#but honestly i have a much better time stitching now that there's more daylight hours :)

[umbracirrus]

Actually been having so many cross stitch ideas after trying to pick up cross stitching again-!!

My sister wants me to cross stitch a blue chicken from stardew valley, but I think basically all of my other ideas are elder scrolls related.

[cuculine-nelipot]

ON LUTE STRINGS 

{a/n I posted this on ao3 a while ago but I finally got around to sorting out the last of spelling errors and what-nots today I think. So here we are.}

The first time in happens, he doesn’t notice.

They’ve made camp for the night, in a clearing in the woods. He’s had some bread, and even a little meat when the witcher caught him staring longingly at his roast hare.

A fire burns warm, and light enough to for Jaskier to check the angry red welt on his abdomen, already purple in places. He inhales sharply when he prods at it with a tentative finger, and vaguely wonders how long it’ll last.

Half dressed, lazing on his bedroll with his back braced against bark, he fiddles with his new lute. Getting a proper feel for the instrument, he plucks a charming, tripping little tune he can play without too much thought — an Elven composition he stumbled upon as a lad in temple school that seems appropriate to the occasion. He marvels at how buttery the strings feel under his fingertips, how clear the notes ring through the trees. A shiver of pure satisfaction shoots through him, from his hands right down to his gut.

“Shut up boy.” The growl comes from the man — mutant — whatever, on the other side of the fire. Jaskier heaves a pointed sigh.

“Goodnight Geralt.”

He gets naught but a half-hum-half-grunt in response as he puts his lute aside and settles into his bedroll.

In the morning he doesn’t notice that his torso is completely unmarred.

-

The second instance occurs not much later, but is similarly shrouded by unremarkable circumstance.

It had been a damp few days on the road, and there is not enough herbal tea on the continent to stave off the cold building uncomfortably behind his face.

He watches Geralt fiddle with his various vials and blades and what-nots from his bed on the other side of the room. He shouldn’t — he knows he shouldn’t — but he feels a sort of ache in his chest, knowing that come morning he will likely be too sick to travel. Knowing that he will be left behind. The witcher had said as much, after all.

For now at least, there is a warm room, and food enough, and his music, and he is not alone yet. He picks up his lute and plays that same, well-worn tune, the one that feels like the home he always wanted, the one that sounds like the lullabies he’s never heard. He lets the music wash through him, a stream of sound trickling in his veins, cresting in his skull. He plays until he feels tired, and calm enough to sleep.

Sure enough, he wakes up to a high sun, and the room is much, much emptier than it was the night before.

But he feels better. His nose is clear, the pressure behind his eyes in gone. It’s curious, he thinks, but he never was one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He sets out soon after, not wanting to lose daylight. If he just so happens to run into a certain witcher, well, there’s only one road out of town isn’t there? Somethings just can't be helped.

He does run into him, that night, making camp not too far off the road.

“You’re sick,” comes the other man’s effusive, albeit confused, greeting.

“I was sick. Feeling much better now, thanks for asking.”

“Hm.”

“And thanks for walking so slow, honestly I can’t believe I caught up with you. Aren’t witchers supposed to have phenomenal stamina or something? Maybe you’re getting old — how old are you anyway?”

“Too old for this. Here.” Without looking, Geralt holds out a steaming mug of something.

“What’s this?” Jaskier asked, only slightly suspicious.

“Tea. You still sound hoarse.”

Jaskier can’t say for sure, but he thinks he sees red creeping up Geralt’s neck when he turns his back to Jaskier.  

-

So many such incidences scattered through so many years, and with the ignorance of youth Jaskier notices none of them. Just like he fails to notice how at 26 his face looks identical to what it was at 18, or that he still has the same boundless energy. He doesn’t take into consideration paper cuts that are there one minute and gone the next. He doesn’t find the fact that he can’t remember the last time he was properly sick or bruised peculiar at all, despite the frequent bar fights and rambles in the rain.

Until, that is, another night spent under the stars in the woods somewhere.

“Pass me that?” Geralt makes no indication of what he’s after, but Jaskier knows him well enough by now to know he’s means his dagger. He moves to give it to him but it slips out of his hand almost as soon as he picks it up; its point slices though his breeches and a few layers of skin on the way down.

“Ow. Ow. Fucking shit ow.” He peppers the air with curses as he sinks to the ground. The edges of the slit silk begin to turn red with his blood, and he quickly but carefully divests himself of the garment before any more damage can be done. With a sigh that’s more annoyed than anything, Geralt turns around to give him a cursory glance.

“Stay there,” he huffs.

“Solid advice once again there, Geralt. And here I was thinking I’d get a head start on tomorrow’s travels.” It might have sounded scathing if his voice and his breathing weren’t so obviously strained with pain.

“Trust you to split your leg open trying to pass someone a knife.” Geralt finally approaches with his first-aid kit. Calloused fingers tenderly come to rest on Jaskier’s thigh, just barely pulling at his skin, shifting his leg, trying to ascertain the extant of the damage. “Needs stitches,” he says as he applies a salve. “This will keep it from getting infected, and it’ll numb the pain a bit, but not a lot.”

The burning pain in his leg does in fact morph into something cold, and almost soothing, but he had no delusions about how much that will do under the attention of a needle and thread.

“Come on.” Geralt pulls one of Jaskier’s arms up, draping it around his shoulder and pulling him to a standing position. Though the bard has a slighter build, he's not much shorter, so Geralt half drags the bard to sit fireside, setting him down with a gentleness not lost on the injured man.

As Geralt prepares to sew him up, Jaskier grabs his lute from where it lays nearby, and starts playing that old melody to calm himself down. After all these years, the sound has come to resemble home to Geralt almost as much as it does to Jaskier, and he feels tension he didn’t know he carried slough away from his shoulders. There’s an ever so slight shivering where his medallion touches his chest, so slight that Geralt’s conscious mind fails to register it, just like every other time.

But when he returns to Jaskier side the hum of his silver seems suddenly to fill the arena of his chest and skull.

“Jaskier.”

“Hm?”

“Your leg.”

“I’m actually trying rather hard to not think about my leg at present, so if you could just finish up there as quickly as possible I would be very appreciative.”

“Jaskier, look.”

Geralt speaks with such urgency Jaskier does look, his finger’s stilling over his lute when he sees that the gash has been greatly diminished.

“Keep playing.”

Jaskier does, and they both watch as the laceration smooths over, first pink, and then gone, as if nothing had ever happened.

“Well shit.”

“Hm.”

They’re silent for awhile, all eyes fixed on Jaskier’s leg.

“Did you know you could do that?”

“I… no,” Jaskier decides eventually. For once his babbling brook of words is dry, replaced instead by pebble-small memories being flung at him at high speed. “I never bruised.”

“Hm?”

“When you punched me in the stomach. When we met. I never bruised. I don’t remember — the last time I got hurt, or really sick, was… years ago. Years and years.”

“I guess… it explains… things.”

They look at each other then, equal parts worried and concerned and excited, so many questions swirling in the air between them.

-

Jaskier doesn’t exactly want anyone knowing that he has a magic lute, so their research into the matter relies almost exclusively on experimentation.

They learn that it works best when Jaskier plays something Elven, and much slower when he plays anything else.

They learn that while he can’t heal Geralt, he can numb the pain if he’s injured. and even — as he discovered completely by accident — induce a short coma.

They learn that Jaskier can’t use this magic to hurt anyone, even certain other ‘bards’ who definitely have it coming.

They learn, after many, many strenuous hours of Jaskier’s instructing Geralt, that it only works when Jaskier plays.

“It’s protecting you,” Geralt proffers. “The lute was Filavendrel’s gift to you, after all.”

“Protecting me from what though?”

Geralt shrugs at that. “Everything. Life.”

-

Jaskier doesn’t know why things change between them exactly — he just knows that Geralt doesn’t seem to hold him at such a distance anymore; he lets Jaskier stay closer on hunts, and he’s not so quick to leave him behind. Gone are the days where he seems determined to find any excuse to lose the bard.

And more than that — on cold nights spent under the open sky, Geralt doesn’t just meditate stoically next to Jaskier to keep the younger man warm -- he actually sleeps, holding Jaskier near. And on those occasions when an an inn can only offer one bed, Geralt doesn’t seem to mind so much anymore when Jaskier sleepily snuggles closer, or drapes himself over the Witcher’s chest. There are even times when Jaskier thinks he can feel the thrill of a nose pressed into his hair, or a broad hand stroking his stomach, or fingers lazily scratching his back.

Jaskier doesn’t really know why things change, but he never was one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and he's definitely not complaining.

-

“Jaskier? Jaskier stay awake, I need you to stay awake okay?” He should have known better than to let the bard get so close to a wyvern but they’re the stuff of legends Geralt, think of the music Geralt, the poetry. Geralt tried to tell him that wyverns were ugly bastards — absolutely nothing legendary or poetical about them. But Jaskier had his heart set, and Geralt, well, Geralt gave in.

Guilt helps no one however, so he just presses Roach onward, faster.

“’M’tired.” It’s clear that Jaskier is in no condition to play — the gash at his shoulder is bone deep, and it was all Geralt could do to keep it from spurting blood and stay attached  before getting him on Roach —  so Geralt takes him straight to the town’s healer.

“Just a little longer. I promise.” Leaning forward, he presses a kiss into Jaskier’s sweat-soaked hair. Stay awake, please stay awake.

By the time they get to the healer Jaskier’s skin is on fire, and he’s coughing strangled, wet coughs, and there are cuts and bruises covering his entire body that have no reason to be there. It’s only when he sees a familiar gash on the bard’s right thigh that he figures out what’s happening.

The last thing Jaskier remembers is a gigantic angry lizard screaming at him and lunging. Then a searing pain turned his vision white, then more pain ripped through his body as he was thrown, weightless into absolute dark.

Something pulled him cruelly from the vortex of nothingness, arranged his mangled body into what he thinks was an upright position. Then more pain as he was jostled about, more pain as he was surely dismembered, more pain as tendrils of hot summer air whipped at his exposed flesh. There was more jostling, and he tried to throw up but he didn’t know where his stomach was, and liquid fire was flung over whatever pieces were left of him, and there was an awful lot of screaming but it couldn’t have been him because he didn’t know where his lungs or throat were either.

And throughout he thought there was a voice telling him to stay awake, or go to sleep, or telling him he was okay (which seems like at odd thing to say to someone who was just ripped apart limb from limb) and he thinks the voice was Geralt’s but that can’t be right because now every time he opens his eyes to see him he’s not there, and — well, that’s it’s own kind of pain isn’t it?

He’s not sure how much time has passed between the lizard, the fire, and him waking up to find himself in one piece. One piece, but battered and bandaged, and too hot and very congested. He does not think he's being dramatic when he concludes that he's more miserable than he’s ever been.

The room he finds himself in is bare, but pleasant enough. Where ever he is is made of a warm, gold-honey sort of wood. Sunlight streams in through wide, open windows, gauzy curtains float listlessly in a gentle breeze. He’s sure the mattress and sheets he’s on would be more than comfortable if he wasn’t quite so sore. There’s a glass, and a pitcher of water on a small table to his side. He’s working up the courage to prop himself up and drink some when a strange man walks in.

“Ah, you’re awake!” The smile he gives reaches his soft grey eyes, and it warms Jaskier to see someone seemingly so happy to see him alive.

He tries to ask where he is, but his throat feels like sand paper, and all he manages is a hoarse sort of scraping sound.

“It’s probably best you don’t talk for now,” the strange man says as he moves to perch himself on the edge of the bed. “Here let me help you with that.” He fills the glass, lifts Jaskier’s head with practiced care and brings the water to his chapped lips. Jaskier manages to down half of it, and while swallowing is painful, the cool water feels heavenly going down.

“First,” the man offers, his countenance shifting into something more authoritative, “you must be wondering where you are. If you remember the last village you were in, this cabin is a little outside of that. I am a healer — you can call me Varden — and your friend brought you here about five days ago. He said you were attacked by a wyvern, but you had a multitude of other injuries on top of that and a rather nasty illness to boot. Your friend also informed me that you have a magic lute.”

He pauses then, giving Jaskier time to throw him a questioning, mildly suspicious look.

“I’ve had a look at it, and I concluded that you and your friend were right. Its magic does protect you, so long as you play it. When you were attacked the shock your body went through temporarily severed your connection to its magic, and all the injuries and illnesses it protected you from came back with a vengeance. I know it must be tempting now to make all this pain go away, but I really think you better let yourself heal properly to avoid this happening again, and much worse.”

After a moment of contemplation, Jaskier nods in agreement. His stomach knots, but surely that’s just a symptom of his ailments.

“Good!” He claps his hands together, the exuberance he first displayed returning in full force.  “Now that you’re properly awake I’ll make you some soup. You just rest, alright? You’ve made remarkable progress the last few days but there’s still quite a ways for you to go.”

He leaves then, and Jaskier can hear the clinking of pots and pans as he moves around the kitchen. Tired, but no longer able to sleep, restless, but unable to move, a dull ache throbbing through his whole body, he fixes his eyes on the ceiling, trying to find patterns and shapes and in the woodgrain.

“You’re awake.”

He doesn’t need to turn to see who it is, so he doesn’t.

“I had to complete a couple of contracts. To pay the healer.”

There’s nothing to say to that, and even if there were, he can’t speak, so he keeps his eyes fixed firmly upward.

“Jaskier—” Geralt takes a few steps closer, thinks better of it, and leaves.

The ceiling blurs, and Jaskier can’t make sense of it anymore.

-

They stay another three weeks — or Jaskier does, and Geralt scrounges up some more coin, coming and going as he pleases.

On days he does stay; he curls up on the floor next to Jaskier’s bed, where Jaskier slides in and out of fitful, fevered dreams. When the sick man hears a gravelly voices cooing comfort, or he feels a rough hand push the hair from his brow, or wipes the sweat from his face, he wants to believe it’s Geralt. Lucid, Varden’s is the only face he sees.

Finally the fever breaks, and Jaskier’s wounds have healed well enough for travel. Geralt returns and pays Varden more than was asked. He runs his hand through Jaskier’s hair, peers at him closely, much like he’s checking on a dog who’d just run headfirst into a door.

“Ready to go?”

Jaskier, his voice still worn, and slightly put off by the gesture, only nods in response.

Without another word, Geralt takes Jaskier’s pack, puts him on Roach, takes Roach’s lead, and guides them away from the cottage, and back on the Path.

The  thing is, despite his tepid countenance, Jaskier is sure that Geralt’s angry at him. Or he’s angry about something at any rate.

Perhaps it’s the frustration at having been tied too long to one place — ridiculous really. It’s not like anyone asked him to stay. It can’t be about the coin, seeing as he willingly over-paid.

So maybe it’s just that the sudden and violent reminder of Jaskier’s mortality pierced the both of them, and tore to ribbons the fragile intimacy they had spent so long weaving.

“You can’t play off every cut and flu from now on.” He says as they enter the woods.

“I know.”

“It’s dangerous.”

"I know." Jaskier supposes that he’ll just have to reacquaint himself with a life of being left behind.

Neither of them speak for the rest of the day. But then that night Jaskier can't fall asleep, his still-frail body shivering, too sensitive to the open air. He hears a resigned sigh, which is soon followed by the warmth of Geralt’s chest pressed behind him. Geralt’s hand cards his hair back, away from his eyes, Geralt’s nose brushes his scalp, Geralt inhales deeply, and holds him close with an arm firmly pressed against the length of his torso, and Jaskier thinks that maybe things will be okay. When he feels a chaste kiss at the back of his neck, he’s almost sure they will be, but then he wonders if it was a goodbye.

-

“I’m fine.”

“Jask—”

“It’s fine, I’ll be right as rain by morning.”

“Jaskier, you can’t. You promised.”

“I never promised, and I’m coming with you.”

“You’ll stay here. I’ll pick up a contract or two and I’ll come back for you in a few days.”

“No you won’t.” He doesn’t know whether it sounded more a directive, or the wounded that’s-what you-always-say it really was. In the stunned silence that follows he feels more and more like he’s confessed to something, so he adds “I’m not letting you leave me Geralt,” — which is infinitely  worse.

And now he can’t look at the other man, and now his face is burning and his eyes are watering in a way that has nothing to do with the illness preparing to wrack through his body.

“Okay.” Whatever Jaskier was expecting to hear, it wasn’t that. It startles him enough to make eye contact. Geralt holds his gaze, and takes a few, cautious steps closer. “I’ll stay.”

“You don’t have to.” Jaskier offers in a weak attempt to maintain some level of dignity.

“No, I want to.” Geralt places his hands on Jaskier’s shoulders, then slowly grazes them down his arms as his continues. “I’ll stay. With you.” The words are nearly a whisper as he presses his lips to Jaskier’s too-warm brow. “Just please go to bed. You need rest.”

Without out waiting for a response, Geralt manoeuvres the sick man to the bed, tucking him in. When he straightens, Jaskier looks like he wants to protest, but Geralt slips in beside him before he has the chance. Propping himself himself up on his elbow, he glides his hand over the still smooth skin of Jaskier’s stomach.

“This okay?”

Jaskier nods once, not trusting himself to speak, and promptly falls asleep to keep himself from thinking  more than anything else.

It’s dark when he wakes up, the sky outside a flat, moonless black. The bed feels much colder and emptier. He feels much colder, and there’s a sticky film of dried sweat clinging to his skin. Flinging off the blanket sends a violent shiver though his body, bare except for his small clothes. The room is too dark for him to see.

“Jaskier.” He hears a voice, soft and deep from the corner. A candle flickers to life, and in its small glow he sees the vague shadow of a familiar form. “I’m right here.”

“I’m cold.”

“I’ve sent for some firewood. Come eat.”

Uneasy, not quite trusting his senses, Jaskier approaches the small round table in the corner of the room, and sits down. He hears the scrape of a plate being pushed towards him and when his eyes adjust to the low light he makes out bread and butter, some fruit — filling stuff that his presently delicate stomach can handle. He mumbles a thanks and sets about feeding himself.

He can see, in his peripheral vision, the other man leaning down, but he doesn’t understand the movement until he feels a large hand grasp his ankle. Geralt straightens, and with him brings Jaskier's foot to rest on his lap. Holding it in both hands, he slowly massages his thumbs into the arch. Jaskier realises then that he’s being watched. Closely.

He says nothing — can say nothing, and senses some smugness coming from the Witcher at having finally rendered him speechless. There is definitely an excess of smugness when Geralt raises his leg, and kisses the balls of his foot, all the while studying Jaskier, who keeps his eyes fixed on his plate. The blush that blooms over his face is near violent (surely the fever isn’t helping, but still) and he’s grateful that Geralt’s colour vision isn’t its best in the dark.

It’s harder than it should be to suppress the needy, plaintive sound that scratches at his throat when Geralt stands, answering a knock at the door. But then a bowl of hot stew is pushed in front of him, and a small fire is lit in the hearth, and Geralt sits down again, and takes Jaskier’s other foot in his hands. This time he keeps his eyes on his task, and lets Jaskier eat untroubled.

Now that the room’s a bit brighter, he casts his eyes around and is relieved to notice that Geralt’s packs are no longer waiting by the door. He does however, feel a twist in his stomach when he notices he can’t see his lute. He wants to say something about it, but he has the irrational fear that Geralt will stop massaging him, won’t sleep next to him later, won’t stick around til morning. So he says nothing, and Geralt’s hands work up his calves, and his body keeps Jaskier’s warm all night, and in the morning he rubs Jaskier’s back while he throws up bile, and keeps Jaskier's hair from sticking to his forehead.

In the afternoon Jaskier gets squirrelly, and he’s hot and tired and he needs to do something with his hands.

His lute makes a reappearance, but he can feel the heat of Geralt watching him from the corners of his amber eyes. So he settles on the bed and plays something distinctly non-magical, and feels much better anyway.

-

He hadn’t been serious, of course, when he’d wondered if his small brand of magic could mend his broken heart. But the tune had always provided him comfort, so he plucks away in the corner of a tavern, nursing an ale and his bruised ego.

So he’s not actually that far from the mountain, so perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised when a certain silver haired Witcher makes an appearance, but he’s had quite enough of bonds forged by magic against peoples’ wills thank you very much, so he promptly determines to book it to his room.

He only just manages to get a leg on the bottom stair when he feels a grab at his elbow.

“Jaskier —“ It sounds more exasperated that anything.

The bard turns sharply around, throwing as much vitriol into his still-boyish countenance as he can manage. It must work, because he’s never seen Geralt look quite so taken aback.

“I — I didn’t mean it.”

Of course he didn’t mean it. Jaskier knows he didn’t. But is was too much everything he’d always feared, and he still hasn’t heard an apology — hasn’t once, for anything since they’ve met — and he knows how Geralt feels about bonds forged by magic.

“Fuck off.” He wrests his elbow from the other man’s grip, and he doesn’t play himself to sleep that night, or any night after that.

-

It was much easier than it should have been — swearing off music. Music-less days turn into music-less months into a music-less almost two years, and twenty-two years of not-ageing catches up to him both gradually and all at once.

His jawline sharpens, the lines of his body harden, a significant amount of grey comes to salt his hair. He grows a beard — a proper one — and that’s almost all grey. And he likes it; studying himself in the bathroom mirror, in his lodgings in Oxenfert, he once again appreciates the air of authority his new look lends him and, well, he does look rather dashing.

He’d returned to Oxenfurt almost immediately after the mountain. One cannot be a travelling bard if one does not play music, and it took nearly all his coin just to get to the city. It was nearing winter when he arrived, his old classroom and lodgings were already prepared and waiting for him. Her threw himself into teaching with new verve, and was quickly offered a more permanent position.

People wonder why he stopped his travels — most assume he just got tired. They wonder too why he no longer plays music, but they have the good sense not to ask. Until, one night, fireside in a cozy tavern, surrounded by other faculty members and a few students staying in the city over Yule.

“Come on Professor, just one song,” a rather eager young man implores.

“Yeah professor,” goads one of his colleagues. He rolls his eyes at her — as if you don’t have your fair share of fawning students Celine.

“I’d be happy to oblige,” he lies, “but as it happens I do not have my lute,” and that’s true enough.

“I’ve got one!” Another over-eager student proffers the instrument and well, he’s in it now isn’t he?

He takes the instrument and a shock goes through him at how good it feels just to hold it in his hands. He takes his time, running a hand along the varnished wood, tuning it just so. He won’t play anything Elven, and his own repertoire is entirely out of the question. He settles for something traditional to the season; something cheery, that has people singing and stomping and clapping along in an instant.

He feels that thing like magic coursing through him as he starts swooping around the tavern in graceful-as-ever strides. His voice is out of practice but really only he can tell, and only just. It’s deeper than he remembers, and it reverberates easily over the crowd. He flits and flirts, and everyone is smiling and cheering, everyone is happy. And of course, no one notices how his skin begins to smooth out, just a little.

That night he retrieves his old friend where he’d stowed it out of sight, at the very top of his wardrobes. Where the other lute felt good, this feels right. The strings are buttery under his fingertips, and the notes ring true and clear without his having tuned them.

He doesn’t play anything Elven, and he doesn’t so much as think in the direction of a certain Witcher, but it feels like home anyway. After an unthinkable stretch of time, Jaskier finally feels himself returning home.

-

Campus is blissfully empty over Spring vacation, and Jaskier takes the opportunity to compose in the open air.

Compose. Just the word itself thrills him. What he’s working on is nothing like before, naturally. That well of inspiration was drained and sealed shut. Never again will he risk diving into its pitch depths. Now his head has been turned by a volume of old poetry he smuggled out of some long-forgotten corner of a university library.

There’s a courtyard —  framed by elegant arches and cherry trees with especially deep, richly coloured blossoms — that he’s particularly fond of. He sits there now, on a marble bench in the shade, his book open in front of him as he thinks of how best to transmute the spirit of the verses into music.

He plucks idly at lute strings — so long out of practice he hardly knows where to start. With a long suffering sigh he lies down, and the idle plucking transforms thoughtlessly into a song that sounds familiar, homely, and he’s thinking of the hero in the epic, with his wicked grin and long white hair and his amber eyes like a — no. The hero’s eyes are green, and nothing like a cat’s, and he doesn’t know why he would think they were because he definitely wasn’t thinking of the man who is now standing over him, looking down with a vaguely bemused expression.

“Geralt?” He scrambles to a standing position, unsure whether to run or attempt a punch, or if he’s even awake. “What — how — why are you here? You know what no,” he decides and begins gathering his things. “Just, fuck off alright? I don’t — I can’t — I won’t do this again.” As composed as he’ll ever be, considering the circumstances, he turns his back on the man he once thought was his and walks away. But there are so many things he needs to say.

“I loved you,” he spits, wheeling around, unable to keep the hurt out of it. “I loved you more than I loved myself and you —“ he breaks off, a sort of desperation plain in his voice and on his face. “I never knew where I stood with you.”

Geralt pauses. Words were never his strong suit, and he considers his very carefully. “I loved you too.”

“Oh fuck off with that.”

“I was self-centred, and I was cruel —“ He approaches slowly, carefully, as if hoping the other man won’t notice.

“No fucking shit.”

“— but I loved you. I still do.”

“Fuck you.”

“I miss you.”

“I gave up on you a long time ago.”

“It’s hell without you.”

“I hate you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I still don’t know where I stand with you.”

“Let me show you.” He’d come to a pause in front of the other man, so close he can feel his breath on his skin. With one hand on the nape of Jaskier’s neck, and the other flat against his stomach, Geralt pulls him in for a kiss — and emphatic, I-will-always-love-you, kiss.

And maybe Jaskier goes more willingly than he’d like, or is expressly good for his ego, but he’s waited so long for this. Eventually he manages to pull himself away just enough to press their foreheads together.

“You’re not off the hook you know.”

“I know.” But Geralt only smiles, and kisses him again. “I know.”

[corpse--diem]

Common Bonds | Anita & Erin

TIMING: Weekend of October 23, 2020 PARTIES: @professoranieves​ & @corpse–diem SUMMARY: Shortly after the fight with Roy, Erin runs into Anita at Marley’s bedside and awkward half-explanations ensue.  CONTENT WARNINGS: Head trauma tw

Erin found herself back at Dr. Lin-King’s again, making good on her promise to keep coming back. She owed Marley her life, after all. And as she thanked the good doctor and started down the hall to her room, she realized she owed Queenie more than she could verbalize at the moment. What if she hadn’t found Marley at the hospital? What if someone had questioned the blue blood or tried to do something about it? Erin hadn’t known what else to do at the time. Marley was unresponsive, bruised, bleeding--the hospital was the only thing that made sense when they scrambled out of that busted up warehouse. In her arms were a bag of fresh clothes from Marley’s apartment, gathered after filling JD’s bowl of rabbit food. He picked at it but didn’t do more than graze and side-eye her. Was she doing something wrong? She had to wonder if he realized his owner hadn’t come home yet. It very nearly endeared him to her, and she was almost tempted to reach out and give the jackalope a reassuring pet. Almost. She backed off when saw those teeth again and decided it was time to go.

When she stepped into the room, Marley was fast asleep, but she wasn’t alone. Another woman was close to her bedside and Erin almost startled. “Oh. Hi,” she greeted warily for a moment. Only a few people know Marley was here. Didn’t take her long to deduce the stranger. “Anita?” She asked, taking a few more steps into the room so she wasn’t lingering awkwardly by the door. “How’s she doing?” She gestured towards Marley with a nod, keeping close to the end of her bed.

Anita was still in a bit of a daze wondering what exactly had happened to Marley. After Marley fell asleep while they were laying beside each other, Anita had carefully moved down off the bed and back into a nearby chair. As much as she did want to be near her, she was also so worried about accidentally hurting anymore than she was already. There was a part of her that wanted to leave and go find this doctor who had been caring for her, but she couldn’t bear the thought of Marley waking up to an empty room, so she stayed. Time seemed to be passing by painstakingly slow and Anita was honestly unsure if she had been sitting there for a few minutes or a few hours. Suddenly she heard her name, and snapped back to the reality of the situation. She didn’t recognize the woman, other than knowing it wasn’t Dr. Ling-Kim. “Uh, yeah. You Erin or Jane?” It could go either way honestly given that Anita hadn’t met any of Marleys other friends yet. Was that a bad sign? She had introduced Marley to her friend, sure that went absolutely horribly, but still. She had tried. “Not great. It’s her head I think. Well… it’s a lot of things. I think her head is the biggest problem though. She said she doesn’t feel like herself.”

Anita confirmed. Finally. Erin was sure if this was an entirely different scenario, she’d be happier to meet the other woman. Marley hadn’t said much at all about her but the fact that she’d said anything at all meant something. And here she was, waiting by her bedside. “Erin,” she answered with a curt smile and nod, stepping further into the room to set the fresh bag of clothes off to the side. Erin stayed a small distance from the bed and Anita, wincing when the sound of skull bone cracking still rattled around in her memory. “Yeah, I figured. I was, uh--there when it happened. It didn’t sound good.” But she was alive. Erin had to keep reminding herself that. This was horrible and there were already problematic signs, but being alive had to count for something, right? Still, she felt awkward suddenly, wondering how much Anita even knew about the how and why of it all. “Have you been here long? If she’s asleep, I can go grab food and come back in a bit, give you two some privacy?”

Erin, the one who stitched her up last time. Anita knew it was silly, but a part of her felt a bit jealous that Erin always seemed to be the one Marley reached out to first when things were bad. Especially since she wasn’t entirely sure what the dynamic was between the two of them. Anita watched Erin move about the room, wishing they could be meeting under far better circumstances. “Yeah, I’ve been here for a while. I kind of lost track of time. She just fell asleep a little while ago. I just didn’t want her to wake up to an empty room. But please, don’t feel the need to leave.” Anita was aching to know more about what had happened, and if Erin had been there too, maybe she could fill in the gaps. “So, you were there with her, right? When this happened?”  

As much as Erin ached to be anywhere but here, explaining what had happened to Marley to what she could only presume to be the closest thing to a girlfriend Marley had. Not that she’d know. Marley would have to tell Erin absolutely anything about her social life though, wouldn’t she? And from the clueless look on poor Anita’s face, there was a lot that she didn’t know either. And she deserved to know the truth. Slipping her non-casted hand into her front pockets, she stood where she was, grimacing mildly. “I… was, yes,” she drawled out slowly, nervously bouncing her gaze back and forth between Marley and Anita, praying the other woman would wake up. No such luck. Great. “We were attacked. She was helping me with, uh--” she pulled her hand out of her pocket and scratched eyebrow with her thumb. “I’m gonna take a wild guess and assume Marley probably hasn’t told you anything about what her and I have been up to?”

“Yeah, I kinda figured that part.” Anita said, realizing her tone probably sounded harsher than it needed to be. “Sorry - I just, I had asked her to not tell me when she was going to go off and do something stupid. Because last time, with the bugbear… I just - it was too much. So no, I literally have no idea what you guys have been up to. And she wasn’t lucid enough to tell me what had happened.” Anita wondered how much Erin knew about her relationship with Marley. “I just need to know that whoever did this isn’t… around to do anything worse? I really can’t lose her.” She avoided eye contact with Erin as she said those last words, she didn’t like how vulnerable she felt saying that to someone who was virtually a stranger. But she just needed to know Marley wasn’t gonna be going after this person, or thing, again.

“No,” Erin insisted immediately. “No, he’s gone. I made sure of it.” If the knife to the neck hadn’t been enough, Erin had doubled back in the past few days to the wreckage of the warehouse. Lo and behold, the decayed, gooey remains of Roy Chambers sat where she’d left them. It was more of a puddle, a black spot in the floor than anything that resembled true deceased remains, but it was enough evidence that the fext was never coming back. Her eyes fell back to Marley, and briefly Anita again, before settling on Marley’s sleeping form when she felt her anxieties bunching up in her shoulders again. This was clearly uncomfortable for the both of them. It was also clear how much Anita cared for her friend. Felt good to know she had someone like that in her life. Lord knew Marley of all people needed it. Erin had to tread carefully here. “Marley’s been helping me with this--not to be overly simplistic but--he’s a bad guy. He attacked us the other day. That’s why this happened,” she gestured towards Marley with the hand covered in a cast. “He’s not coming back. You don’t have to worry about that. I promise,” she nodded, more confident about than any promise she’d made in a long time.

Anita nodded as Erin explained, in incredibly vague terms what had happened the night Marley got hurt. Or died. She had said that she died. She was right, knowing didn’t make things any better. It just made her angry and made her wonder if she could have been any help. After all, in the daylight she was arguably deadlier than Marley. Venom doesn’t need nightfall to be effective. “It’s kind of ironic, if you think about it. She thinks she’s some sort of awful person - a monster - yet she puts her life at risk constantly for people she cares about.” Anita tore her eyes away from Marley and turned her attention to Erin, she figured she should try and make friendly conversation with her. After all, she wasn’t planning on leaving just yet and she knew she couldn’t ask Erin to leave. “Thank you for making sure she got out of there alive.”

That sounded like Marley. Erin cracked a small smile as she shook her head. “Yeah, she’s kind of a bonehead like that, isn’t she?” She teased gently, but the smile fell short when the glaring reality was sleeping in the bed between them. It pained her even more when Anita thanked her. “You don’t need to do that,” she shook her head, finally allowing herself to sink into one of the other chairs in the room, though she sat on the edge of it, letting out an anxious breath. She shook her head, leaning onto her knees, wincing when her ribs hollered in protest. Fuck. She kept forgetting about that. “That should be me,” she gestured towards Marley’s bed, briefly remembering the flash of pain Roy had inflicted before Marley had shoved her aside. “She’s alive because she’s strong as hell but she pushed me out of the way to stop that from happening to me. Trust me. I didn’t do anything.” Her eyes narrowed slightly and she looked up at Anita again curiously. “You really don’t know anything else?”

“Bonehead is almost an understatement,” Anita added with a lackluster laugh. It was sort of nice to not be alone right now even though she didn’t know Erin at all, really. It made the waiting feel less lonely, less daunting. She looked up at Erin when she spoke again, realizing now that Erin’s grief was mixed with guilt. It was strange to feel a sudden urge to comfort the woman who apparently was the reason Marley was off fighting some mysterious man, who was the reason Marley was half-dead lying in front of her. “I’ve never known Marley to do something that Marley didn’t want to be doing. She didn’t want that to be you. So, the ‘thank you’ stands, if for no other reason than making sure whoever did this isn’t breathing anymore.”  Anita knew that Marley was in this situation because of her own choices, blaming Erin was fruitless. “I presume the bugbear ties into it somehow? But, no, I asked to be kept in the dark. I thought that would be easier for both of us.”

Whatever gust of wind that had blown Anita into Marley’s life, Erin was glad she’d found her way there. She had the patience of a saint if she was someone who was willingly putting herself here. It wasn’t easy getting close, and for Erin much of that bonding element had come from an equal enemy. It’d grown to be more than that, of course. “I was happy to do it,” she nodded towards Anita with a small smile. It didn’t feel sincere, or even good, but she was glad to give someone some sort of comfort, if she could even call it that. Confirmation, maybe. The bugbear. Erin raised a brow, leaning back, easing an arm delicately over her stomach. “Tommy. That was the bugbear. He was kind of like this guy’s… partner? Second in command kind of thing. They were close, I think. So when we took Tommy out, Roy took it upon himself to end this whole thing once and for all. And... that’s how we all became gathered here in this lovely little room.”

Tommy. Seemed like such an innocent name for someone who caused so much carnage. Anita wasn’t all that surprised to hear that someone close to him had done this. Unfortunately she knew all too well that those who like to cause trouble almost always have friends in low places. “So, was this Tommy guy just after her cause she was a cop? Or because she’s a supernatural cop? I mean - I get that the job’s dangerous but she must’ve really pissed someone off for a bugbear to attack her in a crowded bar and whatnot.” It was pretty ironic to her how often Marley talked about being a loner and pushing people away when she clearly had more of a community that Anita ever had. A doctor willing to treat her in her own home so nobody freaked out about the color of her blood, and a friend who clearly cared about her wellbeing. “Ya know, if you need to leave or anything  - I’ll make sure to tell her you came by to make sure she was okay.”

Erin glanced at Marley’s sleeping form. She needed the rest, she knew that, but Anita’s questions made it all too tempting to reach over and shake her awake. Anita deserved those answers, and outside of Marley, Erin was the best person to give them to her. Still, it made her stomach squirm. “I think Marley could answer that best. That’s a bad answer, I know, but it doesn’t feel like my place. Not right now, anyway.” And as much as Marley trusted Anita, Erin didn’t know this woman from Adam. Airing out her business like this only felt shitty and made her feel vulnerable in ways she wasn’t mentally or physically ready to deal with. Every inch of her ached and not just the parts with the bruises and broken bones. “Yeah, that’s--I appreciate that. I should get going.” That was a lie, and they both probably knew it, but suddenly sitting in her apartment alone, curled up with her cat sounded infinitely better than awkwardly sharing this space or stewing in these feelings with Anita’s eyes directly on her.

She gingerly pulled herself to her feet, grabbing her things, ignoring all the twinges in her ribs each time she moved too quickly. Couldn’t get out of there fast enough. At the door, she stopped, turning for a moment, briefly meeting Anita’s eyes. “Thank you. Sorry I couldn’t be more help,” she nodded. “Good to finally meet you though. And, uh--tell her she snores for me, if you could?” Her lips twitched upward more sincerely before she ducked her head, hardly aware that she practically ran back to her car in her haste.

[in-tua-deep]

me n a friend have been talking abt how to make a happy au where everything works out for the best and tbh my proposal is: that last time five time travels he doesnt make it to the apocalypse, he jumps right into reginalds funeral and just the fact that their annoying rebellious preteen brother who needs people to look after him is there, they collectively pull their heads out their asses and the apocalypse doesnt happen thru the power of sibling love (+being made more responsible), ur thoughts?

OOH curious, an au where Five travels straight from when he was thirteen to his dad’s funeral? 

Five absolutely doesn’t believe that Dad is dead or that his siblings are his siblings until they PROVE it and then he basically is like what the fuCK luther you’re HUGE and allison your hair!! klaus you got so tall!! why is everyone except vanya tall as fuck!! 

“Hey where’s Ben?” Five asks, all excited and wide-eyed and the rest of the squad is like surprisedpikachu.jpg

When he finds out that Ben is dead he tries to travel back in time to prevent it and that’s when he comes to the realization that moving forwards in time is a whole different kettle of fish than moving backwards in time which sparks its own little breakdown because until that moment he was treating this as sort of a fun vacation with his cool older siblings and didn’t realize that he was stuck there

So the whole squad gets to find out via breakdown that Five hadn’t really meant to run away and was always intending on going back to them and that he just got stuck

Five calls them out on their bullshit regarding Vanya because he literally just came from a time where Vanya used to sneak into his room in tears after Reginald called her useless and ordinary for the nth time so maybe he’s a little protective and he’s just like “holy shit dad is DEAD and y’all are STILL spouting his same bullshit regarding Vanya”

Diego, who hates the fact that he was just compared to Reginald, decides to be a contrary bastard and immediately start treating Vanya nicer because honestly sometimes spite is the best motivator

Seriously how do the siblings not cotton onto the fact that their brother who sees the dead can see their very dead brother?? whatever, Five is from a time where Klaus was just doing weed and not heavy drugs so as soon as he finds out Ben is dead and after he has his subsequent breakdown he turns to Klaus like “hey hey ask Ben where the fuck he put my book on interdimensional theory I need it for reasons” and Klaus is so surprised he just automatically relays the information and then the rest of the family are like “what” as Five jumps to go retrieve it

Five is still conditioned by Reginald to like. Be a good little child soldier. And I’m gonna say the running out wasn’t a common occurrence, so instead Five gets to bug his siblings to take him places because also he’s thirteen and can’t drive

“Dad is DEAD” five says, wide eyed with possibilities, “holy shit. Is griddy’s still open? can we go to griddy’s? in DAYLIGHT? without sneaking out? holy SHIT”

in the face of this excitement over something as small and simple as being able to go to a diner when he wants, it’s not like they can say NO. even luther wavers because honestly griddy’s is a nostalgia trip and a half and he’s been on the moon for four years and… dad’s dead it can wait for like, an hour right?

The commission is like “hmm. fuck. better send some people to get the timeline back on track” except now it’s the whole squad who deal with the Griddy’s Assassin situation and Five helps because this is what’s he trained to do!! taking down armed gunmen! look at them doing their job as a family

meanwhile the others are freaking out internally because five is a BABY and he’s in DANGER also looking back they were ALL BABIES WHAT THE FUCK DAD and five is just smiling while warping around bashing people on the head with diner mugs

Klaus and Vanya are ducked under a table bonding about not being super helpful in fights and Klaus is like “tbh idk why dad let me go on missions and not you like i remember when you got allison to teach you that highkick p sure you’d be more useful than me” and vanya is touched

they don’t come out unscathed and Five is bleeding and everyone is freaking out over it and five is just like “dude i’ve had worse lmao like literally dad has given me worse than this” and everyone is reminded that their dad was a dick and even luther finds his faith shaken because five is so little and he doesn’t remember them being that little,,,

they still make Five get patched up when they get back home as they try to figure out Hey What The Fuck Was That and five is literally getting stitches and he’s still excitedly asking them questions about their lives

and he’s thirteen and so sheltered i cry so he’s very impressed by like, everything

“we should watch some of allison’s movies!! we can watch movies together now, right?? i mean even dad would let us watch a movie if it had one of us in it surely! i want to see!” “!! Luther you went to the MOON? what was it like? were there aliens? did you see the flag? did you bring back moonrocks? can I have one?” “klaus your skirt!! i know dad never let you wear the stuff you wanted and now you just can! you can wear whatever you want! that’s so cool. can i do that? can i wear whatever i want? klaus klaus can you paint my nails? can ben pick out the color?” “vanya you’re in an orchestra!!! and you have a concert! that’s soo cool! does it matter that you aren’t first chair? you’re in an ORCHESTRA. i knew you were gonna be great with the violin!! can we go to your concert?? please? how much are the tickets? I probably still have my piggy bank in my room if no one’s touched it”

(Klaus touched it. Klaus 100% stole that money a long time ago. Allison cuts in and decides that as the wealthiest sibling and the currently most maternal and she is just melting at all this she will buy the whole family tickets to Vanya’s concert and they’re all going to attend as a FAMILY even if she has to drag everyone there by the ear)

everyone is immediately like “i am going to give this child the world and do all the things that we never got to do as children holy shit also now that i’m more distant from the events i never realized just how little autonomy we had and the fact that Five is so excited about being able to wear non-uniform clothes is a little depressing”

luther out here like “but,,, but the murder mystery”

and they all consider that and think that hmm. maybe those mystery griddy gunmen actually had something to do with dad’s death? okay okay, maybe just maybe luther isn’t being an idiot about this

if you think thirteen year old five doesn’t JUMP at the chance to be a part of uncovering a murder mystery you are incorrect and the siblings are immediately like “hmm. five has already gotten hurt. he is child. we should be,,, protective.”

vanya goes back to her apartment and still meets leonard peabody sorry guys but it’s kind of her job and i don’t want to take that away from her

she does still end up going to leonard’s house except five gets really bored of being smother by the rest of the squad (and they’re all WEIRD about the oddest of topics it’s stupid) so he goes off to find her and ends up ALSO at leonard’s house except he find reggie’s notebook and is like “hey i recognize this!! this is dad’s! i saw him writing in it yesterday!” and instead of letting anyone know he just kind of stuffs it up his shirt and steals it (it’s not stealing if it belongs to dad) and bugs Vanya into going home with him

he looks at the journal (he was always too curious for his own good that’s what got him into this situation) and so he reads about vanya’s powers

and immediately busts into the kitchen for family dinner like “GUYS HOLY SHIT”

and so that’s how the family finds out vanya has powers, it’s a big revelation, five is super enthusiastic because now vanya can come on missions with them suck it dad!! because he 100% isn’t aware yet they don’t still go on missions together and five is already like “we gotta train this!!”

idk pogo probably comes by and reveals the whole nanny situation and allison makes that reveal and vanya is fucking DISTRESSED and tries to leave but five latches onto her wrist and is like “vanya’s never been ordinary a day in her life!! have you heard her play the violin!! your rumor didn’t even work!” which is v touching to vanya and calms her down at least to continue the convo

luther is like “clearly she’s on the meds bc she’s dangerous so we can just continue those it’s fine” because it’s not like she’s hurt someone he cares about in this timeline tbh

allison meanwhile is trying to be a better sister in general so she counters back with “she was FOUR she didn’t understand the concept of death, now that she’s older and past the toddler tantrum phase i think it would be fine for her to actually learn about her powers”

but it’s klaus who’s like “hey, maybe we should ask vanya what she wants??”

and vanya is like,, i want to know. it wasn’t nice feeling like a burden back during the diner shootout, and i think i’d like to maybe try and explore this - and if it’s too much then there are always the pills (bc at this point vanya is still on those and doesn’t realize they inhibit her emotions, when she does she ends up not wanting to go back on them)

vanya gets the love and support she needs!! luther gets some validation for his dad was murdered theory bc the squad investigates with him and they find out about reggie faking his murder a lot earlier! allison doesn’t get her throat cut! klaus gets the love and support HE needs!! and decides (with ben’s input) that he needs to at least attempt to be a good role model bc five has already asked him if the drugs are more important than family when klaus tried to duck out of an allison movie night! diego gets to leak his protective instincts all over five and also take out his anger issues on the commission agents being sent after them! five gets to have an actual childhood even if he does chafe sometimes at his siblings being weird and protective!

literally the apocalypse is ended by five gasping and saying “WAIT can we go to the ZOO?” and making them all go on family trips together where everyone is included because!! they’re his siblings! he wants everyone to be there! he’s gonna see a lion motherfuckers! in person!

also a lot of the things five thinks of are things the siblings just,, never had time for. so it’s a first experience for a lot of them, and so no one really has a good reason to say no?? because they kind of want to go, too?

five, literally vibrating in excitement: i want to go on a roller coaster

like i know you said about preteen rebellion but look he’s come out into a world where his dad is dead and so there’s the potential to do ALL the things he’s always wanted to do but knew dad would never let him like holy shit!! family laser tag! paintball! let’s take a roadtrip to the beach guys i’ve never seen the ocean!! let’s go ice skating! go on a ferris wheel! eat ice cream on the couch! throw popcorn at the tv! lets blast abba songs through the house and make a blanket fort!!!

like it’s gonna take a while to get through the exhausting excitement of “LOOK AT ALL THESE FORMERLY FORBIDDEN THINGS I CAN TRY”

and just throughout this they’re dispatching commission agents and fighting hazel and cha-cha and trying to figure out what the fuck is going on with that as well as teaching vanya how to control her powers which everyone is trying to help out with and also dealing with five literally bouncing off the walls one half of the time and the other half of the time being passed out somewhere due to running out of energy

“klaus i want to get a puppy” “we are absolutely doing that, no ben we don’t need to consult anyone else about this” “i’m gonna name him mr. pennycrumb” “you do that buddy why the fuck not”

but yes. what an absolutely blessed and happy au. i love u and tell ur friend that i love them, too

prevent the apocalypse through the power of reconnecting with your inner child and dragging your family along behind you

[haiitanis]

One Night | Kim Jiwon

summary: two strangers walk into a bar...

word count: 3.4k

rating / pairing: m (smut, language. some fluff/angst) / Kim Jiwon x Reader

(for @chelssma and our 4 year friendiversary💕)

Neon lights tinged everything around you pink. From the private room, you could hear someone singing karaoke - quite well, actually, to your surprise - over the music playing in the lounge but you ignored it, instead focusing on the vodka cranberry sitting on the bar in front of you, moodily swirling your straw in the red liquid. You really hadn’t felt like going out tonight.

Beside you, your best friend was flirting up a storm with some random guy that walked into the bar. Although, you suppose he probably wasn’t random considering how private the bar was. Mina usually wasn’t this flirty, or flirty at all really, considering before this trip she’d been in a relationship. But tonight, you were pretty sure she was on a mission and that mission was to get laid tonight.

Honestly, the only reason you and Mina had even been invited was your friend Chaewon. She’d been working at the bar for almost a year now and when you told her you’d be coming to visit Tokyo, she insisted you come and see her one of the nights she worked.

But the problem with Tokyo nightlife was that if you stayed out until after the trains stopped, you’d have to pay for an exorbitant taxi fare back to the hotel you were staying in since it was on the outskirts of the city. You really didn’t want to have to spend quite so much, since going out like this was already so expensive, and you decided to stay out all night, albeit rather begrudgingly. At least you could keep an eye on Mina, make sure she didn’t make too many decisions she’d regret in the morning.

As soon as you saw the black leather couch in the corner open up, you nudged Mina before jerking your chin towards the now unoccupied corner. “Let’s move over there,” you told your friend, voice just loud enough to be heard over the bar’s music.

You immediately settled into the corner, throwing your purse into the little cubby underneath the booth once you dug your phone cord out. At this point, you had accepted that it was going to be a long ass night. So you sank into the comfortable cushions and decided that it was a good time to start that new book you’d been planning on reading.

It’s not like you didn’t have the time.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched as Mina placed her hand on her victim’s gentleman friend’s thigh, leaning into him and laughing at something he said, all while tossing her long, perfectly highlighted and styled curls over her shoulder. All of her signature flirting moves.

Surreptitiously, you rolled your eyes before focusing your attention fully back on your phone screen. Honestly, Mina had been using the same moves since you were going to shitty high school parties and all throughout the fraternity parties she always wanted to go to in college. You still couldn’t believe that guys fell for that move, every single time, nearly without fail.

Or maybe they just fell prey to your friend’s beauty and the charm that she all but oozed. She’d been in a relationship for the entirety of the eight months prior to your trip, but out of the blue, two weeks before you left, Mina dumped her boyfriend. She said she was just bored with him, that they had nothing more to offer one another.

Honestly, the worst part about Mina focusing all of her attention on flirting with this guy was that she’d promised your night out would be a girls’ night. The two of you had gone to college with Chaewon, your friend who worked in the bar, and it was supposed to be a night for the three of you to catch up. It wasn’t that you minded her flirting, she was an adult and could do whatever she wanted. It just frustrated you when it was on a night that you were supposed to spend hanging out with each other and Chaewon.

But then this dude waltzed in with his entourage of friends. You’d seen the almost predatory glint in Mina’s eye after she’d caught him staring at her from one of the couches. She’d flashed him a smile and her come hither face, then within minutes he was sauntering up to the bar and offering to buy her a drink.

You’d rolled your eyes slightly then, too. Mina had always liked playing games, making the guy feel like he was chasing her when in reality she’d already caught him. It had always been like watching a match between a cat and a mouse, except the mouse thought it was chasing the cat instead of vice versa.

To be honest, you admired Mina’s audacity. As long as you’d known her, she’d always gone after what she wanted when she wanted it, and more often than not she got it. You’d always wished you were even half as bold as she was.

That ridiculous taxi fare to get back to your hotel and sleep was starting to look better than spending the next four hours sitting here in this corner on your phone. You downed the second vodka cranberry that had been brought to the table for you, then lifted yourself off of the couch and headed to the bar where Chaewon was.

You settled into the barstool in front of your friend, who gave you a sympathetic look. “So much for our girl’s night,” you grumbled and Chaewon laughed, already fixing you another drink and placing it on the bar in front of you. The best thing about this place was that you paid a flat fee for the night and got unlimited drinks. At least, you thought it was the best thing.

Honestly, you were so focused on the drink in front of you that you didn’t notice someone pulling out the barstool next to you until Chaewon turned back from the counter on the back wall and raised her eyebrows at you, flicking her eyes to the space next to you.

You furrowed your brow at her slightly, then turned to see what she was looking at. A guy had taken the spot next to you, surprising since the whole bar was empty, and was watching you carefully.

“You look bored,” he observed and you let out a wry laugh.

“It’s that obvious, huh?” you responded and this time he laughed. You took a moment to observe him, letting your gaze travel across his face. He was good looking and had a cute smile, with artfully mussed light brown hair.

You weren’t sure where he’d come from though. Besides the group of guys that had come in after you and Mina, there hadn’t been anyone else besides the group in the private room, none of whom you’d seen. You knew he hadn’t come in with the other group though, you would have remembered him.

He met your gaze again. “I’m Bobby,” he told you with a smile. “What’s your name?”

You gave him your name, then took a sip of your drink. Maybe you wouldn’t leave quite as soon as you’d planned.  

It turned out that Bobby was hilarious. He had you and Chaewon in stitches almost from the moment he introduced himself. When he invited you to come to the private room and meet his friends, you didn’t hesitate to agree.

As Bobby opened the door, you saw his friends scattered across the leather couches in the private lounge. He grabbed your hand and pulled you into the room, settling into an open space and all but pulling you onto his lap.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of karaoke and even more alcohol after Bobby introduced you to his friends. Honestly, you couldn’t remember all six of their names. Although you didn’t really think it was too important as bad as that sounded; after all, you’d probably never see any of them again, so what did it really matter?

The next time you left the private lounge, the bar was starting to close down for the night. Chaewon was wiping down the counter and shot you a wink as you almost stumbled down the steps from the private room.

Mina had long since disappeared, probably with the guy she was with before. So you didn’t feel bad in the slightest when Bobby asked you to grab some food with him. When you stepped out of the elevator and back onto the streets of Roppongi, the sun was starting to peek out around the surrounding buildings.

You found yourself glad you had Bobby with you. Even in the daylight, Roppongi was one of the seedier areas of Tokyo, not somewhere you particularly wanted to be if you were by yourself and as tipsy as you were. At least with him at your side, the same men that had leered at you and Mina the night before on your way to the bar thought twice before trying to approach you.

Bobby seemed to know the area fairly well and led you across one of the main roads to a ramen shop that was still open so early in the morning. You walked up the stairs behind him, but he never let go of your hand. You found side by side seats at the counter in the deserted restaurant, settling in and maybe leaning on each other more than you’d like to admit.

When the bowls of steaming broth and noodles were placed in front of you, you dug right in. Bobby laughed at your expression when you burned your tongue on the noodles and you just made a face back at him.

Your bowls empty and stomachs full, you headed back outside onto the street. By now, the trains had started and you figured that you would head your separate ways, probably never to see each other again. But it seemed Bobby had other ideas when he grabbed your hand and tugged you towards where you could see Tokyo Tower in the distance.

It wasn’t a very far walk and you soon found yourself at the base of the tower. “What are we doing here?” you asked him, frowning slightly with confusion.

Bobby didn’t look you in the eyes right away. “Would it be… okay if I kissed you?” he questioned after a long moment, his gaze meeting yours.

Your brain stopped working for a minute and you stared at him. “I mean, it’s fine if you say no, I just think you’re really pretty and cool-” Bobby was starting to ramble, but you cut him off when you grabbed his hands and pulled him to you, planting your lips firmly against his.

At first, it was like your kiss surprised him like he hadn’t been expecting you to actually kiss him. But then he was kissing you back, his hands leaving yours to find your waist and your hair, pulling you closer and deepening the kiss.

Your lips soon found a rhythm against his and when you nipped at his lower lip slightly after a few long moments, Bobby let out a soft groan. He was the one to break the kiss and he stared at you with lust darkened eyes. “Let’s get out of here?” he said, phrasing the words as a question and regarding you with a raised brow.

As soon as the word yes left your lips, Bobby was hailing a taxi. And as much as you didn’t want to make the taxi driver uncomfortable, it seemed neither one of you could keep your hands off of each other.

You were honestly so focused on kissing Bobby’s neck and finding the most sensitive spots along his jaw and the feeling of his hands caressing up your thighs that you didn’t even notice the hotel you were at until he was frantically paying the driver and ushering you out of the cab.

“Wait, this is my hotel,” you said, questioningly with maybe the slightest undertone of concern considering you’d never told Bobby what hotel you were staying in.

It all made sense when he pulled a key card out of his wallet with a quirked eyebrow. You let out an incredulous laugh. Out of all the hotels in the city, what were the chances you’d be staying in the same one plus be in the same bar on the same night?

Honestly though, when his hands found your waist again you couldn’t bring yourself to think about it anymore. The elevator ride was the worst. As much as you wanted him to slam your back up against the wall, it wasn’t happening with two other people in the elevator.

But when they stepped out on the 6th floor and you had to go to the 12th, you’d never hit the ‘close door’ button faster and as soon as the metal doors closed, you got exactly what you wanted.

Bobby’s hands found your waist and your back met the wall, then his mouth was leaving a heated trail from your jaw all the way down your neck and across your collarbone. As his lips traveled lower and brushed across your cleavage, you thanked yourself for wearing a low cut shirt as you arched your back to press closer to him.

The elevator dinged and you didn’t think you’d ever been pulled from an elevator quicker. It was your turn to tease as Bobby tried to unlock the door while you let your lips ghost across all the sensitive spots on his skin you’d found on the cab ride over.

He let out a frustrated groan but finally got the keycard to work and as soon as the door shut behind you, the both of you started to make quick work of each other’s clothing. Your outfits were left in a heap by the door, and you were beyond thankful that something had possessed you to wear the sexiest matching undergarment set you had in your luggage.

Bobby had smiled wickedly when he saw the black lace that hugged your body just right. “It’s like you wore this just for me,” he murmured teasingly against your skin as you found your back up against the wall of his room. Bobby’s strong hands found your thighs and then he was lifting you so you’d wrap your legs around his waist.

You really thought he was going to take you right there against the wall. Not that you’d have had any complaints, considering all the teasing and making out in the cab had you practically soaking through your panties. But then he moved off the wall, his hands firm on your thighs, and he was moving you to the bed, dropping you down onto the mattress.

You landed with a slight bounce, then he was on you again, this time deftly undoing your bra and casting it across the hotel room before pulling you on top of him so your chests were pressed together. Your lips found Bobby’s again and you ground your hips against him, dragging a deep moan from him.

You continued to swivel your hips against him, loving hearing all of the sounds he made, but then he was pushing you off and maneuvering you onto your back, his hands already making quick work of the last scrap of lace hiding your core from him.

Bobby made a place for himself between your thighs and he let out a low groan when he saw your arousal already glistening on your lower lips. He watched you carefully through his lashes as he licked one long strip along your slit and you let out a whine, squirming at his teasing.

Your squirming didn’t encourage him to move any quicker, and Bobby smacked the inside of your thigh lightly with two fingers. “Behave yourself,” he told you, his low voice leaving desire coiling in your abdomen as he trailed sloppy kisses up the inside of your thighs.

When his mouth finally found its way back to your heat, Bobby wasn’t teasing anymore. He eased one finger into you and you let out a gasp at the welcome intrusion, then his tongue found your clit. You hated to admit how close he was to pushing you over the edge already but his talented tongue seemed to know everything to do to drive you wild.

Bobby pushed a second finger into you and you couldn’t contain the long moan that slipped from your lips. He lifted his head from your center for a moment, a wicked smirk curving his slicked lips upwards, then Bobby was diving back into you, his tongue flicking against your sensitive nub and his fingers plunging into you with a renewed fervor.

It was when he sucked harshly on your clit that you were tipped over the edge and your orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks. Bobby slowed down to work you through it, letting your walls clamp down tightly on his fingers as he continued to thrust them into you, gently now. When he pulled his fingers out of you, you let out a whine at the loss, but then he was rolling a condom on and lining his length up with your entrance.

“Are you sure?” Bobby asked you, serious for a moment, and you nodded furiously, twisting your hips to get just the slightest bit of friction when his head rubbed along your slit. As soon as you did that, he turned teasing again. “Someone’s needy, hmm?”

“Mm, maybe,” you gasped out as he slowly began to push into you, your nails already leaving red trails across his back.

As soon as he was in you to the hilt, Bobby buried his face in your shoulder, sucking deep violet marks into your skin as you arched into his mouth, unable to get enough of him even with him buried in your core. “Oh, fuck,” you moaned the words when he started to move, slowly at first, but then he was slamming back into you and you all but screamed his name.

Bobby set a hard and fast pace that had you an absolute wreck under him, your nails scoring deep red lines across his skin while he decorated your chest with deep purple marks. When he slowed to a stop for a moment, you shot him a questioning look but then he was reaching underneath you to get a firm grip on your ass and flipped your bodies so you were on top of him.

You slowly rolled your hips, watching as Bobby tipped his head back and let out a groan from the back of his throat. His grip on your hips tightened until you knew there would be marks left from his hands - not that you minded - and then he was pistoning his hips into you from below, stopping to grind against you occasionally.

When one of Bobby’s hands drifted from your hip to between your thighs, his thumb finding your clit to massage it in rough circles, you came around him with a strangled moan that sounded a lot more like a scream.

The feeling of your walls clenching around his length like a vice was enough to send Bobby over the edge as well and with a few more sloppy thrusts, he was spilling his load into the condom. You collapsed against his chest with a sigh and Bobby wrapped his arms loosely around your waist, letting his hands trail across the bare skin of your back.

The two of you stayed like that for a few long moments, Bobby ghosting light kisses across your shoulder. When he finally let go of your waist, you rolled off of him and snuggled into the pillow on his bed, Bobby stood to clean himself up before coming back to the bed and handing you a t-shirt.

“Stay here tonight?” he asked, flopping down onto the bed next to you.

You sat up slightly, slipping the shirt over your body before falling into Bobby’s open arms and pressing a gentle kiss to the underside of his jaw. “Okay,” you told him and he shot you a cheeky smile.

“Can I get your number, too?”

“Mmm, ask me again in the morning.”

[a-menage-a-trois-is-fine]

I’ve been building upon my oh-my-god-why-am-I-writing-Buzzfeed-fanfic-please-murder-me for months now, and it’s VERY slow-going what with work and life and all… but here are some snippets from it just to encourage myself to finish it, on the off-chance someone might read this and be like “HEY WRITE MORE MAYBE” or w/e I don’t know. These are chunks of what I’ve been writing thrown into some lonely corner of the internet. They’re not meant to make sense chronologically.

–

Stories are supposed to have beginnings and ends. Ryan remembers the word denouement from a tenth grade English class; remembers a chalky, arching line swooped across a blackboard:

There is a protagonist, a setting, an “inciting incident” (extra points for alliteration); conflict, struggle, resolution. Open ends are meant to be stitched together cleverly, and characters are meant to return home changed in some stunning, significant way (quadruple points here).

Sometimes he thinks about this when editing. Sometimes he thinks about this when he finally shuts down the computer, is the last to lock up, is the last to count how many black gum-spots it takes to get to his car.

Ryan’s life is nothing like a story. He tries to form it into something streamline, something meaningful, memorable, and marketable—

But in the end it is simply a long string of moments.

–

Siri guides them to Conneaut, Ohio. Which is not Conneaut, Pennsylvania.

Ryan buries his face in the steering wheel. “Fuck me, dude…”

“Well,” states Shane diplomatically. There ya go.”

“How many fucking Conneauts can possibly exist!”

“Two. Two exist.”

“Shut up.”

They’d been in Cleveland to check out Franklin Castle. The mansion had seen plenty of death over the years, was possibly home to Nazis at one point, and was bought by Judy Garland’s fifth husband in the ‘80s. It was found to have a literal skeleton in one of its closets. Well, allegedly. Shane kept pushing that word on Ryan.

It was in the paper, dude! Ryan had argued. In the nineties! This isn’t, like, folklore!

Yeeeaaaahhh, said Shane. People said a lot of things in the nineties.

The woman who owns it now — a pleasant Italian artist in her fifties — had given them permission to film and sleep in it overnight. They hadn’t gotten much rest, as usual, and they hadn’t encountered anything overtly significant. There were the odd creaks and subtle squeaks, but even Ryan had to admit that sort of stuff was to be expected from a house built in 1881. There were a few other things, though… things that could have been whispers (Ryan was eager to listen to the audio recordings, later) and things that seemed to move in the dark (though that could have just been his eyes and brain trying to make sense of the darkness, Shane had purported). Mostly, though, there was a feeling. A feeling that he was being watched. A feeling that they were not alone.

It was fucking frustrating, because a feeling isn’t evidence; not to anyone outside his own head.

–

“Do you think Taco Bell is worse in Ohio?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care. Taco Bell will give you the shits anywhere.”

“See, people say that — but I’ve never had a bad experience with TaBe. I’ve heard they’re one of the healthiest fast food places, actually. I mean, as healthy as fast food can be. They use better ingredients.”

“What the fuck is tah-bey?”

“TaBe. Taco Bell.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“It hasn’t caught on yet. I’ve been working on it.”

In the end, they stop at the Taco Bell the rest stop sign had advertised. It’s nestled among a throng of pine trees, which is just super weird for some reason.

Shane orders a steak Quesarito, but gets ground beef instead. Ryan goes to town on three Supreme tacos.

“I mean, I definitely said steak.”

“It’s probably ‘cause it’s one in the morning, dude. And they’re out of steak, or they just didn’t want to make it.”

“Or because that kid at the window was high.”

“Or because he was high, yeah.”

“It could just be my imagination, but I feel like it’s just a liiiiiiiittle less spicy than in LA.”

“These tacos taste exactly the same.”

“I dunno.” Shane squints into dark of the tall trees that press up against the parking lot. “There’s something… different.”

“It’s ground beef, and you never get ground beef Quesaritos. That’s what’s different.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

They eat in relative silence, going through every napkin they were given. Shane accidentally takes a sip of Ryan’s drink.

“Uuughh, dude.” Ryan pulls the straw out, flips it, and jabs it back in.

“You just dunked all my cooties into your Coke.”

“Yeah, but at least I’m not, like, kissing you every time I take a sip.”

Shane laughs in the gradual, stuttering way he does when something Ryan says doesn’t make sense to him. “What? Okay. You could’ve just taken the top off and thrown it away with the straw. Or you could’ve just sucked it up — literally sucked it up — like a normal person. But, okay. I guess I’m really, really gross. Cool.”

“I like straws.”

“Yeah, you really like straws.”

–

“I hate places with no elevators.”

“It’s an old hotel. You can’t expect it to have elevators.”

“Sure I can. It’s twenty-eighteen. They’ve had years to put one in.”

“You really like elevators.”

“I love an elevator. Almost as much as you love a straw.”

–

“I promise it won’t be weird.”

They stare at each other for a good handful of seconds.

“It might be a little weird,” admits Ryan.

Shane nods. “It might be a little weird.”

They laugh, and Ryan settles down beside his friend.

And it isn’t even a little weird.

–

They bump into each other somewhat purposefully on the sidewalk later. Fleetingly, Ryan wonders at the way he needs to touch Shane when they’re drunk. But they’re just drunk… that’s just what being drunk with Shane is.

Also, there’s something really disappointing about the arrival of an Uber.

–

The house is bleached bone-white by sixty-six years of desert sun.

Ryan feels something at his ankles, and when he drops his chin there is sand weaving in currents at his feet. He tries to get a better look, but the camera strapped to his chest is the size and weight of a bowling ball.

“There’s no door.”

Ryan squints against the daylight; Shane’s right. The house is a bungalow, the kind you’d find on stilts clinging to the Hollywood Hills. But it’s not standing tall, and there’s not a hill or mountain in sight. It sits heavy on the dry lake bed like some weighty thing on its belly. It’s trying to hide, Ryan realizes. It’s been trying to hide all this time, nowhere to run but into the ground. It’s frozen, and it hopes no one can see it.

“There!” Ryan points. He hadn’t noticed it before, he’d thought the front was clean, white wood — but there is plywood tacked on in the unmistakable shape of an entrance.

“How’d they do that from the inside?”

–

“Nice dingle-dongle.”

It’s not like they haven’t pissed side-by-side before. It’s not like they haven’t both seen each other’s dicks, out of the corners of their eyes, so — who gives a shit?

Ryan shrugs, tucks himself back in, and zips his jeans up like a captain steering a sailboat through a storm.

“It’s okay. You— what? What d’you mean, refund?”

Shane leans into the tiled wall with a great thump. He gestures vaguely, eyes trailing lazily to the ceiling.

“Like with… debit cards, if they get stolen, the bank reimburses you. Right? Those are the ones?”

“What?”

“Or is it credit? Fuck. I dunno. There’s, like… one of them, they don’t give you back the money if someone spends it.”

“I gave it to the bar-lady.”

Shane’s eyes roll like little brown marbles down to Ryan. His little lips curl up into a little open-mouthed smirk. “You rogue.”

“You told me to!”

“I know. I forgot. C’mon, buddy. We’re onto micheladas.”

—

They’re at a party blasting “Heart of Glass”, and Ryan thinks he will never be more in love than he is now.

—

“I am very drunk, and there is chicken in my mouth.”

“Well, yeah, you ordered chicken.”

“It didn’t sink in till just now.”

Ryan laughs. “Well, sorry— you ordered chicken.”

“No, I’m not saying it’s bad, it’s very good. It’s just. I forgot. Fuck!” Shane’s knife slips from his hand and lands in a pile of salad. He harrumphs, and picks the knife out gingerly, licking the dressing from its handle.

“Dude we are going to get kicked out of Disneyland.”

“Nooooo,” Shane admonishes. “They don’t knooooow, come on.”

“I am one hundred percent sure the waiter knows we’re drunk, dude. We’ve been waving and yelling at the people on the boats for, like, an hour now.”

Shane suddenly remembers the boats; he gives a funny, unfocused grin and waves a Rosebowl Queen Wave to the boat currently floating past. “They just keep… coming! Hey, Ryan. Do you think the ones with no one in them are haunted?”

“Do you?”

“No, I think Fantasmic is going on, and the pirate business is slow. But I think you think they’re haunted.”

“Actually…” and this is an interesting line of thought, along the way he’s always wondered about the silhouetted cast members he’s seen walking briskly through the backdrop of the Bayou: “I’d always figured there was, like, some reason they had to send a boat through empty? Like, for crowd control, or something to do with, I dunno, like, timing, or maintenance, or security, or something.”

“Ahhhh!” Shane says very slowly, drawing his attention back to Ryan. He acts the way he does when Ryan posits a particularly clever theory on some long-dead murder. “That makes sense!”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! Ooh!” Shane glances around conspiratorially. “Where’s Disney Police? Disney Police! Arrest this man! He knows too much!”

“Shut up,” Ryan laughs, though he is honestly a little nervous. “You are so obviously drunk.”

“Noooooooo. I am the perfect model of, uh… of propriety. Sobriety Pirate-ey.”

“Sure you are. How are you a bigger lightweight than me? You’ve got, like, six more legs than me.”

“I’m fine. I’m bulletproof. I’m Batman.”

Ryan chokes on his lemonade. The novelty “glow-cube” he’d paid two-fifty extra for flashes several different colors before his eyes. He coughs for what’s probably a full minute before he’s able to say, “You are not Batman.”

“I’m Batman, bay-beeeeee.”

“You are so fucking drunk, dude.”

“I’m not drunk” he says in some unholy marriage of Bale and Keaton, “I’m Batman.”

“Well, god save Gotham, in that case.”

—

Ryan can’t stand to look at him right now, but he can feel him, the way he’s sitting beside him, and he can feel the way his voice sounds: It sounds hurt and hesitant. It might sound disappointed, and Ryan’s brain works itself up into a terrible, sudden frenzy — does it sound cheated? Does it sound like the voice of a man who’s been swindled?

Ryan shakes his head adamantly, which must look strange to Shane. No, Shane wouldn’t feel that way. Shane wouldn’t be like that.

This, Ryan realizes, is how girls must feel all the time.

–

Ryan shakes his head, grinning wetly. “You’re too perfect, you know that? You’re too fucking dumb and perfect.”

Shane looks lost. Ryan is still half-crying, half-laughing.

“Can I hug you?”

–

[sophiabush-rps]

❝ I do it because I love you. ❞ Sam and haley

This was honestly the last place Haley had expected to be as well but after getting a very unexpected phone call just an hour ago about Sam being back in town after her, leaving town weeks ago here she was standing right beside him. Both of them standing there in silence.

The cool breeze hit her soft skin, her cheeks turning a dusty pink hue as she rested her arms on the ledge of the cold bars that out looked the ocean from the beach house. The wind blowing her short brunette locks exposing the stitches she had above her eyebrow from the creature that had attacked them a few weeks back that prompt Sam to leave town after killing the creature. 'It's for your own good. And Jamie's as well'. The words repeated in her mind as that very same day replayed in her mind where she watched the hunter speed away into daylight after begging him to not leave. "Wasn't expecting you to visit Tree Hill again so soon" she mumbled biting down on her lower lip. The brunette's eyes locked on the ocean, the moon shining overhead the large body of water creating just enough illumination to see the waves crashing to shore in rhythmic motion.

Sam's eyes on the other hand were locked on the single mother standing just a few feet away from him. He could see just how much she was hurt by him leaving town after she was attacked by the creature a few weeks back. If only she could understand the guilt he felt after she had gotten hurt. If there was one thing he knew it was his life killed people, Jess being a perfect example. With the way he felt about Haley, feeling such a stronger connection with her then any other woman he had feelings for it scared the hell out of him. And with Jamie in the mixture, he couldn't bring his life into their lives anymore than he already had. He couldn't put their lives at risk, if something happened to either of them he would never forgive himself. Leaving was the best option, no matter how much it hurt either of them. "There's a case" Sam responded. "Vengeful spirit".

Haley nodded in response. She bit down on her lower lip trying to keep her anger, frustration under control but it was already boiling over. "I know there's more to you leaving" she said, addressing the elephant in the room. Haley damn well knew there was more to Sam leaving then just this creature who attacked her. "I know there's more, Sam. Every time things start going really well between us, we start getting close you pull back, you shut me out, you push me away". Her voice started growing louder over anger and frustration. "I already know about your world. I've accepted it. Why do you do it, why do you push me away? If you don't like me like that.....just tell me". The brunette's voice slowly changed from anger to sadness by the time she had muttered that last sentence.

There it was. He had been expecting, anticipating this from Haley before he even arrived back in Tree Hill earlier this evening. By the time she was finished, the last thing she had said really set Sam off. How could she even think he didn't like her like that. "You wanna know why I do it" he asked in a harsh tone. "I do it because I love you. I love you. I love Jamie and seeing you get hurt that day killed me. It only reminded me that I lose the people I love especially in the life I live. And I'll be damned if I let myself stick around and lose you and Jamie next. You both would be better of without me".

Her eyes immediately met his in a sense of surprise, shock. Haley had never seen him so fired up before. Her heart pounding in her chest as she heard those words. The exact words she had been wanting to say to him for so long but was afraid to in fear the feeling wasn't mutual. "Because you what" she asked, her eyes brimming with tears. Haley needing to hear those words again so she knew she didn't think it was her ears playing tricks on her.

Sam swallowed after realizing what he just said. His heart racing, the hunter trying to think of a way around this but he was drawing a blank. The last thing he wanted was to fall in love with Haley and pull her even deeper into his world and possibly end up losing her like he had lost Jessica. He didn't want to go through that again but it was time to face the inevitable. As much as he wanted to ignore and deny his feelings for Haley he couldn't anymore. It was too fuckin' hard. "Because I....I love you, Haley" Sam admitted once more, his voice more softer. "Never in my life have I felt this strongly about anyone before and it scares the living hell out of me". Sam looked away from the brunette, trying to get his own emotions under control. He stared out at the dark body of water, a sigh of relief leaving his lips. After that confession it felt like a huge weight was off his shoulders.

After listening to the hunter, Haley swallowed at the lump that had formed in her throat. Her eyes looking out to the ocean as she bought a hand up to her face wiping the tears that had fallen down her cheeks. Nothing but the sound of waves crashing to the shore could be heard.After a few moments she looked over at Sam who was still looking out at the dark body of water just a few feet away from them. Her now red, puffy eyes on him. "You think this is easy for me" Haley asked. "I understand how you feel, Sam. How do you think I felt all those times you were out of town working on cases. Every time my phone rang I was afraid to even look at it because I was afraid it was someone calling to me something happened to you. That you were dead. How do you think I felt when you just left. I hated you for leaving but I was also scared not knowing if you were okay or not" her voice broke as she wiped her tears away from her eyes before they could fall down her cheeks. "These feelings it's scary as hell because I've never felt such a connection to someone before like I have you. I'm afraid of getting....hurt again. Afraid of losing you. It's the worst feeling in the world and as much as I hate that feeling, the love I feel for you is much stronger than anything else and because of that you're worth that risk because what is love if you don't take a risk, right? But if this is what you want I'll respect your wishes". She took a deep breath as she looked back to the ocean before her eyes moved back to the hunter once more who had yet to say anything. She then leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. "I love you, Sam Winchester" Haley whispered as the tears brimmed at her eyes. She walked away descending down the many stairs leaving the hunter standing there, wiping the tears from her eyes in the process.

Sam swallowed as he slightly turned his head, watching the woman he loved descending down the steps as she made her way to her car to leave. What the hell was he doing standing here and not going after her. She had just as much to risk as he did. Sam wiped his eyes before running down the many steps after her.

Hearing his footsteps Haley turned on her heel, before having any chance to react she felt his lips capturing hers. The kiss warm, sweet, hot, passionate causing her heart to beat faster. In an instant she was returning his kiss, her arms wrapping around his neck, the space closing between them.

"I love you" Sam whispered against her lips as he pulled back. "I don't want to give up on what we have that easy,” he finished.

A small smile tugged the corner of her lips. "I love you too" she whispered as she felt his thumbs wiping away her tears with his thumbs.

Sam smiled as he leaned down his lips on her once more as they shared a tender kiss.

[sindearlyconnormurphy]

My Favorite Person [Connor Murphy x Reader]

Title: My Favorite Person Pairing: Connor Murphy x Reader Fandom: Dear Evan Hansen Requested: by the lovely @rinzix Summary: College!Friends with benefits | You’re thankful to have a friend like Connor, for more reasons than one, but you’re fun may soon be coming to an end, and Connor isn’t feeling like himself Warnings: mentions of sex | Connor has a potty mouth | mentions of mental health relapses and recovery | brief allusions to domestic violence | first person reader A/N: This was such a wonderful, fun prompt and it reeaallly got away from me, so I apologize in advance. Essentially, the summary is I will probably never let Connor Murphy be happy. As always, it’s really rushed and I didn’t proof read. Enjoy?

It never starts the way I expect it to.

Don’t get me wrong–I’m not complaining. It just doesn’t work out the way it does in the movies, ya know? I’ve never gotten a text at eleven pm asking me to sneak across the campus to his conviently empty dorm room, never received anything remotely similar to a booty call. It started on accident, like everything else Connor Murphy does. He doesn’t understand the sort of pull he has on people.

Connor Murphy was an absolute octopus, first off. I woke up early–much earlier than he ever would–underneath a pile of pale, lithe limbs that seemed to tangle around me in a number of places. I was sticky–definitely sweaty from sleeping too close to Connor, who apparently fell asleep on top of me like some kind of animal, but I also felt an uncomfortable squish between my thighs that reminded me of the drastic turn of events that happened last night.

To be perfectly clear, this wasn’t the first time we had done this. The first time had been planned–an accidental mishap that had spiraled out of control, beginning with texts (“Hey, would you mind to model for a piece I’m working on? I can’t find any decent reference poses online.”) and ended with some not so appropriate banter (“Are we sexting? Is this sexting? I mean I’m horny but like it’s gotta be smoother than this, right? Shit, do you have nudes??) that had snowballed into an agreement: we could fool around, platonically, because being in college and being ridiculously horny all the time and balancing a decent relationship was one thing too many.

Still, our first few times had been planned: I’d come over for pizza when Connor’s roommate was out, we’d play video games and watch a movie, and, at some point, Connor would lean over with little to no warning and kiss me much too roughly, taking me off guard–it usually either dissolved into a fit of giggles or ended up with me on my back staring up at the smooth column of his throat, watching his pale adams apple dip briefly as he groaned into my hair.

The sun was up, shining obnoxiously through Connor’s too thin quilted curtains, filtering across our tangled bodies. My shirt was still on, thankfully–I had no idea when his roommate would be back–but Connor was entirely nude (save for a pair of tie-dye tube socks, I can’t believe I slept with him while he was wearing that), sprawled on top of me, all pale skin and angles. From here, I could see the knobs of his spine pressing against the thin, pale skin of his back where my hand rested. One of his hands was fisted tightly in the fabric of my shirt, just over my stomach, and the other was dangling off the edge of the  bed, his thin wrist almost comically looking as if it would snap.

The smell of him was overwhelming, of course, it always was. I could still taste him if I ran my tongue across the backs of my teeth. I’d need a long shower to scrub away the smell if I wanted to think coherently today–Connor was definitely my favorite person, the only real  friend I’d made at school so far, but the very smell of him was going to make my brain short circuit.

We needed to have a discussion, needed to stop doing this every time we hang out. A limit. I sighed, remembering. We were going to have to have a talk anyway.

Reaching up gingerly, I ran my fingers against the knots on his back, tracing the triangles of his scapula and cupping the back of neck to run my fingers through the curls. His hair needed washed, badly, but I didn’t mind, just continued to soothe, feeling him sigh in his sleep against my neck. I grinned, feeling his nose press more firmly against the juncture of my neck and shoulder.

"Why are you awake?” He slurred, lips wet where they brushed my skin. His limbs went taunt, stretching before rolling over off of me, his arms slinging against his eyes.

“Ugh, can you cover up?” I groaned, sitting up and pulling a blanket to pool in my lap, trying to look anywhere but Connor. “It’s daylight now, it’s too vivid.”

He just chuckled, running his hands to scrub at his face in an attempt to wake up, pushing tangled curls out of his eyes, grinning at me. “Sorry, geez. Didn’t hear you complaining last night.” Nonetheless, he yanked the blanket over his lap, rolling over to look at me with a smirk.

“How’d you sleep?” He asked, tapping my forehead with his thumb, before leaning over to kiss me there. He didn’t move away, just hovered over me on an elbow, and surrounded by his scent left me vaguely dizzy. I’d miss it when I left here, I knew.

I scrunched my nose, letting him know that the affection was unnecessary, but he kept leaning over, pressing another kiss to my temple.

“I don’t remember,” I sighed honestly. “You kinda kept me up till two am.”

“What time is it now?”

“One.”

“Christ, sorry,” he laughed, sitting up immediately and pushing his hair back. “Guess I tired you out, huh?”

“Don’t get cocky. We were talking until twelve thirty, you only last half an hour, bucko,” I said, crawling quickly out of the bed and tugging on my panties.

“Ouch! Didn’t hear you complaining,” he chuckled, pulling his hair back into a ponytail holder. He was planning to let me shower first, then.

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, and I could tell that was the end of the discussion. We had a habit of skirting the topic during the daylight hours–if we talked about it, then we thought about it, and if we thought about it, then–well, you get the picture. “I’m gonna shower.”

——

By the time I’m out, my hair combed in wet strands sticking to the back of my neck and dressed in a clear pair of panties and one of Connor’s bigger shirts, Connor is sprawled on the bed, fully dressed, staring at a worn copy of T.S. Eliot poems, the green cloth binding fraying between his lithe fingers. The steam from the shower followed me in the room, making it look like a hazy 1970s Polaroid, accompanied by the warm light trying desperately to filter into the room through Connor’s quilted curtains.

He’s brushed his hair, I noticed, and there’s a lingering scent of cologne in an attempt to mask the smell of him–of us, if I’m being entirely honest–without showering. I nearly snorted aloud when I saw what he was wearing.

“That’s my shirt, you know,” I choked out between laughter, unable to believe that Connor fucking Murphy is wearing my tie dye crop top with a pair of ratty grey sweatpants. It was big on him, with a little pink embroidered heart stitched messily over the chest. The sweatpants rode high on his square hips, so all I could see was the slope of his ribs into the flat plain of his stomach, his belly button barely peaking out over the elastic waistband of his boxers, which rode a little higher than the sweats.

He looked up from the book, grinning lethargically, letting me know he was still barely awake. I probably should’ve let him sleep longer, but I needed to leave soon, and I wanted to tell him goodbye.

“I know,” he sighed lazily. “You left it here last time. It’s really soft.”

I bit back my smile, crossing the room to sit beside him. “Fair enough,” I conceded, tucking back a piece of hair that was beginning to slip from his ponytail.

“You’re wearing my shirt,” he pointed out, pouting his bottom lip.

“I forgot to bring a clean one,” I lied.

“You know you have extras here,” he said, suddenly frowning and returning to his book. I paused, unsure what had caused the sudden mood shift, and wanted to be careful moving forward in the conversation. “I mean, you can always borrow mine, I don’t care or anything–”

“You don’t want anyone to see me wearing it, I get it, I’ll switch back before I leave,” I said reassuringly, scooting away half an inch to give him space. It was easy to overload Connor–it wasn’t his fault, I really did understand. Sometimes social interaction was too much, especially when I’d spent almost twenty four hours with him, and we’d been so intimate.

“Fuck, I don’t care about that,” he hissed, flipping the pages of his book much too rapidly to be actually reading them. “Do you care about that?”

The second statement was shorter, softer, almost as if he didn’t want me to hear. It made me nervous–Connor had been doing better, a lot better. Throwing himself into school, into art, made him better. He wasn’t recovered–it was hard to tell if he ever would be, and I’d only ever seen a few of his episodes, but any form of relapse that I couldn’t help him control was unwanted.

“Of course I don’t care, Con,” I said softly, reaching up to soothe his hair softly, feeling him stiffen and relax beneath my fingertips. “Jeez, we’re in college. I couldn’t care less what people think.”

He nodded, eyes creased before closing, his lips pressed together in a frown. “Right, right, you’re right, sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” I muttered, feeling nervous. He certainly wasn’t in any mood to hear my news. Something was on his mind. “You good?”

“Huh? Yeah! Great, don’t sweat it!” He some how managed to morph his deer in the headlights expression into one of enthusiasm.  It was more than concerning, and I hadn’t noticed when he’d developed the ability to swallow back his feelings. I didn’t know why he felt like he needed to. “What’s the plan for today, kiddo? There’s a Clark Gable marathon on TCM tonight, I know you like that black and white crap.”

Shit. I swallowed thickly, realizing I needed to tell him, and now. I was hoping it would wait until at least after we had food in us, or at least until Connor was awake enough to reign in his emotions and think with a level head.

“When’s your roommate getting back?” I asked instead, scratching at the back of my neck and not meeting his gaze. I felt him squint angrily at me, aware of my avoidance. “Don’t want him to walk in on anything unseemly,” I laughed.

Connor was still watching me, I felt it, with a pinched, calculated expression. “We don’t have to fool around tonight,” he said softly. “We can just hang.”

His voice was that soft, melancholy tone again that made my heart constrict. He wasn’t feeling good, I realized. He clearly thought that I was upset with him–I wasn’t, but I realized with a jolt that my news certainly wasn’t going to help his sudden self conscious streak.

I shifted on the bed again, feeling his eyes on me as I delayed, and I could practically see his inner turmoil. I should stay here with him. He wasn’t doing well. But, I’d promised….

“Um,” I mumbled, pushing back my wet hair with my hand. “About that. I, uh, have plans for tonight.”

His eyebrows took a quick hike into his hairline, his slate eyes wide, before he horrified me by neutralizing his expression again before I could read him properly–he gave me a small smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Oh,” he said hoarsely. “That’s chill. You could’ve just told me that.”

I smiled gratefully back at him, reaching out to rest my hand on his knee. “You’re sure?” I asked softly, tracing a pattern out on the grey cotton knee of the sweatpants. He swatted my hand away, and I felt a sudden dip in my stomach. He was upset.

“Yes, geez,” he grumbled. “I am perfectly capable to spend a day without you, you know. I probably need to check in with my folks, anyway.”

“You’re sure?” I asked again, leaning back, a bit more skeptical. Connor saying he wanted to check in with his parents was the boldest lie I’d heard in a long time.

“Yes, Christ, shut it,” he hissed, flopping onto his back, the crop top riding comically up on his stomach, and, without thinking, I leaned forward quickly to press a wet kiss to the cluster of freckles on his ribcage, earning a loud swear from Connor, followed by a slew of giggles, his thin hands pushing at my hair to pull me away from his ticklish sides.

“Stop it! Stop! Christ–st–” he sat up abruptly and tangled his hands into my hair, yanking me down against him, his bare chest trapped between us, soft against my palms.

What had started as a gentle joke, just a silly peck, escalated as it tended to. It was slow–Connor’s laughter dying quickly in his chest, his breath hitching in the back of his throat instead. I opened my eyes to glance down at him, his eyes closed, his eyelashes flickering against his cheeks. I pulled back, just for a moment, amazed to find his lips parted, head tilted back, obvious that he expected me to move my lips to neck. I just chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to the cleft of his chin.

“Not this morning, Con,” I whispered, kissing behind his ear.

“Just kissing,” he whispered, letting out a shuddering breath into my hair. Eyes still closed, his hands tightened in my shirt in an attempt to keep me against him.

“You know it won’t stop there,” I laughed. He pouted beneath me.

“But–I’m not wearing a bra. I’m all ready to fool around!” Connor snorted, hands digging harshly into my sides as he laughed.

I smothered my laugh against his jugular, fighting to control my breathing, before pushing myself up against Connor’s chest.

“Not now,” I sighed sadly, giving him a closed mouth kiss against his lips, watching his eyes fade as he chased me for another kiss.

“Okay,” he sighed. “Sorry, my fault.” Throwing a hand over his eyes, he groaned, tangling his fingers in his pretty, pulled back hair.

“Don’t be sorry,” I mumbled.

“Later,” he smiled against his fist, slate eyes staring up at the ceiling with amusement. “Later. Christ, no one told me my libido would get a second wind after fourteen.”

“You’ve always got your hand,” I reminded with a chuckle, rising from the bed to stretch. Distance, I needed distance to think. He wrinkled his nose in disdain.

“Yeah, no thanks, not the same.”

There was a beat of silence, where I caught Connor watching me from the bed, before turning away with a pinched expression. It triggered an oddly sick feeling in my stomach–I shouldn’t feel guilty. I shouldn’t. This was just fun, Connor was just my friend, nothing more.

“So, uh,” he coughed. “What was your plan for tonight?”

I stiffened, turning around to sit on the edge of the bed with my back to him, beginning to braid my hair. The bed dipped suddenly, and Connor’s leg was flush with mine, the other folded behind my back, and Connor’s fingers wove into my wet hair, beginning to plait it silently.

“I have a date.”

His hands stilled, just briefly, and I felt myself relax when his fingers began again. He hadn’t taken a single breath.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“Who with?” Cold. Uninterested. I growled low in my throat.

“Not sure. Some guy my mom set me up with–they’re pissed I don’t have a boyfriend, you know,” I reminded, and Connor just grunted in affirmation.

“You have no idea who he is?” Connor groaned in disgust. 

I shrugged. “He goes to school here–I think his name is Jared? He’s a business major. My mom is very impressed.”

Now, Connor really paused, his fingers abandoning the braid to snap his hands down into his lap.

“You know him?” I asked.

“Jared Kleinman?” Connor hissed, not looking at me.

“I think?” I said skeptically, unsure what about this kid had Connor in such a state.

“He’s an ass,” Connor growled. “An absolute asshole, bully, short-stack, scum bag, and you can’t go out with him. You can’t go out with that jerk off, trust me, okay? As your friend, I forbid you.”

I’d been taking everything Connor said seriously up to that point–it took a lot to make Connor that verbose, let alone that enraged–he’d been working on getting better, he really had–but his final statement made my eyes snap open, throwing my body off the bed.

“You forbid me?” I hissed, spinning with a wicked laugh. “I’m not your girlfriend, Connor. You can’t stop me from doing shit, okay?”

His eyes widened–in shock or shame, I wasn’t sure–sliding back up onto the bed. “I didn’t mean, fuck, I’m just trying to look out for you, okay? He’s bad news. He was–fuck, he was such an ass in highschool, okay?”

“And people can’t change, right?” I laughed crudely, watching the muscle twitch in his jaw. I’d pressed a button. Good. His eyebrows furrowed down over his glare, and I saw his hands clench and unclench in his lap. He’d caught my eyes flickering to them, and immediately looked helpless, wiping them on his jeans.

“I’m not having a fit,” he promised. “I’m not gonna hit you, I fucking swear to–”

“I know,” I lied, softening my posture and  looking away from him. “I know, Con. You’re not gonna hurt me again.”

Truth be told, he might. Relapse was easy–I knew, I’d seen it in teaspoon sized doses, whether be him throwing me against the door with too much force or be it a fist coming to connect on the wall behind my head after I gave a particular nasty comment. Connor had never hit me, not hard, but he almost had, and he’d said a few nasty things, broken some things of mine.

We were friends because I trusted him, because I didn’t want to leave him just because this felt hard. But I wouldn’t let Connor talk to me like that again, I’d promised myself. It meant a time out–no sex, no talking, not until he could calmly apologize and talk through what he was feeling.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, scrubbing his hands over his eyes–he’d forgotten to paint his nails this week, I noticed, but his wrist had flowering patches of indigo and lavender peppered along his arm like blooming bruises–they were just left over from his last art class Friday. He really needed a shower, I realized.

“Don’t be sorry,” I said again, leaning against the bathroom’s doorjamb in lieu of joining him on the bed. If I sat on the bed, I’d want to touch him, and as much as he deserved reassurance, he didn’t need the positive reinforcement. He had to learn I was a finite fixture. “That Jared kid–he said something to you, right? In school. You didn’t like each other.”

Connor laughed mirthlessly, filling my stomach with lead. “Yeah, you could say that. He’s one of those weasely kids, ya know? With just shitty underhanded comments they get out of Mad magazine. Gets under your skin.”

It was too easy to picture, embarrassingly so, I thought, watching Connor now with his eyes downcast and his mouth pursed, I could still see him, just a year ago, and some punk kid whose comment landed on its mark. He probably sent Connor into fits.

I tried too hard not to picture Connor those nights, crying disgustingly in the shower, banging his head too hard against the tile, replaying over and over in his head what that little shit had said to him.

I didn’t want to go out with him. I hadn’t wanted to to begin with. But, I had to. I’d promised.

“I’m really sorry, Con,” I sighed softly, thunking my head against the doorjamb in punishment. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“Don’t be,” he laughed bitterly again. “’S over now.” He held his arms open, silently asking me to come back down to him, just to make up. “Just because you’re sucking his cock now–”

He froze, eyes bugging out of his head, staring at something on the ceiling I couldn’t make out from here. My stomach churned uneasily, and the tips of my ears got uncomfortably warm. Connor sat up slowly, bracing himself on his arms, staring at the wall with a horrified expression. He was vaguely green around the collar of my shirt.

“You wanna stop. That’s why you told me. You wanna stop.”

I swallowed thickly. “Con–”

“Christ, kid! What happened to relationships and sex and school are too much? We said–”

“It’s out of my hands!” I gasped, Connor’s glare finally snapping to mine, melting me into the floor. “I don’t want to go out with him–you know my mom expects me to–”

“Fuck, I know, you’re parents want you to be a fucking baby factory with a rich husband, I know, okay?” He groaned, shoving his hands into his hair and dislodging the ponytail holder, his dark hair cascading around his shoulders, his whole expression pinched.

I flinched, shutting my eyes, wishing desperately to be somewhere else. He didn’t mean it, he was angry–it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

“It’s just to appease my mom,” I sighed quietly, disgusted to realize how wet and broken my voice sounded. “Just to say I have a boyfriend, to keep her out of my hair. Otherwise she’d be down here every week, and I’d never be able to see you–”

“What if I pretended to be your boyfriend?” He said suddenly, making my gaze snap to his, despite my discomfort. He was staring seriously at me, and I felt sick to realize he was sincere.

“Trust me, Con, you don’t wanna do that.”

To subject him to that kind of scrutiny would be unfair. Connor was my favorite person in the world right now, and, despite coming from a good family, my mother would be less than thrilled to hear I was involved with an art major with a juvenile record.

He snorted. “I know I’m no Jared–”

“Don’t,” I glared. “Don’t. I’m sorry, but yeah, we can’t have sex for awhile, okay?”

“Fuck,” he hissed.

I felt sick–like crying. “I’m sorry if that ruins our friendship for you. I thought you might be able to tolerate spending time with me when I’m not getting you off.”

Connor’s horrified expression let me know he hadn’t actually thought of that, but it didn’t mean he hadn’t known.

“Hey,” he said softly, rolling off the bed to stand, his hands out stretched as if he was scared to spook me. “Hey, that’s not–hey, don’t cry.”

“Fuck off.”

“No,” he growled, coming forward to wrap his arms around me, still wearing that stupid crop top, pressing his face into my neck. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that,” he murmured, his lips brushing my jaw. “You come first, you always come first. I’d rather have you than sex, you know that, right?”

His fingers scraped under my shirt to press against my skin, pulling me tighter to him, his fingertips tripping with friction.

“I know,” I sighed, going limp against him and wrapping my arms around his neck–it felt nice just to be close. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Fair enough.”

He pulled back, reaching up to cup my face, his fingertips burning where they thumbed my cheeks, wiping away the stray tears. He stared down at me so intently, and I realized he was still scared.

“Before your lame ass date, you wanna get some take out?” He asked with a crooked grin, leaning in to kiss my forehead quickly.

“Fine, but you have to change,” I giggled, pulling away despite his protests to grab my purse from his desk.

“I refuse to change–this color looks too good on me.”

——

“I can’t believe you’re gonna wear one of my shirts on your date with that wank,” Connor groaned, watching me button up one of his shirts over my chest, shaking his head. “He’s gonna try to cop a feel–it’s like he’s grabbing my boob, kid. That’s the worst violation of all.”

I rolled my eyes, brushing my hair back from my forehead. “First off, they’re still my boobs, but I promise I’ll bring the shirt back in mint condition. I doubt I’ll be kissing him tonight.”

Connor grinned around a mouthful of rice–he was cute like that, I realized, cheeks full and eyes crinkled with a smile. His mood had flipped swiftly, thank goodness, despite the fact it had started to pour outside, the sky pitch black despite the fact it was still early in the afternoon.

“Maybe he’ll buy you something nice,” Connor grinned. “I’m sure he’s loaded. If he brings a friend, make sure you hit on him.”

I snorted, but pulled on my slightly dirty skinny jeans anyway. “If he brings his friend on a date, I’m walking out and taking you home for thanksgiving.”

Connor grinned again. “God, that’d be rich.”

Thunder pounded through the room, making Connor’s hair products shake on his desk, causing me to jump back onto the bed to be near Connor.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared,” he teased softly, glancing out the window to see the downpour. “Christ, maybe you should stay in tonight. Last thing you need is to be trapped in some shitty French restaurant with mademoiselle rat face.”

“You’re hilarious,” I said bitterly, watching the leaves paste themselves to the window pane. “But, maybe I should reschedule. That’s not a shitty thing to do, right? It looks awful out there.”

“Nah,” Connor said around another mouthful. “Plus, if you do, we can have one last hoorah–okay, you’re right, sorry.”

I just grinned, hitting him lightly upside the head. “You can finish up in the shower, pretty boy.”

He frowned. “Fine.”

I pursed my lips, glaring out into the storm again. “I should call Jared ask him to reschedule,” I sighed again, feeling only vaguely guilty. I mean, what were the odds Jared even wanted to go on this date? Our parents set us up, for goodness’ sake.

I wondered briefly if Connor had worn this shirt in highschool, if Jared would recognize it.

“I highly recommend standing him up,” Connor said chipperly. “Allow me to hand you your phone–”

Connor froze, still half stretched across the bed, staring at my phone on the nightstand.

“Oh my God.”

“What?” I asked, concerned. “Is everything okay?”

“Oh my God,” Connor said again, this time dissolving into a fit of giggles, yanking my phone off the charger and throwing it on the bed. “I can’t believe this!”

“Connor, if you don’t tell me–”

“He stood you up!”

“What?” I screeched, fumbling for my phone, surprised to see a few missed texts on my home screen.

From: Jared To: Me Srry 4 the short notice, do you think we coukd meet some other time? Don’t wanna get caught in the strom

“He can’t even spell,” I muttered in disgust, throwing my phone onto Connor’s bare stomach that shook with laughter.

“This is hilarious, oh my God. It’s so sad, you look so cute and everything! You were gonna put on mascara for that asshole!”

“I’m gonna dump this soy sauce on your shirt, Murphy.”

“Sorry, sorry, geez!”

He put down his plastic fork, reaching across the mattress to stroke his hand across my bare arm. For a minute, I thought he might ask me how I felt, but instead just asked, “Are you up for a round of Battlefront?”

I grinned, beginning to undo pearline buttons of Connor’s nice navy shirt. “I’m gonna kick your ass.”

He grinned, eyes crinkling at the corners and his lips cracking with the force of his smile. “I look forward to it.”

[inexchangeforyoursoul]

... I fucking forgot to put it on here, too, didn’t I.

(Why this chapter took so long in comparison? Apart from tests, I started adding to some fragments... and wrote at least two other chapters' worth of material. For way later. Kate pls. (aka tfw you have no idea what to insert between two much more planned-out scenes and leave the vague part rotting until further notice)

The rest of the afternoon slips away unnoticed and Kat starts yawning with the darkness setting in. Those damn lamps on the wall make her think of the drowsy winter nights she spends sitting in her window. Also, it's still really hot in here.

Law has been sitting next to her after finishing up another sheet of paper and fiddling around with some stuff in the many drawers of his bureau. Which is rather annoying, because he's yet to say a fucking word. Combined with the stupid task and exhaustion, it's driving her crazy.

Kat's patience is at the end of its tether at last, which manifests itself in a series of quick finger snaps as the pocket watch flickers around. After the last one, the paper tower with the object on it tilts to the side and stops in a precarious angle.

"ARGH, that's it! I give up," she groans, flinging her arms into the air. The practice blocks follow the motion and stretch out alike to a harmonica; some of that paper is indeed just wood fibers and dust by now.

And he stays silent still.

"You really could try and help me out somehow, you know?" she grumbles to him, then decides to arrange the stuff in the suspended garbage towers so they remain more stable once reassembled.

"That's the thing... I can't help more," he sighs, leaning back on his arms. "I already said everything you'd need to know... you get a feeling for it and it happens, eventually. Didn't take that long for me."

"Well, then... riddle me what happens if it doesn't happen?" she asks, poking the ground paper out of the stack. It's kind of annoying this way around...

He shrugs, checking back on what she's doing. "We kidnap you, I guess."

She lifts her brow. Instead of getting rid of the garbage, she moves everything remotely intact to the side instead. Much better, and much easier. "Excuse me?"

"If you need more than two weeks to do it, we'll just take you with us," he states.

"Pfff, as if. Can't catch me, your legs are longer than mine," she scoffs as her fingers do dozens of minute movements and the layers settle in an orderly manner one by one, until the watch finishes it all. The paper block on the right is shorter than its pair now.

He can't quite suppress the laugh upon hearing that. "Touché." Having said that and returning attention to the settling scene as she drops the useless dust and shreds as-is, he sighs. "It really would be easier if it was possible with this technique... you are damn good at it for a beginner."

"It's just easier for me to think with... shapes, rather than space." Being done with practice, she leans forward to rest her head on her hands. "Betcha there exists a way to telekinesis intangible shit back to where it belongs."

"Good luck figuring it out," he says nonchalantly, then flops on the bed.

"Also done for today, huh?" she asks, peeking back towards him.

"Could barely sleep yesterday... and your body can't keep up, so yes, I'm done," is the reply. Then he lowers the hat, which he had on ever since going out to eat for god knows what reason, onto his eyes .

Kat yawns. "No wonder it can't handle it... honestly, do we have to sit in here for this? I'm dying from the heat... gonna catch a cold as soon as I leave."

"Hrm..." he grumbles, then pulls up one leg to loosen the shoelaces. "This is the only place where we definitely won't get disturbed, unfortunately. My crew can stay quiet for a few hours when told so, but," deepest sigh she's heard as of yet, "Nico-ya said Strawhat was already questioning where the hell I was... just imagine him crashing on us." He kicks off one shoe, then switches legs. "Nope."

Kat bobs her head in silent agreement. The other ship's captain was clingy enough at breakfast; needed to be reminded four times that she's not Law. "Fair enough." She pats his knee and stands up.

"Eight again tomorrow?" she asks, yawning again.

He grunts something that's a very likely yes; she gives a similar sound upon leaving the room, as a ways to say bye.

Having waddled her way up to the Thousand Sunny, -and being fast at that, too, because it's gotten cold outside,- she enters the girl's room again, where she's met with way too much brightness compared to the submarine.

"Holy fuck, if I was a vampire I would have disintegrated the moment I opened the door," she says, rubbing her eyes.

"You mean Torao is no vampire after all?" Nami asks to both Carrot's and Kat's amusement. Judging by the voices, they are sitting somewhere to the far left.

"Infiltration of water cave successful, lacking evidence as of yet," she plays on while running into one of the chairs with eyes squeezed shut. Carrot was already laughing harder at the answer, but her going mole has her in stitches; Nami has joined in, too. Can't see shit, but this is music to her ears.

"Apparently I've become blind as a bat, though..." she continues while taking a quick, squinty blink at her surroundings. "Anyway, yet to see him leave at daylight without a hat on. Further investigation need-ow!" That must have been the leg of the other chair she just rammed her foot into... goddamn.

"Do you guys actually need anything more than a nightlight for what you're doing?" she says, suppressing a hiss with moderate success.

"Nope, on my way," Nami says calming down; this is followed by a few knocks on the strip floor, then a click with the stinging brightness subduing. Finally, she can see again. Her eyes still kinda hurt, though.

"Thanks," Kat breathes in relief as she drops on her cover pile, then poofs the pillow a little.

"Tired?" asks the navigator while walking back to the vanity desk she's been sitting at.

"Yeah," she sighs, settling down. "Using this devil fruit is rather draining... not to mention that his room is as hot as a volcano. Though you've probably been around there already, no?"

"I've only been as deep as the dining room," is Nami's answer. "Carrot did help with something down there, though- right?" she asks, turning to the rabbit girl.

"Yeah, been to the engine-room once," comes the excited reply. "The motor itself is bigger than our submarine!" the mink adds, spreading out her arms to illustrate. The point of the original question is forgotten.

"Makes sense..." Kat muses. "It is a pretty big... shipmarine, after all." She yawns, then shudders upon hitting the cold blankets; her lair is chilly, which is unwelcome after the hours spent in the heat. Kat pulls the dedicated cover over her shoulder. Thinking about it, though... these guys also have a submarine? What?

"Should we leave you alone?" asks Nami, putting the hairbrush she's been fiddling with away. Carrot bounces to the closer end of the bed to check on Kat's cocoon.

"Nah, it's fine... I doubt it's all that late, anyway." She... really has no idea about the time. The sun went down around eight yesterday. It must be about one hour before her normal bedtime at worst... she's probably exhausted enough to fall asleep with people talking nearby regardless. And without lying sleeplessly for up to an hour before losing consciousness; that's why she makes sure to go to bed between 10 and 11 in the first place.

"Well," starts the redhead as she takes a look at the clock inside, "it's twenty past nine. You did go to sleep not much later yesterday."

Was about half an hour off... oh well. "I see... do what you like, then," she mumbles, already half-aware of her surroundings. The blankets are getting nice and warm.

"If you say so," sighs Carrot, already getting up. She surveys the corner pile for a few seconds, then turns back to Nami, flapping an ear. "Out cold like salad. Shall we check on the others and the thing they were excited about? That flier seemed interesting."

The other nods, and tiptoes out with the fuzzy girl in tow.

It's not until the 6am bell toll that Kat wakes, but there was little rest she could get. Like earlier in the afternoon, she has seen a legitimate nightmare. It kind of felt like any other really drawn-out dream with lots of running around, except those don't cause her to wake with every bit of hers shaking and sweating. They never do that. Instead of getting chased by a faceless anxiety monster that she shakes off over and over, getting lost in a magical labyrinth loaded with traps, or riding an unruly dinosaur through a never ending library, it was all just so... cold. Plain. And unnaturally unchanging, and depressing.

She doesn't know who the man in the feather coat was, but hell if she wanted him to leave.

Then, he did anyway... and there was fire again, and she woke in tears and with a lump in her throat. It took a few seconds until she noticed that the pain she felt while sleeping clung onto her and manifested itself back in reality, just like before. This time, however, it was not just her side- half of her body felt as if it was trying to murder her. The entire torso was either stiff or throbbing with pain, if not both, as was her left arm. A good portion of it didn't subdue within a few minutes, either. By the time Nami, Robin and Carrot woke up, most of the stiff, stabbing pain in her chest moved deep under her clavicle.

"Say, Kat... you don't look well at all," notes Nami in the doorway as they move out as the last ones. "Are you doing alright?"

"It's... nothing big, I just got up with the wrong foot; or shoulder. Guess sleeping like this has its downs, huh." Except she was lying on her right side and you can't do that with what's likely your internal organs... no idea what else it could be, though, except maybe overheating. Which she's perfectly willing to blame. Damn, does she feel like shit, though... it's tolerable by now, but her ribcage and arm are still aching and this fact is apparently not subject to change. The next round in the sauna will be the icing on the cake. Although... she remembers the cooler weather that was promised for the day; based on what Shachi said about the temperatures, it might be bearable this time. She sure hopes so.

"Eugh..." Nami reacts as if she just felt a pang herself, pulling her neck in; "That's always bad... do you want a massage? Robin is really good at it, let's catch up with her."

"Really...? I don't know," Kat says, pondering. She should probably take on the offer, but it still doesn't feel right. "I guess... I'll pass for now... maybe in the afternoon? If it still hurts. It probably will, though... These tend to stay for a few days."

"You sure like to go for compromises," Nami sighs.

"Well..." Yeah, she does. She scratches her neck- a bad move that's immediately punished by a pang right above her shoulder blade. Her face twitches and she lets out a small moan. Alright, while she has a mystery torture service going on, she also may, in fact, have slept on her neck, because no other part of this bullshit reacts to movement.

"... painkiller?" asks Nami, raising a worried brow.

"Definitely down for that," she grumbles.

Shoving down one crescent roll (and Luffy away) at the table just to swallow the pill in an appropriate manner is quite a chore, though; normally she wouldn't eat a thing until at least 10, getting nauseous from the food otherwise. Which, surprise, she does; double the fun until the painkiller kicks in.

As she pretty much tiptoes down the metal stairs, -and resists the vague urge to throw up,- she decides to hum a tune. That usually distracts her from ills. Even helps with pain, as she's heard- inclined to believe that. At least she feels a bit better afterwards. Let's see... Drunken Sailor sounds fine. And is also kind of appropriate at the moment.

Humming along, she picks up a light echo of what she's doing and... wait a goddamn minute.

Going a little higher or deeper... everything sounds just fine with minimal effort. Kat's steps pick up pace, and she practically kicks the door onto Law, ignoring the extra neck pain it comes with.

"You!" she shouts basically as it slams open. Law's heart attack counter: 2. "You can sing," she whispers with leery eyes.

The look of utter terror creeps onto the face of the man as he gets over the initial shock. A face she soon can't resist laughing at.

"Oh my god," Kat starts as soon as she cannot keep herself from cackling anymore, the vibrations of which release another chain reaction of stabs in her shoulder. Can't decide which sensation the tears are caused by. "is... is this *cough* your most closely guarded secret, or what, because... your, hhhh- owowow... your face, man...!" she slowly collapses into a squat of joyful misery.

"First of all," he stammers in angry embarrassment, "you better keep this to yourself...!" She looks back up at him. Didn't know her face was capable of getting that red, whether it was from anger or shame.

All in all, a bad move as she needs to laugh harder, which... really is more painful than anything else. A little pain in the abdomen reappears, too, though it may just be the regular stomach ache caused by laughing too much. She hisses and squeezes her locked hands to redirect attention. This would be more effective if the left hand would still hurt... but that's one of the parts where the pain started to subdue by now.

Taking note of her display of anguish, Law sheds every additional emotion and puts on his usual serious demeanor. "... what's the matter?"

"Slept on my neck," she whimpers. Sticking to this half-truth for now; the stuff she just took should care of the rest, anyway. "Asked for some painkillers already, though."

"... those probably won't do," Law states after short consideration, then turns back to beeline for his bureau.

"What do you mean?" Kat asks, peeking up carefully as to not strain any of the afflicted muscles. He's rooting around in the upper right drawer.

"Let it suffice... that my body has developed a resistance against weak agents," he says with more monotony than what she's gotten used to.

It seems he's especially crabby today. Regardless... that means he's drugging himself regularly. Why, though? It's... hmm. She puts a hand on her left shoulder where receptors demand attention from deep below the skin again. There's... an inkling. Sad thing, if true, regardless of cause.

A second later he picks up a little paper bag, shakes its sole content out, and crumples the rest. "You've eaten something, I assume?" he asks, stepping back up to her.

"Yep, ate a roll," she groans as he's helping out with the feat of standing up. "Which in turn also makes me wanna puke. I don't eat a thing so early for this very reason..." she breathes. Good news: the additional lingering pain in her chest disappeared after laughing. Bad news: some of the pain returned to her stomach, and she's got the faint feeling it has nothing to do with said activity. The averaging of it all ends in a 'vaguely better than before,' though.

"Not a good practice, but I see your point," he says, holding out the pill for her to catch.

"What part of me is healthy or a good practice?" Kat asks, taking it with a big gulp of water from her cool bottle after he drops it into her palm. Speaking of cool water, the room is as warm as... a room in winter with a nice fire going, which must mean about ten grades less, thankfully. Then again, it's eight, not ten o'clock, so that's subject to change. Where was she again? Oh, right, health. "I'm a stick figure with zero stamina and atrocious circulation. And god knows what else has been flying under the radar."

Crossing his arms, Law takes a deep breath. "Your circulatory system is... not exactly good, I'll give you that. Blood pressure might as well belong to a corpse, as does the temperature in the end of your limbs because of that. The fact that your joints crack frequently is enhanced by that and insufficient exercise. Get someone to treat them or you'll face quite a few painful problems in a decade or two. Then... ah, yes, the mucous membrane is a little more active than it ought to be, but that's no issue. You also might wanna get -0.5 reading glasses, brush your teeth more often if you don't want to visit the dentist in a few months, and honestly? Stop scratching your neck and shoulders, it's full of scabs and wounds which could get ugly infections in harder to reach places." He sure did just say that without thinking and in one go. Having finished the monologue, he looks back up and considers quick whether he left out something. "I found nothing else when I did the checkup."

"Uh..." She's not sure how to react here. Won't be able to stop the scratching just like that, and she's aware of the toothbrush- god, why the toothbrush again?!,- problem. Now she has motivation to keep it in mind, too. Either way, Law did just spare her a long overdue trip to the local doctor. "Thanks?"

"No need to," he nods.

"What's up with you, though? You are being so... tense. Even more than exactly 24 hours ago." She tries to keep him in sight as she carefully cramp-walks her way to her semi-official bed seat for training.

Hearing that, he... Kat's not sure how to describe the reaction. There's definitely a nervous, if not shameful streak to it, though. "Nothing you should concern yourself about."

Okkkay... he's definitely hiding something. It's likely nothing she has any stakes in, though, so... leave lying dog(tor)s be.

Having settled down with minimal pain at last, the still higher than average heat gets noticeable. She pulls at the shirt to get some air going. Raising the cloth, though... it's almost stuck to her. Gross. Oh bother...

"By the by... I feel... it's time I asked for fresh clothes?" Kat would love to punch herself for feeling bothersome, but it hurts her trapezious muscle just to think about it. It's not as if she also gave half of her wardrobe away, or anything...

"Oh... sure," he responds with a little delay, shaking off the unknown shadow that's been looming over him. "The chest of drawers should have anything you need at the moment, pick what you like," he says then, pointing to her temporal working station.

She sighs... getting up again? Ugh. "Alright..." Will need a bath before changing, though. That will be fun- especially with all this soreness. The pill should start working in about half a hour... until who knows when. Will need to time it all. Or... wait a sec. Can't she just...

"Is something the matter?" asks Law as the epiphany hits her.

"I just realized that I won't have to bother getting up the traditional way," she says, lifting a finger; with that, she rises from the bed, then adjusts the angle and stretches out her legs to meet the floor again. Unfortunately, the wooziness is heightened by the action; she's not doing that again until the crescent roll in her stomach is gone.

"That you did," Law notes with a half-smile.

"It's... kinda different, though," she notes, stepping forward to the piece of furniture. "I moved stuff... relative to myself thus far, I mean." Crouch down... slowly...

"It is really disorienting when you multitask, so generally I just don't bother. Neither with this circus act, nor relocating myself. Though, that one is a useful strategical tool so I'll do it in a pinch." He joins her in front of the messy desk-wannabe, pulling out a small drawer over her head, then drops fresh underwear on latter.

Oooh... "You sayin' there's built-in teleport?" she peeks up to him from beyond the drawer again in wonderment, which is punished by another stab at the shoulder. As is reaching for the piece of clothing. Fuck.

"Yep." With that, he slams the drawer back in and sits onto the corner of the hard wood surface.

"... if I didn't suck at it and risk drowning in the ocean I'd sneak out to my house to shower right now," she sighs turning back more carefully, then picks a fresh t-shirt.

"... look at that. You just made me feel relieved about sucking badly at the skill we severely need, all because it guarantees that you wouldn't even attempt something foolish like that." Seeing how her body's legs don't reach the floor, he starts swinging them a little. When even was the last time he could sit on a piece of non-giant furniture and do this...?

"At your service," she smiles. Nudging the big drawer in, she slowly works the bottom one out to get the pants (that's what must be down there by rule of elimination, no?) she's missing. "Jokes aside, I've been sweating a lot and everything is sticking to me. On a sidenote, how often do you bathe, just to clear this up?"

Law scratches his head. When will questions like these just... end? Considering the state of affairs which he alone is responsible for, not any time soon. He sure hopes she won't mind him skipping every other day at least. Wouldn't be able to keep up a daily shower system. "I bathe up to four times a week if I need to... When there's nothing happening, it drops down to two."

"Okay... I'll just go for the average and keep up my usual three, then," she says while ascending at a leisure pace, aaand... successfully attained standing position.

"Sounds fair, will do the same," the man remarks. She's not that cleanly, thank god... speaking of which, though: "You might as well use the bathroom down here while this lasts."

"Down here?" she raises an eyebrow at him; the structure is not big enough for two bathrooms... she doesn't put it past him to have a secret door right in his room, though.

"The last door on the engine side, just past my room," he explains, swinging his legs a little more. "Was a random little pocket without function right below the showers, so... I had one installed," he shrugs.

Pff, that's so lazy. She bets noone's ever used it other than him. "Sounds like you're hogging the warm water to me... is that where you sing?" she asks with a sly smile as she leans against the piece of furniture, too.

"Oi," he snaps back, "keep it shut! How did you even notice?!"

Kat shrugs a tiny bit, too. "I sing myself now and then, duh. Was humming a song on the way down here and the staircase echo gave you away." As it happened, to a T.

Law sighs. That's just great; he sure hopes nobody was around to hear. "Either way, please, don't tell anyone. I get nagged about random bullshit all the time already, something like karaoke would be the cherry on the shitcake." Took him long enough to get Bepo, Shachi and Penguin to stay silent...

"... shy, huh?" she cocks her head. Considering her muscle problem, this could have been a terrible idea.

"The word is 'tired'," he corrects her, then leans on a hand all sullen.

Being responsible for a ship full of people would be really stressful, honestly. However... "I'd be inclined to believe you if it weren't for your reaction following my, um... 'entrance,'" she notes with a smaller smile.

Law sighs. "Get the fuck out and don't show yourself till clean," he grumbles while dropping off the dresser.

"Gladly~" Kat sings, making her way out.

She's about to wonder whether it would have been more sensible to sit out the day before, but then... then she sees the object in the back, which fits in no way whatsoever to everything else.

"Good lord, so extra," she snickers. The tap, mirror, towel rack, every object in the room is as puritan as it can get... then there's that fancy tub, which barely fits inside. Not a single millimeter between it and the walls surrounding it. He must have operated it in himself, quite literally. Because there's no way it fit through the entrance... has legs and everything, too.

Yep, there's no way anyone else comes in here, ever.

With a deep sigh, she drops the fresh clothes onto the chair. No time to laugh at him, she's... gotta do what she has to here.

"Wow... this is a tattoo, alright..." she muses once (painfully...) having gotten rid of the brave double-drenched shirt that's served her thus far. A heart... or at least something in the shape of it. Kinda cute, actually. Taking a better look at it in the mirror, she also notices ones on his shoulders. He knows his theme; can't decide if he was trying to be edgy with it, though, because the cartoon shape is everything but threatening. 10 bucks on him having something on his back, too... this was not worth the neck pain, but yep, bullseye in the shape of a jolly roger.

Normally, she would be capable of wasting up to half an hour poking at herself in the mirror before and after taking a long-ass shower, but she can't feel at ease goofing off like this right now. Someone's waiting, she's at a foreign place, in a foreign body... would love to be at home right now. Preferably as her own self. Sigh. The people around here are too sociable, she has no time to recharge. At any rate... she had better pull herself together and just get over with the rest.

[thejokersenigma]

Deadly Voice Part 21

Hi guys, so i haven’t really read over this much but I want to get it out, its 1am here, I’m exhausted and want to go to bed! So I apologize for any problems with it, but I wanted to get it finished tonight!

Hope you guys enjoy - I really appreciate the comments and feedback I am getting! And if you want to talk about anything not to do with fanfic then I am also here! I am happy to chat about anything, honestly!

Warning (yes this one has a warning): Suicidal themes - please don’t read if this is going to be in anyway triggering!

Masterlist

I had awoken in a cold sweat, my breathing fast like I had just been sprinting. As twisted onto my side I could still feel a weird ache in my stomach from my supposed ‘stab’ wound and I even lifted my pyjama top to check once more that it had truly all been a dream. It had.

It was still dark in my room and the clock on my phone read way too early, but there was no way I was closing my eyes again - it still felt all too real. So instead I lay awake, recapping the scenes that I could still remember until my mind seemed satisfied it had truly not happened and I was fine. Then I pulled myself up and out of bed.

I splashed my face with water to help wake me up before deciding to take another shower in an attempt to alleviate some of stress I could still feel in my body, winding me tight. The hot water and soothing massage of soap did seem to ease the tension in my muscles and I stepped out feeling relatively refreshed - though the memories of the dream still lingered in the back of my mind. And my plan. That was what now niggled in my thoughts – waiting to be acted on, promising to put an end to all of this.

I threw on my dressing gown – seeking comfort, knowing I had no need to be dressed and functioning really - and wandered through my darkened flat. The only light came from the street which shone in streaks through breaks in my curtains, illuminating strips of flooring and edges of furniture. I ran my hand over the rough area I knew a light switch would be and sought blindly before finding the plastic switch and flicking it to fill the room with the vivid artificial light that flooded the open room.

After the spots faded my vision I made my way to the kitchen area and made myself a cup of strong coffee before grabbing my laptop off the side of the counter and curling myself up the sofa, settling the laptop on my bare legs.

I spent the rest of the morning sat there researching and planning, only moving to refresh my coffee and chew on bits of dry cereal when I began to get hunger pangs. I soon felt I had looked at everything I needed at least twice and began to run out of ideas on what else to do with my time. I unfolded myself from my chair and felt my bones creak with the lack of use, my muscles stiff. Time to go for a walk, I thought and so I threw some half-decent clothes and headed out into the streets of Gotham with the idea to set everything up I needed.

As I strode out the back door of the club I walked through the alley where I had killed the two men and I was reminded of the Joker, and so sharply reminded of last night’s dream. The dream had been my mind telling me how much I needed to get out. Leave. I couldn’t stay here. I was in constant danger and anyone who I thought might actually care about me clearly didn’t. There was nothing in my life at the moment apart from uncertainty and mental torture. I didn’t want that to become physical torture either – be that by the Joker or Penguin.

The day was the usual over cast weather of Gotham as I moved through the dank streets. I still had the fear of the Joker suddenly appearing around one the streets and I would jump occasionally if I felt I saw flash of green. All were false alarms of course and I slowly began to feel more confident. By the time I returned back to the club I was far more relaxed and walking with more confidence. Besides, I was certain he had lost interest me, and therefore doubted he would want to follow me. Plus I was certain the man was nocturnal – I couldn’t imagine him strolling around Gotham in broad daylight – that would surely be a one way ticket back to Arkham.

I had wasted most of the afternoon with my stroll around the city so I didn’t have much time to kill till I needed to get ready for work. The evening was as uneventful as I could make it – not making any particular effort to attempt anything new. The whole evening I tried to avoid looking for Penguin, and, when I did notice him across the room, walking near the staff corridor, I made sure to avoid eye contact and just finish my set. I couldn’t deny I was distracted though, and I felt my whole soul wasn’t in my singing – my mind still running through the my scheduled plan for tomorrow. Maybe that was for the best – in the end it might be better really that I seemed out of sorts.

At the end of the night I made sure to dodge my way away from any conversations, narrowly avoiding Oliver who I knew would want to go over tomorrow’s schedule, never failing to make at least one criticism on tonight - whether it was my stage presence, the pitch or my outfit.

I slipped past Oliver and out of sight as he headed to the backstage area, and I moved down the staff corridor. I was nearly at the end by the staircase to that lead to my upstairs flat when I froze at a noise behind me coming from Penguin’s office. I thought better about my position and I quickly dashed for the cover of the steps. I made it out of sight of the passageway as the door of the office opened. I stole a glance around the old dark staircase barrier to see a tall business man stood halfway out of the doorway, he seemed to be shaking hands with whoever was in the room – most likely Penguin.

I didn’t loiter long, swiftly, but lightly springing up the remaining steps and then treading softly along the thin, worn carpet that led to my front door so that no one downstairs could hear me. Tonight I didn’t want to be disturbed by anyone.

I closed my front door carefully behind me and then made my way to my bedroom. I was mentally exhausted from the stress of my plan and the events of the past few weeks were still catching up on me, but I knew these same thoughts were reducing my chances of sleep tonight.

Never the less I braced myself for the hours of tossing and turning in my ever constricting bed linen, going through my usual evening routine mechanically before climbing into my bed lying wide awake, staring up at the greying ceiling above me. I was in for a long night I sighed.

And sure enough, it was after the hundredth run through of tomorrow’s plan I finally fell into a exhausted sleep.

 It was time. I could put it off no longer. A nearby clock tower struck 8am. I had chosen this hour for a reason – the streets of Gotham would be busy with commuters, both pedestrians and vehicles.

I strode nonchalantly towards my destination, cars rushing past me where they could before they once again stuck in a blockade of traffic. Backstreets that I only dared to walk in the daylight offered some shelter from the chilly winds, though the cold of the morning still bit at my cheeks – the only bit of skin uncovered in the cold air.  

I left the protection of the alleyways as I stepped out onto the main road, the strong winds now being tunnelled down the wide streets and whipping strands of my air across my face until I have up and scrapped it back into a messy bun. I now made my way towards one of the many bridges that crisscrossed and stitched Gotham together, my bulging coat pocket knocking against my thigh with each stride as I followed the bright brake lights of the usual morning congestion until I met the waterside. I peered over the thick stone barriers at the dark swirl of water below. It looked bleak and cold. How inviting, I thought.

I shook myself out of my thoughts and joined the crowd of people filing up the pavement and over the bridge. I was in no particular hurry and so was often shoved aside and overtaken by those running late for their early morning shifts.

I stepped out to side so I was leant against the low wall that lined the bridge, seeking refuge from the flow of foot traffic. Next to me were a few tourists taking selfies or full landscapes of the skyscraper skyline on their mobile phones and chatting in different accents and languages.

Now that I was here, staring out of the dark watery surface, I was becoming hot and bothered and I peeled my gloves off, my palms feeling clammy. I waited a bit longer - pretending to take in the view - the dark shadows of the towering offices standing out proudly against the dull, ashen sky. Eventually most of the people around me had moved off and I stood relatively alone as I glanced around, except for the steady flow of office workers and occasional vacationers that pasted by.

I took a deep breath. No reason to put this off anymore. I placed my palms on the solid stone barriers in front of me, ensuring I chose the cleanest bit, avoiding the worst areas of old chewing gum and bird droppings – I owed myself that much dignity. I put all my weight into my forearms and swung myself up so I knelt on the cold ledge, blowing out a sharp breath to calm myself as I pushed myself to a crouch, ignoring the stares I was beginning to get.

I made sure I had good balance on my feet before I pushed myself the rest of the way upright so that I stood facing out to the road and people milling before me.

The wind slapped my cheeks even sharper up here but I ignored it and the few lose strands of hair that flew in front of my face. I could see people now staring openly at me and some slowing, though not stopping, to look at the weirdo stood on the bridge. Some seem to just be confused about the situation, but I though a saw a few with concern on their faces, though still no one had stopped.

I could feel my exposed face becoming red and numb from the lashing wintery air. Damn I wish it wasn’t February – this might not be as bad if it was warmer.

The road over the bridge was heavy congested and so I could see some people the static cars looking out their windows at me as I reached into my heavy coat pocket and wrapped my hands around my gun that lay nestled in the fold of material.

I pulled the weapon out slowly, prolonging the moment as long as possible. Let everyone see. Get a good look, I thought as I brought the weapon out into the open. I heard a few gasps then, they probably feared more for their own lives then for mine in that moment. Some people who had begun to loiter did make a quick getaway then, in Gotham you rarely hung around at the sight of a weapon – random attacks being all too frequent on these streets – though I doubted many had occurred out of the cover of darkness and in the middle of a busy, crowded bridge. Though who was I to think this – there were some insane people in this city, and I was starting to believe I might be one of them.

People seemed to relax slightly about their own safety when I raised the gun toward my head. Were people talking? Was someone asking me something? I couldn’t hear over the wind and the rush of blood in my ears. I drowned everyone out. My arms were shaking from all the attention on me. I tried to keep my eyes fixed in front on me, staring unseeing at the river I could make out on the other side of the bridge. Still, out the corner of my eye, I could see a few people step out of their cars, though they didn’t make any move to come closer.

Though I couldn’t really see the gun anymore in my peripheral vision, I could feel its presence to the right of my temple. I felt tears slip down my cheeks. There were screams now; more people were getting out of their cars.

That was nice. People seemed to care. But did they care? Or did they just not want to have to own up later if they saw me do this and never tried to do anything?

People were getting closer now, but they still seem to act as though there was a 5 foot bubble in front of me. None of them dared to get closer than that and they formed a wall around this invisible boundary, their lips moving, eyes pleading. But I didn’t hear anything. It was like I was dreaming again, but I knew this was all too real.

I couldn’t let people touch me. They couldn’t stop me. This was the plan and I had to go through with it. It was the only way I could think of.

Then I noticed a new movement above all the others. Someone, a young girl around my age, was pushing through the wall of bodies. Her winter coat hung open with a scarf wrapped loosely around her neck and a woollen hat shoved quickly on her dark hair. She had come from one of the cars sat in the queue, the blue Volvo’s car door still open wide as she tried to worm her way through those who were too scared to get any closer to me. She seemed to generally care. That was nice. Gotham clearly hadn’t got to her yet. Maybe she wasn’t from around here. Maybe she was just visiting someone – a boyfriend maybe. Wouldn’t that be nice, I thought as my finger rested on the trigger.

She had cleared the crowd now - her woollen hat having been lost in the mass, but she didn’t seem to care. The gun was becoming heavy in my hand now, my arm weakening from holding it up for so long. Get on with it! I snapped at myself. She was a few feet from me now crying something indistinct to my ear amongst the noises that roared in my ears. Was she saying to stop? Don’t do it? It didn’t really matter what she was saying – it wouldn’t stop me. She didn’t know me, didn’t know my situation, and didn’t know that this was the only way I could think of to get out of everything.

I hoped her boyfriend was nice and this toxic city didn’t corrupt her as I finally pulled the trigger. I fell backwards, the chilling air rushing to meet me as I plummeted down, making my stomach drop. The sight of the bridge rushing away from me was enough to get me to shut my eyes, but not before I saw the girl’s head appear over the side of the railing. Sorry, I apologised silently, she didn’t need to experience this.

I fell for longer than I thought, wondering if somehow the world had vanished around me and I was now just falling through a void in the universe. Just as I finished this thought however, I felt the stinging slap as my back collided with the steely surface of the river.

[wildshadowtamer]

Web of Lies

Word Count:

Characters: 11,013

Words: 1,976

Sentences: 141

Characters:

Fire Chaser (Thomas), Silent Death (Tony), Mirror (Felix) and Missing (Kristin).

Warnings: Blood, Burn Victim

The two killers stood either side of the clearing, both very different from one another: The taller one, on the left, was wearing a black hoodie, sweatpants and had a skull-like mouth guard on. His hair was brown with grey showing on the upper tips, he had black eyes and was either very tired or very old; considering the bags under his eyes.

The shorter one, on the right, was wearing a white grim-reaper like outfit with a pitch-black mask with white glowing eyes. Messy golden hair covered half of his mask's left eye and a near-glowing white substance dripped from the mask's eyes slowly.

Both were covered in blood.

"So, who are you?" The Taller One asked, his voice slow and deep, he took a step forward and tilted his head slightly, gripping his weapon tightly. "Fire Chaser, sir." The presumably younger one answers quietly, his voice muffled and lower by the mask, he held out a white-gloved hand as an introduction, which the older shook gratefully

"Well, Fire Chaser," He began, putting his hand in his hoodie pocket "I'm Missing. I suppose your one of us?" He asked curiously, taking a step closer and letting his cold, black eyes stare into Fire's soul. The boy gulped nervously and nodded "Y-yup, I'm a c-creepypasta too, sir!" His muffled voice shook nervously, hiding his gloved hands behind his back, his scythe falling to the ground silently onto the grass.

It was nearly too dark to see any of Missing's appearance, even the blood on his clothes was darkened further by the shadowy material it splattered on. Fire's outfit was nearly shining in the dark of night, giving off a strangely calming but terrifying aura. Well, terrifying for anyone but a creepypasta.

[Fire Chaser's POV] "Ah," Missing comments "Well, Fire, How about we stay at your house and talk? I'm sure you're getting tired of wearing that mask." He suggested simply, I felt threatened by this stranger but... I feel like I need to respect him. "A-alright sir" I addressed him formerly since I felt like I was going to get killed for a second time if I didn't.

I turned around and gestured for him to follow me, back to the once-abandoned old two-story house me and my small family have been dwelling in for a while now. I had to admit, the mask was getting annoying, but at least he couldn't see my terrified expression...or anything at all, I think. "Uh, Here" I gesture to the house after 20 minutes of carefully navigated walking "Welcome to my house, make yourself at home," I told the pasta as I unlocked the door and let him in, he strolled in like he owned the place with his hands in his hoodie pocket. Weird guy.

"Babe, your home!" I hear a voice chime from the kitchen, Missing glanced at me for a moment and muttered: "You didn't mention you were taken." My lover, Tony, walked out of the kitchen happily and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Missing "...who is this?" His voice dropped to a cold tone, thankfully his mask was on so Missing couldn't see the look of pure judgement I was sure was in his eyes.

[Missing's POV] Oh? He's married now, is he? Interesting. "I'm Missing, a new friend of your..." I stop, holding out my hand "Mate." I address Fire, shooting him a glance. The stranger cautiously takes my hand, and I stay polite, due to the nearly overwhelming fear and judgement, I felt rolling off the two. This one was wearing a mask like Fire's but the opposite colouring: A White mask with dripping black eyes. In fact, his entire outfit was a parallel opposite to his lover's. Copper hair draped over one masked eye like Fire's, I started to notice a trend in this.

"Well, then...Missing, why are you at our home? More importantly, why are you with my hu- love?" He asked in a sour tone, clearly thinking something was going on, Fire audibly realises what his lover thinks is going on and attempts to explain. "No no no! It's nothing like that, I met him out in the forest, he told me to bring him back here so we can talk without our guards up and masks on." Fire explains frantically, I'm nodding to every word, the masked lover sighs and shrugs "Alright then, I just hope you don't mind ferrets." He commented, gesturing to the squeaking noises coming from upstairs.

"Ah, pet owners too? I have some ducks, mostly for the eggs but they do make good companions." I mention absentmindedly, I notice Fire visibly flinched once I brought up a duck "Uhh yeah I have a fear of them" The boy mumbled under his breath, and I pause "Oh, sorry, I didn't know. I apologise" "Aw, it's alright, at least you didn't make fun of them." The mate put an arm around the rather uncomfortable looking Fire. "...Them?" I ask, curious "Oh, it's their pronouns" The man explains simply- shoot, I misgendered him, I'm an idiot.

"...oh" I meekly mumble, feeling my cheeks go red with embarrassment, He laughed and let his lover lean into him "No, it's fine, honestly! It's confusing, especially with the masks. We get it all the time, your not the first!" That didn't help me feel any better about it.

------------------- [Tony's POV] Aww, the poor guy felt bad about it. I gesture for him to sit down on the couch as I escort Thomas, My lover, to the one opposite. "Well, guess we should take our masks off for a start," I suggest, running my fingers through their hair absentmindedly. "Oh- right." The man nods and pulls down his mouth guard to show his face: he looked significantly older than us since we're both in our early to mid-'30s.

"How old-" He cut me off "44." he states bluntly, Thomas looked up in surprised you look 60!" They exclaim out much thought, Missing snickered and nodded. Thomas quickly removed their own mask, revealing their slightly burned up face, golden hair flowing one way as they got a buzz cut on the other side a few months ago. Their left eye was paler than the right, and red burn marks surrounded the pale eye painfully. Despite their looks, I still love him. "Huh, you look older than I thought" Missing commented flatly, not even showing any shock from the burns, "Thought you were a teen, early 20's at most." He continues, Thomas shrugs "Nope, 34, sir." They explain, letting me stroke their soft golden hair. "Well, guess it's my turn" I mention cheerfully, removing my mask to show my pale, blue-eyed face. My Copper hair was a stark difference from my lover's bright golden blonde locks.

"Well, you two certainly match!" Missing joked, gesturing to our matching side-shaved hair "Guess we do s-" I was cut off by the loud, drawn-out whine of: "MOMMY!" "...you have a kid?" Missing asked, now curious "Uh yeah, give me a second, I'll go grab him" I nod and rush upstairs to grab our son ----------------------- [Thomas's POV] I snicker and rub the back of my neck awkwardly "Oops, forgot about him" I joke, Missing raises an eyebrow "Oh- right, our son's name is Felix, he's only 4, but we're hoping to train him into being a creepypasta when he's older." I explain, taking a deep breath when Tony comes back down, holding Felix in his arms.

"H-Hi" Felix mumbled, wiping tears from his eyes "He was missing me, sorry about that" Tony explained, sitting down next to me with him "Little baby boy, aren't you?" He cooed, rocking him a bit "Nice to see Creepypasta's happy, you know?" Missing smiles and ruffles Felix's hair, we both nod and continue talking.

After a few hours... It's been about 2 hours, and it's getting pretty late, Felix fell asleep half an hour ago "Well," I yawn, covering my mouth with one hand "We should probably get to sleep, do you want to stay?" I suggest to Missing, who nods and stands up "Alright then."

"Great, the guest room is just" Tony explains to Missing, I sort of drown it out and try to focus on not passing out "Right, thank you." Missing smiles, heading upstairs but stopping halfway to glance over his shoulder "By the way, I'm Kristin." and runs upstairs "...Oh." Tony shrugs "Well, At least he trusts us" he mentions, dragging me up to our room to sleep.

We got our usual Pj's on, and I stroked his prosthetic leg subconsciously as we laid down, until he turned and cuddled into me, since he's taller. soon, everything went dark, and we fell asleep comfortably -------------- [Missing's POV] "DAMN IT-" I slam my hand on the dresser loudly, feeling worry and fear go through me, I had checked the clock and realised it was 9am and I should have been home by now! "Woah, hey, what's-" Fire rushes in, clearly worried "I'm gonna get caught!" I exclaim angrily, pacing back and forth "Wh-" He tries to speak "Look, I'm a secret creepypasta, ok? I have a wife and kids who have no idea about it, and I'm usually back by 5 or 6 in the morning so they don't get suspicious, but I can't sneak back in now! Look! I'm still in my Creepypasta clothes!" I explain hurridly, gesturing angrily to my clothes, which were covered head to toe in blood.

"Well, just explain that you were round a friend's house and forgot to tell her, There's some spare clothes I can give you." Fire stops my pacing and holds me by my shoulders "I got you, I get it." He tells me reassuringly, I take some deep breaths and nod "Yeah, okay...that's fine." I sigh, he goes off to grab some clothes, and I take the bloody ones off, looking down at my somewhat scarred and stitched up body.

"Here" He passes the clothes through the door, which I gladly accept and put on: a red jumper with black dress pants and shoes. "Nice fashion sense" I comment, actually rather liking it "She won't suspect a thing." I hope, sighing and leaving the bloody folded up clothes on the dresser.

"Now, we'll wash your clothes, and you can come grab them later, but for now you should hurry home, she's probably worried sick." Fire reassures me once more, I nod and hurry out the door, knowing my way through the dark forest even in the daylight. ----------------- Once I got home: "Kristin! Where have you been!? I've been worried, sick!" Abigail, my wife, exclaims upon seeing me come back "Sorry Hunny, I went to a friend's house and lost track of time so I stayed at their place. I should have messaged you, I'm sorry" I explain and apologise, kissing her for a moment "At least you're okay..." She mumbled, stroking my soft hair momentarily "How're the kids?" I ask, holding her close to my chest "Good, their at school so, I'll pick them up at 3." She explains, putting her head in the space between my neck and shoulder. "And how's this one?" I ask, putting a hand on her stomach, smiling weakly, she sighs "Alright, the little one wouldn't stop kicking though, I think she missed daddy." She laughs tiredly, I sigh and mumble into her ear:

"Go rest, hun. You need it, I'll call work, I'm sure they'll let me have a day off." I tell her, already directing her to the stairs, she mumbles something incoherent before nodding "Mmm...alright, just promise you'll pick the kids up at 3?" She asks, opening the bedroom door, I nod and kiss her "I promise." I lay her down, and she falls asleep nearly instantly.

Needless to say, that was an interesting day.

[that-genderfluid-kid]

Just a rant

I haven’t been writing in a while and, to be honest, I just didn’t feel like I needed it. A lot of times there were moments where I thought about writing here again and talking about a lot of things, but I just kept pushing it because honestly, it wasn’t making a huge difference in my life; I was in a good place, and I didn’t need to throw all my feelings somewhere because they weren’t being a problem to me.

Well, they are now, so I guess here I am.

To be honest, the main reason I’m making this is because I started watching Glee, and I’ve watched some stuff on youtube and it just hit too close to home and I feel like I need to talk about this to someone; the problem is, during daylight I just feel way too dead to do it, and at night my girlfriend is four hours ahead of me so she’s already way asleep. And I don’t have anyone else to talk to anymore, not that I trust enough with this. Which is scary because it makes me feel like I’m back to a place where I felt completely alone, and that isn’t good.

Truth is, K was here for a few weeks with me, and as I’ve probably mentioned before, long-distance relationship. It was nice, we had an amazing time together, everything was perfect, and for the first time I felt completely comfortable with someone I’m dating. No moment was awkward, I wasn’t scared of showing her my body or anything about me because I knew she wouldn’t judge me and would love me just as I am, I wasn’t scared or annoyed about her touching me all the time – because I thought I hated clingy but it was so good to be clingy with her –, I wasn’t ashamed of myself after we had any moment of intimacy. I was just happy.

And then she left, because at some point she’d have to.

I think there’s probably some scientific reason behind this, something about endorphins or how we need touch to survive or whatever. Point is, I spent three weeks barely leaving her side, and now I just feel very lonely. We don’t call, and I can’t see her, and we can’t spend all our moments together, and we barely have anything to talk about since vacations started and I don’t leave the house and don’t do anything significant. Feels weird and I feel like it’s pushing us apart and I know it’s my fault because I’m projecting this fear on our talks and all of that but I still can’t get past that feeling. And I’m scared, because I know people usually can’t keep long-distance relationships because of this, but honestly I’d rather this than breaking up. And yet I can’t get past the fears that she’ll break up with me, or find someone better, or just realize how annoying and clingy I am, or how I can barely keep a conversation, and how boring I am whenever I’m doing anything.

I’ve been in a bad place since she left, if you can’t tell that by all I’ve said so far. I know it’s not just her, classes finished and I have no reason to leave the house so I don’t, and I feel like I’m not being productive and I have so many things to do and yet I can’t bring myself to be productive, to do any of those things, and I just swallow in my own sadness. I stay in bed for too long, I do nothing all day, night time comes and I just cry because I’m too overwhelmed by whatever I’m feeling. I can’t talk about my feelings with K when she’s awake and I just feel like I’m pushing her away and that’s so bad but I don’t know how to change that.

I’m back at the point where I can’t leave the bed until I tell myself I’ll feel worse if I don’t. so I’m basically sleeping the whole day, and staying awake the whole night. Which is bad and only makes my situation worse, but it’s what’s happening and I don’t feel strong enough to deal with that. Honestly, I don’t feel the strength to deal with any of the things happening with my life, which says a lot since nothing’s happening. I’m basically not motivated to do anything, my phone games are annoying, my cross stitching is annoying, reading a book is annoying, watching youtube videos is annoying. I’m basically spending the whole day leaving Glee playing and trying to find something to distract myself. I’ve been eating but I’m not actually hungry; whenever I try to eat I just feel like I’m pushing it because I know I’m supposed to have something in my stomach, but it doesn’t feel right.

Well, Glee. Fun times. Never watched it before, Netflix decided to add it to the catalogue so why not. It’s fun, I love it, not the main point here. Main point here, gay kid and family relationships. I’ve watched some videos on youtube before starting Glee, very random stuff, I was just going through youtube and found it and went “why not”, but yeah. Many reasons why not.

So, I didn’t write about it because I was dealing with it by talking to people which kinda worked, but I told my mom I was dating a girl. Yay. She wasn’t happy with that. She didn’t throw me out or decided to disown me which I agree it’s already a positive point, but was it hurtful. Basically, I was crying before it started. I had decided I was going to have that talk to her on that day, so I was waiting for her to get home, gathering my courage, and on that specific day she decided to take her time to get back, do some more work stuff, which means she arrived basically an hour later and I was just a pile of nerves. So, the moment she stepped into the kitchen and looked into my face, I started to cry. And then I told her I was dating a girl. To be honest, I knew right that moment, when her  face fell, that it was bad. I knew. But she said she knew that if I dated someone again it wouldn’t be a boy, so I tried to keep my hopes up. Well, no. she kept saying how that was wrong and she couldn’t accept it and she didn’t like that, but I was my own person and what could she do, but she didn’t like it and she knew there was nothing she could do to change it – because obviously, if there was, she would. I told her nothing would change and she said it would, so I asked what and she just kept repeating that things would change. And then she reminded me that she wouldn’t spend any of our money to have me see K. Obviously. We had to go out for dinner that night because no food at home and I asked her to at least treat me normally and she said she was, but she wasn’t. she was stiff, and looking at me with a closed face, and wouldn’t laugh or even smile at anything I’d say.

And then she gave me the silence treatment for the next three days like she did when I implied I could be dating a girl.

It got better, kinda. She went back to talk to me and wouldn’t mind me talking about K as long as she didn’t have to call her my girlfriend; whenever K is mentioned, my mom just goes “your… *pause* friend”. K did come here for a few weeks, and I think by some pictures and video calls, my mom does realize how happy K makes me. Still, every time she calls her my “friend”, I know she doesn’t like it fully, and it hurts. K isn’t my friend, she’s my girlfriend. I love her. Why is it so hard for my mom to understand? I was always the perfect daughter because I knew that’s what she needed. The moment my dad died, I wanted to do everything perfect so my mom wouldn’t have to worry about anything, at least not related to me. But apparently, loving a girl is too much.

And then I remember from time to time how I can never actually come out as genderfluid. My mom would just be the peak of disappointment if she knew she had a trans kid; that would be too much for her. And it hurts because I just wanna be myself, and I want her to love me for who I am, but she doesn’t. I mean, obviously she loves me because I’m her child, but the rest of me, no. and sometimes it hurts too much. Sometimes I just realize we’re playing a game of pretend where I don’t say anything and we can both pretend everything is okay when it’s not. I’m not gonna risk the relationship we have, and she won’t accept it if I do.

I know I have privileges, I grew up with them. I passed completely as a girl, I loved to wear skirts and play with dolls, I never suffered any racism (although some people might argue that’s not true; it never affected me so I just don’t see it). I’m a middle class kid, so I grew up in private schools with some very privileged educations, and I know my position right now comes from a very privileged place; I had really good friends that, by the time I understood what the queer community meant, they were all part of it, and accepted me completely. I never suffered any prejudice because of my gender or sexuality, and I never actually had to come out.

Or so I thought.

That moment, telling my mom I was dating a girl, that was the one moment where I felt like that was me coming out. I wish it hadn’t been painful, or that my mom had taken it better. And yet, I’m still so privileged. I didn’t get kicked out of the house; my mom still pays for most of my stuff, my sister and my niece were pretty acceptant, my overall family and acquaintances accepted it well.

Being trans is another story. This is already too big.

I just feel bad. About everything. And I needed to talk, so thanks for listening.

~Blue