#every time i read past conversations ive had with people i want to die because im just so unlikeable i DONT GET why people stick around

[medicasino]

vent below so dont feel like you have to read this 👍i simply have no where else to put this bc i dont want to Bother My Friends

god i wish i could just kill myself but i like. cant. there's too much stopping me. but i dont want to do anything anymore. i dont want to deal with this constant misery of being trapped in a brain with a death wish hellbent on making me want to die horrifically. i wish people just hated me outright so i had a good excuse to just call it quits on life and die

[nevertheless-moving]

Suicidal Misunderstanding X

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

Part I - - - - - Part II - - - - - Part III - - - - - Part IV - - - - - Part V - - -  - - Part VI - - - - - Part VII - - - - - Part VIII - - - - - Part IX

“I realize this is incredibly difficult,” the Nautolan Soul Healer said calmly. “But in order for us to help Obi-Wan, we need to determine the cause of his current disconnection with reality. Based on the drug panel, and convenient surveillance, we have, to the best of our ability, ruled out temporary psychosis brought on by a drug interaction.”

Cody stiffened further, not sure how to react to anything anymore. When a brother tried to end his own life, it was usually obvious why.

Sife Aerdo continued on. “There have, of course, been cases of Jedi Seers giveing into their fears of the future, or losing their sense of reality, but every case study involving such an extreme reaction was the result a gradual degradation over the course of many years. Nevertheless, it seems clear that Obi-Wan experienced a vision, and it may have impacted his breakdown to some extent. The more we know, the more successful any attempts to convince him of reality will be.”

Bant furrowed her brow in thought, trying to replay three decades of increasingly vague discussions of nightmares.

”Considering the high profile nature of his position, we cannot rule out some kind of psychological attack, perhaps even a darksider incursion.

Anakin leaned forward intently, the inside of his skull buzzing with white noise.

"All that being said, we must be prepared to treat Obi-Wan’s self harm as the  culmination of a long and quiet mental health struggle. He would not be the first in the Order to disguise such a thing with durasteel self-discipline.”

At that, Bant and Mace took a moment to release their feelings to the force, while Anakin raised his shields defensively.

Master Aerdo finally hesitated, before continuing in the same smooth tone. “I would ordinarily prefer to structure this kind of conversation quite differently- allow Obi-Wan time to share his feelings first and invite you each separately to support him in the healing process. But he’s gone from fighting sedatives and force compulsions as though the fate of the galaxy depended on it, to a self-induced coma. All while barely lucid, yet still somehow maintaining Master Class mental shielding. We need to get a better understanding of his mental landscape if we’re going to even begin the process of treatment."

It is necessary to note that everyone in that room had led, in one way or another, a somewhat miserable life. This was the main reason none of them could claim that the next five hours were the worst they had ever experienced. 

“But he’s always had terrible sleeping habits.” Anakin said hoarsely.

“Yes, but I think they got worse after Qui-Gon passed,” Bant argued, not sure what point she was making. 

“When I pointed out he couldn’t be getting more than three hours a night he told me that he could manage on meditation” Cody offered irritably.

“That’s technically true,” Mace confirmed. “If the Master in question is well-balanced otherwise”

“So its like his eating habits, crushing responsibilities, and repeated exposure to violence, then? Completely fine for a Jedi, in less it’s not, in which case it’s a major red flag?” 

“I think it would help to establish a timeline.“

Aerdo actually dredged up old mission reports, leading to the group reluctantly contacting Ashoka for her memories of Mortis.

At her Master’s insistence, she told them everything she remembered, hazy as it was, nervously elaborating on her own memories of falling. To her confusion, Master Windu all but brushed past that, assuring her that the important thing with stepping into darkness was the choice to the return to the light. Anakin bizarrely agreed with Windu. Out loud. Unnerved by the cooperation more than anything, she put her holographic foot down and demanded to know what was going on. 

Anakin took the comm-link into a separate room to speak privately.

Upon return, he informed the group (with a visibly red and puffy face) that Kit would be escorting her back from Mount Cala cleanup early, daring anyone to disagree. Windu nodded and the conversation continued on.

Together they rewatched holo-footage of Obi-Wan laughing amongst Ghost company the night before last, and debated reports from psychometric investigators who had scoured the cantina as well as Obi-Wan’s personal quarters for traces of illicit substances. Between that and another drug panel, they were finally forced to conclude that despite the timing, the alcohol at most confused Obi-Wan’s perception of a vision, or possibly simply loosened his tongue.

Bant prodded Cody to repeat every word from the holocar ride to the temple, taking furious notes. Cody was unable to stop the heat that crawled up his face.

Just when the looming horror of Obi-Wan actually preparing to intentionally die started to break over Anakin, Windu interjected.

“You don’t see what I do,” the Harun Kal said grimly. “Something galaxy-sized shattered around Obi-Wan and he didn’t break from it. The closest comparison I have is Master Yaddle’s presence when she meditated on her confinement. He’s chosen to keep going, even when, quite frankly, death would be a release. We’re missing something fundamental.”

“He said there were ‘other dark forces at work.’ Even if the fight was objectively hopeless... there’s no way he would choose to die because of it!” Anakin agreed vehemently, shaking off morbid fears.

“But he did choose to die.” Cody said quietly. And the wind went out of Anakin’s sails.

“Lets go back.”

Anakin gritted his teeth as they picked apart everything ‘unusual’ Obi-Wan had said and done leading up to his visit with Bant.

“What exactly did he...”

“So Plo Koon was able to get a read through his shields?”

“Did he have anything to eat?”

“How did that compare to...”

“When he's mentioned things in the future...did it seem good or bad to you?” Bant asked.

“Bad.” Cody and Anakin said in unison. Remembering the trip to the temple Cody spoke again, “Definitely bad.”

“Right. When we were talking he sometimes used the wrong tenses for things, people. I confronted him on not knowing ‘when’ he was after Knight Skywalker left. He told me that he knew what was real, but he was “enjoying not fully living in the moment” he also said that he intended to “wake up”

“Enjoying? That’s the exact word he used?” Cody asked incredulous. 

“He did seem...mostly happy yesterday. Giddy, at points.” Anakin said, slumping in on himself.

Bant looked at her notes once more before addressing the group.

“This isn’t vision psychosis in any manner I’ve heard of before...but I think I might have a theory. He used to have intense visions when we were kids; plenty of us did sometimes, but Obi-Wan would be unable to sleep after. What terrified him more than anything was the uncertainty that he might make the wrong choice- even when the vision was about something good, or neutral. His visions gradually stopped coming around puberty. We just had a conversation about this a few months ago- how relieved he was to only have to manage flashes of precognition. If he had a random, horrifying vision of a terrible future...suicide wouldn’t be his reaction. It’s too final.”

“Even if he blamed himself for what he saw coming?” Mace asked.

“Especially if he blamed himself.” Bant said. 

“What’s your theory?” Aerdo prodded.

“What if...what if he was telling the truth when he said he could separate out what was real and what was not? What if there was no distortion or blurring between now and then? What if he was just wrong about which was which?”

“That...would be a very extreme and abnormal manifestation of force-induced psychosis. He has training in distinguishing reality from visions. The continued presence of his mental shielding means that the fabric of his mind can’t be so horrifically collapsed in on itself.” 

“What if the vision was actually that realistic?” Bant said, pushing back against the soul healer. “So detailed and vivid that it effectively was a reality in itself, and everything else, all of us...”

“Were just memories” Anakin finished. “It would...actually explain pretty much everything. You said he wanted to wake up and when...when I found him.” He stopped, swallowing. “When I found him, he argued with me...what if he wasn’t trying to hurt himself? If you’re right...that would mean I found him trying to get back to reality.”

“It could explain his behavior in the halls...his desperation to wake...” Sife mused “But it runs counter to every other experience I’ve had with those managing prophetic visions. Master Windu, could that explain the shatterpoints you saw?”

“I’m not certain. It would have to have been extraordinarily real to create the echos of Shattering I witnessed. I don’t know if that depth of vision has occurred before, but then again, many things are possible in the force.”

“You really think he might have been...trying to wake up from dream? By killing himself?!” Cody asked incredulous.

“If that ends up being what happened I am going to give him such shit. That is the worst way to end a vision.” Anakin replied.

“Yes. It is.” Bant said pointedly. “That’s why it’s a last resort, after every other attempt to wake fails.” 

They all sat in silence, processing various implications. Cody was unnerved by another terrifying insight into force powers, as well as the idea that the General might vividly remember Cody being inexplicably mind-controlled into trying to kill him. Anakin was trying to understand what this would mean for them, and the conversations he had thought they had had. Did...any of it count, if he thought he was offering it to a hallucination?

“Alright, this is a valuable working idea, but let’s make sure to examine everything with an open mind before we draw any more conclusions. Anakin, what happened after you left the healers office?”

Obi-Wan’s critique of the practicalities of visiting a soul healer could be and was interpreted multiple ways. The incongruity of peacekeepers in war sparked a rehash of earlier discussion. More apologies. Self identifying as ‘crazy’ inspired new debate, especially in the context of the new theory. 

“When I saw him enter the fountain room I assumed he had had a brutal run-in with  dark force user.” Windu explained. “Based on everything we’ve gone over, I don’t understand when...but some of the more insidious sith compulsions work by taking whatever small anger or hurt you feel and magnifying them until they consume you. If Obi-Wan was already experiencing self loathing...”

Cody sucked in a breath. “Then a Sith mind suggestion would bring him to commit suicide. It...sounds like something he might do, if he was partially in control. Take the blow rather than let himself be used as a weapon against anyone else, even his worst enemy.”

“Hells, it could have been an even vaguer compulsion, driving him to attack the person he hates the most,” Bant added darkly.

Anakin buried his head in his hands, trying to hold it together. He couldn’t afford to lose control or get angry. Hells, getting angry at Obi-Wan for ‘failing him’ when in pain could be the reason Obi-Wan was currently in the healing halls. The man said he loved him unconditionally, then practically had a breakdown over how much Anakin pushed that unconditional love to the breaking point, then killed himself. How was he supposed to-

“Anakin? Are you alright to continue?” someone said.

“Yes. No. There’s more I have to tell you...I don’t know if it will help but - it was hurting Obi-Wan...I...”

“Let’s just take it one step at a time. What happened after you left Mace?”

Apparently even Cody somehow knew more about Bruck Chun than Anakin. Master Windu and Eerin told different sides of the same sad story, which spiraled back into a conversation about Obi-Wan’s inadequacy issues, which somehow devolved into a long rant about Qui-Gon Jinn that Master Windu had apparently been holding back for years. 

“My apologies.” He said afterwards, clearing his throat as the group stared, taken aback. “Old grievances. Go on Anakin, what did happened after you got to the ‘secret spot.’”

“He...was skirting around whatever was bothering him...I pushed him...told him I wanted to help...he said I couldn’t...because it was me...because of what I...”

Anakin stood up suddenly, feeling the walls of the room closing in.

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry I-” 

He ran out.

He turned around almost immediately, pacing in the small corridor, knowing he couldn’t leave, simply needing a minute to catch his breath.

Master Windu followed him out after a moment, not saying anything, just standing there. Watching him.

“What!” Anakin finally snapped. “What do you have to say that I don’t know already!”

“Knight Skywalker-”

“Don’t call me that! I DON’T DESERVE-” 

Anakin let out a frustrated snarl, punching a wall. The crumble of stone beneath this fist briefly made him feel better, but then he remembered Obi-Wan’s heartbroken expression in the light of an underworldly glow, and the tiny, choked sound he heard when the healers moved him and Anakin just...collapsed, falling to his knees.

Master Windu sank down gracefully beside him.

“Anakin. This isn’t about attachment issues, is it.”

“Not really, no. I mean, maybe you’ll blame attachment but it’s more about...”

“Anger.”

Anakin looked up at that, trying to regain the meditative calm he had felt for a glimmering moment yesterday, right in-between making peace in the cave and everything burning to ash. 

“You know that I have had my own struggles with anger. It is how and why I came to develop Vaapad.” 

“Yes, but you’ve Mastered your anger. And you’ve never...never given in to hate.”

A beat passed and Windu watched some of Skywalker’s familiar breaking points flicker into view. 

“You’ve done something. Something you know the Jedi won’t forgive.”

“Obi-Wan forgave me.” Anakin said, whispering. “He said that even though I couldn’t fix what I did he loved me anyway and I just needed to...to honestly regret what I did and not do it again. I told him I’d get rid of my lightsaber and I meant it and...I thought he forgave me. I was ready to go to the Council with him, come clean about everything. And then I left him alone to get dinner and when I came back...he was holding my lightsaber. My lightsaber.” 

Anakin buried his face in his hands, shuddering with creeping cold.

“I’m not going to critique your and Obi-Wan’s attachment to each other right now. I’m well aware that much of the order has turned to personal ties to maintain their stability given the ongoing horrors of war. I am, for many reasons, wary of the risks this brings us, yet it is also true that risks do not automatically mean failure. I myself have mastered my emotions in a different manner than conventional wisdom councils.” 

Windu spoke carefully. For all that he and Anakin had similar relationships with the force, they rarely saw eye to eye on any given subject. At a certain point, Mace had accepted that the volatile young man was determined to find the worst possible interpretation for anything he said. And Mace was not the order’s most patient diplomat.

“As for your crime, whatever it is, l will tell you this: Unless you choose to renounce the code and leave our number, you will be treated as a Jedi Knight, subject to our protections, as well as our judgement. You will receive appropriate mental counseling. If you are judged to be a danger to those around you, your actions will be curtailed and monitored, possibly through temporary confinement.  The Jedi do not believe in punitive measures for their own sake, but you may be required to provide restitution to those you harmed, perhaps indefinitely. 

Silence hung perilously between them. Windu watched a tremor run through the unfathomable kaleidoscopic of shatterpoints that had orbited Skywalker since he was a boy. A small one broke inward, and an attached tangle of larger, darker ones fell away, crumbling to dust. The rest faded from view, invisible for the moment. A choice had been made, some decision that closed off at least one path to the darkside.

“There’s no one to make restitutions to.”

“...You’re going to have to elaborate on that.”

“Let’s go back inside- I don’t want to do this twice.”

They returned to the increasingly hated meeting room.

Anakin spoke in an outpouring of words about love and hate, about misplaced revenge and now uncertain forgiveness. When he finally finished, the room was deathly silent.

The three Jedi sat quietly while Cody pinched the bridge of his nose. “I guess this is why Jedi have the no attachment rule, huh? I admit I never really got it, but I suppose even if I-”

Bant abruptly lunged up, fumbling to bring her lightsaber to Anakin’s neck. Everyone jumped to their feet, except for Anakin, who stared at Bant with a wretched expression.

“MASTER EERIN! This is not-”

“Did you do it?” she asked, ignoring the Master of the Order.

“Bant!”

“It was my first thought after I saw him. We all rushed in expecting a fight, or a bomb, only to find you, insane, and him with a hole next to his heart. I didn’t want to believe it of course, but you’ve always had a violent streak that Obi-Wan, force help him, couldn’t quite soothe away. A fight gone wrong. Master Windu said it was suicide, and I believed him, and I’ve been trying to make sense of that ever since. But Mace found you after, didn’t he? After you felt guilty? Did you think he was going to turn on you?”

“Bant Eerin, you are dangerously-”

“No.” Anakin whispered.

“Obviously I might be why. But I didn’t- I couldn’t. I know I’m not good but I can’t even imagine- holding a saber against him like that. Kriff, do you not get how much I can’t handle losing people I love? I was insane when you saw me because I saw someone trying to kill Obi-Wan and I couldn’t even fight them.”  

Bant held his gaze for several lingering seconds, deactivated her saber and dropping it with a clatter. They stared at each other, breathing heavily and not blinking. She returned to her seat, moving jerkily. “I apologize Knight Skywalker. That was uncalled for.” 

“I wish I could say I wouldn’t have done the same thing in your shoes” he responded lowly. Bant made a tiny, unintelligible noise in reply. 

Cody collapsed back into his chair, holstering his blaster.  “Alright then...so after you finished sitting in the fountain room...what happened next?”

Everyone stared at him.

“What?”

“You’re handling Anakin’s confession somewhat dispassionately. We’re simply surprised.” Mace said slowly, returning to his seat at the same time as Master Aerdo fell into theirs.

Cody shifted uncomfortably. “The vod were trained in a wide range of enemy suppression tactics. While we’re extremely glad the Jedi have never asked us to employ them, I’m not...unfamiliar with this scale of deliberate slaughter. At least in the hypothetical, sir.”

“I see.” Aerdo said. “That is a valuable insight to have, thank you. Knight Skywalker-”

“Just...call me Anakin. Or Skywalker.”

“Anakin. When did this happen?”

“About two years ago, immediately before the First Battle of Geonosis.”

“And have you had any similar experiences with giving into the darkside since?” they asked placidly.

“I don’t think so but...we went to war the next day and....I don’t know if I’ve stopped fighting since it- since I did what I did.”

“Hmm. Anakin, would you mind stepping outside the room and waiting in the corridor for a moment please?” 

He bit his tongue, tasting blood, and quietly walked out the door while the Masters decided his fate. He leaned back against a wall, desperately wanting to see Padme. 

To his surprise, the door opened barely a few minutes later, and he was politely invited back in.

“Anakin.” Master Windu spoke. “Thank you for telling us this. It’s an important insight into Obi-Wan’s feelings right now, and I recognize that you could have kept it a secret. As Head of the Order, and with the advice of a Senior Soul Healer, I have made a decision. You will be assigned a personal soul healer, who you will start seeing tomorrow. Commander Cody pointed out that over nearly two years of continuous warfare, you have maintained some of the the lowest trooper casualty units of any division, by a significant margin if we evaluate based on mission risk level. Your civilian and enemy casualties will be reviewed, but even considering constant war, since your massacre of the Tuskens, you have clearly managed to at least... direct your violence away from the innocent. We do not consider you a threat to the inhabitants of the world. For the time being, I see no real benefit to limiting or tracking your behavior within the temple or on planet, but you are barred from leaving orbit. I have decided to delay a full reckoning before the council until such time that your former Master is well enough to provide his own opinion. Give me just cause, and I will have you confined to a force-suppressing cell. Do you understand?”

Anakin nodded, bowing in acknowledgment. All things considered, it was...honestly better than he expected.

“Now, as Cody” Windu paused. “My apologies, as the Commander was saying-” 

“Cody’s fine, sir” Cody said, wrung out in a way different from anything Kamino had trained him for.

“...I think we can all consider ourselves on a first name basis at this point.” Bant said with a snort. She paused. “That includes you Anakin. I really don’t know how to handle what you did but kark it, I don’t want to hate you. For myself.”

Everyone nodded.

“As Cody was saying, what happened next?”

Peace. Comfort. Hunger. A warning in the force...

-

“I tried to pull the saber back but his finger was already on the igniter...” 

“You probably saved his life. Even a second later-”

“I know, that’s almost the worst part.”

-

“-his neck”

“Why would he change weapons?”

“What if-”

-

“He said what to you and Healer Che?”

“That has to support the detailed vision idea, think about-”

“I’m sorry, Emperor?”

-

“I think we’re done.”

Anakin stared blankly at Sife. “But we didn’t figure anything out.”

“Not conclusively, but we’re unlikely to make any more progress, you’ve given me enough information to preform a meaningful meditative scan, or guide a conversation, should Obi-Wan wake, or navigate through his mind, should we decide to make a more decisive attempt at his shields.”

“Master Aerdo... I leave the final judgement up to you, but I strongly urge you to make a more decisive attempt. I am more convinced now than I was...” Mace glanced at the chronometer “five hours ago that this was motivated by a specific, external stimuli, likely dark. Do you disagree?”

“No.” they said with a sigh. “But I don’t want to underestimate how much underlying factors might have contributed to his response to stimuli, including underlying factors that none of you were aware of.”

The Nautolan Soul Healer stood up, tucking their hands into their sleeves to address the room with classical Jedi serenity. It was a little irritating.

“In any case, we all need to sleep, eat, and meditate. Master Eerin, you have the rest of the day off, I've cleared it with Master Che already. Master Windu, I leave the final judgement up to you, and I am aware that your duties as Master of the Order are unceasing, but I urge you to take some time to center yourself before returning to the council. Commander Cody, I would be more than willing to arrange soul healing for you or any of the Vod, please let me know. Anakin, you will receive a comm later today with further details on your future healing sessions. 

They bowed low, then glided out the door.

Bant stood next, bowed individually to each soul, and sped walked out.

Commander Cody cleared his throat awkwardly, “Mace- what should I tell the troops? We’re supposed to have command briefings later tonight.”

“If anyone asks about General Kenobi, tell them its classified.” I’ll schedule a briefing on the subject. Now go find Captain Rex and take care of yourself, that’s an order.”

Cody saluted, first to the high General, then to Anakin.

Finally it was just Mace and Anakin.

“Is there anyone who you trust who I can call to stay with you.” Master Windu asked.

“I can manage on my own” Anakin replied, not willing to give the Master of the Order anything else he could use against him, even after everything.

Master Windu held back a sigh.

He continued once more, making a deliberate attempt to soften his tone. “Anakin- I know we’ve had our differences, but this is not a trick, nor a trap. You’ve suffered a series of great shocks in the last 24 hours and handled them with immense maturity. I myself am struggling to deal with the emotional fallout.”

Anakin looked up at that, surprised. He didn’t seem to be struggling, but maybe that was what made him a good Jedi Master...

“As I told you before, I am not going to begrudge you the comfort of attachment. I’m rather convinced it would do you more harm than good at this point. I don’t want you flying right now, and you don’t have to be alone. I hope we have come to a better understanding today, but I doubt my presence is suddenly a comfort, though please correct me if I’m wrong. Now is there someone I can call?”

-

Padme ended her call with Master Windu extremely discomfited. She had barely heard from Anakin since he ran out on her the night before last to take care of an apparently extremely drunk Obi-Wan. He had messaged her a few times that night, promising to make it up to her, but had been comm-silent since. She had been starting to get worried, and now the Master of the Order was asking her to pick him up from the temple. Fortunately, she had already cleared most of her meetings for the week well in advance (Courascant leave usually meant THEM time, not that she was jealous of Obi-Wan, of course).

The speeder ride back from the temple was silent. All Anakin would say was that he would explain everything once they were in ‘a secure location.’ 

The door to the apartment had scarcely closed behind them when Anakin fell into her arms, shaking.

“Anakin, talk to me love, what’s wrong?” She gently guided him to the couch, arranging him so she could hold him protectively.

“Obi-Wan tried to kill himself.”

She let out a harsh gasp, “No! He can’t have, he would never-” 

“I got to him in time, but Padme... he was holding a lightsaber to his heart. It was...really close” He burrowed deeper into the folds of her dress, and she gripped him fiercely.

“Oh gods, is he-”

“He’s physically healing, but he’s still...not all there. I spent all of today locked in a room, trying to figure out if it was a Sith Attack, or an insane vision, or..or me”

“Anakin! What do you mean ‘me’ - Obi-Wan loves you, you-”

“I know.” Anakin interrupted her again, knowing he was being unfair; he was just too exhausted to be patient.

“He told me loved me. He...he...found out about what I did to the Tusken village, You should have seen his face, Padme, he was horrified, but he still told me he loved me, and he was willing to forgive me, even though he shouldn’t”

“Of course he forgave you,” Padme whispered. “You’re not a monster, Anakin, I know you would never do something like that again.”

"And then after we talked, I left him alone and he-” Anakin choked out into her dress.

Tears ran down her face, heart breaking. “That’s- that’s horrible. Anakin...it must have have been a attack, Obi-Wan wouldn’t do that.” she said urgently.

He pulled away, horrified. “I made you cry. I made Obi-Wan cry too. I’m sorry- Padme please, promise me you won’t-”

She grabbed the sides of his head. 

Her nails bit into the soft skin behind his ears as she pulled him down so they were face-to-face, vowing, “Never. I swear by the force itself, I will never choose death over life.”

He let out a relieved sigh, eyes fluttering closed.

“Now you,” she demanded

“As long as I have anyone to live for, I swear by the force, I will never choose death over life.”

She pulled him the rest of the way in for a bruising kiss. He lifted her, and they desperately clung at one another as he carried her to bed. They continued like that, clinging and grasping, until exhaustion carried him to sleep. She pulled the covers over top them both and curled around him defensively as the day slowly faded away.

Part XI

[penguintransporter]

Daisies (a short “anyone you want it to be with” story) Part III

part I | part II | my masterlist

Third part of this mini series. Things seem to be going for the better @avenirdelight​ ;) Thanks or all the lovely comments I have gotten, and I hope you will enjoy this one as well. Please, like it, reblog it (this is very important, not only to me but to other writers as well) and tell me what you think (anons you are always welcome.) 🌼

No matter how many memories one person creates in their life, only a handful of them stick to one’s brain like no other, building a colourful storybook of scenes that we love and cherish, and to which we go back to when we are happy or sad, scared or lonely or as we lay in our beds – alone with the universe in the silence of the night. 

Every page and every section of the particular storybook has its deeper meaning to each individual; it carries a certain weight or a message, and we can label them with a year, a month and a day; sometimes even time.

In his own storybook, somewhere between the memories of his first kiss and the first goal he had scored as a professional footballer, there is a page – crumpled and ruffled around the edges. Read many times – over and over again.

A rainy Tuesday in October.

Cold, whistling wind, miserable sky, and with rain bathed umbrellas.

Soaked socks in fashionable trainers. People walking faster than usual along the streets, hopping over puddles – arms hugging the coats and jackets tighter.

Monochrome painted clouds, like a paper soaked in watercolours. With condensation smudged windshield screen.

The memory of meeting her for the first time – crystal clear and omnipresent like a rerun of the movie he had watched many times before, but is never able to get enough from the story line.

He remembers being happy to get away from the weather and the rain that was washing away all the dirt from the streets, and although it took him just five quick steps from where he had parked his car to his teammate’s doors, as he stepped under the covered porch, his shoulders were soaked and he had few droplets of rain sliding down from the tip of his nose.

Vivid.

Every movement and every sound; the amount of shoes in the corner of the hallway when he opened the doors to let himself in, as he did many times before. The smell of coffee and food, rich and hearty at the same time, wrapping its arms around his nostrils as he shrugged of his parka.

The loud sound of the doors as they closed by itself; his name being called above the loud chatter and music. The banter that kept going as he walked in on a group of familiar and unfamiliar faces, shapes and silhouettes.

A lazy scratch of his hand along the back and the head of his mate’s dog.

First glance towards her.

Dressed in a thick jumper, black jeans and daises-patterned socks, she was leaning against the kitchen island that divided the two equally modern rooms – a wooden spoon in her hand.

Smile on her face as she looked back at him after saying something to one of the unfamiliar faces.

Did he expect a different reaction? Yes. Did he expect her to shy away as many girls have before when they realised who he was? As vain it sounded, yes.

She didn’t.

“Come,” she said with a smile, beckoning him over, “I want you to taste something.”

Confused, he remembers racking his brain for something – a name to put together with a picture; a voice.

“Do we know each other? Are you…?”

“No, and probably not,” she grinned, stepping behind the sleek stovetop, “it’s a bit sad that we don’t know each other, but that’s good, because I need someone neutral here.” She took a clean spoon from the container before passing it out to him, and he mimicked her moves, looking down at the red liquid that simmered in the large pot in front of them. “Try, and tell me if something’s missing. Salt? Acidity? Something else? You dress like you know what you’re doing, so I trust you more than I trust that bellend in that ridiculous Gucci labelled shirt,” she spoke louder, looking at his teammate with a silly smirk.

He glanced at her face as she rambled away before looking down in the pot again – the red sauce looking as inviting as it smelled, and with a shrug, he scooped some of it before trying it.

Savoury and a bit sour and with just a hint of something he couldn’t put his finger on. It tasted like knowledge, patience, love, and above all, it tasted like home.

Word by word, laughter after laughter.

Another scoop, another bite, a grind of pepper above his plate before she sat next to him at the long dining table.

Breadcrumbs on his lap.

“Memories are dangerous things. You turn them over and over, until you know every touch and corner, but still you'll find an edge to cut you,” said Mark Lawrence, and whenever he finds himself going back to that rainy Tuesday in October, he cuts himself on the edge of the memory over and over again, and the realisation of his actions hurts him more than the relieved moment.

That day, he should have fallen in love with her.

**

He was known to be a talkative man, but this time he was an observer.

As he quietly sits in front of his laptop, he feels the knot in his throat tighten ever so slightly with every passing second of a video-call to which he was invited to, just a week prior.

A sleepless week filled with either thinking, wondering or regretting yet another night he spent sleeping with a girl that liked roses more than she liked daisies.

Smiles, happy nods, and laughter.

A gasp, with disbelief laced ‘what’s’, and a string of ‘my God’s’; shake of the head.

He wants to speak, wants to engage in the conversation, and to show that he cares, that he misses her more than he thought he ever would; so much that he it scares him sometimes. As he wipes his sweaty palms against his trousers, he wonders when did something that usually came natural to him became more difficult than anything else.

Because he feels guilty for not answering her calls and messages for the past few weeks? Because he knows that once the call is over, the melancholy will knock on the doors to keep the company to the sadness of knowing that she is miles away? 

He doesn’t know the answer, but he feels it.

So he stays quiet and listens to her as she talks, watches her move her hands around as she speaks about her new home, the nature and the weather, her noisy neighbours, and the new bicycle she has bought at the local market. 

He stays quiet, like a passerby, insignificant and tucked away in some kind of a daydream as she shows them painting she has found in the basement of the house she is renting, and he stays quiet when she expresses a wish to get herself a cat.

She seems happy.

Happier than when she still was around him.

Relaxed and liberated. 

Healed.

Away from the heartbreak he had caused.

Once again, he finds himself wiping his hands against his trousers, and without looking away from the screen, he reaches out to take a sip of his coffee. The burn on his tongue stops his train of thoughts and he slams the mug against the desk – liquid slushing over the lip of the container and drips down on the wooden surface, creating a small pool of brown liquid.

A profanity that leaves his mouth stops the happy chatter – he never liked swearing out loud, and as soon as it happens, all eyes are on him. He feels naked, stripped of everything; uneasy and anxious – as if he was running for the goal during an important match.

“You okay?” she asks, but he doesn’t know what to say. Her voice is soft, filled with compassion.

He looks at her, and for the first time since she left, he lets himself believe that he still had the chance; that there was something; one single ember that refuses to die down.

But he knows he needs to say something.

Was this the most important match in his life?

Was he running for the opponents goal or is he about to auto-goal himself?

“When can I visit?” he asks as he puts a smile on his face, leaning back in his chair.

The silence; thick, knife-cutting silence.

His friends look at him, confusion and surprise written all over their faces.

But not hers.

She’s smiling at him, and he feels his heart fill with hope.

__

“Whenever you want.”

__

Part IV

tags: @rosie7703, @emwritesfootball, @avenirdelight, @alexajanecollins, @afootballimagines, @footballcloud , @englishfairylights @footballerimaginess , @footballxwrites, @just-imagines, @emwritesfootball, @macybeckham7, @hnrfc

if i forgot someone, let me know, or if you want to be tagged, also let me know... 

[huearmy]

The Smell of Truth - I

Summary: After years being forced to fight in clandestine hybrid ring, Jungkook is now living in shelter, but life remains bad, the place is abusive, and nobody seems to want adopt him. Until one night a pro-hybrid activist group invades the shelter, and a woman in black smelling like truth promises that things will get better, and he decides to follow her wherever she goes.

Pairing: pitbull!Jungkook x human!Reader

Genre: fluff, angst, future smut maybe.

Words: 3090

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Light descriptions of violence, nothing much. For now. Jungkook is just a cute pie here ok dont touch me.

 Chapter II  Chapter III  Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII

gif is not mine

The gray walls of the silent shelter were cold as it were since day one, the bed was small and the blanket could be softer, from the window a yellow light of a light pole bringing the sensation of isolation. Not so different of the last home of Jungkook.

There were two main differences, though. First and more important, now he didn't need to fight to not die in the rings. And - he was thinking if it is good or not - for the first time in so long he could have a prospect of hope, after all, some people seemed interested in adopting him.

But all of them feared him too.

Some days he spend all his time thinking about how to improve his own image so that someone may want to take him home - trying the hardest to look good in his padronized white clothes, fixing is hair, and maintaining a good posture always. Other days he is just a damn pessimist, knowing that anyone will want a pitbull hybrid. But okay, so if they can't acept him with his disturbed past, he won't acept them neither. He want to be loved after all, high standars... Thats what he tells himself often.

Tonight he don't really care.

Like in his previous home he was going to bed feeling like trash, bones hurting like hell and taste of blood in his mouth. In the reflection on the window he could see the cut and swell in his lips and the hematoma below his left eye. Earlier he got beat up by the shelter's guards. They were four against one, and they had batons to hit and electrocute him. All of this just because he wanted to be alone in his corner and growled for another dog who was annoying him by pulling his tail, maybe they thought he was going to do something violent, but he wasn't. Despite his past, Jungkook hate fighting. And then he just tried to defend himself.

Hours passed and he couldn't sleep, something in his gut telling him he should be alert. The night watchman should've passed by his door ten minutes ago. But he heard nothing. He waited to hear the now familiar sound of the watchman's steps... But instead when the sound came it was of a lot more of feet hitting the ground, coming in his direction, and fast.

Suddenly the door of his room opened with a bang, a tall figure in all black and with a gun in it's belt looking at him from the door frame. 

Jungkook hate guns. More than he hate fights. So before he knows it, he is against the wall, protecting himself.

The man said something taking a slow step closer, but Jungkook couldn't hear it clearly - he was too afraid to. Only two types of pople use guns: Cops and the bad guys, sometimes the person is both, like his past owner. He don't like it. Other hybrids were leaving with more people in black in the corridor, and he couldn't understand why. The man reached out for him, and he growled, his ears flat against his head, tail between his legs. So the man steped back, calling for someone.

Poor thing. A million things were crossing Jungkook's mind, all of them horrible... They found me... my old owners found me... They will kill me... They will make me kill... I need to scape...

He was ready to fight his way free, to jump against the tall man and run the faster he could. He was ready to fly through the window even if it was a fall of three floors. Anything but going back to that hell...

His thoughts got cut by a smaller person appering from behind the man. You were all in black too, with tactical boots and all. But no gun. 

"Go help with the others..." Your voice came demanding but soft. When the man disappeared, you tried to approach Jungkook. He growled again. "It's ok..." You said pulling down your mask, revelling your face, and a soft smille. "My name is Y/N. I'mma friend, we are here to help.". You took a step closer, and Jungkook let you. You saw it as a hint to continue, crouching down to stay on the same level as him - he hadn't even realized he was huddled in the corner - and reaching out so he can smell you. "We know this place is no good... So we came to rescue.".

He sniffed you once. In the next second Jungkook was all over you. Practically jumping around you, wagging his tail and smelling you. You smell like truth to him, also something sweet, so he'd follow you anywhere.

"Hey, easy boy." You laugh. Automatically Jungkook got embarrassed for being so excited, a little bit more and he would've crushed you in a hug. "What's your name?"

"Jungkook."

"Well, Jungkook... Nice to meet ya." You reach out to greet him, and he took your hand in his. But before he could say anything back, the man appeared in the door frame again, now caring a little cat hybrid girl.

"Y/N, all the bombs are in place. We need to go."

Bombs? Jungkook ears lifted in alert. Like bombs that explode? He looked to you waiting some reaction.

"Oh crap. Is everyone out?" You casually answered.

"We are the last ones I think..." He said as if it was about the weather, carefully accommodating the sleepy girl in his arms.

Maybe bombs are not that big of a deal. Jungkook thought to himself, accepting the odd perspective of both of you.

"Ok, Jungkook, this place is going down. If it there is anything you want to take with you..." 

Before you finish the sentence he was putting a tiny wallet in his pocket, and wearing a old cap from the nightstand.

"Ready." Jungkook said with a nod.

You smiled, pulling your mask back up in place. "Let's go then.". You took his hand and ran through the door, Jungkook close behind.

Out side almost all the other hybrids were already safe in the couple of vans of your group, approximately twenty people in black escorting them. You lead Jungkook to one of them following the orientation of another woman with mask and high ponytail. "You go with Youngjae, Y/N.".

"Ok, thanks."

A lot of the hybrids were totally ok with the action, others, mostly the youngers, were sleeping or half asleep. Despite that, a rabbit girl were crying to not enter the van you were supposed to go in.

"You are not understanding... I was going to be adopted on Monday, I need to be here when they came to get me... " she sobbed.

"We know, it's ok... " Youngjae rubbed her arms to comfort her. "We read your file, and I promise you will be with your new owners soon. Okay?"

The girl entered in the van, still a little reluctant, sitting in the passenger's seat - where you were supposed to sit. You didn't think much about it though. You made Jungkook enter and sit in one of the only two available sits, and even if it were more options for you, he didn't let go of your hand, practically pulling you down. He wouldn't make eye contact with you, preferring to keep his gaze down, and wouldn't initiate a conversation, but he would not let go of you neither...

Actually he was holding your hand for dear life.

This is good. You through to yourself. 

Hybrids need to feel safe, and if he feels this way right now... It's good. You read all the files of all hybrids days before this of invasion, to know how bad the situation was. Not all of the poor creatures had a sad past before the shelter - all of them were suffering abuse in the shelter  - but you remember specifically of Jungkook file, and his violent precedence in rings. When you saw the pictures  of how he arrived at the shelter, bruised and curled up in the corner you felt sick and sad. Employee reports said he didn’t allow proximity and showed passive aggression, save for one of the vets, so you - experienced in hybrid behavior - volunteered to be responsible for him. Definitely you didn't expect him to be so easily trusty of you. And that's really good. 

"You ok?" You murmure to him just in case. He just nodded, still staring his feet.

A whimper caught the attention of both of you. The dog hybrid that was beside Jungkook, that must've be sixteen, was shrinking up against the window and holding a bunch of stuffed animals as a shield, apparently afraid him. Jungkook scoffed it with a low growl, turning his eyes back to his shabby shoes, choosing to ignore the boy. This kid was the one invading his space earlier that morning. You got alert to intervene in case of a fight, tensing up.

But Jungkook hate fights. Even more if it happens in tight places like a van. He wouldn't do anything even if he wanted to, and it wasn't the case. There is no one who can force him to fight again.

"Everyone is here? Ok. LET'S GO!" That other woman closed the van's door that started moving. In the shelter's external wall, Jungkook saw the enormous words 'SET US FREE' written in red. Just after the last van passed through the gate the building they all were just a few meters before exploded.

"Wooow!" You cheered along Youngjae and some hybrids.

Jungkook turned on his sit to see the flames through the back window, flames red and high likng the black sky of the night, illuminating all around. You observed the look of amazement in his eyes, wondering what he was thinking. Well, the shelter is what saved Jungkook from his old life. In the shelter he could eat three full meal a day, have his own things and shower every day - his favorite part. But he was always surrounded by crowds what make him anxious most of time, and always getting scolded by the shelter employees that clearly didn't really cared for him, getting beaten up more than once. So he couldn't name the feeling in his chest. He could be sad... Or it could be satisfaction... A mix of both maybe. He just imagined the face of the guys that beat him up seeing the ruins and that written wall next morning and chuckled.

"Jungkook sit straight and put the seat belt, please." You squished his hand lightly.

Another feeling that he couldn't name... "Oh. Ok."

A silence settled in the vehicle, cutting trough the night city at high speed. Most of the hybrids were falling asleep, feeling the euphoria of getting free of the shelter going away, long night after all - and it didn't even ended yet - you couldn't blame them to be tired. You knew that in the moment the job ended and the adrenaline lowered, you would be dead tired yourself, ready to sleep till next year. Unfortunately you must keep your image intact and free suspicions, what means going to work normally next day. But in the moment you needed to be alert and ready to protect. Or at least awake.

Just like Jungkook. This boy was wide awake, looking through the window, paying attention in how the  Youngjae drives super fast, and gazing you by the corner of his eyes. If he had more space he would be jumping around, his dog excitement exploding out of control. Or he would get shy and only imagine it while looking trough nothing. Something in his mind was, where were you all going? That girl apparently was going to be adopted soon, do that mean he would be adopted too? What kind of owner he would get? But can he trust it would happen? Or trust in these people in black? He didn't know you or your group. What if you were the bad guys, kidnapping hybrids to do bad things...? Jungkook stared suspiciously to you, who was talking quietly with the driver. You didn't seen bad, or mean, or evil. Quite the opposite, you look cute and sweet and beautiful, almost too good to be real. He could say you look totally harmless too if it were not for the shock weapon in your waist and tactical boots ... or the whole situation in general. You're just like every ordinary people that usually look at him fear and mistrust.

"Is everything ok?" You asked again. He just made 'no' with his head. You narrowed your eyes, focusing on Jungkook's face. "This bruises... What happened?"

The poor boy considered what to say, fearing that you would not believe him if he said that he got unjustly beaten, which is true, but obviously you would think he deserved it. Maybe he should stay quiet, so you wouldn't hate him. He should at least look like a good boy to impress. Before Jungkook decided between truth or silence - lying was out of question, he was horrorible in it - a voice besides him awnsered.

"The guards were bored and attacked him for no reason." You both looked to the young boy who had a guilty expression. "I'm sorry, it was my fault, I just wanted to play..."

"Oh". Both you and Jungkook cooed. He didn't expected do recieve a out side help, much less a apologise, the feeling was unprecedented. 

"And well, you were the only one who didn't know about the rescue, I wanted to tell you."  

Jungkook was confused. "Everybody knew?"

"All the hybrids..." The boy said, suddenly super comfortable around Jungkook.

"And some employes who helped us from within." You added, pulling Jungkook's face for you to see again. "Did someone treated this cut?" You questioned. 

Jungkook made 'no' with his head once more and than completed with a low voice. 

"The doctor who likes me wasn't working today.".

You sighed in understanding.

"She was one who helped us, we got her an alibi away from here."  You leaned forward, talking to the driver through the rear view mirror. "Youngjae, do we have a first aid kit?" 

"Under my seat."

The boy stared at the stuffed animals for a good time and then extended one to Jungkook. “Keep him.”

Jungkook looked at the stuffed bunny closely and smiled. “Thank you.”

With the white suitcase open on your lap and letting go of Jungkook's hand - for his dislike - you puted some hydrogen peroxide in a piece of gauze and faced him. "Can I?" You asked permission with a smile. Just like the sweet doctor did when the shelter welcomed him you took care of him - with a little less skill, but lovelly still, making him feel safe. Ok, he absolutelly trust you now.

___________________________________________________

Durig the next hour you received on the radio  news of the vans that took different paths  arriving at the meeting place, yours being one of the last ones. Gladly no one had any unwanted encounters or problems on the way. The place in question was a freight train station, the secondthe van stoped, Youngjae was out to open the lateral door and you waking the hybrids up. "Lets go my sweet things. You can go back to sleep in a little while." You picked up a sleepy little hybrid, and along Youngjae helped all of them to get aou of the van, to follow the group to two big wagons open for them. Outside, those who saw would see only a common freight train, but inside the cars were adapted to take those hybridos in comfort and safety to a farm, one of the places where your organization guarantees a dignified life for hybrids, especially those who have not had an easy past, whether living there or going to good owners - whatever they choose. Jungkook tried to accompany you in the crowd by holding your hand, but he lost you by a few meter, almost not being able to see you between so many heads and the low light, just following your voice, biting his lip anxiously. For a moment his focus leaved you to the rabbit hybrid girl, she got separated from the group, having time to just quickly  say goodbye to another girl, before she run to a car where a couple was waiting for her, the three of then huged, the man took her bag and putted in the trunk. She was really being adopted. Oh man, Jungkook want this so bad. If he is a good boy will he be adopted soon too? "Please, get in." A man in black putted a hand in Jungkook shouder, making him came back daydream. He got surprised for a momente, this man had dog ears to, the men in black have hybrid in their crew. "Please, get i the train." "Wait. No... Y/N..." Apparently he was the only one disturbing, all the other hybrids obeying quietly or already inside the car, looking at him as if he was a weirdo - at least Jungkook felt this way. "Y/N?" "I'm here." You emerged from the crowd. "It's okay, Jungkook, you can get in." "Ok." He smiled to you taking your hand again. He trust you so... But he stoped midstep when he noticed you didn't move. "Aren't you coming too?" You seemed surpresided when responding. "No." He thought for half a second and decided, setting his feet on the ground. "So I'm not getting in neither." "Jungkook..." you tried to argument but he interrupted you. "I'll go where you go." You both held each other's gaze for a moment. All the hybrids were now accommodated in the train wich was about to leave. That women from before came to hurry you, but you wheren't listenning at all. "Does it mean you want to go home with me?" You firmily asked. Without a second thought he vigorously nodded. "Yes." You released a sigh of relief and smiled.  "They can close the doors. This one I'll take with me." You say to the woman, making Jungkook jump in his spot from excitement.  "Are you sure?" She questioned.  "Yep"  You guided a super happy Jungkook to the oposite direction the train started to move to, the sound of the locomotive and loud honk blinding the little sounds of joy coming out of his mouth as he takes your hand again, swinging it back and forth. Your organization companions looking at you with knowing eyes. Never before you even consider adopting any of the rescued hybrids.

______________________________________________________________

this gonna be a series too. pls give love to it.

[schnitzelbutterfingers]

The Forgotten One (Ethan Ramsey x F!MC)- CHAPTER 3

a/n: first, i wanna wish everyone a happy thanksgiving from my family to yours! please take the time to thank everyone you are so grateful to have in your life, especially god, for letting us live and for all the blessings he gives us. do not take anyone for granted.

next, so sorry for the holdup!! finally, chapter 3 is here! we’ll see what abby feels about the attack, her and ethan conversing, and a surprise ending. read, like, and let me know your reviews! forgive me if there are any spelling mistakes or grammar errors. let me know if you wanna be added to my taglist and as always, enjoy (ɔ◔‿◔)ɔ ♥

summary:  Louise Ramsey, the mother of the famous, brilliant diagnostician Ethan Ramsey, is back into his life. However, Louise holds many secrets, dangerous secrets, that could harm him, Dr. Abigail ‘Abby’ Chacko (my MC), and the very few lives he actually cares about. It is up to Ethan, Abby, and their friends to save each other from what is about to come.

pairing(s): dr. ethan ramsey x f!mc (dr. abigail ‘abby’ chacko) || dr. sebastian chacko x dolores hudson (YES YOU READ THAT RIGHT)

warning(s): angst, and then it’s pure fluff, and then a surprise ending (you’re gonna die die dieeee :)))

word count: 4289

catch up here :)

______________________________________________________________

Abby’s POV

When she wakes up it is with a headache, a throat ache and side pain. When she looks more closely at her nose, she sees an oxygen tube through them. When she looks more closely at her surroundings, she realizes she is in a hospital bed.

Lying down. Wearing a sky blue hospital gown. With an IV through her accessory cephalic vein. 

Jumping Jehoshaphat, what happened this time?

Abby spent many times in the hospital during her childhood. Most of them were due to the number of cuts and bruises she got from her father, in which some of them were very serious injuries. One time she was admitted to the hospital because...

No, Abby. Don’t relive through that phase. It’ll wound you more.

There are many types of pain. Many of her pains were physical, but some of her pains were emotional. By far, she can tell the emotional pain is the hardest to get over with.

Sure, she has been cut with a knife, raped by many of her father’s friends, and whipped with a belt. To her it was normal, and she had gotten used to it. To others, the pain is insufferable. 

Heartbreak hurts. Too much. It can rip people from the inside out, and change them. For better or worse.

Her father caused her many heartbreaks. In return, she studies, skipped five grades, graduated from high school when she was 13, and graduated from Hopkins when she was 21. Some might say she took it too far, but she knows it was just what she needed.

What she needed to prove to her father that pain doesn’t break her. 

What she needed to prove to her horrid patients that she is not dumb.

What she needed to prove to the whole world that she is not as young and innocent as everyone thinks she is.

Death, betrayal, and pain were her three companions, with some delectation in between. She cherished those jocund moments.

And she thanked God. Seb. Jazmin. Ethan. Herself. For all the hard work. 

But what happened right now? Why is she in this bed? 

It feels as if she has fallen into a cactus, her heart being punctured by tiny pins and needles. It’s starting at the bottom of her stomach, and it’s slowly growing. 

The anxiety.

The depression.

It feels like some kind of vaccination, where the shot doesn’t really hurt but the aftermath feels disastrous, cataclysmic. It’s leaving her breathless, as if she is running away from a ghost from her past. It is leaving a certain kind of exhaustion on her.

It’s heartbreak. But why? Why does she feel heartbreak? What could have possibly gone wrong-

Everything. Everything is going wrong. Bingo. She knows what is happening. But she can’t even speak the name out loud. It’s petrifying her. Really well.

 Louise Ramsey. 

Ethan’s mother who claimed to come for him and Alan.

Louise Ramsey.

The one who tricked them, including her.

Louise Ramsey. 

The one who stabbed her. The one who she trusted. 

The one who she believed had a change of heart didn’t have a change of heart at all.

She fooled everyone. She’s a liar. She is manipulative. She is every dark sin written across this universe. She is the next generation of Sat-

Wait. Wait a long moment.

Oh no. Oh no no no no no.

How is Abby supposed to tell this to Ethan of all people? How is she supposed to let him know his own mother tried to harm her? 

But she had to.

Moisture is falling from the tip of her index finger, even if the bed sheets feel cool. Sweat is dripping from her forehead, even if the hospital room is air conditioned. An imaginary shock travels through her body. The sharpness of the pain is unequivocal and indisputable that it sends shockwaves through her bloodstream. If it wasn’t for the bed, she would have crumpled to the floor.

She is currently holding the bed frame with a white-knuckled grip.

The young doctor scratched her arm nervously, mindful of the IV, as she let that horrifying memory fly through her.

Louise stabs her in the side, blood spilling to Abby’s legs and on the floor. She couldn’t say anything, words failing to come our of her mouth, every second making it harder to breather. She starts to lose consciousness, hearing the sounds of the patients in the room screaming for security.

Louise whispers into her ear, “The game has begun.” 

The last thing she sees is Louise running towards the exit and nurses coming towards Abby, before her world evades into darkness. 

That’s what happened. That’s why she’s in the hospital bed, feeling like crap.

That’s why she feels heartbreak, of all the emotions she can feel. She has heard of brother cheating on brother and father cheating on his wife. But a mother disowning her own husband and son, but then comes back only for her to clown them? 

That goes all the way back to Rebekah and Jacob in the Old Testament of the Bible, if you ask me.

She is back to the question on how she is supposed to tell Ethan. 

Does he know? If he knows, how does he feel? Does he feel depressed?

She sure hopes not.

When something happens to Abby, he always blamed on himself. Whether it was his fault or not. She reminisces on when Ethan apologized and was filled guilt when he found out about the trial.

Or when he came back from the Amazon. He didn’t really apologize for that, but the regret and remorse lurking beneath his eyes was the only thing she needed to know. To know that he was feeling guilt. Dismay. Lamentation.

Or when he opened up his bottled-up feelings concerning his mother. He said that he wasn’t planning on ‘dragging’ her into his mess. 

Or when she was in that decontamination room. She remembers his words clearly, words that were etched into her heart.

I wished I hadn’t asked you to stay away.

Or now.

If he knows. 

She knows what will happen if Ethan blames himself for this. He will be a different person. He will start becoming cold-hearted to people he cares about. He will push her away. Again.

Because he tends to believe that it is all his fault that accidents happen to the people he cherishes the most. He thinks that he is a curse. A malediction. An imprecation. She remembers the night when they connected for the first time. What he said.

This is The Ethan Ramsey. The man who can save anyone except the people he gives a damn about. Not Dolores. Not Naveen. And not you.

She was torn by what he said. Not because he said he couldn’t save her, but because he couldn’t love himself. 

The young doctor hopes he already knows what happened. Who stabbed her. She couldn’t even bear the thought of seeing his face crumble. The man who was stoic. The man who every one recognized as an imbecile. The man who every single doctor is head-over-heels in love with.

Ethan told her to tell him everything. Everything that makes her angry. Everything that makes her sad. Everything that makes her happy. 

If he doesn’t know what happened, she will tell him. She promised him that.

*Flashback*

It's normal for Abby to have a panic attack. Keeping her inhaler with her was vital for her to go through the day. Especially this week.

It’s been one week after the incident. That incident. That incident that took two innocent lives. Danny and Bobby. It’s all her fault. 

If Danny was alive, him and Sienna would’ve been a couple, loving each other. Now, she sees a Sienna whose eyes are haunted. Grave. Not filled with any giddy or joy. She doesn’t see her smile anymore, the once blushed cheeks with her beautiful grin that shows off her dimples, gone. Lost. Thrown away.

If Bobby was alive, he could’ve bought his daughter the new car. It was what he always wanted to do. Instead of enjoying his time with his daughter in her brand new car, he’s under the cold earth. 

Rafael is now going under therapy, but he also feels less confident from Rafael the paramedic. She misses the way he smiles. He does smile now, but there is no joy beneath his eyes.

And for Abby, she is not okay. She wishes she died. But she knows she couldn’t. There are people rooting for her. Her brother. Her mother. Her friends. Ethan. Ethan.

When she was informed that the gas in her body was maitotoxin and there was no cure, she accepted her fate and was ready to die. She glanced at Ethan, and his expression wasn’t betraying anything. But the eyes held more feelings than ever. They were pleading. They said, “Please don’t give up.”

She then realized that if they can find a cure within one day, she’ll try and survive. If not for me, then for Ethan and all the people I love, she thought.

Abby starts passing through that hallway. That one hallway. That one hallway that changed her life. No, that one room. And then, she passes through that room.

It’s clean, all the seals, the beds inside with new blankets and pillows. But she can’t see any of that. She can only see her, Rafael, Danny, and Bobby in that room. She sees Bobby dying. She sees Danny being taken away. She sees Rafael and herself being unable to breathe. 

Suddenly she runs away. She can’t take it anymore. You stupid, why would you even come back to the hospital when you’re not ready yet? she scolds herself. Because of Farley. Damn it.

Abby is flooded by her own thoughts when she accidentally runs into someone. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I-”

Only to know that someone is the one. 

She hears his baritone voice calling out to her, finding comfort and solace in it. 

“Abby? What’s wrong? Are you alright?” Ethan wipes something off her cheeks, and she realized that she was crying the whole time. She was so lost in her emotions that she didn’t a single drop falling down to her right cheek. 

“I-” The young doctor tries to speak but couldn’t. She can’t breathe.

“Rookie!” Ethan quickly drags her to the nearest supply closet. He asks her where her inhaler is. 

“Left... pocket...”

He hastily grabs and places it into her mouth. 

“Deep breaths, rookie. Deep breaths.”

She does as she is asked and takes deep breaths. After a few long moments, her breathing level starts to go normal. 

“Rookie, you weren’t ready for your first day back, were you?”

Abby starts to argue. “Of course I am! Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you panic attack right now seems to prove otherwise.”

She sighs. He’s right. She wasn’t even ready to set foot into the hospital. The only reason she did was because of Farley’s rash, and she thought it was life threatening.

Ethan sighs, breaking her from her thoughts.

“Go home, Abby, you’ve had a long day.”

Abby is about to snipe back when he stops her by raising his hand.

“On second thought, I’ll take you to my house. We’re gonna take a day off.”

“But Ethan, we both have patients-”

“Who will be taken care of by the other doctors in this hospital. If you think I’ll be leaving you anytime soon, you’re wrong.”

Hearing his words makes Abby feel lighthearted. She is stubborn just like him, but he’ll always be there for her.

After getting a confirmation and a wink from Naveen, they are in the car. It’s 1:00 P.M., and Abby sees couples sitting on the chairs in the outside booths of a restaurant, smiling, one couple holding hands. She dreams of these moments with Ethan, but their relationship is still uncertain.

The car stops at a red light, and she turns around to look at Ethan, who is lost in thought.

“Ethan, are you alright?” she asks him, concerned.

The mature doctor cracks a dry smile towards her. “I should be asking you that.”

“Ethan...”

“Abby... are you having suicidal thoughts?”

Abby was astounded by his question.

“Ethan! Why would you think that?”

“I’m just asking. If you ever feel that, come talk to me immediately. I can’t...”

It hit her on what Ethan was thinking about. He doesn’t want her to leave. As much as the question made her a little frustrated, she couldn’t help but think about what he was feeling throughout the whole ordeal n the decontamination room.

Abby takes a deep breath. “Ethan, I’m not suicidal. I never have been. I was just uncomfortable, that’s all.”

Ethan looks at her deeply into her eyes. She can literally feel him searching for any lies at her statement, his body relaxing when he didn’t find any. 

When he stops the car, she realizes that they’re here. Before Abby can take off her seatbelt, Ethan’s hand on hers stops her from doing anything. She looks up with a questioning expression.

Ethan speaks in a very stern but concerned way. “If you ever have anything irritating or frustrating you-” he kisses her on the forehead.

“Anything that brings you pain-” He kisses her on the nose, making her scrunch it.

“Anything at all, that makes you want to cry out-” He kisses her on both cheeks. 

“You come and tell me. Promise me” He finally kisses her on the lips.

As the final words come out from Ethan’s lips, she wonders about how she is so lucky to have him. Tears were burning in the back of her eyes, but this time, they were tears of gratefulness. To Ethan. For being her best friend. She cracks a smile.

“I promise.”

*Back to present*

“Hello? Ma’am? Doctor?” she is interrupted from her thoughts by a male nurse. When she checks his tag, his name is Caspian Chapman, and he has a light British accent. She hasn’t seen him before. Abby suddenly feels embarrassed. Who knows how many times, he called her like that.

“Hi, I am so sorry,” she says shyly. “I was lost in thought. Were you speaking to me this whole time?”

Caspian gives her a wide smile. “Nope! I just came in! My name is Caspian, and I will be your nurse! I am new here so...” he trails off.

The young resident laughs, despite the pain on her left side. “Haha, don’t worry! I’m not one of those Karens! Now tell me, how long will I be staying here?”

“From the stab wound you received, you will probably be admitted here for a week.”

Abby inwardly groans, wanting to just go home. Of course this would happen. Even if she’s disappointed by the news, she knows that it is vital for her to recover.

“So, did the stab wound affect my liver or...” she winces at her left side.

Caspian sighs. “You are correct. They brought you to surgery quickly, or who knows what would have happened.”

“Wait, how did you know I’m a doctor?” 

Caspian smiles again. “Are you kidding me? You are Dr. Ethan Ramsey’s protege and in the diagnostics team! Not only that, you helped him save Dr. Naveen Banerji! You are also popular on Instagram. Anyone would kill to be in a spot and reputation like you.”

Her cheeks grow red. 

“I suppose so...” she trails off. 

The new male nurse speaks. “Anyways, I should let Dr. Ramsey, Dr. Banerji, and your family know that you are awake! They will be at relief.”

Wait, what? Ethan is here? Naveen is here? My family is here? They must’ve found out the harsh truth. 

As Caspian turns to leave, Abby stops him. The nurse turns around.

“Yes? Is something the matter?”

“I just wanted to know if they knew who stabbed me.”

Caspian grimaces. “Yes, they are well aware. Do you not wish to speak to them?”

Oh no. Ethan knows. What will she do? Should she call in her family first? No Abby, he'll think that I’m mad at him! She inwardly slaps herself.

Okay, Abby, deep breaths.  She took a deep breath, held it for three seconds, and exhaled. 

“Can you do me a favor and call in Eth- Dr. Ramsey first?”

“I will,” he replies back.

______________________________________________________________

Ethan’s POV

He is terrified. Terrified to go and see her. Terrified to talk to her. But he has to. He has to let her know he loves her. He has to let her know that he can’t live without her. He feels a hand on his shoulder. Seb.

“Ethan, buddy, remember what I said. Tell her you love her. Make yourself happy. Make her happy. And she will never blame you for anything that happened. She’s a very reasonable girl.”

He looks into Seb’s eyes, and sees that there is something he didn’t tell him. Some kind of sadness, but there is happiness mixed in. He will find out later.

The older doctor turns around and sees the support written in their faces. Seb. Jazmin. Naveen. They are smiling broadly.

Naveen claps him on his back. “Now go get your woman, Ethan.”

Ethan smiles back. “Thank you, guys.”

He took a deep breath and opened the doors.

There she is. Abby. At once, she turned her head around, and at once,  dusky brown met ocean blue. She looks tired, her body a little weak, but she still gives him a wide smile that sends his heart swooping forward. Oh, he has it bad. 

“Ethan. Hey.” Abby welcomes him and pats at a seat on her bed. He, however, was hesitant to do so.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you...”

She rolls her eyes. “Ethan, I was stabbed, not hit by a truck. Now, be a good boy and sit on the bed.”

He does as he is asked, sitting on the edge, eyes never leaving hers. “How do you feel?”

“My side’s kinda sore, but I’ll survive... How are you?” she asks hesitantly.

“W-What do you mean?” he stutters. Ethan Ramsey never stutters.

“...I know who the perpetrator is, Ethan.” So she does know.

Before Ethan can say anything, Abby replies. “I know you are blaming yourself for what your mother did. But I will say it again and again until it gets through that smart head of yours. It’s not your fault, do you hear me?”

His eyes are shining with tears, his heart all the way up to his throat.

“Abby... I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He blinks, and a droplet fails to stay in his eyes, escaping from the confinement.

The young resident suddenly sits up, wincing a little at the abrupt movement. Her eyes are full of alarm.  “Ethan, c'mere.”

And he does. He hugs her tight, mindful of her side, his nose nuzzling his neck. Abby wraps her arms around him and strokes his hair. The motion gives him a sense of peace. His eyes drop a few more tears. I will tell her.

“Abby, I love you.” She tenses. Before she says anything, he cuts her off. 

“No, Abby, please listen to me. I’ve loved you since the first day you’ve stepped foot into this hospital. I love how you’re always a colossal pain in my ass. I love how your eyes sparkle every time you hear good news. I love how your dimples pop up when you smile. I love how you bite your lip when you think about something. I love everything about you. Your courage. Your admiration. Your passion. I love you body. I love you face. And i now know, that I never want to let you go again.”

When Ethan pulls back and cups her face, he can see the tears glistening, failing to hold still and dropping down onto her cheeks. She half-sobs and half-laughs.

“Ethan, I love you, too.” And that is all he needs to hear.

He kisses her cold lips gently and pulls back, finding his sense of relief. She, in return, kisses his forehead. He promises to himself one thing: he’ll never let her go again.

______________________________________________________________

Seb’s POV

Seeing them crying of happiness makes him smile, his heart feeling elevated with joy. They deserve this joy. They both’ve been through a lot lately, and confessing their love for each other was their first step towards recovery.

“Psst! Seb!” Amma. Behind her is Naveen.

“How is it going there?”

The surgeon smiles triumphantly. “Our plan worked.”

Quiet cheers came out of their mouths. 

“Finally!” Naveen sighs. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for months. Ethan’s too damn stubborn for his own good.”

Seb laughs quietly. “That he is.”

Amma scratches his wool sweater. He just realized the feeling of itch on his skin because of the wool. And he can’t wait to take it off. But they won’t be leaving Abby’s room for the next two days. Not him, at least.

“Will it be alright if we go in and interrupt them?” Amma asks hesitantly. “I have an urge to hug my daughter after the incident.’

“I am sure that will be alright.”

Amma knocks the door. After hearing an acknowledgment, all three of them walked in. 

“Hi Ethan, is it alright if I hug my daughter? I do not mean to waste any of your-”

Ethan looks at her incredulously. “Why would you ask me if you want to hug your own daughter? I don’t mind at all.”

The famous doctor looks at Seb with a questioning look, who shrugs.

Mother rushes forward and hugs Abby carefully, sobbing as she kisses al of her face. The resident sighs.

“Amma, look at me.” Abby forces Jazmin’s face to her. “I. Am. Fine.”

“Sorry, Ladoo, your mother was just very worried when we got the call. I won’t try to cry, alright?”

The Chacko smiles easily. “now that’s what I wanted to hear from you. My Amma is strong.”

Abby sighs and looks at Seb and Naveen, smiling cheerily. “Who’s next in line for cuddles?”

Seb comes forward, finally at ease when he kisses her forehead gently. He hugs her as tight as he can, the injury preventing him for hugging her more. 

“Please, for the love of Pete, please never scare us like that again.”

She laughs lightly and cuddles closer to him. “I’ll try not to.”

Seb looks up and sees Ethan with a light smile on his face. He finally feels light, free.

He then hears Jazmin’s stomach grumble lightly. Abby laughs hearing this. “Why did you guys not eat? All of you need to get food. Now.”

“I’m not gonna leave you this time around,” he replies. 

Seb’s sister groans. “I knew you would say that.”

The surgeon has an idea. “How about I get all of us some burgers from a nearby restaurant? Since I doubt Ethan’s gonna like what he gets from the cafeteria.”

The famous attending shrugs and then grins easily. “You know me so well.”

“Only for you.”

Abby is on a strict water diet for two days, so he considers buying a cup of chocolate pudding for her. As he leaves the room, he sees Naveen hugging Abby, which brought some emotions to the Chacko. Naveen is like the father he never had before.

Seb is really joyous and filled with triumph at the love confessions between Abby and Ethan. He only wishes it could happen to him.

But it can’t. Because he lost the love of his life last year. Due to a seizure. While she was giving birth. All of their promises. All of their hopes and dreams. Gone. Forever 

I miss her... I miss her a lot.

Suddenly, he hears a whistle. A familiar whistle. It sounds like her. 

When she was alive, they used to whistle a lot. it was a form of their communication. The whistle that heard now was a way of saying, “Turn around.”

No, Seb, he thinks. You’re just letting yourself get too emotional. Stop hallucinating.

But then he hears it again. And it’s behind him. A little far away from him. 

He’s afraid to turn around. He can’t move. 

He forces himself to turn around, like the whistle had told him to.

And then he sees her. He sees her. He actually sees her.

No way, it can’t be... Suddenly, Seb speaks.

“...Dolores? Is that really you?”

She smiles. That smile. He missed that damn smile. Her face and hands are covered with small bruises.

And she talks. “Yeah, Seb. It’s me. Dolores Hudson. I’m alive. I really am.”

______________________________________________________________

Mystery Man’s POV

I give Louise some cash that she was looking forward to. 

“Great, thanks!” she says with a smile.

“Anything for my wife,” I reply, with an emphasis on the word ‘wife’.

She rolls her eyes. “Ugh, don’t call me that. I married you to destroy them, not to love you. Now where’s that manicure you promised?”

Louise is annoying as hell. Sometimes I wonder how her former husband Alan dealt with her. What a man, I think. 

She gives me a mischievous grin. “Now give me a kiss.”

I groan, and I quickly give her a kiss, not wanting it to last for long.

Then, I feel a vibration in my pocket. It’s my phone. I pick it up.

It’s one of my guards. And I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I bark him an order. Blood rushes through my veins, and for the first time in a long time, I feel fear.

I hang up the phone and look at Louise, whose eyes held confusion. I decide to answer her questioning glance.

“Missing captive alert. Dolores Hudson has escaped.”

______________________________________________________________

a/n 2: hope you liked that ending!

a/n 3: i know dolores died of a seizure while under an emergency c-section, but in this au, i refuse to believe so :)

tags:@missmiimiie​ @aylamwrites @starrystarrytrouble​ @udishaman​ @caseyvalentineramsey​ @queencarb​ @choicesstan1​ @newcolonies​ @arcticrivers​ @angela8756 @takemyopenheart​ @rookie-ramsey​ @ohchoices​ @ohvamsey @ohramsey @natureblooms24​ @drariellevalentine​ @maurine07​ @lucy-268 @thanialis

@openheartfanfics

@choicesficwriterscreations

[masterthespianduchovny]

Tbh, I believe some of the reaction to Steve’s ending is an overreaction and, mostly, nothing to do with Steve or the point they are defending. I want to stress that I am saying some before people mistake that as well. And if you disagree, that’s fine.

1. In MY experience, because I’m not going to pretend ive read most takes on Endgame or read every crevice, people only talk about the timeline being ruined when it came to what Steve did and NOT how other timelines were meddled with. Someone could argue that Steve intentionally meddled, but according to the rules of time travel, intentionality doesn’t matter.

Who knows the unforeseen consequences behind knocking out Tony’s reactor. Who knows what happens with old cap after encountering endgame cap and not only fighting him, but hearing the name “Bucky?” Who knows the consequences of thanos and quo being transported 9 years into the future. Or what about the lady that spots Steve and Tony? And how Tony conversed with his dad.

We’re told or it’s implied that any interference can have devastating consequences, yet only Steve’s last decision is obsessively discussed.

2. Peggy’s agency allegedly being undermined. Sure, people could argue by the sheer virtue of going back in time and talking to her he’s undermined her agency, but we don’t even know how their original discussion went. We do not know what went down and people are robbing Peggy of her agency by essentially stating that Peggy had no choice in the matter.

Are we forgetting how intelligent Peggy is? That Peggy potentially asked Steve how was any of “this” even possible and the implication of his actions. And if it come off as condescending or patronizing, I apologize, but imho, it appears that some people, generally speaking, believe that because they dislike something that’s the same as it being bad. Other than, they just dislike what was given to us.

But, how does this undermine Peggy’s arc or rob her of her agency? How? I think some people want it to mean that her arc was undermined to prove Steve shouldn’t have went back to the past. And do people actually care about Peggy’s unnamed husband whose face we never see? Do they really care about her kids?

3. Bucky. People often cite the end of the line remark, but honestly, I think that’s being seen through a shipper lens. Steve and Bucky will clearly fight for each other to make sure the other is safe when they’re in present danger and will advocate for each other if necessary, but they’ve never been joined at the hip.

These are two people who are close who not only regularly acted independent of each other pre serum, was fine going long stretches without being around each other. I’m not even sure if they wrote each other letters. But, they most defintely love and care for each other.

So, pre serum Steve and Bucky are close, but aren’t around each other all of the time. They are fine going long stretches of time without communicating. And, even when reunited after Steve stormed the base solo, they still largely do their own thing. But, even back then, they’d die for each other.

When we get to winter soldier, Bucky’s death was still fresh for Steve. It’s only been a “few” years for him. He still feel responsible for not being able to save Bucky. But, not only that, Bucky was experimented on, was brainwashed, and a POW of Hydra’s—not only is Steve going to take that personally, he wasn’t going to give up on hydra even if it killed him.

Post destroying the helicarriers, Steve wants to look for Bucky after the film concludes to make sure Bucky is safe and has everything he needs.

In civil war, Steve’s mission goes from checking in on buckys well being to making sure Bucky isn’t murdered for something he was forced to do. When Bucky was originally arrested unharmed, Steve was fine. He’s not obsessing over Bucky. Then, when Bucky is brainwashed again, Steve refuses to leave Bucky to his own devices.

After civil war, Steve drops Bucky off in Wakanda and doesn’t think twice about it. Bucky is safe and has the proper resources to heal. They spend two more years apart; they largely haven’t spent any significant time together since Bucky regained his memory. Steve might have called Bucky via T’Challa.

And, just to be clear, I’m not arguing against stucky, it’s not my ship, but people can ship whatever they like, it’s the fact that we’re consistently shown that Steve and Bucky aren’t dependent on each other. That their lives and decisions do not revolve around one another. The idea that Bucky needs Steve or that Steve is abandoning Bucky is absurd.

4. Steve’s ending being a regression. People argue that Steve’s storyline is about moving on all while overlooking the fact that he consistently struggled with doing it.

In winter soldier, nat tries to get him to go on dates and Steve points out that is hard because the lack of shared experience. He clings to both Peggy and Bucky in different ways. They are both living, breathing pieces of his past that he was “taken” from.

Instead of having Sharon kiss him and this go no where (because it was poorly developed), they should’ve had Steve reflect on what Peggy’s death mean to him personally and moving on with his life. I guess her death and the kiss was supposed to signify that, but we don’t actually explore the character. We don’t allow him to sit with it. These things are done to shortcut the storytelling without actually exploring it in the world. But, Steve doesn’t talk about moving or and none of his actions support this in the overall story. Again, what we do see is for the benefit of the viewer and not Steve.

But, the biggest thing is: why do people conveniently ignore that what happened in infinity wars could lead to a huge regression? People talk about how Steve was “moving on”, but ignore the five year hell of post snap and him admitting that they “the avengers” couldn’t move on. That their failure would leak into other parts of his life as well and make him reconsider things?

5. Found family. It’s quite clear that the avengers, most of them, largely do not hang out together. They aren’t around each other unless they’re saving the world. Steve did not abandon his family or the avengers. They got along, but they all lived their own lives. And, it’s quite self centered to think you can’t ever leave a group because they can’t function without you. There were more avengers apart of the team then when Steve originally joined, some are powerful than he is and others have shown that they are just as capable leaders as he was or can grow into the role like he did.

But, the idea that Steve “abandoned” the avengers when they needed him most is absurd. His job was to prevent and protect NOT rebuild society. In infinity wars, he fathered the avengers. When the snap happened, he stayed and fought whatever threats popped up, but also ran a support group. Steve stuck through the worst of it. Steve didn’t give up on anyone despite being mentally exhausted. He unselfishly supported humanity as much as he could during that time.

Most of these criticisms ignore that Steve was always sacrificing and living for others. He was always a soldier first. And part of the reason he was so dedicated was because he couldn’t move on.

Many of these criticisms are so spiteful and most of them aren’t even because these fans care about Steve. They care about a found family that doesn’t exist. They care about a ship or ships that are now sunk. Some are upset that Steve lived and Tony died. But, many of them aren’t actually about Steve.

Nat doesn’t get shit for being willing to run away to be with Bruce in age of ultron. Tony doesn’t get shit for abandoning the avengers for five years because they “didn’t listen to him.” Others are allowed to make selfish decisions and put themselves first, but when Steve does it “what about found family??? What about the avengers???”

Almost everyone gets to live their lives MINUS Steve. Clint retired. Tony considered retiring before civil war. Like, minus going to the past and staying there, almost every criticism thrown at Steve can be found in another avenger who received little to no criticism in comparison.

Lastly, I’d also argue that Steve’s selfishness IS a sign of growth. People are allowed to be selfish at times. People are allowed to put themselves first.

At the time, it was important for Steve to move on because he couldn’t change the past. He had to live in the here and now.

But, then an opportunity was presented to him.

“I can go back.”

Steve living in the present was coping. He barely lived his life for himself.

People don’t have to like the ending and the time travel stuff doesn’t make sense from any perspective, but most of these angry takes aren’t about Steve at all.

[melforbes]

seaglass blue annotations

hello! i just posted the last chapter and thought i’d put together some ~fun context~ for that fic. it got way way more attention than i ever expected and for something i feel i didn’t put that much effort into i think i did in the end put a lot of effort into it so i might as well talk about it and answer some potential questions.

my favorite book of all time is the sunlit night by rebecca dinerstein (yes, that one) and something i find really compelling about that book is how sparing the prose is, forcing the reader to fill in certain gaps, and i think having to fill in those gaps makes the book a really acquired taste with which either you love it or hate it and there’s not really an in-between

i also really adore how in that book the natural world backdrop comes to life, something i find really challenging to write. recently i even read into thin air, the book about the 1996 mount everest disaster, and even though the writing was superb, i still had to google what the hillary step was because i couldn’t picture it on my own. i don’t know how people write nature because to me it feels damn near impossible, but this sparing approach really worked, so i thought i might try it out. i tend to be longwinded (gestures vaguely at this post) and wanted to have certain parts of this be a lot smaller and more contained without negating impact. whether or not i made it work is anyone’s guess. definitely not my normal style, so to speak

based on the comments i’ve received i think this might be everyone’s favorite part. in my mind age of consent by new order was playing in the background. in pretty much every fic i have a scene like this one and all of them are based on the poem first base gold by rh*annon mcg*vin from her book branches (censored because she has a tumblr and i don’t want her seeing this haha)

i absolutely can’t do the poem justice by describing what it’s about, but the simplest, most basic interpretation of the poem is that there is no better place to kiss than right here, right now, because of the past. i really like that imagery and tend to use it a lot. she as a writer has been a big inspiration for me and if you’ve read my fic true minds i should add that the nonfiction inspiration for that was directly as a result of one of her youtube videos. i particularly love how the last paragraph (stanza? im not a poet) is one big run-on sentence that’s jovial and tongue-in-cheek and colloquial and straightforward. it feels triumphant in a quiet way to me and i love how it’s done. obviously my attempts at something similar are nowhere near as insightful, but still, the most basic image of this is that there is no better place to kiss, and that’s how i felt about the two of them finding pudding in the supermarket

this part is autobiographical; while writing this last year, i went through six months of intravenous drug treatment, a month and a half of which involved long days of doctor visits on every weekday. when you’re on stuff like that for a long time you end up with a central line for better access (potential plot hole in all of this: scully never had one) but for a month and a half i got poked almost every day and strangely enough it got harder over time. the first couple you never feel, but a week or two later you start flinching, and if the needle goes in the same vein each time, it hurts the more it gets prodded. i reached a point toward the end of the in-office visits in which i would bleed a lot every time i got poked, and i can’t watch anything like that happen to me so i was looking away each time, and when i felt that the nurse was done, i would look back over, and sometimes i would be looking down at a pool of blood that i hadn’t expected to see. it’s weird, you don’t actually feel yourself bleeding, i would’ve expected a hot bloody feeling but instead it felt like nothing. and when i say a pool i mean that it would drip down beneath my elbow, stain the sheet they’d put underneath, and i wouldn’t get all of it off until i showered. i didn’t necessarily find it scary, but it was surreal and kind of pulled me out of normalizing the experience i was having. for a very long time needing iv drugs was my greatest fear and i was surrounded by that then and fine, and then, there was blood all over my arm, and like, haha, this is actually not fine. you’d think something else would’ve been scarier, but it wasn’t. and now looking back at this paragraph i wish i’d edited it differently but hey that’s life

i’d never really understood the purpose of religion as a self-driven part of life until i took anatomy in college. i was raised catholic and though culturally i understand having a religion and being raised with one, i’ve never really reached for religion when i wanted answers, and i haven’t personally understood why that’s someone’s first option. and i know there’s been plenty of commentary on the hypocrisy of dana scully as a catholic who believes in science, yada yada yada, i think everyone has read all of that by now. but what struck me while learning anatomy is that there is a kind of neuron we don’t know the function of. there are four kinds of neurons, and one of them is still a mystery to us. and then, there’s all of these different parts of human bodies that exist in a certain perfect way, but why do they exist like that? to support life, yes, but why is it that we can make comparisons? why were irises not the same color? and we name valves of the heart after religious figures. we are so hell-bent on meaning that something literal will never be enough. and all of that made me think that dana scully has god to fill in what science won’t answer, at least not yet. and there’s definitely a bigger conversation about science as denial of indigenous cultures that i am nowhere near qualified to start. after taking those classes, i think i would be more shocked if she wasn’t religious. you can ignore pretty much all of the paragraph above but it was important to me that at some point in this fic she willingly conceded that she didn’t know what would happen and that she didn’t have answers. with illness, there is no logic, there’s no thinking your way out of it, and i think that would plague her for a long time. to me, she only would accept her death when she could say she had no idea what would happen, she has no answers, there’s nothing filling in her gaps anymore, and she’s comfortable with that. and i put all of that in a paragraph about my thoughts on god because it made sense to me. there are times that just feel like you’re in a movie and there’s no one else you can say caused them. it’s not enough to build belief on but it’s enough to bring a certain kind of wonder. also one time my parents insisted on watching stripes because it was so funny and when watching it none of us found it funny at all and my parents grimaced and were like what were we on that made that good back in the day so that’s in here now haha

and now, the biggest question: does she die at the end? when i came up with the idea for this fic, i knew the beginning and ending but not the middle, and i posted this as a smaller project (ie: chapters below 3,000 words) while illness made my bigger projects harder to work on and essentially flew by the seat of my pants the whole time. i wrote the last line a long long time ago and have always seen the ending as written as the concrete ending. when i started writing this, i never intended for there to be a definitive answer to whether or not she dies. i like premature endings (the ending of girls burn brighter comes to mind) and i think that this works better without saying whether or not she lives. and i also have a hard time with giving a definitive answer because this fic very much is about death and having her die would, of course, be traumatic, but showing her living instead i think ruins any takeaways people could have. i’ve never had cancer but as a chronically ill person i think i can speak to how you never actually win with illness; the best you can do is tie, and sometimes, no matter how much effort you put in, you “lose” anyway, you lose spectacularly, and all of your effort was for nothing. i wholeheartedly believe that humans can’t emotionally or logically process natural disasters or illness, hence why much of the talk about illness in this is from mulder’s perspective as he experiences her terminal illness secondhand; that way, he doesn’t need to (but still likely will) find logic or reason or meaning for death from a terminal illness, so his discoveries and his coping mechanisms aren’t as urgently needed. had i written a chapter that describes how she lives, i think that the discussion of death in this would be voided altogether. and i also don’t believe the ending would be much different whether she lives or dies; there’s still the need for death acceptance and talking about dying, whether or not she lives, and none of the story in this fic would have happened had the characters known she would live. the whole point is not knowing.

for a little while i toyed with writing an unofficial sequel of sorts in which i spelled out what i think happens after the ending, but after realizing that that would end up being longer than the original fic and would also have some massive plot holes, i decided against it. i do have my own version and i don’t want to share that version because i never really intended for my version to be some kind of genuine sequel in which every question gets answered and everything is wrapped up and happy ever after and whatnot. it was just where my brain wandered in the same way it wanders when i watch an open-ended movie. all of that to say, if you think she lives, then she lives. if you think she dies, then she dies. it’s your decision. i’d much rather you choose than me. i never marked this as “major character” death on ao3 because, well, she doesn’t die in this fic. whether or not she dies after the fic ends, that’s for you to decide. 

thank you for taking the time to read my writing. i never expected this to blow up (it blew up for me at least, for a while it was my most popular fic ever, with i think thousands more hits than anything else i’d written) and the response has been mind-boggling and wonderful. i don’t respond to comments often because it makes me feel like a pompous jerk (”thank you for enjoying this! i, too, enjoy this thing i have written! oh ho ho!” is how it sounds to me in my head, whereas when other writers respond to comments to me it just looks like thanks man have a good day, feel free to call me a weenie) but i’ve appreciated all of them very much. THANK YOU! i hope your new year is a Whole Lot Less Shit than 2020. i don’t plan on writing more msr because i don’t really have any ideas for them. thank you for making my last time special <3

[addoration]

anyways i should have done this earlier but the fact is that i didnt, so here it is now! 

i would like to sincerely thank a lot of people. you have supported me and helped me through a time that was hard for everyone. this includes everyone on the botw writers discords that im in, but it is especially about my friends in the his dark materials server. you have really kept me going! when i started the hdm server, it took a little time for it to grow and i was worried that it would flop, but it didn’t! and now its absolutely filled to the brim with wonderful, lovely people who continue to support and love me. im in awe of you all. so thank you, and happy new year to everyone. i hope 2021 brings you all happiness!

some people i want to individually thank: 

@avasteriscus and @sleepyhades: thank you for being great friends and being so supportive in my botw endeavours! i haven’t forgotten about you despite not being active on the server much any more; in fact, i think about you both daily! i hope this new year brings you both joy and good health <3 

@thenightisfullofangels: god, vienna, where do i even begin? thank you for being the best mod that i could ever ask for! and thank you for inspiring me continuously, all the time! you are the reason i started writing for b/b and the reason i will continue writing for them. i live for your live-comments on my fics and for your b/b longfic. your writing astounds me every time i read it, you always leave me speechless. i love you very much! <3 

@illumimorow: ro, ily! we haven’t spoken as much recently because ive been swamped with work but we’ve had some absolutely great conversations and i’m missing your headcanons! when i’ve finished my essays, hopefully you’ll see more of me!!! <3 

@milfcoulter: you’re hilarious avery, im so pleased you’re in my server! thank you for making me laugh so often, its been much needed! you make the server a brighter place and im so thankful for you!! <3 your fics are wonderful and your art is wonderful and im so thankful for your continued support and love!

@rhaized: firstly i want to say that im SO thankful that you joined my server and that you’re enjoying it there! it means a lot to me. youre the whole reason that we had a fic exchange! so i want to thank you for that too! your mary/marisa gives me life <3 

@i-was-bored-so-this-happened: rae, rae, rae, you’re quite literally a ray of sunshine! you really brighten up the server with your jokes and sun personality, and im so thankful you’re here! your edits are sooo cool (you always get the colours just right!) and i would DIE for kit! i love all the little snippets of her we get to see and i hope you will continue to share that with us! <3

@viawrites-andacts: via, you are possibly the sweetest person ever. if ever there was a human being made entirely of goodness and kindness, it’s you! your support and love has meant the world to me and i adore all the asks youve sent over the past couple of months reminding me of your love, because sometimes i need that. im so, SO thankful for you, i couldn’t possibly express how much! <3

@circe-s and @bunnydearest: my wonderful penpals! thank you so much for agreeing to exchange letters with me, i love it so much! i know i havent replied to your last letters (im swamped in school work at the moment!) but hopefully i’ll get them out to you by the end of the month! thank you for being around for a chat whenever ive been down and needed someone to talk to. youre like big siblings to me <3 

@dustasterisms: it’s not letting me tag you audrey but i hope you see this nonetheless! im so so happy for you! i’m sorry ive been a bit absent but hopefully we can continue to be friends! you’re going to have such a wonderful life, i admit im a little jealous but it doesnt diminish the little sun that glows inside of me whenever i think of how happy you must be! i adore you, you know youre like a big sibling to me! <3 

thank you all for your continued support and love, it means more than you could ever know. im so thankful for all of you! at risk of sounding like a broken record repeating myself over and over, i hope that this year brings you all happiness and good health to you and yours, because you all deserve it. you’re all so kind and good to me and all i can do is thank you all profoundly and hope you know how much i appreciate you. so, thank you, and here’s to another year!! <3 

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Kingdom Collisions IV

This is a fic i’m writing to incorporate more descriptions into my writing. Updates are sporadic as i don’t have chapters written in advance. I hope, however, you enjoy what is here :)

masterlist

P.S. ardor means flame in latin; cielo means sky in spanish

Jason Grace is tired. So so tired. Exhaustion is a weight pressing into his bones. He doesn't know why he snapped at Percy. His patience is usually an infinite string wrapping around his throat and tying a bow against his collarbone. But every part of him feels out of place. He stares at the mirror mounted to the wooden wall, stares at it until his eyes cross. But he doesn't recognize the person staring back.

They have the same blonde hair and blue eyes. The same tall, half-gangly half-lean frame. And the wonky glasses. But they don't have the spark that glitters in his eye. Or the dancing fingers that constantly needed to be entertained. No, those fingers lay limp at his side.

He sighs and moves to collapse onto his bed. At the very least the silk sheets are blissfully cool under his skin. When they had first got to the cabin he had been surprised at the sheer lack of opulence. In all his years of being a Prince and visiting every castle and vacation-home known to man he thought he had a pretty good idea about what royalty was like. But Crown Prince Percy Jackson and Queen Sally Jackson continue to surprise him. When they had insisted on a small wedding, consisting of no more than what was needed to officiate a royal ceremony, or when Queen Sally had pulled him aside after their dinner the night before and hugged him tight enough to stop his air flow.

"I am sorry Jason," She looked at him, her sea blue eyes glistening with unshed tears, "That you have to give up so many of your own choices. I hope one day, you will find peace and happiness despite the circumstances."

He had thanked her but her words, even now, puzzles him to the point of headaches.

Why did she care what happened to him? And why did she think he didn't have any choices?

His kingdom is as much a part of this agreement as theirs. All these questions buzz incessantly in his mind enough that he feels the low throb of a migraine at the base of his skull. Immediately, he pushes himself off the bed and gets into an ice cold shower. On top of everything, he doesn't need to be sick.

The shower beats against his back as he gets lost in his thoughts, remembering the last time time he had been under the relentless spray, in his own castle.

I can't believe you have to get married to some pompous no good jackass.

Aw don't say that. We don't even know him.

Yea but he's taking you away from me so I hate him

Don’t worry my ardor, I will find my way back to you.

A calloused hand, the colour of brass, snaked under his arm, resting against his chest, where his heart beats steadily.

What if you end up falling for each other?

He turned around, looking deep into those coffee eyes.

I don't know how I could possibly fall for anyone when you have already caught me.

I hate you for making me cry.

Jason had leaned in, tilted up that angular face, brushed away the curls.

I love you my ardor.

I love you mi cielo.

The memory fades as he pulls himself back to the present, letting the sound of sleepy birds and rushing water ground him.

Shutting off the shower he dries himself off quickly, glad to find the oncoming migraine gone. Not bothering with anything but a pair of boxers he makes his way into the lounge where the fire is slowly dying. He shoves a few more logs in and settles down on the fleece rug in front of it. Percy, he observes, is still holed up in his room.

He knows he should apologize, should offer some peace treaty after snapping like that, but he can't bring himself to care. He just wants to be at home, surrounded by his people, by his person.

He hasn't stopped thinking about them, about that smile, or the way their ears turn red when they notice Jason staring, or how they can fix literally anything you put in front of them.

He had asked why they never followed their father, take of the family business, why they chose to become a royal guard instead, but his ardor had shrugged and said there were more exciting things in the world than melting metal.

Jason always dragged them closer and tangled his fingers in that messy hair.

Well I guess it was the right choice. Because it brought you to me.

And then words were no longer necessary.

He shakes himself out of it, out of the life he's left so far behind. There is nothing there for him now. Nothing but a coronation and ruling for the rest of his days. The thought makes him queasy. Makes him want to fly into the sky and live amongst the clouds. Life, he thinks, would be much simpler if they could escape to the sky. Instead, he picks up the book he is reading and escapes into another world.

Some time later he dozes off, head lolling to the side. His dreams take him to hands of fire and cheeky smiles. He dreams of comfort.

"Jason," Someone calls him.

He mumbles for them to go away and tries to tuck himself back into bed, only to fall over and slam into a hard something?

"You can't sleep like this," The voice is saying, "You're going to ache tomorrow."

"Don't care." He groans, curling into a ball.

"Come on,"

And then he's being lifted clean of his feet and hoisted over a shoulder.

"What are you doing?" He manages to mutter.

"You can't sleep like that. First of all the floor is not comfortable and second I don't know how much you move in your sleep and I don't want a Jason barbecue."

"I don't want to sleep in my room." His brain is foggy and he trips over every second word.

"Why?"

"Iss cold."

"I'll get you another blanket." Percy's voice is nothing but a raspy breath.

"Have two," He mumbles, "Need to sleep with my—"

He’s cut off by a yawn.

"Your what?"

"My what what?"

He can hear his husband— oh yes his husband, what a silly thought— sigh and he pictures those striking green eyes rolling.

"My room has sun for most of the day, you can sleep there for now. We can discuss your room when you’re less sleep deprived. Sound good?"

"Soundddss dreamy," He sighs, fighting his fast closing eyes.

Just before the world disappears he's placed gently on cotton sheets. He can hear the birds starting to sing and he can feel the sun bathing his usually pale skin.

"This isss ni—" He yawns, "nice."

Jason Grace is fast asleep.

***

The Prince opens his eyes slowly, blinking back into the present. He doesn't recognize his surroundings. There's a small pile of clothes on a maple-wood rocking chair in the corner, and emerald curtains, fastened by glimmering ties, open to reveal huge arched windows. He looks down to see his legs entangled in black sheets and the faintest threads of cerulean blue weaving between the strands.

Percy's room, then.

But why is he in here. He doesn't remember drinking last night and that's the only way he could have possibly slept with his husband. Gods what a sad thought indeed. He decides to just ask the Black-haired Prince, not caring to delve into his memories to try piece together what happened. He thinks briefly about donning more clothes than his current boxers but his room is far and the house is warm, and mostly he just can’t muster up the energy. 

He finds the prince at the kitchen counter typing furiously on his laptop. He takes a single moment to observe the scene. Percy's mussed curls and thin wire framed glasses pushed up his nose. A coffee cup, still steaming sits to his right, and a board of cheese and the bread he had baked is layed out on the other side.

"I can't be that pretty to look at, I haven't even brushed my hair yet." Percy says without looking up.

"Sorry," He's glad the Prince doesn't take his eyes away from the screen because Jason's cheeks are bright red.

He moves to grab some coffee and sits down on the opposite side of the table.

"So uh—" He rubs the back of his neck, "Why was I sleeping in your room."

"Oh," Percy starts, finally looking up. Those green eyes widen as big as saucers as he takes the golden prince in.

"What?" Jason panics, "We didn't do anything did we?"

His husband snorts, "Trust me. If we fuck, you'll remember."

He is ready with a snarky reply but the prince continues, "No you were sleeping in the lounge but the fire was still on and it just seemed like a recipe for disaster. I tried to take you to your room but you said it was cold so I put you in mine because it gets sun for most of the day."

Jason is taken aback. That's sweet... surprisingly sweet.

"Thank you."Percy shrugs and goes back to typing on his laptop. He doesn't know what he should do. They seem to have entered into some sort of civil conversation and he doesn't want to ruin the shred of normality.

So he downs the rest of his coffee, chucks the mug in the sink and disappears into his bedroom. Minutes later he comes out more clothed, jeans hugging his legs and a blue sweater that feels like getting a hug from a panda. If getting a hug from such an animal was warm and soft and cuddly. He wouldn't know.

"I'm going for a walk."

His husband just nods, motioning to the cabin keys distractedly. Jason, fortunately, picks up on the meaning and grabs them, tucking the set into his coat.

This is the first time since they had driven here three days ago that he's stepping outside. Dusk is just starting to settle and the world is awash in oranges and pinks and the faintest strokes of purple. He wants to live in these colours, wants to paint them across his eyes so he always sees the world in their shades. A little sparrow flies down and lands on a branch hanging just over his head. It chirps as he walks past, flurrying it's tail as if to say hello. And then it spreads its wings and soars into the open plains, into those bleeding colours.

He remembers suddenly, a story his nanny had told him.

Why Miss Rosie, does the sky change colours?

Because Little Prince, when artists die they say goodbye by giving us a final painting.

Does that mean when the clouds change shapes sculptors are saying goodbye?

Miss Rosiland Krynn had smiled at those big blue eyes and nodded.

What happens when the artist can't paint or draw or sculpt what about then?

Well when you hear the sounds of wind chimes tinkling in the garden, or the sounds of streams bubbling in the woods, or the whistle of birds as they wake up then you're hearing all the singers who can no longer sing on earth.

And what about the actors?

When you hear someone crying, or lots of people laughing, or when you can feel someone watching over you those are the actors. They're their to bring joy into the world through all the people still here.

And the dancers Miss Rosie?

Have you ever seen flowers in the breeze?

He nodded his head, clutching at her fingers in anticipation.

And have you ever seen reeds in the river?

He nodded again, practically bouncing in excitement.

And what do they look like they're doing?

Dancing Miss Rosie! He had squealed, falling back into the couch as he thought about all she had said.

Jason smiles fondly at those memories, at a time much simpler than this. Where the sky was a canvas and music was stored in the wind. He can almost believe Miss Rosalind as he surveys his surroundings. There is something magical about this place. Like no matter what's going on in the world, this will never be touched by it. He can't help but run his fingers along the bark of a willow tree and sink his feet into the lush grass under it. At least out here he doesn't have to be anyone but Jason Grace. The marigolds dancing in the evening breeze do not care that he is Crown Prince of Caelum. And the blades of grass that hold his weight don't mind that he is human, that he has to function, even when it's inconvenient, inconceivable. Best of all, nothing around here cares that he's anything at all. If he gives his name to the river bed they will tuck it in and let it rest.

So he sits under the willow tree, letting his name drift down the stream, and spins fantasies of a life long lost.

When he makes his way back to the cabin, hours later, he's almost convinced himself that the world has stopped. And he is nothing but a vessel, strong enough to bend time.

It is like a bucket of lava on his skin, then, when Percy meets him at the door and drops the words he doesn't want to hear.

"We leave tomorrow. There was a shootout at your castle."

Jason Grace falls to his knees, and holds down the bile in his throat, as molten eyes and burning hands flash in his mind.

I'm coming for you Leo.

[littlebitoffanfic]

The Next Chapter

Fandom: Twilight Characters: the Volturi Relationship: Caius/reader Request: Would you ever write for Caius from the Volturi (twilight)? One where the readers running from a vampire and goes to them for some reason and they keep her even though shes a human because they realise shes Caius mate?

Walking through the large halls, you tried to stop your hands from shaking as you carried the metal tray with your note on it. You passed Heidi on your way, who frowned when she saw you didn’t flash her your normal smile. Most of the vampires had seemed to like you. Aro thought it might be a gift which would grow if you were turned. But some thought you were just naturally likeable. You had been the secretary for the Volturi for 5 years now, and had outlasted thousands of other. Most didn’t make it past 6 months, but you had settled quiet well into your role and no one had reason to grow angry towards you. At first, they had looked down their noses at you, but over time you had gained a little respect from most. Most surprisingly had been the closeness you had formed with Caius. Of the three kings, he was the one you were sure would kill you straight away. He was cold and uncaring in nature, his ruthlessness was know far among the vampire world. A world you had stumbled into when you had been kidnapped to be turned. The vampires had been planning to build a newborn army to challenge the Volturi. For months, they kept you hidden in a warehouse, waiting for their chance to change you. it was there that you managed to find out what their plan was and what they intended to do. One night, you had managed to escape and only had a handful of options. You could run but they would find you. they had your scent. Or you could go to the Volturi themselves. Either way you would die, but going to the Volturi would mean they wouldn’t keep kidnapping people. They wouldn’t be able to turn them. When you had ran into the large cathedral of a building, Felix had been the first to grab you. “I think you might have taken a wrong turn.” Demetri had purred, walking up with a smirk on his face. “I need to speak to the Volturi. Ive got information.” You gasped as you tried to calm your racing heart. They had taken you to the leaders. Perhaps they thought you could give information. Perhaps they thought their leaders could do with a snack. The first time you had entered the great room where the thrones stood, you had never been so fearful. Aro had taken your hand, read your thoughts and seen what you had seen. He flinched, turning to the others and relaying your experience. “Why does the human tell us this?” Marcus had mussed, deep in thought as his eyes trailed over you in curiosity. You couldn’t answer. You didn’t even fully understand yourself why you had come. “Strange, very strange indeed.” Aro had chuckled, dropping your hand and walking back to his throne. “She doesn’t want a war. She came because she believed she would be hunted by the vampire who took her.” “So she wants protection.” Caius had half spat at you, making you flinch a little. It wasn’t a question. “No, dear brother. She thinks we’ll kill her as well. She wants peace, like us.” Aro mused, tilting his head from side to side as if weighing options in his mind. “Jane.” The girl had approached with a soft but almost nasty smile, obviously thinking her powers would have been needed. But no one could have predicted Aros next move. “take young [y/n] to a room. We have been in need of a new secretary.” He had smiled at you. From then on, you had been a loyal servant of the Volturi. You were still human, but you knew their plans for you. The vampires who had kidnapped you had escaped barely when the Volturi had came for them. Over the last few year, two of the three had been hunted down and killed. Each one having to pass you when they came to face justice. It was something you were sure the volturi had made a spectacle of. As if to say ‘she stayed with us’. Either way, Jane always stay beside you. She was another you couldn’t understand her fondness of you. She was so cold to the others, yet you caught sight of a young girl who had been lost in a sea of blood. She spoke with you, and you often did her hair and makes up for her as you did Heidi. She came to rant about her other ‘co-workers’ as you worked and your room had often became her safe haven when she was irritated or annoyed. It was nice. At least you had her on your side if you were to go into this dark world. You knew they would change you when they felt like it. And it seemed that they knew something you didn’t. Aro and Marcus always seemed to volunteer Caius whenever you needed something. They pushed him to show you around, a duty he obviously thought below himself. After that it had been smaller ways. If you entered the room to speak to them, he was the one who walked up to you first, something you knew was normally Aro when others came. Caius was the one would had told you of the laws of the vampire world, making you feel like you were being chastised for something as he sat upon his throne. And yet, you couldn’t deny how attracted to him you were. Yes, all the volturi were beautiful, but you felt a real pull towards Caius. And, as like the others, he warmed to you over time. Whenever he was bored, he would summon you to speak with. He veiled it as he wished to double check your knowledge, but you two would have long conversations about old literature or key points in history. But now, as you entered the throne room, everyone knew something was wrong with you. Caius appeared in front of you, his eyes darting down to the shaking tray with the message you had written. From Felix. Taking it, he retreated to his brothers as they read the note. Felix and Demetri had caught the final vampire from the group who had organised your change. And he was bringing him back. “You fear him. But not the other two?” Marius askes, his own concern for you showing. “He was the most cruel. The others, it was a means to an end. But him? He was nasty to me. He’d taunt us, threaten us.” You looked to Aro, knowing he knew what you had seen in your time there. “Perhaps, our dear [y/n] should stay here for the trial.” Aro spoke to the others but his eyes didn’t leave yours. Caius suddenly stood right next to him, an almost aggressive stance with his back to you as he silently questioned his brother. Perhaps he didn’t want a human in the room during vampire affairs, perhaps he knew something else. The latter seemed true as Aro turned to Caius. “A fitting time, do you not agree? It will end that chapter quite nicely.” He smiled, and you saw Caius turn back to you. He guided you to the right hand of the throne room, where the ancient books and a desk were kept. You wondered if this was just because it would be the best place for you, or if it was because it was closer to him. “Be carful.” You whispered to Caius when you were out of earshot of the others. Not that it mattered, but a lifetime of living with people with normal hearing made you forget that they could hear the smallest whisper in this room. “Hes really dangerous.” “You have nothing to fear inside this room.” Caius suddenly turned you towards him and took your chin between his thumb and forefinger. This caught you by surprise. Not only was this an incredibly intimate gesture (especially for someone of the Volturi) but it was also something which showed incredible strength or control of on his part. He could very easily break your jaw, or twist your neck with such a movement. And in the moment, you melted and forgot about the rest of the room as you smiled thankfully at him. Again, you forgot about how they could hear your pulse, and how it started to race when he touched you, spoke to you in such a way. The moment was ruined when Alec walked in with his sister, who had both been away hunting them. Something happened which you missed. When Caius left you, Jane was there, standing slightly in front of you with her back to you, in an almost protective manner. You looked up to Caius who had taken his seat on his throne, a small smile on his lips. Then you heard them. Felix and Demetri hauled in the vampire, whos name you only knew as Arthur. You wandered how they had got him down here without a sound, till you remembered Alec had probably taken his senses until he was here and suddenly realized where he was. “Ah, Arthur. It has been a long time since we last saw you. Well, for some of us.” Aros gazes travels to you in the corner. When Arthurs red eyes find your own, you see only one thing. Hatred. “Ill kill you.” He spat before doing something that made your heart stop. He managed to twist out of the guards grip and started to lunge towards you. Caius stood, something you had never seen before. He didn’t normally rise from his throne out of concern. But then you realised why Jane was in front of you. “Pain.” She mumbled and Arthur dropped to the ground, writhing. “Time, I think, for us to close this chapter.” Aro spoke to Caius as Felix and Demetri moved to grab Arthurs arms again. Jane stepped to the side as something within the room seemed to shift and Caius was there. He was in front of you in a heartbeat, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against his body before backing you till you felt the large table behind you. Then you felt it. His teeth sunk into the tender flesh of your neck. You let out a yelp, but didn’t struggle away from him. No, you clung to him, hands griping at the fabric of his suit as you felt the burning begin to race through your blood. Caius pulled back, your blood covering his lips as his gaze found your own. He then did something that had been more shocking than the bite. He kissed you. Hungrily and almost animalistic as he controlled every aspect which you gave him freely. You kissed him back, despite the pain that was starting to flow throughout your whole body. You knew it would get worse, and you knew it would be unbearable, but you were too wrapped up in his kiss. you whined, tugging on his jacket in a desperate attempt for more. You didn’t dare to reach up and cup his cheeks or run your fingers through his hair, no matter how desperately you wanted to. There was not just you two in the room. Suddenly, the pain erupted in your body, and Caius pulled back. “When you wake, you’ll be my queen.” He whispered in your ear, before lifting you onto the tabletop to lie down. You looked up and saw Alec walking towards you, the white mist already ahead of him as it crept up and slowly engulfed you. it took it away. The pain, the ache and even the feeling of the desk beneath you yet it kept you unmoving. All except your hearing and sight. Perhaps he needed to concentrate on the pain first, or perhaps he had been told to keep you awake for a bit. “It would seem you had tried to take attack Caius’ mate. Tut tut.” Aros voice was cool and calm yet there was an underlying sense of anger you had never heard from him. But his words were not lost on you. His mate. Your eyes darted to Caius who walked menacingly up to join his brothers side in front of the vampire. “I meant no-“ The male shook his head, obviously trying to plead for his life. “No what?” Caius interrupted. “no harm? Yet you tried to rile an army against us?” “no, please, that is not-“ The man tried to speak, but Caius stepped directly in front of the man. “You did drive her here, so for that, I’ll be gracious.” Caius growled, as he reached out and placed a hand on either side of the vampires head. Felix and Demetri seemed to know exactly what this meant, as they stated to pull at the same time. Caius ripped the head off the vampire while the others took his limbs. You felt your heart swell as you watched the man you loved kill the one who had hurt you in the past. Your… mate. You suddenly understood. They would have had to have a trial, like the other two, which had taken hours. Yet, by having you there, having Caius chose to turn you then, it meant Arthur was immediately allowed to be executed. They had discussed it, arranged it. Even down to the guards letting him slip through their fingers, placing Jane in front of you. You understood. This was the plan. Your vision began to become blurry as your seemed to dip in and out of consciousness. His words ran through your mind as you slowly began to fall into the final sleep. “My queen.” He had said. You were going to be his. You couldn’t wait for the next chapter to begin.

[skittles1229]

Old Expectations Die Hard (Dashie x Reader Fanfic)

Chapter One: Weird Circumstances

You know your life is complicated when the friend you always complain to says "you never have a dull moment do you?" I sigh as the weight of the world seems to make it impossible to breath. You see recently things have been rough. I lost my job and my fiance all in the same day, that itself was an unbelievable story. I was so upset and strung out on thoughts of what to do that once i got home early from work i didn't notice the extra car in the driveway. i stepped into my home and my own floors felt as if they'd given way when i saw the guy i thought i'd be spending my life with in bed, with my sister... my sister and i hadn't been on good terms for a while and for a good reason! The drugs she took either made her unreliable and selfish or crazy and murderous. He, of course, pulled the its not what you think, id never hurt you, it was a mistake, and honestly i could write a book out of the excuses i heard in the time of two minutes but maybe another time. Needless to say i left. I never thought about going back and to be honest my sister looked more hurt then i was. I took a job in California a few weeks ago and moved in with my friend (BFF Name). They always seemed to know what to say and honestly i truly believe They  knew me better then i know myself. 

California gave me the biggest culture shock I've ever had. I came from Mississippi, the bible belt and the most rural part of the world. California was sooooo different then what i was use to. The weather is awesome. There's lots of jobs for technical people, at least until you're 45 and then you're considered ancient and you can't possibly know anything when some 23-year old out of Stanford tells you that they know it all. (a little bit of sarcasm there) It's a great place to start a new company, money is available as is talent. The risk of starting a company is lower since you can always find a new job The politics are insane, if you aren't towing the progressive party line you should just STFU. If you even once say that Trump has done something positive, or that Obama did something negative prepare for the wrath. Read the stuff behind the recently filed lawsuit against google for a taste of what it's like. Seriously, don't say a word. The state if structurally bankrupt, although the finances look good because so much stuff is off of the balance sheet. The public pension liability dwarfs the "good" part of the budget, and some day it is coming home to roost. Watch out when it does. The cost of living is absurd, really absurd. I'm not talking just a place to live but gas, electricity, haircuts, milk, pizza, you name it. The traffic is absurd too. (can you tell i like the word absurd) The public transit, although usually on time, is a mess. People are pigs, they throw trash everywhere, the cars are overcrowded almost all the time. 

I've got to say, from how much it sounds like i hate California, i actually don't.  Mainly because its so far away from my original family, leaving really helped me start to grow up and feel like maybe i was getting a hold of my life again. Only problem has been getting to my new job on time. I work as a barista and a waitress at a brunch place a good minute away from the apartment. The money is good, otherwise i wouldn't waste my time with the commute everyday. i keep being late to work because i still haven't adjusted to how terrible traffic is and so my boss was "nice" enough to switch me to the later shifts. The hours are long and boring because my shift starts in the middle of rush hour to the slowest hours at the end of the day meaning you have to find things to keep yourself busy with. the only good thing is, we can wear pretty much anything we want as long as its black. all i wear is dark colors so i didn't have to spend any extra money on a uniform and i didn't have to wear the same thing everyday. Today i decided i wear a v-neck shirt that with an emperor waist (body forming) with black skinny jeans and my regular converse. i decided against driving to work and decided it would be far smarter to catch a bus to the nearest destination. My (hair color) hair was done is a fishtail messy braid, i always liked this style because it made me look like i had a head full of hair when in reality i thought i was going bald. 

My personality was a little odd, you see some days i felt like the beautiful nerd who has no confidence and wants to hide away in a hole. other days i feel like a model from Victoria secrets, of course those are the days i get the most tips. today was honestly a mutual day, where id rather be at home in my bed asleep, or listening to music. The bus finally stopped a block away from my job and i sighed obviously not wanting to go into work. surprisingly there wasn't nearly  as many cars as there usually is around this time but i wasn't complaining. i walk in to see that most of the downstairs was empty but whoever was upstairs definitely had a loud mouth. i walk to the back in order to clock in and i bump into melany ( the girl im shifting with). "wow you actually got here on time! Maybe the boss's mood will cheer up." i huffed a little. "yea, i dont know why i thought id need a car in California, say whats with the low level of customers? its NEVER this slow." she looked at me in disdain, "some guys reserved the entire upstairs and we had to make this huge table out of all our tables up there, glad im not gonna be the one fixing it later." i rolled my eyes, i hated when a huge family came in and they just had to move everything around because little johnny wants the sit next to suzzie and suzzie HAS to sit by her parents bc she likes to throw her food on the floor, all fake names but a real situation ive been in before. "well have they at least been fed so that i only have to clean up after them?" she shook her head while hanging up her apron. "nope, they've only ordered their drinks and they are getting those onto trays now." so today was gonna be like every other day. "guess i better go help them take those upstairs then, have a good rest of your day." i walk away and slip on my apron, grabbed one of the trays of drinks while another waiter grabbed the rest of the drinks. Once i got upstairs, that's when i met him...

Chapter Two: Last Will and Testament

          He was sitting on the far end of the long table of people laughing and joking. everyone seemed to be loud and all had their own inside jokes. This guy, he stuck out. i changed my attention to the task at hand, finishing this shift. i hated when people moved all the tables and seating around. all the waiters and waitresses have to go back behind them and look at the layout of the floor to put them all back exactly as they were before. it was a struggle and because of this nobody actually wanted that job so usually the manager gives it to her least favorite workers and i happened to be one. "who all had coke?" nobody answered me so one of the men bellowed out the same line and somehow was able to get a show of hands. i walked around handing  out drinks, catching the lingering smell of strong liquor. i could tell by the end of tonight they would all be wasted and loud. please, just don't make more of a mess then you have to, i thought to myself. i had one drink left on my tray, "sweet tea?" the guy i saw before at the end of the table waved his hand and i dreaded going over there, i always seem to make a fool of myself when it matters. 

     i make my way slowly down the table with the tray under my arm and the tea in my hand. i lean over to sit his drink on the table.."here's your t-" *CRASH* while joking with one of his friends his elbow crashes into my hand sending the tea flying all over me and the cup crashing to the floor, thank god i wore black. he turned around and looked more horrified then i did. "i'm sorry! i'm so sorry!" his voice was deeper then i imagined it'd be. "no, it my fault i'm sorry ill get you a new one." i turned away to hide my embarrassment and walked away really just trying to get away from the situation. i could tell from the silence behind me that all eyes were on me. i ran to the back where the lockers were for the service. i went to the bathroom and stripped the sticky clothes off throwing them aside. i sat on the toilet  trying to catch my breath, my social anxiety had struck me  hard. a feeling of worthlessness and dread fell over me like a blanket. after the past few months i've had just one day without something terrible happening would mean the world to me. i heard a knock on the door, it was melany, she walked in with a towel from the kitchen. "hey, i heard what happen upstairs are you ok?" i covered my breast trying keep myself as unexposed as possible. "oh yea im fine, im just cold, and sticky, and... covered in tea." melany and i made eye contact and both laughed just to lift the dread in the air. "let me guess, all the guys are getting a kick out of watching me fumble again huh?" i said a little less concerned and more annoyed. she rolled her eyes "they are boys, they get a kick out of picking their own nose. we both slid to the floor beside each other, she hands me the damp towel. i get most of the sticky off as possible, throwing my hair up to make it look less clumped together by the sugar. "i have an extra black t shirt in my locker but i don't know how it will fit you. your breast are at least a size larger then mine." i shrugged my shoulders, "who cares ill make do. thanks for your help melany." she smiled her weird anime girl smile and ran to get the shirt from her locker.

     ill have to admit, she was right about the size thing. it was far to small around the chest area but the rest fit fine. after the incident my boss stuck me down stairs wiping tables and sweeping the floor, i dont mind though because i get to experience the day coming to an end with a beautiful sunset over California. i secretly kept the the window to watch as the sun fell from the sky. the sky seemed to burn and darken while the clouds began to glow with the last bit of sunlight left. the sky filled up with burning Burgundy and faded orange and yellows, the tallest buildings seemed to reach for the skyline as if it were a sunflower moving to the last drip of sunlight. moving here had been hard, and this had become one of the things i looked forwards to. living in the apartment with my friend was nice, buts its not the same as coming home to someone you use to lay with every night. sleeping alone seemed so much colder and emptier then i remembered from childhood. my mother would be so disappointed in the way i turned out, in the places id gone and the decision to spend my life with someone who was most obviously the wrong one. she would have told me to slow down and to take my time, that growing up wasn't everything. she would have said love isn't something you just wake up and have, its something you make. i wasn't anywhere close to where i thought id be by now, and i could see that. it tears at my heart everyday, not being able to see her or any of my family. sometimes it felt as if they'd all died in the fire that night. 

     i suddenly heard a boom of voices making their way down the stairs, i hadn't realized how close to closing time it had become. all of them walk out stumbling and laughing at their own jokes, seems they all got a good bit of drinking in, all except one. The guy i ran into on accident seemed as sober as ever, designated driver i think, he was much taller now. he seemed muscular but in such a fitting way for his body. his teeth sparkle because their so white, his smile complimented him best. his high cheekbones made his chocolate brown eyes his best feature. His skin was glowing with a sweet honey hue and before i could notice that i was staring he turned his head. his eyes met mind before i could think twice and that's when i felt the heat rise to my cheeks. weather it be from embarrassment or silly school girl shyness i didn't know . i turned my face away but it was too late, i turned my face a little just to catch a glimpse of him before he made his way out of the door and that's when i noticed his cheeks had gone from a burnt caramel to a rosy color. i felt my body shiver at the thought that maybe, just maybe he found me as attractive as i found him. i shook the thought from head realizing they had began locking the place down. as i helped close up shop and wash dishes i couldn't help but to let my mine wander to all different kinds of thoughts, funny thing was they always fell back to him and his rosy  cheeks. i couldn't help but smile as i felt my heart race at the thought of him, even though id made a fool of myself today i was glad i hadn't ruined my chances. Even if he'd never get with me or i wouldn't ever see him again, i'd still take it as a compliment that he even looked my way. 

     before long we were all outside laughing and talking about today. The manager locked the doors and said his goodbyes. i turn to walk towards the bus station when i see a man standing aside awkwardly between the restaurant and the parking lot. suddenly my eyes adjusted and once they did, the joyousness butterflies came back and the blush suddenly reappeared on my cheeks..

There are lots more chapter after this if you are interested you can find them here

https://my.w.tt/sosFRmianbb

[bastardguy]

(haha there's very icky thoughts in this so don't read if it triggers ye, if anyone's reading this lmao) boy! it's one of those nights ain't it haha. ultrasadness. i dont have people to talk to which, yknow i feel like a lot of people don't have others to talk to. but anyways! i am sad! f! the most annoying aspect of myself i dislike is how one moment im daydreaming because hehe escapism and dont wanna talking to people at all then the, next moment im unbearably sad and i wanna! have friends that aren't people from my imagination. it's my fault, yep, its allll my fault, im not even trying to be sarcastic here, i know i should actively seek out people to be friends with them but!! im in my element to run around pretending i made fucking animations for my friend group that also exists! totally! it makes me feel great and content until i realise its not real! god am i pathetic haha! how do i improve ? how? why am i like this? is it because my brain views my escapism as safer and more wondrous then reality? to the po in t talking to people just? bore me? it's weird as hell, im probably just a selfish git but i genuinely look at chats and either go "conversation going,, i no want join cause rude" or "there's no point they're all so boring. being alive is boring. your life, your personality, you as a person is boring. that's why he left. he left for someone else he already had plans with, someone who he can actually see regularly in person in the future, someone who makes him happy. you never made him happy. he was miserable being stuck with you, that's why he left, that's why he immediately got into another relationship with someone else. you're why he lied to you, you're the problem, he hates you, you were an abusive fuck who couldn't keep his mouth shut and never changed. he's going to spend years being happy with someone and he's glad he's left you. he hates you. he hates you. he hates you. he hates you. you're the problem. don't ever try again, you don't have thr privlage to die, not yet. wait until everyone's finally tired of your manuplitive, selfish shit then kill yourself. die. just fucking die. just die. no one will stay loving you, you'll be forgotten, why did you say so much? you're fucking obsessive and its all your fault. you existing in the first place was a mistake, when have you ever brought joy to people? when had anyone be glad that you're here? you're better off dead, you're better off dead. you know if she had the choice mother would pick a normal person as a child in a heartbeat. you know if she knew you were going to turn out this way she would have fucking killed you herself because you've been nothing a burden. she'll leave, just like he left and everyone else did. so what if you just followed along with everything they were saying? you should've been smart enough not to be a dick you asshole. anyone that comes into your life will leave, everyone will leave, everyone is going to leave. even thinking about this you're cementing it, it's going to happen because you're thinking so hard about it. all bad things happen to you because you think about them. it's your fault. every bad thing that happens is your fault, you deserve all the slander that will come to you, you will die alone. you will die alone. no one will miss you, you've had a sad pathetic lonely life being unwanted. and it's all your fault. suffer. suffer. suffer. suffer. suffer. suffer. you ungrateful, selfish bastard-" and its very unpog i dont like my brain.

i wish i could find life enjoyable again, i wish i liked talking to multiple people, i wish i had multiple people to talk to. i wish i, didn't have these fucking attachment and abandonment issues that just make me terrified of being close with someone again. i think i have rejection sensitive dysphoria and oh! boy! MM. an internal conflict of "do i have adhd or is it just my anxiety and life long loneliness" had been going on in my brain. because if i had adhd i think thatd explain, a lot actually uYubun, but also those symptoms could stem from uhh, childhood issues and stuff pfft. like id be socially withdrawn and daydream a lot, to the point where i avoided playing with other kids just so i could walk around the yard to think about stuff, which are symptoms of adhd but also it's because "brain got lowkey traumatised being neglected on a plane for so long as a baby without its mother then just got whipped around the country serveral times giving me 0 safe secure places." i, i don't know man. that's a lot i have to talk with my therapist in like half an hour haha.

wow i talk about my problems too much this is why he left me 😩

a ok uhm, uh, yea! im very lonely haha. there's like, a person who i could chat with but i dont want to bother them. they're a good friend but they've been busy and i feel like im highkey using them. which is not pog at all! im not fun to talk with and im very annoying hahaha!

why are people so untrustworthy. why am i sad? only god knows but im god, so god doesn't know.

i think me despretly trying to talk to someone while im sad is so, utterly selfish and pathetic. i mean come on man why only now? haha.

i mean i did start to emulate a lot of his bad behaviour but! it's ok i know what's bad to do know and ive learnt from this experience and am moving forward.

where does forward lead? i dont know! probably jobless and suicide but hahaha! im not gonna make it past 25 baby! im gonna fall in love with someone then they'll leave forever and ill die!! After my mum gets sick of me!! hahhaha!!!!! im not unstable right now, i don't even wanna die! that'd be so selfish id break my parents! haha! i want someone to love me as much as i love them and to hold them in my arms! i wanna be comfortable with someone! i wanna be held! i want someone who won't cheat on me!! i wanna be loved!! woohooo!!! that's all i want! yknow what else i want? a friend group thats genuinely happy to see me! people i can eat lunch with and laugh with! people that don't make me feel small and pathetic! and why can't i have that? because im a piece of filth that doenst deserve any of it because ive done nothing to earn it! how the fuck do i do stuff! to talk! how do i not feel hopeless and small all the time? no matter what i fucking say im going to be yelled at for not being positive! fuck! fuck. fuck you.

[wormssss]

so. basically. tl;dr i ffuucking hate school it sucks and it doesnt. do ANYTHING but make things worse . anyway.

the schooling system like. it sucks for me specifically in a few ways idk abt anyone else. for starters; neurodivergency literally at all makes it so hard to function in a classroom environment. its so loud? idk if anyone else gets that in their classrooms but you can hear my class of 23~ from the bottom floor of the 3 story building and that’s considered quiet. as well as like, i cannot function in a classroom without my friends? im out at school and like.... everyones.. transphobic obv why wouldnt they be, and its not in like a..any avoidable way. if i sit with the guys they’ll refuse to talk to me and deadname me all period adn if i sit with the girls theyll laugh at me every time i fucking breathe idk, but the school still thinks putting me in a classroom with kids that visibly hate me and see me as a CRINGE ENTERTAINMENT IRONY MACHINE is like a good idea? and a good way for me to make friends? i dont know if its my luck or if they’re deliberately doing it, but, next term for example i have drama and cooking as classes. two of my friends also have cooking ....but they dont have me in their class. they’re together. but im not in their class. im on my own because other than them and the girl who already did cooking these past two terms (so she cant do it next term) i have.... no other friends. so im definitely in a class of complete strangers! and the way they have this school, you have no choice but to work with someone else in a cooking class...... you are paired with someone in the same mini kitchen and its a disaster but i digress.

also, like. school goes for 6 hours. by the time you get home and get changed and get settled, its sunset so you can’t go out and do anything. you can’t go to the park or climb a tree. youre stuck inside. your family is like groggy from work or whatever and doesnt want to talk to you. you have no energy to get online and talk to your friends online. or theyre asleep. so basically at least for me i get... no time to actually talk to my friends, for example i havent had an actual conversation with piper in like... two months i swear. we’ve forgotten how to talk to eachother and that actually goes with all of my friends. by the weekend we’re still awkward because we havent spoken in months so we can’t really even talk. and because of this rigid like, routine you have to have to actually be able to go to school at all (wake up 7. eat. get dressed. go to school. come home. get changed. eat. shower. go to bed. repeat), i actually like.... find myself. forgetting Everything. i dont know what it is about strict routine where i cannot be myself (my school has a strict and ugly uniform), but it makes me ... completely forget everything slowly and my memory decays. my time blindness gets worse to the point where i dont know what month it is on a regular basis and like... i ditch a lot? because of this? maybe if the schedule didnt make me dissociate and forget everything i wouldnt ditch constantly and like. actually go to school. but like my attendance is... im not at school 25% of the time because i physically cannot go every single day and attend to that rigid and exact cycle that doesnt even teach me anything

doesnt even teach me anything? i dont ... learn anything from school. they like. reteach the same meaningless part of a subject every single year. every year in religious studies in october i learn about the rosary and we spend a lot of the period praying the rosary and i like. ok. cool. its a religious school yeah but what am i actually learning from this. and every year in social studies we learn abt the waitangi treaty but the way they teach it is so whitewashed and utopian and its fucked and they teach it the same way every year around the same time. and anzac day. and in math im not going to use any of those skills you teach me, i dont care about algebra or anything because thats not really going to actually help me in my life im an artist for fucks sake teach me about managing my own finances! teach me how to do taxes! teach me how to function in the society i live in! teach me the important things that ill sink under or die without knowing i want to actually know important things but by cramming so many unimportant things in my brain all the time i forget the actual important things, i fucking failed basic addition and subtraction last year, i’ve forgotten division and multiplication past the 10 times table, but i can vaguely read an algebra equasion BUT FUCKING ALGEBRA EQUASIONS WILL NEVER UFCKING GET ME ANYWJERE!!!!! and it makes me so fucking angry i want to learn and function and KNOW

and the way they tightly bundle everyone to being one conforming individual who dresses like everyone else, is at the same intelligence level as everyone else, is a catholic like everyone else, does not question authority as everyone else or does not question themselves like everyone else or think like anyone else OR BE DIFFERENT THAN ANYONE ELSE makes me want to FUCKING THROW UP. there are so many hopes and dreams that i remember watching from primary school to now sink into a hopeless pit of stereotypes and basic conformity, people who used to be nice are suffocated into being horrible people so that theyre liked by their peers or get anny attention from the school at all, guys who used to respect women (god forbid) suddenly becoming horrible to anyone of any slightly different gender identity but you can actually see on their face how weird it is to them, waves of 11-14 year olds getting nose studs that get infected and they’re forced to have them taken out by the school, kids trying to do their makeup to look like SOMEONE to BE AT ALL DIFFERENT FROM ANYONE ELSE are put right back in their place and told to take it all off and their parents are called and if youre caught with the wrong jacket your parents are called and youre told youre too poor to wear what the school provides yet THEY DONT EVEN LET YOU WEAR WHAT THE SCHOOL PROVIDES WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS 70 DOLLAR HOODIE FOR WHEN YOU WONT LET ME WEAR IT WHILE IM SHIVERING I DONT SEE THE POINT OF ENFORCING SUCH TIGHT POINTLESS SMALL BOUNDARIES OF WHAT A PERSON CAN BE WHY IS IT SO LIMITED? are we not allowed to do anything? you cant even have one strip of hair dye yet a teacher can have a full head of bright purple hair what’s that about? you can have antisemetic pins on your senior year blazer jacket but the second you put a pride pin on there youre called to the principals office and asked why youre promoting this to kids

you try a speech on trans rights and they dont even pass you and pretend its because you got over the time limit but you didnt, you timed it yourself for your friends you didnt get over the time limit and you know it but you didnt even place in fourth you placed last out of 6 or 8 and you wonder why that is because every year in the past you soared into first so whats that about???? in my speech i said be yourself and dont be afraid to experiment with your gender lightly and they told me to take it out because its seen as too much and i said what the fuck? that’s the most important part of my speech, i want to promote acceptance in others and the self and they said take it out or you cant present your speech. they actively suffocate any sort of self expression or nonconformity of any sort you have to be a plain cookiecutter boy or girl and thats it you cannot be anything else, for nearly 6 months theyve fought me and my mom about my hair but if anyones being hurt by it its me because it draws more attention to the kid you can call slurs, are you hurt because im actually expressing myself? are you hurt by my little sharp stud earrings and my industrial piercing and the embroidered cuff on my shirt? are you offended by the heart on my belt or the platforms on my school shoes because the last time i checked none of these were illegal things to have at school

this kind  of got a lot angrier than i meant to make it but ive been . really angry abt this for the past year idk. i really just wanted to write this because i ahvent spoken to piper properly in months and the way we talk now seems like when we just met but i cannot carry a conversation anymore because school knocked the wind out of me all over again and the sudden inability to talk to any of my friends online makes me want to scream until my lungs give out im so tired

[maggotmouth]

         hello, its nora again ( she/her, gmt ) n this is the ethereal but spoiled alma olive putnam (she goes by all 3 names cos she’s pretentious as fuck).  ive never used anya taylor joy as her fc before but anya has a smile that looks like she knows something u dont and thats completely alma’s vibe so we’re gonna try it out. she was raised in a farmhouse in vermont, big horse girl energy. very hungry for everything life has to offer. wakes up and smells the success in her blood. luvs the smell of libraries and listening to french music from a tinny record player in knee socks. here is pinterest. bio is below the cut, like this post to be bombarded with plotting messages but i might forget or get shy tho so pls message me x

application template.

ANYA TAYLOR - JOY   ,   CIS-FEMALE   ,   SHE/HER         →         according   to   the   school   records   ,   ALMA OLIVE PUTNAM   has   been   attending   sacred   heart   for   the   past   three   years   .   i   last   saw   them   hanging   around  the  sacred   heart   cathedral   ;   i   think   they   were   studying   the   stations   of   the   cross   with   a   smile   like   a   well - kept   secret.   at   twenty   -   one   years   old   ,   alma   has   been   studying   classics   and   get   this   ,   i   heard   that   she   has   made   a   fortune   on   the   black   market   by   forging   renaissance   art   to   sell   to   collectors   —   figure   it’s   true   ?   everyone   around   here   always   associates   them   with    neck   scarves   tied   around   your   throat   the   way   they   do   in   french   new   wave   films , running   barefoot   through   the   woods   drunk   on  red  wine   and  untapped   power , a  smile  like  a   locked   door   that   speaks   only  in   riddles  .   in   the   time   since   these   strange   happenings   ,   they   have   have   encountered   any   unexplained   occurrences   .         (   written   by   nora   ,   24   ,   she/her   ,   gmt   )

aesthetics.

a red beret nestled on top of bright platimum locks, neck scarves tied around your throat the way they do it in french new wave films, running barefoot through the woods in feckless hedonism, china dolls with porcelain faces lined against the walls of your room, the mona lisa smile, knee-socks tugged over the hockey grazes on your knees, a forged botticelli drying on your easel, ophelia floating in the middle of a lake.

proceed w caution, tw for death, drugs, alcohol, violence

the short form. (still long af tbh)

— studying classics cos she thinks it makes her sound smart, but actually hates fuckin latin and just loves learning about feckless hedonism and the festivals of bacchus and writing about how all women in myth are literally forgotten. was expelled from princeton in her first year so her parents basically paid her way into sacred heart and the board really liked her in her interview. i think the governors kind of expect to see her in the supreme court one day or st

—  born in vermont in a big old farmhouse. her great-great-grandfather moved to america as an immigrant and worked on a plantation, made his way up cos he could speak a lot of languages and therefore win more people over. for the last two generations, putnam men have owned the farm and do little of the dirty work. big in the meat industry.

— both her parents had large personalities, so alma’s never really been shy around adults, even as a kid she’d speak to them in a forthright, confident manner, and because she was always surrounded by adults, she’s always seemed a bit wise beyond her years.

— very much a consolidation of every character in the secret history. has a morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs. obsessed with w.h. auden and the beat poets. — ”aestheticism is the only thing worth pursuing and even that is pointless” — is majoring in classical civilisation. can read ancient greek and latin. also speaks french.

— studies hard and plays hard. she gets top marks but it’s because academia is literally her life, she loves the smell of libraries, the ancient smoke of learning, of feeling like old wine in a new bottle reincarnated from the bones of some old, dead witchy woman who invented a cure for cowpox or somethin.

— isn’t a foward-planner, however. alma prefers to leave her options open, play the field, live in a spontaneous manner so her study style is mostly cramming a few days before a test, or staying up all night writing an essay on a massive adrenaline boost powered by red bull or probably adderall, scribbling (or typing) furiously into the night.

— pretentious motherfucker. loves poetry, especially the romantics, loves morbid ones too, edgar allen poe, sylvia plath, allen ginsberg, she just loves them all. can’t get enough. her favourite films are like…. wanky artfilm independent european cinema. especially french new wave. “what do you think of goddard’s work??” while snorting a line off someone’s sink at 5am on a school night, but you can bet she’ll make it to that 9am class. — very intelligent and beautiful and knows both of those facts. plays devil’s advocate. humanitarian, vegan. — judgemental but takes great care not to appear so. petty and vindictive

— obsessively devours mystery and thriller novels. she herself is a gillian flynn book waiting to happen. — tries to be an enigma. wants to be mysterious and unreadable because that’s what books have taught her makes women desirable and interesting and cool. very amy dunne in the way she expertly reinvents herself to suit her audience, when she wants to impress

—  an incredibly talented dancer. she was accepted to juliard to study ballet, but after an injury to her foot she had to refuse her place, something that she’s incredibly bitter about. she went to princeton instead to study classics for a semester, before being expelled. 

— alma comes from a family of high-end art dealers. while her parents paid her way into the school, that was mostly due to previous expulsions, not low intelligence. she’s incredibly intelligent but will only put in effort when she deems the cause worthy. she’s frustrating to teach, because she requires evidence, truth, in order to accept something as worthwhile. she plays devil’s advocate, but academically she’s brilliant. 

—  she can recognise any renaissance artist just by their brush strokes. her aunt and uncle deal antiques and art, and from an internship with them after her expulsion from princeton, she learned how to market and sell art, how to recognise originals in contrast to fakes. from this, alma began to produce counterfeit art and sell it off as the original work to the contacts she had made in her internship. it’s disloyal, but it’s powerful.

— act like the flower but be the serpent under it. is a user. manipulative. leads people on. will throw another student under the bus to demonstrate her own intelligence and integrity — heavily involved in the theatre society. loves attention. — has an addictive personality. seems unable to do anything in a small dose, she has to let it utterly consume her. with sports, she’s fiercely competitive, runs track, played lacrosse at school, now is a cheerleader probably. with alcohol, it’s never a shot, it’s a whole bottle – wine or whiskey – she’ll be table dancing before the night’s up and making out with someone she’ll regret in the morning.

— her clothing style is like…. vintage thrift store but make it preppy. berets and cute hats, neck scarves, large fluffy cardigans or like those leathery jackets with big suede fringes on them, mini skirts (very 70s), and knee-high socks or boots. quite often she’ll be in sports kit, maybe a cute tennis skirt, n when she’s feeling casual she’ll wear like, a talking heads tshirt with a pair of mom jeans and converse, but otherwise, the library is her catwalk. — relates to ophelia from hamlet and sibyl vane in dorian gray. weirdly obsessed with women who commit suicide. loves jackson pollock paintings and abstract art. – likes old things. old books, old music, old houses, it reminds her of happier times like when she wasn’t alive. buys all her music on vinyl and has a gramophone because “the sound quality is better” kfdsjj.

plots.

here are some generic wanted plots but by all means message me so we can flesh them out more if any strike ur interest:

study buddies !! someone who is equally unprepared and so spends all night in the library with alma before a big deadline, maybe they even met in the library

if they’re from new england or vermont, then cousins . second cousins / extended family / family friends –  probably spat volavons on your character once as children, omg childhood friends !

honestly someone who is fully in love with her or crushing on her that she can just break would be sweet :/ or on the other hand someone she unexpectedly gets feelings for and actually wants to guage her own  eyeballs out bc of it

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! former best friends separated by sporting or academic rivalries !

hockey / cheer friends who are on other teams but who she absolutely loves playin against!!!

fellow academics who like meeting up to discuss latin and greek ! gimme a secret society bonding by their love of ancient learning

i reckon she’s in a lot of societies, definitely the film club, maybe works as a projectionist at the uni cinema if they have one so give me ppl affiliated with that, give me fellow wanky pretentious art-lovers and poets and historians who will go to museums and galleries with her and listen to the velvet underground on vinyl

people she gets mortally fucked off her tits with at parties

people who think she is throwing her academic potential away by caving to hedonistic impulse

a secret society !!! honestly i would die for a slug club esque thing in which the children of notable families are invited to dinners or alma’s also an art forger, so maybe like a club of students set up to basically forge paintings and documents from the university special collections

people she has drunkenly made out with, hooked up with, or regularly sleeps with casually, maybe even a friend w benefits she is repressing feelings for, i love angst,

people she used to date or unrequitedly likes, but to them it’s just a physical thing, give me all the thirsty angst plots, and maybe some softness too, i need some religion in this girls life, she is a roman catholic after all

full biography.

alma olive putnam.

intro.

        the girl is a knife. razor-sharp, double-edged, the bright shine of a two-faced, lovely thing. silver like the secrets you magpie thief from other heads. you’re a scavenger of knowledge, of tidbits, of gossip to lock away for later use and late-night re-inspection. a mind is like a clock if you get to learn the pieces. bit by bit, you dismantle the inner workings of the brains that tick around you – how easy it is to change it’s path, how words and their meanings can make a person laugh or cry in an instant. to have the power to control that is to be a god. it’s the power trip you crave wielding pom-poms in your hands; a possessive need for control that a younger you, small and weak, never had as a child. small lips, smaller smile, a doll clutched in your too-hungry fingers, hard enough to shatter the bones of a real infant. you cut your hair with your mother’s kitchen scissors before the autumn falls, rendering you out of season, unfit for the cold weather that beats against the nape of your neck, where a stick-and-poke marks the star you were born under ; the bull. “mama, when will i be a queen?” as soon as they find a crown small enough not to slip from your head.

biography.

        if you get hungry enough, they say, you start eating your own heart. hands red, stained by pomegranate seeds, the empty pulp of its shell splattered on your thighs you find yourself wondering – what would it be like to want? in the beginning, you never knew hunger. twins, born under the same star, you first, him second – a nuclear family. never a sister to compete with, you were always the cherry pie of your parents’ hearts. white-haired, blue-eyed, beautiful baby of mine. the townhouse in vermont and the summer house in lyon, you wanted for nought, showered with attention, saddled with gifts - hardly a wonder you came to rely on such affection as a confirmation of your own worth.

        at eight years old you first met death, blood on a gingham-print dress, a smear of it over your cheekbone and the pulp of a mangled animal at your feet murdered by the hands of a stable boy. “alma, my precious baby, you get away from that filth,” your mama would cry from the upstairs balcony – cigar in one hand and a bloody mary in the other – though whether the filth she referred to was the dead pig or the boy with a kernel of corn in his mouth, you never did find out.

        your family earned their keeps in farming, great-grandfather wolfgang hildegarde a german immigrant, great-grandmother maura lisbon a prairie girl. they fell hopelessly in love between troughs and pig-shit, working for three dollars a day at a farm their descendants would later own, trade deals with the indians, vacations to calcutta, your father todd putnam in the kind of sheepskin coat his father’s father could only dream of owning. he worked hard so that you’d never have to. your mama once asked – you heard it through the window, rounding cartwheels across the picket-fenced lawn – could he not find a respectable career rather than selling shrink-wrapped pork for a dime a dozen? that blood money had no business raising a child. you look far back enough, edie, your father had said in his low, strong voice that could bring a civil war to silence, and i think you’ll find that all money is blood money.

        language was never fickle on your tongue, french dinner time talk by the time you were out of your hush puppy shoes, your mama fixing the au pair a smile as she fixed herself another martini. you learned the clarinet at four and how to dance with the grace of a swansong at six, ethereal under a spotlight, an audience captive in the palm of your hand. by eight you knew that you’d always been destined to be loved. loved so hard they would want to taste you, bite into the soft plump of your cheek and eat you alive. that was how magnetic you wanted to feel. but mother hamsters eat their own young when penned in together too long, and soon you became too wild, too restless, another package on your father’s delivery invoice, box-shipped out to english boarding school.

        fitting in had never been something you had to concern yourself with. you were always the shiny new toy the other girls wanted to play with, bright like a dropped coin from a magpie’s beak. wherever you went, you seemed to leave a trail of awe, pig-tailed harriet’s adoring you, imitating you, teachers forgiving your class-time chatter for the sake of your wild heart and the restless spirit you possessed. tell us what it’s like in the states, alma. they’d coo, enamoured by your hollywood drawl. does your father own a gun? you hardly knew. barely even knew the colour of his hair, for the scarce amount of times he’d stoop to kiss your cheek, though you’d tell silver-tongued tales if it’d guaranteed you an audience. when you learned how to smile at the right times, and that flattery would get you everywhere, it soon became apparent that charm would pave the yellow brick road to success even when your lack of drive couldn’t.

        the road you followed – gum-snapping, roller-blading, friendship bands all up your arm – eventually led you to sacred heart. bright-eyed and gingham skirted, you’d always known you were more. there was a hunger in you to be something extraordinary, a want so adamant to be imagined and desired that it was almost savage. in leather-bound volumes and a circle of stones, you were helen of troy, the girl for whom they’d launch a thousand ships. but there’s so much rage within you, collecting like sawdust in cavernous parts. hockey helped. there was something grounding about the feeling of a stick clasped in your hands. sweat. stiff knuckles. feet pounding the earth. the smash of wood against flesh in the scram of a game, passed off as mere enthusiasm. “slipped, sorry.” hockey is the one thing you had that was yours alone – a feral instinct that motivates you to play; something primitive within you that sparks an energy like no other. on the pitch, you feel alive. you feel like a god.

[shirts181]

Random life vent

I remember being really happy as a kid/teenager, everything was awesome, always had friends and family around and did cool stuff, didn’t overthink about anything just lived my life as it came day by day. Not anymore. Before i dive into this, there’s going to be so many things im going to miss or havent remembered thats probably vital or important in relation to what im saying and as im re-reading over it ill realise i havent added something so yeah just a heads up, im a guy in his mid 20′s, majority of this my friends now dont even know about and i couldnt even imagine trying to explain all this shit to somebody i know, i guess thats why im here lol, i want to add and not sure if its related to how i turned out or not but growing up i was always on the shy side, wasn’t super shy but like when i would do shit like do a class presentation by myself id always go red and blush and sometimes get teary, not that i was sad or upset, id just get fucking teary like a dickhead lol, would use my hands when i talked and just overall looked like a nervous wreck. I was comfy around friends and family, could do whatever, didnt really care, if anything i felt like an extrovert around them, but when it came to being in situations i didnt know anybody, i plainly would just say nothing, not make an effort to really engage in conversation, just lay back and wait for that situation to be over til i was with my friends. If somebody approached me id obviously talk to them and whatever but rarely would i be the person initiating anything like that, was a bit of a idiot like that growing up lol. I’ve always been the person who wanted everyone to be happy, i was always oblivious to how other people like my friends had family or whatever issues growing up and the REAL impact it has on them, like divorced parents or they dont know their mum or dad or whatever that stuff, i knew people with depression and anxiety growing up and i was always open to talk to people about it, i LOVED being the friend to speak to if anybody was feeling like shit or wanted to vent, it made me feel really appreciated and id been given this trust to listen to what they have to say, like i might be able to make them feel better about what they had to say regardless of if i could properly help/change their circumstances and problems, but maybe put a smile on their face and make them laugh and let them know it’ll be ok without even being sure if it would, but i never would say that and 100% know it would be ok, but by saying that it might just give them some hope that things CAN be ok and they then believe it can change for the better. From the age of 16 i was super self conscious, i cared what people thought of me, not that im a super ugly guy or had anything dramatically wrong looks wise or how i was, but more so for me maybe like saying something and somebody over hearing it and me being like “oh fuck i should of said that” because it might sound bad or like having pimples (probably same as every teenager ever lol) or a bad hair day (literally) kinda thing. I cared how people portrayed me, i wanted everyone to know i was just average person who just wanted everybody to be happy, i made conscious decisions on what i said to who and where i said it, clothes i would wear depending on where i was going and who might see me, that stuff was like a necessity in my life, i wasn’t like ocd about that stuff because sometimes id be in situations where i know id be judged but still followed through, but something about me just fuckinggggg hated having somebody look at me a certain way and portray me differently to who i really am. I just re-read that and holy shit lol i sound like an idiot the way i’ve said what i’ve said, this is another thing about me maybe saying something and not accurately making it out to sound how i intend it to sound. Whatever rofl, now the real shit. I got diagnosed by a psych with anxiety when i was 18, this was the beginning of my mental downfall from then to this day. About 6-7 months of solid anxiety i could barely leave my house, was scared for no fucking reason, dont even know why, all i remember is my heart beating like crazy and feeling like i was going to pass out or whatever. This would happen mainly in social situations during and before even seeing others/doing things. I would work myself up to the point of crying, getting hives/being itchy everywhere on my body, nervously shaking and visually just looking terrified. I couldn’t drive properly because i’d get panic attacks and id feel like im about to pass out and i cant escape cos im trapped inside a car, traffic was the worst especially when i was alone, there was numerous times that i fucking cried in my car before and after id pull over to relax myself, how stupid is this shit? Why does this happen to people, how does this shit happen to ME, i dont even get why this all is even happening, im not an unhealthy person by any means so im not sick and didnt have symptoms of any illness, wtf is going on. How the fuck do i get over this, ended up seeing a psych because i had no idea wtf was wrong with me, bring in my diagnosis of having anxiety. While i was at home, i would hardcore grind out games on my computer, it made me feel normal and not like absolute shit, dont know why but at the time thats all that made me not feel like absolute shit and scared of being outside in the world. I took pills for this, tried to be active by exercising, playing sport and making an effort and forcing myself out of the house. At the start it was absolute torture, i didn’t ever think i’d get over this, it was that bad. I was on medication, couldn’t tell you what one because i just dont remember and never payed attention to medication names etc. Fast forward 6-7 months, i am actually feeling ok, i apply for jobs, go to job interviews with ease, im actually feeling really good like im making improvements in my life and progressing correctly by taking the next step, something i wouldn’t of thought of doing months earlier. I ended up getting a job and it was like a weight off my shoulders, i was excited, my parents were super happy with me for how far that i had come, i felt good as, potentially like im on track to success in living my life and being able to feel good again. As i got this job i was confident in going out and felt like i could properly just do shit, like i could be me again. This lasted about 15 months, i was ok to drive, i NEVER had a panic attack during this 15 months, i felt good af, when i drove i would even laugh at myself be like “why tf was i panicking? why was i such an idiot and getting worried over shit that cant and wont effect me and make me feel scared? why would i care about those things”, even in like social situations same thing, it was great. It all started to come back, slowly it like bloody crept its way back to being bad, but at this stage i was in denial, i was like na i can get over this i dont need to see anybody, but realistically i probably needed to. To this day i’ve never seen a psych about it, for the last 4-5 years ive almost just adapted to knowing im going to have panic attacks and feel like shit, iv learnt to cope and deal with it myself, the thought of me taking pills for this again scares me, why would i want to take pills to get better again when once i feel good, come off them, id get back into this state of mind and feel anxious again, and then repeat, why the fuck, seriously, why the fuck would i put myself into this potential scenario, i say potential because its a possibility, but thats not a risk im willing to take, people get addicted to this shit, ultimately what im trying to say is i dont want to be that person that gets reliant on taking pills to just having a functioning mind that doesnt make me feel scared and afraid, why cant i just shake this off? is there something im not doing? wtf is the cure to this shit? i know its not the pills because i dont want to become reliant on medications to make me happy. Im pretty convinced im depressed too, iv had serious thoughts about suicide, but i dont think im somebody who could actually commit to it, and if i was, i would probably make the decision to speak to somebody, but im stuck in a mindset where im not going to die from it, but i feel like shit all the time, i dont want meds, i dont know how to fix where im at pretty much, theres things that have happened to me the last couple years which have convinced me im a bad partner in a relationship, not for things i do but for what i unintentionally didnt do, im not a fulfilling boyfriend, ive either never obviously met the right girl for me or im just not fit to be a boyfriend, and thats what i think, how can somebody commit to me but im to stressed and worried about how my commitment to them might not be enough? the constant worry of not being a good boyfriend, when all i really want is for everything to be ok and happy, not that if things arent good or happy that thats a bad thing, i totally understand not everything is perfect and there are shit things that happen to people or in the world thats always going to happen, but i feel like, mainly with my last ex girlfriend, i felt like i was in a competition half the time to compete and get reassurance i was being a good boyfriend because i didnt know anything else, i was locked into this relationship i felt i couldnt escape, i so badly wanted out but was sucked into the mindset that if i left id have nothing and couldnt be with anybody because shes the only one who would be with me cos she already is, how the fuck do i overcome this, how do i get out? Its been a year since she ended up breaking up with me and pretty much for those reasons, i wasn’t up to par with her standards, i wasnt her dream boyfriend, for somebody who accepted my past issues with anxiety and letting her in on all my personal shit, if somebody who i thought cared for me leaves me, how could i ever convince or even get another girl to be with me knowing i have this weight and baggage of being a potential let down and not being able to be the person she needs me to be?  Writing all this i thought id feel better but i kinda still feel like shit. I weighed up deleting this, i had it all highlighted ready to backspace and alt f4 this but fuck it i might regret not posting this, i guess thats why im here anyway. If you read all this sorry for the random bullshit, i re-read it and i sidetracked myself hard from what i was originally going to say but im kinda tired and was literally just typing anything that came to my mind andddd yeeeeaaaahhh.. peace

[ohdeputy]

100 Letters PART IV

Arthur Morgan x John Marston

Words: 6,812

Read on Archive

Part III

-

Pain crept periodically in and out of existence for John, alongside his blurred vision. He felt no sense of time and his thoughts were not tangible. The only consistency being the agony of his wounds. His face was hot and sore, causing him much discomfort through his restlessness. He was sure he had a fever from the amount he was sweating.

What John could only assume were days that passed by as he lay bedridden felt like hours for all he knew. Sometimes he could feel splotches of sunlight against his skin cast through cracks from the nearby window and distant chatter of people around him. Abigail’s fussing also made it through the haziness every so often. He preferred to tune it out when he could, wishing she could just let him be. It was bad enough having to listen to her when he was fully conscious. Other than those instances he was surrounded by black.

For the most part, that is. Sometimes John swore he could feel someone’s hand holding his. Rough and slightly calloused, yet so gentle. It was always at night, from what he could tell. When no one else could be heard and the air was at its coldest, making him shiver in his sleep.

He had the creeping suspension that perhaps... No. He thought, there is no way. Feeling foolish for even thinking it was who he imagined and somewhat hoped it might be. Nevertheless, John always held on tightly, feeling a deep comfort at the contact.

Soon, he started to stay awake for longer than the short moments he could only manage before. He was still confined to the cot he lay on, but he was not in a permanent state of confused slumber any longer. The pain had subsided slightly, yet he still could not move his face too much.

The first time he awoke fully rested, he reached a hand to the fresh stitches holding together the deep slashes in his skin. He winced, partly from discomfort. He couldn’t help feeling a little sad over it, too. It was… strange. This sort of thing never really bothered him before. He’d been shot a couple times, injured in countless other ways and had never thought twice about it. His scars were deeper than physical, serving as a reminder of how he alone he felt on that mountaintop.

Just off to his side, he could see Abigail. Whether her expression was of anger or worry, he did not know.

“Hey.”

Her brow shot up, “hey?! Seriously, John Marston, that all you got?”

He closed his eyes, too tired to start this again with her.

“You are a silly, silly man. You really are.” She stood up from her seat, “eaten by wolves. Never heard of such a ridiculous idea.”

She sat down again, clearly indecisive with whether she wanted to leave or continue shouting at him. “Who gets themselves eaten by wolves? I mean really, who?!”

John breathed out through his nose in frustration, his tone curt as he responded, “I didn’t mean to, Abigail.”

Now Abigail sighed as she put a hand on his shoulder. Some of the anger had gone from her voice, “you never mean to but you always do. Always… trouble.”

“Well, I’ve certainly made my mistakes.” John blinked, looking away.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she retracted her hand and he felt her intensive gaze on him.

“Whatever you want it to!” His words were a little more vicious than he intended, but he was fed up. He winced from the discomfort of moving his stitches as he spoke.

Her hand was back on him, “just shut up and get some rest.”

Underneath all the aggressiveness, John knew Abigail cared about him. He just could not understand her methods of showing it, most of the time finding her unbearably exhausting.

John continued to stay confined to the small bed for the next few days. He spent that time resting, and when he wasn’t asleep he listened to the people come and go around him. He would hear the hushed conversations between Arthur and Hosea, other times the soothing repetition of Javier sharpening his knife. One time he woke to sound of Miss Grimshaw shouting at the other girls. He pretended he was still asleep for fear of her shouting at him, too.

Throughout all of it, Abigail was always around. She mostly fussed about how foolish she thought he was, but also kept him updated on everything that was happening. When she told him how the gang finally planned to move on, he grew eager. Back down south, she had said, into the state of New Hanover. At this point he did not care where they went, as long as it was far away from the past. The land here was cruel and had already given him too much trouble.

Sure enough, once they were certain there would be no worry of another storm, they set a course south. John did not see much of it, since he was still too weak to do more than walk a few steps anywhere. After Abigail and Charles helped him into the back of one of the wagons, he did not see anything but the shifting of daylight across the canvas cover he lay under. Only emerging once they arrived at their new hideout of choice.

There, the first couple of days had blurred together. He was still not up to his usual strength, especially exhausted from their journey into the new state. He spent much of his time resting while the other gang members settled into the place around him. It was nice. Small, but not bad.

They found themselves in a clearing just beside a cluster of trees that kept them hidden well enough from any unwanted attention. At least for the time being. It had grown a lot warmer now that they were free of the snow, but a chill lingered that still caused his breath to hang in the air during the early mornings.

John had come to know this place as Horseshoe Overlook, having a wide view of the surrounding land. The lush forests and the winding Dakota River had become familiar to him from all the time spent confined to the camp. He couldn’t complain too much, though, as it was a sight to behold. Calming too, with sounds of nature all around him whenever he sat at his favorite spot just at the edge of camp. There, stood a tall oak that he would always situate himself under. Either with a book, propping himself against an old tree stump with a fresh cup of coffee, or his thoughts.

John could almost say he liked it here, but often he was reminded of the circumstance of their arrival. Blackwater always lingered in the back of his mind, lying dormant but never forgotten. He waited for the day where Dutch would properly address the complete disaster and wondered what he might say of Nico. He found himself looking over his shoulder more often, watching out for Dutch and avoiding him as much as he could. It got to the point where it may have even started to look suspicious. John couldn’t help it. He felt like a coward, but he could not bring himself to look at him.

When a week had gone by and still nothing was mentioned, John thought that the whole thing would pass by unspoken. So when he sat in his usual spot viewing the river below him, he was taken aback when he heard Dutch call for their attention.

“Everyone, gather round.” His voice came from the centre of camp, where he had set up his tent.

It wasn’t since Blackwater that he had last properly seen him. Since the day he had killed Nico and left John for dead. Because he was at the top of John’s list to avoid, and had managed it well enough, the realization hit him so suddenly. He originally thought Dutch might approach him once they had settled in. That he would corner him someplace to threaten John about what he saw back in Blackwater. To his surprise, it never happened. Dutch never once mentioned Blackwater since before the heist, and John had no intention of asking.

But it felt wrong. Not only for the horrors John faced at seeing his friend murdered in cold blood, but also for the ones they left behind. Jenny and Davey left in unmarked graves back in Colter, and the unknown whereabouts of Sean and Mac. After everything, John was left almost convinced that Dutch had put the whole mess completely behind him, never to be spoken of again. Until now.

When he hesitantly approached, their eyes locked momentarily. The blood in his veins ran cold like he was a deer caught in the sight of its predator. Fear seeped through his body when Dutch gave him a sadistic smile, and already John was preparing himself for the worst.

He joined the cluster of people around Dutch’s tent. Hosea and Arthur could be seen seated next to the gang's leader from recent conversation with him, looking a little tense. Others now stood around them, eager to listen to his speech.

“I just wanted to say how proud I am of all of you.” Dutch held a hand to his chest, feigning a sense of appreciation. John had to refrain from letting his face express how sickened he felt.

“Things may not have gone well in Blackwater, we lost some dear friends.” He paused to evoke some sort of sorrow around his words. “And we mourn them, we do. But we must stay diligent. We must carry on, or it was all for nothing!”

He looked at everyone pointedly, gesturing with his hands to emphasize his words, “would you have them die in vain? Davey, Mac? Jenny? Poor Sean?”

“We don’t even know if Sean is dead, it just looked like he was captured,” Lenny interjected, a couple of other murmuring in agreement.

“This is true.” Dutch nodded his head, “he may very well be alive. And if that is the case, we will bring him back safely. I promise you all-”

“What about Nico.”

Silence fell over the group as everyone turned to face Charles, who’d interrupted.  John was overwhelmed by a sudden appreciation for the man. Charles stared expectedly at Dutch, a couple of others turned to do the same. When everyone waited for him to answer, John noticed Hosea hanging his head. He thought the older man looked ashamed.

“Nico,” Dutch gave a heavy sigh. “She was like a daughter to me.” He looked off in the distance, eyes tearing up. He blinked and returned his attention back to everyone, his gaze turning dark. “But in the end she betrayed me. Betrayed us.”

He continued, “I regret to inform that it was she who alerted the law to our plans. I do not know what caused her to become a fraud within our midst, to take advantage of our hospitality," he spat the last word out. "After all this time to find out she was not who I thought she was.” He shook his head in disbelief.

“Her real name was Heidi McCourt, nothing more than a mere charlatan who infiltrated our family for self-gratification,” Dutch spoke with conviction. He turned away taking the opportunity to become wistful once more, “I only wished I’d known sooner.”

The more he spoke, the more worked up John became. Heidi McCourt? Betrayal? He felt a hand on one of his, not realizing he had clenched it in anger. Turning to see Abigail, her expression was one that pleaded him not to do anything rash. John retreated his hand away from her.

“I say good riddance, she was a rat,” Micah snarled out once Dutch was finished. “They always weasel their way into groups.”

Arthur suddenly shot up from his seat. He looked furious, glaring at Micah, but didn’t say anything.

Micah made no attempt to hide his smug expression as he focused his attention on Arthur, “you know I’m right, Morgan.” He snickered a little before continuing, “but don’t worry, rats always get what they deserve.”

Arthur held a fist at his side like he was about to hurl it into the other man’s face. “At least we can agree on that.” He walked off without another word.

John left, too. Not wanting to stick around the conversation any longer. Abigail followed, but he didn’t give her a chance to catch up as he pursued the direction Arthur had stormed off in.

He found him not far from the edge of their new camp, his arms crossed as he leaned against a tree.

“Fucking Micah,” John said as he approached.

Arthur didn’t look up as he responded, “don’t get me started.”

“And I can’t believe that stuff Dutch said about Nico, he-”

“Oh, just leave it, Marston.” Arthur cut him off, his tone short.

John reeled back, caught off guard by the harshness of his voice. His surprise quickly turned to anger, “are you kidding me?” He tried to keep the volume of his words down so they wouldn’t be heard, but could barely suppress his aggravation, “don’t tell me you actually believe any of that horsecrap!”

Arthur turned on John now. “Maybe she did deserve it!” he snapped.

John blinked at him. Arthur winced, instantly seeming to regret what he said, “oh, I don’t know.” He pressed his fingers to his temple, turning away.

John could tell he was conflicted. Still, it was no excuse for saying what he did. They had both known Nico the longest, and Arthur’s doubts only confirmed how deep Dutch’s grasp was on him.

John walked away, not sure why he even bothered to try and talk to him in the first place. The impulsiveness of his actions suddenly catching up with him. He got too emotional, deep down still believing Arthur was a good man and knew right from wrong. It was what he might have thought, but was being proved otherwise again and again.

Miserably making his way back to his tent, he threw himself on the corner of his bed. Thankfully, Abigail wasn’t there. He did not feel like talking about any of what just happened with her.

With nothing else to do and a newfound frustration, he decided to call it an early night. Not realizing how tired he was until his head hit the pillow, instantly falling asleep.

When he woke the following morning, the camp was quiet. Much of the gang had dispersed, leaving the place a lot less occupied. Micah was gone, much to John’s relief. Hopefully without the intent of coming back anytime soon, either. Arthur, Javier, and Charles had left as well. Something about them going to check out the nearest town.

John itched to leave, too. He’d become so bored from not doing anything and was once again suffocated from the people around him. He heard the town wasn’t too far away and thought he might finally be well enough to explore it.

Abigail was back to nagging him, and the combined company of Uncle and Pearson was starting to drive him insane. But more than anything else, John felt an uneasiness at the particular presence of someone else. Unlike a lot of his adept peers, Dutch had stuck around. And after his speech from the day before, John wanted to be as far away from the man as possible. The only issue was his means of getting to the town.

John sat in his spot on the stump under the oak tree. He held a book open in his lap but had stopped reading a while ago. Now he pondered on a way to make it into town. Under any normal circumstance, he would take the journey on foot, with it only being down the road. He couldn’t take his horse because… He thought back to the night he got attacked by the wolves.

He shuddered at the memory, remembering the last time he saw his horse. The last image of her fleeing from the predators that stalked him.

Though, if he was being honest, that wasn’t his horse. His actual horse was still somewhere in Blackwater, abandoned after the unanticipated turn of events.

John was struck by guilt, he hadn’t had time to think about any of it since then, with everything that followed. All he remembered was being thrown on some random horse with Javier in their escape, leaving behind the mare he’d been riding for years prior.

“How are you feeling, son?”

John turned around to see Hosea approaching him, and shook off the memory. He gave a warm smile to the old man, “a lot better. Nearly fine… but not quite there, y’know?”

“Course I know. It must be boring for you, but I’m glad you’ve been letting yourself rest.”

John was nodding, “it’s been a tough few weeks.”

“That it has,” Hosea agreed. The old man looked away wistfully as if preoccupied with something of his own.

“I was, uh, thinkin’ of heading into town.”

Hosea raised his eyebrows, “oh yeah?”

“Yeah, looking to get myself a new mount.” John gave a sigh, “thing is I don’t got no means of getting there.”

“Why that’s no issue, just take ol’ Silver!”

John faltered, “It’s kind of you to offer, but… you don’t have to do that on my behalf.”

“Nonsense!” Hosea waved his hand in dismissal, “she’ll be happy to stretch her legs. It’s only Valentine you’re heading to. Please, take her out for me. I insist.”

“Well, alright… thanks, Hosea.” He nodded his thanks after getting up from his spot. Briefly, he stopped by his tent to collect his things, slipping his arms into his coat and grabbing his satchel before being was on his way.

He walked the short distance to where the horses were left to graze. There, he spotted Silver Dollar and mounted up. The horse barely even looked up as John lifted himself up onto the animal. The older mare had known John for years now, trusting him almost as much as Hosea at this point. When John was younger, he and Arthur would joke about how the two of them, Dutch, Hosea, and Silver were the original members of the Van der Linde gang before any others had joined. He smiled at the thought, giving the old horse a pat.

John took the hidden path out of camp, emerging from the cover of trees and onto the main path toward the town known as Valentine. The ride there was relatively quick, seeing the bustle of people come into view as the buildings became more abundant around him.

It was a decent place, with a gunsmith, doctors office and saloon as well as a hotel. There was also a general store and train station, but most importantly a stable.

Horses and wagons churned through the muddy streets. John rode down them at a steady pace to take it all in. Piano music and loud conversation flowed from the saloon as he passed by. The sound of hammer and steel could be heard off in the distance, too, the town alive with folk keeping busy all around him. He always enjoyed seeing the different civilized places he was brought to. Studying new and diverse people sometimes proved to be even wilder than the western lands that surrounded them. It was fascinating.

John approached the considerably large barn at the end of the main street. He could make out the name painted in white with big lettering across the wood just above the doors.

AMOS LEVI & SONS.

Upon entering, the smell hit him before he even saw any of the horses stabled within. “Looking for a horse, mister?”

John turned to see a man polishing a saddle. “Err, yes, I am.”

“Well,” the stable owner wiped his hands on his leather apron, “what takes your fancy? We’ve got Kentucky Saddlers, American Paints... lots of fast ones.”

He thought for a moment, not really knowing exactly what he was looking for. “You have any sturdy ones?”

“Like a warhorse, sir?”

“Sure, something like that.”

The man moved to a stable just across from where they stood. “Well, we got this here Hungarian Half-bred. She’s a beaut.”

John studied the mare. She looked strong, with a dappled grey coat that stretched across the wide, lean muscle underneath. “She sure is.” He brushed a hand down her neck, “how much for her?”

“Two fifty.”

John almost choked at the price, suddenly aware of how hollow the satchel strung across his shoulder was.

“Do you have anything similar for…um, slightly less?”

The stable owner shook his head, “I’m afraid she’s as decent as we get.”

John couldn’t help but think to himself that it was no wonder they’ve always stolen their horses in the past. He left the man with an apology and the lie of a promise that he would be back when he had more money.

With no horse and a newly acquired sour mood, John returned to where he had left Silver. He untied the reins but was unsure of what to do. He couldn’t go back empty-handed, the time would come when he would need to rely on his own mount.

He walked Silver through town aimlessly, eventually wandering toward another couple of barns surrounded by pens full of livestock. Sheep, pigs, chickens, cows, the place was full, putting in perspective just how self-sufficient this town really was. It seemed too many animals were present for it to only be a ranch, though. Upon further inspection, John noticed a couple of men walking around the pens, one with a clipboard in hand. It looked like he was counting each animal in their sections, and only then did John realize the whole place must be some sort of auction yard.

As the two men strolled closer, John could just make out what they were saying. “…if we move the pigs into that barn, this area should be good for the sheep we got comin’ in from Emerald Ranch,” the one with the clipboard said as he wrote something else down.

The other nodded, taking his hat off to wipe the sweat from his forehead. “Sounds good. I’ll let the boys know when it’s time. You was saying it were for later this season, right?”

“Mhm.”

“Then, if you don't mind my asking, sir, why you thinking about this now?”

“Oh, cause it’ll be a big one, Pete.”

John listened, all the while making a mental note. He was no sheepherder, but neither was he a complete fool when it came to knowing there was value worth investing, or in his case stealing, in livestock.

“John? John, is that you!” The formation of an idea was suddenly interrupted when he heard his name being shouted. He looked behind him to see a coltish man make his way to where John stood, giving an awkward wave as he did.

“Hey, John! It’s me!”

John squinted, still unsure of who exactly this person that seemed to know him so well was. His memory was struck with realization when the man gave a goofy smile,“…Reedus?”

Reedus nodded with the same amount of enthusiasm John remembered him having. Save for being even taller than before and growing out a wispy looking beard, the stable hand was still the same as when he’d last seen him.

“What’re you doing here?” John asked him.

“I’ve actually come looking to work in the stables here. Amos, the owner, was kind enough to offer me a place. I grew up near Valentine, so I thought it would be nice to be around my ma again. How ‘bout you, what brings you to town?”

“My gang’s hindin’ out not far from the place, seems we are well suited in living a nomadic lifestyle.”

Reedus’ eyes widened, “no kidding! How is Dutch n’ Arnold getting along? And that Hosea!”

John smiled, “real fine, Reedus.”

The man pulled at the reins he held onto, “I actually came by the auction yard tryna sell this here horse. Won’t be needing one since I’ll be workin’ in the stables.” He gave a reluctant laugh, “you wouldn’t happen to be in need of one, would you?”

John blinked in surprise, “uh, yeah, actually.”

Reedus’ eyes lit up, “well, fry me in butter and call me a catfish! He’s all yours if you’ll take him!”

John hesitated, “I… don’t have too much to offer, I’m afraid.”

He waved a hand, “don’t be worrying about that, please, he’s all yours.”

“That’s mighty kind of you, Reedus, I couldn’t possibly accept.”

Now Reedus shook his head, “Y’all have always been good to me, I insist.”

He held the reins out to John, who reluctantly took them. “He’s an old boy, but he’s young at heart. Loyal and sturdy, too. He’ll treat you well.”

John didn't know what to say. “Thank you, Reedus.”

They said their goodbyes shortly after, and John made his way back to camp with both Silver and his new horse. Old Boy, he’d decided to call him, since Reedus admitted he never actually had a name for him.

The saddle was worn but surprisingly comfortable enough during his ride back to camp. The horse gave him no trouble and over the next while he’d grown quite accustomed to Old Boy. He took the time to care for him with not much else going on in the following days other than trying to get word of where Sean might be. Only after about a month or so of being at Horseshoe Overlook was there talk of finally getting him back. Trelawny had apparently heard about him being caught and held by some bounty hunters near Blackwater.

Arthur had spent little time around camp, but one particular night when he was around John heard him discussing with Dutch and a few others about Sean’s supposed rescue mission. When word travelled, both Abigail and Hosea advised him not to go. He reluctantly agreed, not that he was particularly fond of going back to Blackwater. He just couldn’t help but feel useless at doing nothing but sit around camp.  

After a plan was put into place, Arthur, Charles, Javier, and Mr. Trelawny all rode out. Two days later they returned successful, coming back with worse company than they left with. John didn’t have anything against Sean, but the boy just didn’t know when to shut up. Already he filled the camp with his annoying rambling, though people didn’t seem too bothered. They mostly used the fact that he was back as an excuse to celebrate. So that evening crates of alcohol littered the campsite with people drinking and dancing.

The sound of laughter mixed with music flowed through the night air outside where he sat in his tent. Almost everyone was celebrating Sean’s return, though John didn’t feel too up for it. He was glad that everyone’s spirits were lifted for the first time in a while, but it just felt too soon for him to be taking part in the joyous occasion.

He grabbed his rifle and pulled aside the tent’s opening to leave. Thinking he might make himself useful at the very least, he headed toward the camp border to patrol it. He spotted Charles already at its edge, looking out into the surrounding forest.

“I can take over if you’d like.”

Charles turned to face him as he approached.

“Thanks brother, but I think I’ll leave the festivities for the others.”

“You sure? I honestly don’t mind.”

The other man gave a nod of his head, “I find more comfort amongst the trees, no risk of drunken social interaction. You should go enjoy yourself.”

John dropped his eyes, “No, I… I can’t. Not yet.”

Charles gave a look of understanding, “Yeah. I get that.”

The two men stood in together in a silence that was not uncomfortable. John always did like Charles, probably because he was one of the few of them who actually had his head screwed on right.

“You should still go to relax a bit. It might take your mind off things.”

He looked over to Charles again as he continued, “mind you, that doesn’t mean get blind drunk.”

John chuckled at that, “I hear ya. Alright, well, let me know if you want to swap out.”

“Will do. Try to take it easy, John.” Charles gave him a pat on the shoulder before continuing his route.

John was a little lost on where to go, but as he walked back he could spot Hosea sitting off to the side at a table alone.

“John, my boy! Come, come. Join me.” His words were already slurred though the night was still young.

He motioned with over-exaggeration to the spot just beside him. John had no choice but to take a seat there.

“Here, here, take a drink,” he forced a beer into John’s hands, sloshing some of the liquid on him in the process. If it were anyone else, John might have minded. But Hosea could never do anything wrong in his eyes, so he didn’t give it another thought.

“You never did tell me how you got on in Valentine, huh?”

“It was good, yeah.”

“Didn’t get into any trouble, then?”

John smiled, “Hosea, who do you think I am? ‘Course not.”

“Goooood. Good, good,” the older man slapped the table a little. John didn’t remember the last time he’d seen him this drunk.

“That makes one of my boys. You know I tried to raise you decent, right? ‘Course Arthur had to go and make some trouble for himself in town, and, and… well, y’know…” the old man trailed off.

“Sure. You okay there, Hosea?”

“Yeah! Yeah, yeah…” His intense nodding slowly turned into his head shaking from side to side, “No, no…I don’t think so.” He frowned, “You know, I blame myself for Nico’s death.”

John was taken off guard by his sudden confession, he looked around wide-eyed in case anyone has overheard. He had said it a little loud, but nobody seemed to pay them any notice as the others sat around the campfire. Javier strummed away on his guitar, accompanied by the terrible singing of Karen and Arthur. Some others clapped along while Sean was already passed out in the dirt beside them.

John turned his attention back to Hosea, not understanding why he would say such a thing.

“How do you mean?”

Hosea sat slouched over the table now, his giddiness replaced by a somberness.

“I just.. I should’ve noticed. Something, anything.”

He looked up at John, eyes welling up. His heart twisted in pain from the sight.

“How could I not notice, John?” He said the words with such remorse, like he was actually asking him for an answer.

John was lost at how to respond, still not fully comprehending what the man was trying to say. Hosea was back to staring at his almost empty bottle. He looked at it intently and John knew he was somewhere far away.

“If I would have seen it coming perhaps I could’ve prevented her from turning away from us... I always tried, John, I did. With you and Arthur, too. She was misunderstood, I know that. But I loved her like she was my own.”

Worry was replaced by a wave of anger that boiled within John, having to sit and listen to a man who did not deserve the harsh treatment he was bestowing upon himself. Mistaking Nico’s distance for disloyalty when in reality it was nothing of the sort. He wanted to shout out the truth, that Dutch was the one to blame, not him. Yet, John held his tongue as he listened to Hosea blame himself. No matter how bad John wanted to tell him, he couldn’t. Hosea trusted Dutch too much.

“I cannot believe it. It almost sounds like one of my elaborate stories, doesn’t it?” He shook his head grimly. “Heidi McCourt…” he said under his breath. “And now she’s gone. An old man like me shouldn’t outlive a young girl like her. It just ain’t fair.”

John thought perhaps it might be the drink talking, but it sounded as if Hosea didn’t fully accept her betrayal as being true. Not that John could risk saying anything to him. And the little consolation it was, it still gave John the tiniest bit of comfort. Hosea wasn’t fully convinced, even if he wouldn’t admit it if he were sober, the thought was enough for John.

“Things… may have been complicated, but it wasn’t your fault Hosea. It wasn’t your fault.” He emphasized the statement to try and convince him.

Hosea gave a forced smile, blinking away tears. “You would say that, son.” He gave a heavy sigh before getting up from his chair, “I think it’s about time to call it a night.” Before John could say anything else, he stumbled off toward his tent, leaving John to wallow in the weight of their conversation alone.

The prospect of drinking now became tempting after the exchange. He picked at the label on his untouched beer. The singing had stopped a while ago so the night was filled with its usual sounds once more. People still drank around a fire that was far from burning out, just with much less enthusiasm. He thought he might turn in, too, until he heard someone call out to him.

“Joooooooohhhhhhnnnnnnn Marston,” the unmistakable voice of Arthur Morgan called through the air as John saw his form blundering toward him.

“Now don’t you start.”

“Ohhhhhh, take that stick out of your ass, Marston.”

He raised his brow at that. Arthur took some uneasy steps toward the table John sat at, sloppily flopping into one of the empty seats. He was obviously quite drunk. John watched his delayed movements as he slammed down the whiskey bottle he gripped in his hand.

His lids hung low as he swayed a little in his spot. As disoriented as he was, Arthur still managed to focus on John. He gave a little smile, and John had to look away. Even after all these years, Arthur could still make him flustered just by looking at him like that. He felt so stupid for letting the other man affect him so much, like they were still young kids sitting on a roof sharing candies. He knew full well things could never be like how they once were, but still his eyes darted to see if Arthur was still looking. And he was.

John cleared his throat, avoiding Arthur’s gaze once more. He looked around them, seeing the low light of Dutch’s tent at the other end of camp. John knew he had retired to his quarters with lady O'Shea quite early.

“Ohhhh loosen’ up, John. Dutch ain’t comin’ out.”

John was surprised by his quick wit despite being far from sober. He was about to respond when  Arthur continued. The ramble he went on was one John did not anticipate, making him second guess that perhaps he wasn’t really with it at all.

“So I went to Valentine, right, nd somehow managed to get into a fight.” He raised his hands innocently, “don ask mehow, I do not know. But we was fightin’ and this guy, this BIG guy was comin atchu from what I could see from the corner of meye, since, uh, this other sonovabitch was comin at me. But I knocked him out in one punch, so I go, ‘don worry Jahn, I gotchu!’”

Arthur paused to wheeze, “but it wasn you! It was Javier, nd he looks at me like whaaaat? Nd then BOOM, gets hit square in the jaw, nd. Well, I just. It sounded funnier in my head.”

Silence followed briefly after he finished. John could now make out the cut that split Arthur’s bottom lip, and how it was slightly swollen. John eventually responded, “… well, did you get the guy?”

Arthur blinked, eyes wide like he was reliving the tragic event all over again, “let’s jus say things escalated nd we nded up takin' the fight outside.” His voice drifted off slightly, “it were real muddy.”

“That sounds like quite the trouble you got into.”

“It weren’t jus me! Charles were there, too. Nd Bill, mmpre sure he started it. Nd you’s was there! Expect it were Javier stead o’ you.”

Arthur pressed his lips to the bottle of whisky, and John almost missed it as he mumbled, “you never come no more.”

John was sore just from the thought of the brawl. “I don’t think a bar fight would have been the best thing for me in my state.”

Arthur nodded, “mmprobably best.”

Another pause followed, John finding a certain comfort in their silence. The only source of light came from the low burning candle placed in the middle of the table, flickering across Arthur’s face and making his features dance.

It would be so easy to tell him. John didn’t know why the thought suddenly struck him. Maybe it was after everything he had gone through in the short span of the last couple weeks. Nico getting killed so easily and John’s close brush with death combined, life just seemed so fickle. To just to put it out in the air was so tempting. Arthur probably wouldn’t even remember the following day.

Dutch lied. About everything. I cared for you. I still care for you. I wrote you a letter every damn day and he burned each and every one of them to stop you from ever knowing…

Deep down John knew he wouldn’t say it. It was selfish. He couldn’t drag Arthur into all this, not now. Even if he did believe John, it could cause catastrophe, swaying the very foundation of the gang they’ve dedicated their lives to.

Perhaps after all this time, it had turned into John protecting Arthur from the truth. To avoid any more unnecessary damage. John already felt broken to the point beyond repair. But Arthur, he didn’t deserve to have his life completely turned upside down. For everything he knows to be a lie. At this point, it would just be a burden for him to know the truth.

Preoccupied with his thoughts, John didn’t notice Arthur moving closer until he took up most of his vision. John blinked back to reality, noting the way Arthur focused his attention on him, squinting his eyes a little as if he were trying to study John.

“Yur heal scarred up pre well.”

It took a second for John to understand what he meant, then he snorted, “you mean my scar healed up pretty well?”

Arthur frowned in confusion, “isn’t that what I said…”

John cracked a smile, unable to stop himself laughing at Arthur’s drunken foolishness. Arthur began laughing, too.

“What’re we laughing at?” Arthur asked him.

“Well, I don’t know what you’re laughing at, but I’m laughing at you. You’re ridiculous.”

It took a moment for Arthur’s stupid grin to slowly disappear as he processed what John had said. “Hey, thas not very nice of yoummarston.”

“Apologies, Mr. Morgan.” John tried to keep himself from seeming too amused, his efforts futile as he cracked up once more.

As if he had already forgotten, Arthur joined in again. He slapped his knee like John just told the funniest joke and the world seemed to stand still around them, making him briefly forgot about all his troubles. It was nice. Too nice, like it was too good to be true. John felt like they were teenagers again, getting up to no good with the fear of being caught by a scolding adult, all while acting like they could conquer the world. Talking similar to how they once did sparked that same nostalgic courage, like they could do anything. But they couldn’t, and the moment passed just as fast as it had come.

“I should, uh, go.”

“Yeah, alright, Marston. You always do.” He said knowingly, taking another swig of his whiskey bottle.

It was hard to get up from his seat. John wished he could let the moment last, but it felt…wrong. He didn’t want anyone to see the two of them like this. So he just smiled and turned away, slowly letting it fall away from his lips when his back was to Arthur.

He did not know whether it hurt less or more to talk with him like it was old times again. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it, but it was a harsh reminder of what he could not have. A taste of what they once did have. And it only left John desperate for more. It was dangerous, he knew, and much too risky. And he knew It couldn’t happen again.