, anyways, and he doesn’t need the kind of nagging assurance Adrien does. And it’s not like Adrien’s had much luck telling people he loves them, lately. Actually, if you look at his track record, he probably hasn’t…had any luck at all.

Adrien shakes his head, shoving the coldness creeping into his chest as far to the corner of his mind as he can, and sketches out enough blank spaces on the paper to spell fake mustaches are the new sexy.

If he can still make Nino laugh, it’s fine. He wouldn’t be laughing if he thought Adrien was annoying and obnoxious.

So see? It’s fine.

————

Adrien thinks about elastics, sometimes. The stretchy, rubber kind that Mme Thurston uses to pull back the longer locks of his hair while she’s doing his makeup, tying it up in a neat little explosion on top of his head that makes him look like a blond weed. She makes it look easy, twisting the little bands around and around, until they’re tight enough to hold his hair in place.

(Adrien’s hair is always easy, of course. Chat Noir’s hair, on the other hand, would probably give Mme Thurston nightmares. Mainly because Adrien has a fun little habit of shaking his head side to side until it’s an unrecognizable blond disaster, but that’s not particularly relevant.)

(Ladybug doesn’t even need to use elastics, opting for the soft strands of ribbon that hold her pigtails in perfect place.)

Adrien doesn’t normally use elastic bands either, but he likes the way they feel when he’s nervous, stretching and rubbery, then snapping perfectly back into place, like he’d never twisted them all out of proportion at all. The way he can hook his fingers in both ends and pull and pull and pull, but they never quite snap.

Felix has a fun trick with those, when they do photoshoots together.

(When they used to.)

He’ll press a little elastic against Adrien’s arm and pull the end back, just far enough, then let it snap back into place, stinging little red marks when it slaps against skin.

“Stop it,” Adrien scowls at him, but the expression wavers. Playful isn’t a word he uses along with Felix very often, but photoshoots are always more entertaining with him, at least. Or they were, until his mother disappears, and family photoshoots grind to an utter and complete halt forever—

—just for now, his father says, until something changes, until that something happens, until that metaphorical other foot that’s always hanging over Adrien’s head finally stomps its way back to earth and demolishes him in the process—

Felix replies by stretching another elastic between his fingers, shooting it toward him this time like a little slingshot. Adrien snags it out of the air, slotting it between his own fingers to fire back. It misses by a miserable meter and a half, because at the time this conversation takes place, he and Ladybug haven’t stayed up all night practicing their aim by trying to hit the left ear of Le Stryge on Notre-Dame.

Felix snorts, snatching the elastic from the floor, and makes a show of placing the band back against Adrien’s wrist. He pulls it back with a meaningful look, like an exasperated teacher. “It’s the bounce back that hurts,” he tells him. “Not the stretching part. When it snaps back to place—” He demonstrates by releasing the band, and Adrien flinches at the tiny sting. “—that’s the part that hurts.”

Four years later, having up close and personally experienced what a shattered ribcage stabbing into your lungs feels like, Adrien wants to correct Felix on tiny little elastic bands and what actually hurts, but the point, he guesses, is that he still remembers what it felt like.

He still thinks about those elastics sometimes, and how far they can be pulled until they snap back into place. How the little rubber band can make it so far, get so close to breaking, only to snap right back to where it started.

(Chat Noir doesn’t use elastics, either.)

————

For all that Adrien will stand by stuffing the worst of his emotions into a box and never thinking about them ever as a perfectly reasonable way to go about handling things —and whatever Plagg says doesn’t count, he’s a kwami who compares emotions to cheese — Adrien really does believe in communication as key.

Living it out is just. Another thing entirely.

But Adrien’s lived his life with a cold mansion’s worth of words left unsaid, so on principle, he really does believe that if something’s important, you should say it. Maybe nobody will really listen to you, or take you seriously, but at least you’ll have said it, and maybe at some point they’ll remember you said it, and it’ll mean something to them.

But maybe that’s what stopping him this time — he just can’t decide if it’s the idea of not being listened to that scares him, or the idea of actually being heard that’s worse.

It’s not like he wants to tell Ladybug he’s upset. It’s not like he even wants to be upset.

It doesn’t change the fact that he is, kind of, a little bit, (a lot) — but again, on principle, Adrien just — he doesn’t like being upset. It’s all uncomfortable and hot and it sits on his chest like a rock, weighing heavier and heavier until he learns to get over it.

It’s only worse when he tries to say something about it, because that never works. Maybe it’s a really sucky side effect of being homeschooled for most of his life, but every time Adrien opens his mouth to tell someone he’s upset with them and here’s why, it always backfires spectacularly. There’s a weird moment where something happens and the other person says their part, and suddenly Adrien’s complaints sound so stupid he wants to crawl in a hole and hide. There’s a dizzying one-eighty and Adrien’s suddenly the one in the wrong, and the other person’s upset at him, and now he’s got to apologize before he makes it worse than he already has.

And granted, most of those other people are just Father (or Father’s tinny voice through the phone), but he’s already enough to beat the lesson in.

Metaphorically, of course. Always — always metaphorically. Adrien’s never doubted otherwise.

“Maybe I’m just that bad at arguing,” he mutters, swiping darkly at his phone screen.

“I dunno,” Nino says, his voice consoling. “I mean, you were pretty good at it when you argued me into watching that one anime the other night.”

Adrien rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t upset with you about that.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Nino winks at him. “Unless your voice going all high-pitched about why Sailor Moon is the peak of animation is your default setting.”

“I wasn’t upset with you, though,” Adrien shakes his head, cutting him off. “I’m never upset with you.”

And he isn’t, really. Not even when Nino tells him, in an admittedly roundabout way, that he’s annoying and irritating and has loose and shady moral commitment to love and all its forms (or something like that).

He means, it stings, but only in the way Felix’s little rubber band snaps do. Not enough to justify picking an argument with Nino. Not to justify upsetting him, and possibly losing the one friend who’s stuck by him through the worst and actually shares stuff with him these days.

Adrien bites down on the inside of his cheek. If he’s not careful with the way his train of thought’s been steering itself lately, he’s going to accidentally show Ladybug how upset he is, and that’s—

Well, the fallout of that will hurt a lot worse than a little elastic band snap.

A lot worse than it already does, so. Back in your corner, resentful thoughts.

“Uh-huh.” There’s a quiet edge of suspicion in Nino’s voice, and Adrien stiffens, suddenly feeling horribly seen. The look Nino’s pinned on him doesn’t help at all, searching and curious and—

Concerned? Upset? Angry?

Adrien doesn’t know. He thinks it’s concern, but he’s also been thinking Ladybug’s been amused with him when she’s apparently just been annoyed, so who knows, really—

Shut up, Adrien tells his subconscious furiously. Shut up, shut up, shut up.

“It’s okay, if you are,” Nino says hesitantly, perhaps having picked up on whatever storm of emotions are slipping through Adrien’s schooled expression. “Upset, I mean. At your old man or me. It’s better to talk to people upfront, y’know? Otherwise…”

Nino’s expression twists in guilt, and Adrien’s lungs feel a little like they’re shriveling up and dying. Or maybe that’s just his chest on the whole, collapsing in on itself and taking Adrien’s ability to breath right with it.

He isn’t upset. He’s not. He doesn’t need to talk to anyone upfront about it, because there’s nothing to talk about in the first place. He’s not going to be overly dramatic about this too, he’s not. He’s just— it’s just—

Is it personal? Was it something he did, that made Ladybug trust everyone else but him? Did he slip up at some point and he just — he can’t remember? She’d told him, she’d promised they were fine after New York, but maybe she’d changed her mind without telling him and decided he needed to figure out on his own where he messed up if he was ever going to be worthy of her trust agai—

“I’ll be — I’ve gotta — restroom,” Adrien stammers, shooting up from his seat and all but sprinting for the doors.

“Wait, Adrien—!”

Nino’s panicked call is lost as Adrien flies down the hall, slipping down the stairs to the bathrooms on the first floor where he’s less likely to be found. He doesn’t feel like he’s going to cry, or anything so humiliating, but there’s an awful crushing sensation in his chest that makes him think he might do something he’ll regret. Or say something, any of the raging thoughts that bang off the insides of his skull with hurt. Something he won’t be able to take back.

Adrien wavers, planting both hands on the edge of the sink and staring at the white porcelain. His breathing sounds odd in the echo of the bathroom, wavering and off-beat. His vision swims traitorously, so he glares up at the mirror instead, only to falter as he catches sight of his reflection.

He looks…not great. Pale skin and bloodshot eyes in the way that’s likely to make Nathalie call a doctor on him. Which would be just fantastically ironic, considering she’s the one who needs a doctor, even if she’s never going to admit it and keep lying to him. Just like Ladybug, all careful smiles and words chosen with forced, casual caution, staring at him with eyes that are a million other places except actually seeing him.

Stop, he tells himself furiously, squeezing his eyes shut. Stop. Ladybug is not Father. Ladybug is Ladybug, his best friend and partner and he trusts her, he trusts her to have her reasons for not telling him. He has to trust her. He does trust her, he—

A sharp cracking sound tears Adrien from his thoughts, and he snaps his head up to find seven of his own disjointed faces staring back at him. He blinks, and suddenly the faces are clinking to the floor, broken fragments of the mirror scattering around his shoes.

His first thought, apart from a bizarre sense of not being entirely in his body, is a well-timed curse word.

Instead, what he gets out is, “Seven years bad luck,” muttered, almost absently, beneath his breath.

Typical. He wonders if moonlighting as a black cat-themed superhero that leans heavily into exaggerated acrobatics counts as crossing one. Like he needs more bad luck, right now.

What he actually needs, is…

Is…

He needs an escape.

From everything, it feels like, but for now, Adrien will settle for an escape from the school bathroom with all the mirrors that just broke.

…somehow.

————

For all that he throws fits of drama about it, the thing is, Adrien has escaped.

He’s made it out of the house, to school. He’s learned physics and grammar and math that Nathalie taught him six months ago, and he’s learned how to play hangman and cut class and tell your friend’s fortune with folded paper. He’s made friends, real friends, and he’s learned how to muffle loud giggles on the phone at night and what kinds of snack food Nino likes and doesn’t like. He’s learned how to pick up on a whole slew of emotions other than disappointment and apathy and mildly reserved approval, and he’s learned how to tell when other people are hurting.

(He’s learned how to tell how he’s hurting, but he’s unlearned that one faster.)

He’s learned the words it takes to voice that Father isn’t always right, learned how to curl his fingers tight enough into his palms that they don’t shake so much anymore, and he’s learned how to stretch like a rubber band against people’s anger, bending without breaking.

(He’s also learned about the perks of night vision and bone density and six different ways to trip someone up with the leather belt you’ve got tied around your waist like a tail, but he can’t credit school for those.)

And he thinks — he thinks he’s come so far, he’s learned so much, he’s so much stronger now—

Then his father’s eyes soften just enough to resemble the eyes of the man who held him close and told him how much he loved him, loves him, who stayed up all night reading Adrien’s favorite book to him and whose lap was the safest, warmest place in the world, and Adrien—

Hates himself. Hates himself as he snaps right back into place, right back into the Adrien who crumbles at Father’s slightest snap of tone. Hates himself so much it stings.

Because it’s so much easier to do that, than it is to hate his father.

————

Adrien doesn’t particularly want to go to the photoshoot after school, especially not now that mirrors are literally breaking at the sight of his face, but — and here’s the fits of drama again — like everything else Father’s deigned to want, he doesn’t have much of a choice.

Technically, though, Adrien fantasizes as he fixes his eyes upward so the makeup artist can do her best to hide the darkening circles beneath them (“—really, dear, do you sleep at all these days—”), he could give himself a choice. He could make it fun, too, striking the perfect pose before transforming into Chat Noir right smack in front of the entire studio crew, and then Father would have something truly inspired to review that evening. A perfect snapshot of Adrien cataclysm-ing his merry way out of the studio and out into the gloriously free outside, that’s what.

Except then Adrien would have way too many choices to make, and even less all at once. The identity thing, being one. How to avoid Ladybug murdering him and dancing atop his grave, for another. Not that he thinks Ladybug is capable of murdering anyone, of course—

(—no, that’s solely reserved for him and his powers alone—)

—but he can imagine she’d be angry, were he to stage a reveal that way.

Were he to stage a reveal at all, Adrien thinks sourly, blinking until the stiff feeling of the makeup beneath his eyes fades. His makeup artist’s had to use the thick kind today, the extra-strength stuff that’s going to take forever to wash off. He stifles the urge to swipe at it, trying to relax into the feeling instead. Makeup is familiar, consistent. Sure, it’s technically another lie, but it’s one Adrien’s at least aware of. Makeup, he can see through. He can put it on and take it off himself, exercising some tiny semblance of control over what’s being hidden from the world.

Everything else, though…

“Carefree, my boy, carefree,” Vincent implores, his eyebrows furrowing as Adrien snaps himself back to the present. “You look as if you’re being drowned in mud, not soaring above the clouds.”

Adrien’s cheeks puff up as he blows his breath out, short and frustrated. At least Vincent is every bit as prone to fits of drama as he is, he reminds himself. It’s better to be stuck with someone passionate than someone as open as a brick wall, even if it is just Vincent antagonizing him with a camera again.

“Sorry,” he offers, giving him a weak grin. “I’ll get it this time, promise.”

Vincent doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he rambles about lighting and angles instead of scolding Adrien, which he can’t help but be grateful for. It allows Adrien a moment to let the smile drop, staring at the ground instead of the brightening lights around him.

He toes sullenly at the smooth linoleum of the floor, the solid black of Father’s logo glaring back at him from the side of his sneaker. Maybe he should just get more sleep. Maybe all the ugly tangled emotions in his chest are just residual buildup from being overtired, that’s all. Ladybug mentioned the stress getting to her a little while back, her own eyes bloodshot and exhausted. Adrien’s brilliant solution had been to take her to the movies, which had gone just as brilliantly as every other time he’s tried something like that, which is not very well at all. He’d been worried about her, though, even before she’d thrown him from a roof on accident. Ladybug carries so much on her shoulders, and strong as they are, Adrien knows what it’s like to be strung so tightly that even the slightest extra weight feels like it’ll snap you. He sees the same weight in his own eyes, now, even blinded by the studio lights.

His stomach twists. Ladybug’s eyes aren’t half as bloodshot lately. There’s an easiness to her that wasn’t there before, a lightening of tension, and yes, Adrien’s happy she’s feeling better, he’s nothing but glad that she isn’t so exhausted and worn, but…

But she’d trusted him before, even when she was strung her tightest. And now that there’s relief in her eyes, now that he’s taking a backseat and Ladybug adds more allies to their roster by the day, allies that she knows but he doesn't, allies that Alya and Nino probably know too, just like everything else, now that—

Was he the problem? Was it his fault, that Ladybug’s eyes turned shadowed and her movements wavered? He’s tried, he’s tried to be a rock for her, to be something constant and consistent as Adrien himself wants, but the horrible feeling that he’s not enough is now warring with the awful feeling that he’s the problem in the first place, because — why else? Why else would she shut him out like this? Why else would she decide he’s untrustworthy, after all this time, why—

The lights against his vision suddenly flare painfully bright, so bright Adrien’s forced to stagger back.

Vincent jolts away with a cry, waving his hand frantically as the camera sparks and sputters. Echoed cries of surprise ring throughout the studio as the overhead lights flicker wildly, turning the studio into a frightening mockery of a particularly bad nightclub.

Adrien stumbles again, alarm coursing through his veins like a cold burst of water, and he darts for the intern nearby, who’s fallen over in her scramble to back away from the strobing lights. She’s just taken his hand when the lights go dark, plunging the studio into blackness. Before anyone can react beyond a frightened shriek, the lights snap back on, bright and steady as if nothing’s happened.

Adrien slowly pulls the intern to her feet, staring at the blazing lights as his vision swims, blinking against the sudden onslaught of dark spots in his eyes.

“Is it an akuma?” the intern asks, her eyes wild with fear. “Should we — should we evacuate?”

Adrenaline shoots through Adrien’s veins, his head whipping back and forth as he searches for a spark of purple, for the familiar edge of butterfly’s wings. But there’s nothing out of place, save the sputtering camera Vincent’s fretting over. There’s no sign of garish transformation, no following explosions, no loudly proclaimed demands for miraculous. In fact, if Adrien hadn’t seen it himself, it would appear as if nothing’s ever happened at all.

“It could’ve been the power lines,” someone suggests. “This place is pretty old, you know.”

“With Agreste’s standards?” someone else mutters. “I doubt it.”

“The camera is broken. Unsalvageable,” Vincent announces over the outbreak of murmurs. To his credit, he barely sounds shaken. “It must have been a power failure, or a blown fuse, I suppose. Nothing we can help.”

Vincent’s word is all the rest of the crew needs, and before Adrien can clamber up to inspect the lights himself, he’s being ushered from the studio, another intern furiously muttering about how she refuses to be fired for losing a model to “subpar building inspections” or something along those lines.

Adrien, who is already anticipating Father’s reaction himself, can’t blame her for bailing the moment he’s in the Gorilla’s hands.

————

Adrien is six years and three months old when his father finally finishes reading Le Petite Prince to him, and he comes the closest he ever has to throwing a fit at the ending.

He doesn’t actually throw a fit, of course, because then his father might not read to him ever again. That they finished this book together is already more precious as anything Adrien’s ever owned, and he won’t ruin that with his dramatics.

“Not all stories have the happy endings you want, Adrien,” his father tells him. Adrien feels his arms tighten around his shoulders, where he sits snugly in his father’s lap. “Sometimes you must make the most of what you have.”

Even at a young age, Adrien knows that he has quite a lot. The knowledge only grows as he does, just how much he has from his last name alone. His room alone could rival some people’s homes, Adrien has no right to want for anything.

And yet.

Sometimes, Adrien thinks back to the deep timbre of his father’s voice as he reads about yellow snakes and desert flowers and feels a stinging sense of loss so sharply it takes his breath away.

Other times, though, Adrien thinks about his father choosing to read a story about a boy who could only return home by letting a snake poison him, and wonders what that says about their relationship.

It’s not even Father’s icy tone that hurts anymore, really, Adrien thinks, as he picks at his dinner. Not that he’s likely to hear that tone tonight. Father’s locked himself firmly in his office again, and even Nathalie is nowhere to be seen. It’s quiet enough that Adrien’s gotten away with heating up the cheapest dinner they have in the house, and scouring enough cheese for Plagg that he won’t be complaining for a month.

Well, a day, maybe. Plagg’s a special kind of greedy.

But it’s painstakingly clear that Adrien will be dining alone, tonight. There hasn’t even been a single message fro Nathalie, informing him of all the lessons he’s been falling short in lately. Adrien twists his fork in his hand, setting it down with a weary sigh as dark spots flicker before his eyes again.

At least there won’t be anyone to lecture him, he tells himself, tapping absently on the table. The smooth wood looks immaculate beneath his fingers, the edge of his pinky still a bruised purple from the other evening, when Adrien misjudged the distance from the rooftop to his own window.

Father won’t be able to lecture him about that, either, so it’s a good thing, really. It’s a good thing, that no one will be saying anything to him about the studio mishap earlier, or the darker than usual circles beneath his eyes, or he way he’s been showing up late more often than not to everything. Not about his slipping grades, or the way he keeps forgetting to hide his glare when photoshoots run longer than they’re supposed to.

It’s a good thing, Adrien tells himself, as his fingers clench around the table’s edge. It’s a good thing that he’s alone tonight. Being alone and unseen is much better than the alternative. It’s a good thing, that he can stew in whatever ugly emotions keep threatening to rise to the surface all by himself, where he won’t risk hurting anyone else with them. He can’t mess anything up if no one’s there to see it, so really, it’s a good thing, it’s—

It hits him, all-encompassing and overwhelming all at once.

Unwanted, thick and horrible and choking, the sensation of being traded out and traded off and stepped over, left behind and left out and laughed at in vicious whispers, closed doors and closed expressions and locking him out, like bars sliding down from the ceiling and cutting him off, trapped in place like an animal in the zoo, entertaining for a heartbeat than easily moved past for something better, unwanted and untrusted and alone, alone, alone again—

Adrien buckles and something howls in his ears, his hands burning as his fingers crunch through wood and his vision whites out.

For a heartbeat, Adrien isn’t Adrien — he’s the swelling of flames as fire catches light, he’s the pull of the undertow as it rips across the shore, he’s the blazing burst of lightning against metal, he’s on the edge of a cliff and stepping off—

And then he’s Adrien again, small and shaking and breathing in large, heaving gasps, trying desperately not to throw up all over the table.

“—drien, kid, Adrien, please!”

Adrien tears his hands from the table as if it’s shocked him. Black flecks drift from his fingers as they tremble, and Plagg splits into three as he flits in front of him, six pairs of green eyes staring at him in blazing concern.

“Plagg?” He barely recognizes his own voice, and his throat feels like sandpaper.

“Breathe,” Plagg orders as his image solidifies back to one, more serious than Adrien can remember him sounding. “You gotta breathe, Adrien.”

He does, in stuttering, shaky gasps, because Adrien will do anything Plagg asks him to. He’ll light himself on fire if he wanted, because Plagg is all he’s got.

Plagg is here, and that means more to Adrien than anything else could.

“Breathing,” he finally croaks out. “I’m — breathing, see? S’all good.”

It is most certainly not all good, because Adrien still feels like he got thrown off a building and into a blender, but Plagg almost looks frightened, looking from Adrien to the table to Adrien again, and—

Adrien freezes. The table. The stupidly, enormous, ridiculously expensive, lonely table his family’s supposed to use. The table he definitely, most certainly felt crunch under his hands.

Adrien follows Plagg’s gaze downwards, and suddenly feels like he’s going to throw up again.

“Oh,” he whispers.

Ice coats the inside of his chest, cold and creeping. The sidewalk. The mirrors, the studio camera, and now this.

“Adrien.” Plagg sounds so very serious.

He could explain most of it away. It’d be — it would be easy.

But this?

Adrien stares at the half-decayed table, ashes still flaking from the sides in a way that’s horribly distinctive of his cataclysm. A spiderwebbed path of smoldering destruction, all tracing back to where his fingers had been white-knuckled at the table’s edge.

Something snaps in the chandelier above him, cracking once and fizzling off into sparks.

It feels like something’s snapped in Adrien’s head. Maybe he’s lost it. Maybe he’s finally gone off the edge, and that — that can be his excuse, when Father asks him what, exactly, he did to the table. He can tell Father they’ve both lost it, they’ve both gone mad, and wouldn’t mom think this was all so funny—

A sound like a sob rips itself from his chest, before Adrien can strangle it into submission. He can’t lose it now. He can’t break down, he has to — he has to come up with a way to explain this, he has to find an escape, or Father’s going to be so angry, and so cold, and…and…

Adrien goes still. Like ice, numb and calming, he realizes he doesn’t have to worry about excuses. He doesn’t have to worry about any of that at all. No one’s coming. Not to check on him. The silence of the house is overpowering, the tiny patter of the vaporized table bits as they land on the floor almost thunderous.

“Adrien,” Plagg repeats, softer this time. “I need you to look at me.”

Slowly, he lifts his head, meeting Plagg’s bright green eyes with his own. Something in Plagg’s expression goes tight, a myriad of emotions flickering in his eyes before he schools them back into careful calm.

“Oh, kid.” Plagg’s voice is gentle. It still sounds like a lament.

Adrien tears his gaze away, swallowing. His fingers, still shaking, curl into unsteady fists. They feel odd, almost scalded. Adrien ignores it.

He can hide the table, he tells himself. He can fix the chandelier. No one will notice. He can hide this.

He’s Adrien Agreste.

He can deal with a couple of cracks in his facade.

#ml spoilers #miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #nino's here as well #he's just not clogging up the fic with his internalizing like adrien is #ml season 4 spoilers #rocketear spoilers #i just have a lot of thoughts about the powers of destruction #and what that could mean potentially #if you weren't cowards mr astruc

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a-d-curtis · 4 years ago

Text

Artifacts

“Uh…” Aang looked down at the dilapidated wooden bucket that was placed reverently into his hands. The man bestowing it sank deferentially into a low bow; his head ducked so deeply that all Aang could see was the back of the man’s thin topknot tied far back on his balding head. “Uh… thanks?”

Aang looked down at the bucket in his hands. The bucket was old; that much was obvious. Aang held it up to get a closer look. The metal braid that held the darkened, dried wooden planks together was rusted until it was nearly black. When Aang looked into the bucket, he noted that the plank at the bottom didn’t fit snuggly like it should.

“Do you want me to… um, to help you fix your bucket? If you soak this wood, the planks will expand tightening the planks, and I can straiten out that bottom piece for you… this isn’t very useful if we can’t get it watertight again. But I can always make you a new one, if you, you know… need a water bucket… or something…?” Aang trailed off as the gentleman rose slowly out of his bow, looking at Aang with a look of utter disbelief, as though Aang’s words filling him with dismay.

“What?!” the man sputtered. “Make a new one?! No, no! You must not understand! This is an authentic, an original, air nomad water bucket!” He enunciated each word as though only someone truly obtuse would not see this for the prize that it was.

“Oh, right…” Aang hedged, looking at the beat-up old bucket. “I see.”

Of course Aang knew what this was. He and his friends had carried buckets just like this to and from the stream near the Southern Air Temple everyday. Each monk child would carry one in each hand as they bounded back from the stream, anxious to deliver the water to the cook. It was a mundane thing, something that just needed to get done. The sooner they got through with that chore, the more likely they might be able to squeeze in a quick game of airball before breakfast!

Out of habit, Aang looked behind him, searching for Katara to swoop in and help him navigate this awkward interaction. But of course she wasn’t there, Aang remembered with a slight drop in his stomach that he had come on this trip solo. Katara was still back in Ba Sing Se, busy working on a new project for the museum. Aang didn’t plan to be here in this small village more than a day, so instead of pulling Katara away from her work to come with him as he wanted to, he simply opted to handle this little task alone.

Aang held up the bucket with an importance he certainly didn’t feel and declared, “Why so it is! This is… um, very… special.” He looked at the bucket again, biting on his lip at his choice of words. To him, this bucket looked anything but special.

But the man beamed with delight at Aang’s praise!

“Yes, yes, it is!”

The man in his enthusiasm took the bucket from Aang’s hands and turned it over excitedly. “See!” The man pointed out. “Right here! An Air Nomad symbol!” Again he spoke the words like they were wondrous. “Carved right here on the bottom!”

Aang bent over to look. Sure enough. There it was. Three Air swirls carved (rather poorly, Aang noted) in the bottom wood piece.

“Well,” Aang said, brightening up a little as he took the bucket back from the man. “that would explain why the bottom doesn’t fit!” Aang shifted his staff into the crook of his elbow and turned the bucket upside down under his arm and gave the bottom a firm pound with his fist, knocking the bottom panel right out. The man gave an audible squawk, his hands jumping over his mouth aghast as the piece of wood fell into the dirt.

But Aang kept talking as he picked up the bucket’s base and flipped it over, fitting it back into the bottom of the water bucket. “See we always put the symbol on the inside of the bucket.” After making sure the base was fit in more securely, Aang handed the bucket back to the man. “There! That ought to hold water a lot better now! I still suggest you soak the whole thing, but now it ought to do it’s job just fine!”

The man looked at the bucket shoved so casually into his hands with a gaping mouth for a moment. Then his words began to tumble out of his mouth. “Oh, thank you, thank you, Avatar Aang! Now I know: the symbol goes on the inside! Oh I wish my father was here to see! You see my father acquired this treasure on one of his travels along the Granite Trading Route when he was a young man, bought it off a peddler near Dong Shaan City. This has sat in a place of prominence in my house ever since! My father had a great appreciation of antiques; and he had quite a collection. But this was his most prized – his only genuine Air Nomad artifact!”

The man’s face sobered, his voice taking on a formal tone as he once again fell into a deep bow, holding the bucket out towards Aang reverently. “But I would like you to have it now, Avatar Aang. A way to return it to its rightful place, among its rightful people. It wouldn’t be right for me to keep it, when an Air Nomad still exists to return it to.”

Aang hesitated before taking the old bucket apprehensively. The bucket suddenly felt heavier, and he felt heavier too. Sure he had run into situations like this before, where people felt inclined to present him with gifts. But it was always the most awkward for him when-- like now-- they were gifts recovered from the Air Nomads: a set of long cooking chopsticks, a half-broken glider, a rare item of fragile old saffron clothing. But these items didn’t belong to Aang, and they held no significance to him personally. Like this bucket. It is true that it appeared to be a genuine Air Nomad bucket. But to him, it was just a bucket. Something they had used a dime a dozen when he was a child. A tool. Nothing sacred or important and certainly not something revered. What would he do now with a leaky old bucket?

Wish for a new one, probably. Aang answered his own question ruefully. One that held water better, I’m sure.

He knew Katara would probably be thrilled if she were here. She was always getting excited over every little Air Nomad trinket or knickknack they found. In fact, a new Air Nomad exhibit at the Museum of Natural History is what Katara was working on right now in Ba Sing Se. In addition to working as a consultant for the project, Katara was also donating a great many of the things she had collected to the exhibit, things she had gathered over the past couple of years since she and Aang had begun traveling together.

Aang never objected when Katara would accumulate Air Nomad objects, and he appreciated her enthusiasm. Really. He was touched by how important his heritage was to her. However, there was something about it that more recently had begun to bother him. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, but Katara’s tendency to “collect” his people’s leftover things didn’t always sit right with Aang.

Maybe it was something about how collecting these “antiques” made him feel even more distant from his people; each item proof of how long they had been gone, how far removed he was from them. Proof that his family was little more than memories and artifacts now. These items served as a concrete reminder that his people were extinct, gone forever. It made it harder to just forget and pretend he was just on a journey right now. That the others were still out there, just not right here with him.

Aang imagined taking this man’s bucket back to the museum. He imagined it being put behind glass on a display pedestal. What would people gain from observing this bucket? How would a bucket like this make them feel? It certainly wouldn’t make them laugh remembering the time that Dhun got his head stuck in one of these buckets when he’d been showing off for the girls from the western air temple and fell head first into the custodial closet after tumbling off his glider. They wouldn’t imagine the taste of sweet exhilaration from that water fight Aang had started that time when all the kids had decided to dump their buckets on each other instead of delivering them to the cook (they also wouldn’t recall the feeling of raw hands after lugging one of these buckets up the northern chanting tower to scrub every, single, stair as punishment for their water fight.)

What would this bucket teach a common museum patron about Aang’s people? About who they were and how they lived and what they valued?

Nothing. It would mean nothing at all.

And seeing it on display would only solidify the cold, concrete feeling in Aang’s gut that he was also an artifact now. A remnant of a nation dead. And long since, at that. Should he be on display? Did he now fit better in a museum among his people’s remaining relics than anywhere else?

Maybe it was these unspoken apprehensions that spurred Aang to find excuses to leave the museum as often as possible. Aang knew that the Museum Curator would gladly have Aang take up a permanent residence at the museum if he could finagle it, just so the dry little man could pepper him with questions about his people’s agricultural practices, yearly migration habits, and gross national trade products. Katara’s project was a good one, but one that Aang found himself finding more and more excuses not to be a part of.

Aang hadn’t told Katara any of these feelings, so he knew he couldn’t expect her to just know. And sometimes he found himself falling into the same trap, getting excited or possessive of every scrap of his culture they came across. But lately he had been working extra hard, actively trying not to. This was exactly the kind of attachment his people had tried to avoid; placing value on something that was inherently temporary and unimportant.

Aang knew he couldn’t let go of his attachments to the people in his life – a spiritual flaw that he had long since come to accept about himself – but attachment to things was still something he still tried valiantly to avoid.

Aang looked up from the bucket in his hands at the man before him, his head still bowed, although he glanced up apprehensively, evaluating Aang’s reaction to his gift. Aang could see the sincerity in the man’s eyes, his wish to honor the Last Airbender with this gift. But there was pity there too. And maybe even a little guilt? A glimpse of the world’s collective shame at allowing an entire nation to be massacred.

Aang was used to these kinds of looks: looks of pity, shame, guilt. He had lost more than anyone would truly understand, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be pitied all the time for it.

Aang took a fortifying breath, and as he exhaled, he let go of the flare of resentment he’d felt. It was his choice how he would respond. Would he pity himself too? Or would he choose to live in the moment, accepting without clinging to the loss?

Aang smiled and moved the bucket handle onto his arm, and his glider into the crook of his shoulder so he could bow respectfully to the man. “What did you say your name was?” Aang asked warmly.

“Um, I didn’t say, but it’s Shao, sir,” the man replied as he looked self-consciously to the side, his shoulders still hunched in a bow.

“Well, Shao!” Aang said cheerfully as he wrapped his arm around Shao’s shoulder, lifting him from his bow and compelling the man to walk with him. “This is a really nice bucket—I mean a really nice genuine Air Nomad artifact. And I am honored by your generosity and your gift.” Which was true. Aang was honored that Shao would offer something that clearly meant so much to him. “Please consider your gift accepted and appreciated. However,” Aang stopped walking and turned toward Shao, placing the bucket back in his hands, “it would make me happiest if you would keep it. Remember your father when you look at it. The Air Nomads, we gift this back to you.”

Shao looked at the bucket in his hands, stunned before a glow began to lighten his expression leaving a large smile radiating brightly on his face. “Thank you, Avatar Aang! I, and my children, will treasure this forever!”

Aang clapped Shao’s back heartily before walking backwards several jaunty steps.

“Or maybe just get yourself a drink of water with it,” Aang winked before opening his glider and lifting lightly into the sky, flying light and free, unburdened. Remembering his people by being one.

Just a Nomad on the wind.

………………

Other works in this series:

Chant

Incense

#ALTA #aang #avatar aang #the last airbender #do I belong in a museum?#air nomads #airbenders #kataang #Avatar the Last Airbender #choose your own reaction #he ain't dead too

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