#genuinely think I was just walking around in a haze that entire season of my life. it was both the most myself I’ve ever been able to be

[faithfromanewperspective]

often times when I refer to ‘design school’ I’m being deliberately vague because yes I’m studying my masters in urban design for those who don’t know. but I’m usually referring to a design class I did in high school which I swear was far more content and much more meaningful than any high school subject should be and taught me things I have never gotten to be taught again about how to think like a designer, how to create, even just how to see solutions instead of problems all around me. and it’s hard to explain it if you weren’t there inside my head at the time but the passion and wonder and drive that we had even just for two afternoons a week in high school were unparalleled. I’ve tried to recreate it ever since but there’s nothing like discovery after discovery of just. things that make you tick. among people going through the same thing, watching them grow into themselves. what I would give to have another chance to discover and learn and problem solve with that group of people again just once, now that we’re adults who know real things

[bitchfitch]

A Nice Chat In The Park

[complete]

Cherry trudged with her hood up and her hands shoved into the pockets of her pants. She felt like a traitor just for considering this, but her options were so limited that she really didn't have a choice. 

Haze, the demon that had been terrorizing her city for years now, was sat in his human disguise on a blanket in the local park. Exactly where he was every Wednesday around noon during the off season for the local soccer team. He liked to watch them struggle, and to feel their frustration when he sent them sliding on patches of mud that weren't there a moment before while he waited for his husband's lunch break to roll around.

She sat beside him without saying a word as he snickered after sending two players crashing into each other. Really, now would be a great time to test out the enchanted switch blade he'd given her last Christmas.

"Cherry darling, So nice of you to pay me a visit. Will the rest of The Bed-Fort Club be joining us soon?" he asked with a light voice. Cherry wished she hated Haze as much as the rest of her team, she really should, but he was the only one who called her by the right name. She never even told him it. He just started using it and her knew pronouns the day after she had had her realization without needing to be told them.

No one else knew yet, so she didn't blame them for not using the right name, but something about Haze just going with it without any questions or awful comments made him a bit more ok in her book. 

"No," she huffed, "I needed to ask a for a favor," 

"As your nemesis I think I'm obligated to say no, but I'll still hear you out," he adjusted the sunglasses that hid his coal black eyes from the world before continuing in a slightly less cocky tone, "I have something to ask of you too, so maybe we could make a trade?" 

"Maybe," she swallowed hard and took a deep breath, "I want you to take me prom dress shopping. I have the money I'm just… I just don't want to go alone,"

"You wouldn't want one of your friends to take you?" he sounded genuine, but Cherry still grit her teeth. 

"No, because like, most of my friends are cool, but... remember when you wore that dress to my uncle's party?" 

"Yeah? The blue one right? If you want to borrow it you can you know. No deal needed because I can't exactly wear it again after all the fuss Mr.Denver made over it," he rubbed his face, "Did you know that he tried to get Mr. Hopsworth to fire Aleistar over that? Said I was- you know what? I don't actually feel comfortable repeating what he said to a child," he tried to laugh it off but Cherry could see the tinge of hurt in the way the tips of his barely pointed ears drooped. 

"Yeah, I don't think I could pull that one off. But, uhm, Uncle Jerry wasn't the only one making comments about the whole man in a dress thing. Most of the- please don't take this out on them we were just being stupid and I'm sorry- but, The Bed-fort Club was being just as awful about it." she pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them to try and feel a little more comfortable after that confession.

Haze sighed, "Oh sweetheart, I'm sorry that happened. That must have been so rough for you to have to sit through," his voice was soft as he put a hand on her shoulder to try and comfort her. Cherry hated how nice Haze was sometimes. How in these brief little moments he was more friend than enemy even though he stayed the same demon between them.

"You're not mad?" She didn't like how weak her own voice sounded.

"Not at you or your friends. I've gotten used to that sort of... joking," he shrugfed as pulled his hand away from her, "At least you lot weren't saying it to my or Aleistar's faces. I think that was the biggest fight we've had yet, when he got home after that meeting…" Haze trails off, "But that's the past now. I'll take you dress shopping, no problem," 

Cherry felt a pang of guilt that nearly overshadowed her worry. She remembered how mad her uncle had been, and she remembered being the one to suggest he tried talking to Hopsworth about it. Not to get Aleistar fired, but to make him consider that maybe keeping a demon around wasn't great for him. But now hearing that it might have almost actually worked, she felt her gut twist up with regret.

"And what are you going to ask in return?" she tried to swallow down her guilt, he didn't need to know that that had been her fault.

"Would you consider talking to your friends about leaving Aleistar out of this?" He asked frankly "He's getting older, and his heart isn't great anymore. So I don't want you all stressing him out so much,"

"You care about his heart health?" Cherry had to stop herself from snorting, "Isn't him dying sooner better for you because you'd get his soul faster?"

"Fuck you." Haze didn't stop himself from cussing at her, "Seriously, Fuck you. I'm offering to help you get a stupid dress. Ive been nothing but a good nemesis for you. and I've Never hurt you or anyone you love in the entire time you and your lackies have been chasing me down." The sudden 180 snap in his attitude from where they had been a moment before nearly sent Cherry running.

"You're a demon-" she tried to start justifying her words but he steam rolled on.

"Cherry, you dont fucking get it do you?" he was practically snarling as he stood to loom over her, "You think you have always just been one step behind me right? One step too weak to destroy me for good?"

"What are you-"

"You've never come close. Every time you think you have is because I let you. I could level this city in seconds, I could destroy everything you have ever loved with a snap of my fingers. That's my nature you know? To cause mayhem and suffering," he gestured aroumd them, not really paying attention as the grass he stood on began to wilt.

"And thats why we wont Let you-"

"Shut Up. You and The Bed-Fort Club have Never been what's stopping me from doing that. You've been a fun distraction to play with when I'm bored. Can you fucking Guess who I'm actually stopping myself for?"

"Him, because if you didn't he'd banish you and you wouldn't get his soul," she snapped back, "I know how this works,"

"No, you fucking Don't," he wipes at his eyes, and only then did she realize he'd started to cry behind his sunglasses "Your parents, everyone at that stupid company, everyone who sees Aleistar and I out on a date, they think I just want his money. That I'm just a gold digger. And the thing is? I don’t care, because he knows that I don't need his money,

"But every time you or Sammy, or who ever else who's in the know looks at us, they think I just want his soul. And I'm so fucking scared that one of these days he's going to listen to one of you. That he's going to Believe you over me. And that just like that, the happiest thing that has Ever happened to me will just be Poof! Gone! Sayonara happy house husband life, time to back to Actual Hell," he grit his teeth which had turned to fangs at some point during his rant as his skin tinted a bruise purple and his navy hair fluffed up to look more like his namesake. He crossed his arms and hugged himself tightly as he tried to calm down.

"And you know what Cherry? Had it Ever occurred to you that Maybe, just Maybe, I'm with him because I love him? That I ignore my nature because I just want him to be happy?" He never yelled through his entire rant, but the drop in volume, and the change from rage to desperate hurt in his tone was enough to make her wish he had just been yelling.

Cherry looks up at him in shocked silence for a moment. The only other time she'd seen Haze have any sort of out burst like this was when Aleistar was in the hospital last year and he and Sammy had gotten into a huge fight in the waiting room. 

"That's the truth?" she asked, not really knowing why but also not really knowing what else to say.

"Yeah, and nothing but the truth," He sighed wiping his hands over his face one last time as he forced his disguise back into order, "I shouldn't have snapped at you, I'm sorry. I'll just... I'll still take you dress shopping if you want me to, and I would still like it if you could talk to your crew about leaving Aleistar out of this, but I'd understand if you've changed your mind," 

"No, I uh... I think I'd still like you to take me. And, uhm..." she trailed off for a moment, "I'm sorry too, I guess I just never really thought about you and him actually being a couple," 

"Yeah, you and everyone else," he sighed one last time as he pulled out his phone at typed something before pressing send. A moment later Cherry's phone beeped, "There, you have my number now. I'm... I think I'm going to go interrupt whatever Aleistar is doing. Have a nice day and succumb to the forces of evil or whatever," he walked off without giving her time to reply. 

When she checked her messages to set up his contact in her phone she found the one from him, 

"Tell Sammy to stop mailing my husband exorcism books, we're running out of both room and oragami ideas for them

-XOXO Uncle Haze."

She groaned a little at his signature.

[bearseokie]

monsta x as ghost hunters

monsta x m.list | navi.

Shownu

first to be picked as a partner for walk-throughs. the team will get into a literal altercation attempting to be his partner.

everyone feels safest around him. even the spirits.

is actually very scared himself. like sticking his whole arm through a doorway while holding devices to get evidence just to avoid anything, scared.

no one’s going inside first? he’s already through the front door.

“what can i do to help you?”  “stay with us.”  “i’m sorry but i have a very comfortable bed at home waiting for me.”

cheeky smile and worried eyes at the same time when he hears his name over the spirit box.

is more worried about his teammates than himself. will pause the entire session if even the smallest occurrence takes place. throws people over his shoulder and carries them if they’re injured or sick. always has food and water on standby. will fight a ghost to protect someone.

gets hit on a lot. by everyone. even the energy likes him.

cleanses every place he goes in order to help the spirits escape and rest peacefully.

“go on now.”  “we’re still here.”  “well, i tried.”

Wonho

stopped functioning a while into the session and is now just in a haze of confusion and fear.

“can you speak to us?”  “no.”  “well, that’s it then guys. let’s wrap it up here.”

gets pushed inside everywhere first because everyone assumes that because he’s a big dude, he’s the most confident. will play the “no, you.” game by spinning in circles until someone else goes first.

biting his bottom lip out of sheer nervousness.

“hoseok.”  “that’s not my name. i got it legally changed before coming here. nice try.”

cries at voices coming through the spirit box screaming or crying because he wants to help them.

has a hard time deciphering if a spirit is good or evil, so he has to be pulled out of the space a lot just for general protection.

holds hands with his teammates during walk-throughs.

politely requests that the spirits go easy on him when he has to do a solo.

“okay, i gotta go now. take care.”  “don’t go.”  he’s already vanished.

Minhyuk

can’t stand still to save his life. literally. he will bounce, skip, jog, run, do cartwheels, dougie, anything to keep him mobile so nothing touches him.

understandably calm during the spirit box sessions. he genuinely tries to communicate with the spirits, but that doesn’t make him any less terrified.

trusts his gut (feelings, emotions) over anything logical.

“do you see us?”  “yes.”  “cool, thanks.”

sits with his legs crossed in the middle of a room and pouts when no evidence appears.

scares his teammates by hiding around corners and jumping out at them.

counts every second until his solo is over with. runs to the exit and doesn’t go back in until the sun is up, then he retrieves the equipment he probably dropped while scared.

“i’m okay. i’m okay. i’m okay.”  “hello?”  “i am no longer okay.”

gets excited about haunted playgrounds for the specific reason that he gets to spend most of the session on a swing.

“are we good to go?”  “do you have to?”  “that’s a sign that we gotta go Now.”

Kihyun

second guesses everything. tries to find logistical reasons behind all evidence captured.

barely flinches when he gets touched or hears his name, but the second he thinks he sees a full apparition in his peripheral? he’s more translucent than the spirit.

uses a whole ass lantern like it’s the 1800’s instead of a flashlight to ‘ward off bad spirits’.

jaw goes slack when any evidence arises and he just stands there internally freaking out for at least a solid two minutes.

 “get out.”  “that’s no way to treat a guest.”

can sit in total darkness without flinching.

thinks spirits hitting on him means he’s extra sexy.

scolds instead of threatening bad spirits enough that nothing ever happens to him. no one likes to be scolded by him, even the dead.

the last to leave a room so everyone else feels safe not being the caboose.

“it’s time to go already?”  “no.”  “well, you heard them. let’s hang out some more.”

Hyungwon

yes this six foot man is hiding behind someone smaller than him. he knows he looks ridiculous, but he’s mortified and cursing everything right now. give him a hot minute.

sleeps with an eye mask on that reads ‘do not disturb’ even if he’s in a haunted place or camping in the middle of a forest for an investigation.

“help me.”  “gonna need more context than that because you might be evil.”

well known for swearing at spirits without receiving any backlash at all. seriously, nothing happens. so he’s going to keep doing it until some real repercussions come forth.

pretends that he’s not scared when in actuality, he has his entire backpack loaded with things to keep him safe.

probably sweating under all of the layers of clothes he decided to wear as a ‘ghost precaution’.

chews gum obnoxiously just to mess with the audio readings.

attacks everything in sight, including other team members, when truly frightened.

those long legs just mean less strides to get the Hell away from the haunted place.

“I’m never coming back here.” always leads to “In This Season: The Return to ___”

Joohoney

can’t stay around a haunted place for longer than twenty minute intervals.

is pouting only because the ghost chose to touch someone else. (libras amiright)

actually has the worst luck in the history of ghost hunting, evidence wise. he gets his clothes tugged on at almost every location, hears his name in every spirit box session, and thinks he’s being followed everywhere. he’s basically a beacon for ghosts until a camera is pointed at him.

can and will cry.

“touch me again, i dare you.”  “sure.”  “wait, i was just joking!”

when asked to go anywhere alone, he will crouch down and sit on their foot with his entire body wrapped around their leg while he begs and pleads to not go at all. especially not alone.

imitates character voices like kermit so the spirits get confused. they know it’s him.

plays thriller by mj during sessions to jam out and not be so scared

screams without making any sounds when he’s afraid.

“the sun’s rising? Let’s Bounce!”

Changkyun

blood curdling scream at the slightest indication that there is something with them.

“mmmmmm.”  “microwave?”

sleep on the haunted property? he’ll be in the back of the camper, thank you.

uses the infrared on himself to see how big his dick is in his pants.

listens to lofi when he’s on break to recuperate.

befriends the local dog faster than he captures evidence of the afterlife.

thinks ghostly moans just means someone is getting some.

“you need to find me.”  “i don’t think google maps has that feature yet, bro.”

zig zags during solos like he’s running from an alligator.

time to go? he’s packed and heading out going “that wasn’t too bad, actually.”

[ripley95]

Yay! I'm so excited you're doing a prompt list. How fun! Is it cheating to suggest three in one? Somehow first snow, hot chocolate, and ice-skating all go really well together in my mind. If it sounds like too much, though, just choose the one you like best. You know I love fShenko! Of course, if the prompt doesn't end up inspiring your muse or for any reason it doesn't work well, no pressure in not doing it. Anyway, I'm excited too where you go with possible prompts!

I don't think it's cheating at all to ask for three, and I appreciate the challenge! I already had an idea for first snowfall for f!Shenko, though, so I wasn't entirely able to incorporate the ice skating into that, but it's kind of in there. Thank you so much for sending the prompt! It meant so much to me to see it in my inbox!

-

Finding Peace

Pairing: F!Shepard/Kaidan Alenko

Word Count: ~2100

Summary: Shepard has seen snow before, but it's always been ground side while on missions. Having grown up in space, she's never had the chance to truly appreciate it until now.

Read it on AO3

-

Shepard awoke to her room which was still in a dark haze. There was a noticeable lack of warmth by her side, prompting her to rub her eyes and look over to Kaidan's side of the bed. He was already awake, standing by the window, pulling the curtains back ever so slightly in a way that she couldn't see what he was looking at. Light washed over his face as he was squinting out the window, implying that it must already be morning.

"Everything all right?" she asked as she adjusted herself to sit up in the bed.

He promptly let go of the curtain, taking away the only sliver of light, painting the room in a dull grey. It was still bright enough to make out the smile on his face as he turned to her.

"Yeah, everything's fine," he said with a smile as he came to sit on the bed. "I was just waiting for you to wake up."

"Oh, and why's that?" she asked playfully.

"Do you trust me?" he asked, his grin still not fading.

She looked over to him and matched his smile. "I don't know. If you have to ask me if I trust you, that brings up a certain amount of suspicion."

He shook his head at her before he stared at her in wait for a serious response.

"Oh, come on, I think you know I trust you. The question is, why are you asking?"

"Well... It's the weekend. We don't have anywhere to be, and I uh... there's just something I want to show you."

The weekend. That was still a concept she was getting used to. Getting to go home at the end of the day working for Hackett ground side in Vancouver. Having an apartment to come home to with Kaidan. Actually having time off rather than being in a constant state of 'go' when they were still at war. It's exactly the kind of thing she'd always dreamed of but assumed she'd never get the chance to have. The thought of it put a gentle curve to her lips, feeling lucky to have Kaidan in her life.

"That sounds nice," she said, looking over to him again. "That still doesn't answer why I need to trust you, though."

"Well, let's just say my plan involves a certain level of unquestioning cooperation."

Shepard laughed as she stood up and moved to the closet to pull out some clothes. "Should I be worried?"

"No, definitely not," he said, moving over to the closet with her, making a point to pull out her warm jacket and a toque. "I know you're going to love it… but you're going to need to be blindfolded."

"What? Why?" she asked, as she looked at the clothes he handed her.

"Uh uh, no questions, remember," he said with a cocky grin.

She shook her head in amusement. "Mmm," she hummed in agreement. He had said as much. "All right. I'm all in," she said as she looked over at him, matching his enthusiasm.

"Glad to hear it. It'll be worth it. I promise."

---

"When you said I had to be blindfolded, I wasn't expecting it to be for so long," she said as she fiddled with the hem of the blindfold.

Kaidan looked over at her from the driver's side of the skycar. "Hey, don't take that off! It'll ruin the surprise."

Shepard promptly took her hand away from her face and looked over in his direction, despite not being able to see him.

"I wasn't really going to take it off, you know," she said with a laugh at how seriously he was taking it.

"I couldn't take the chance," he said with his own laugh at the situation. "Don't worry, though, we're almost there. It'll be worth the wait."

"Uh-huh. So, are you going to give me any hints?"

"And ruin the surprise when we're so close?"

Shepard laughed at that. "What if I had a guess already. You didn't exactly leave a lot up to the imagination handing me a warm jacket and hat."

Kaidan huffed out a laugh at that, himself. "I suppose you're not wrong there, but you're about to find out for yourself soon enough. We're already here."

Shepard felt the skycar slow down and land gently. She heard Kaidan turn off the engine.

"I'm going to have to ask one more thing of you first, though."

"Uh oh, what now?" Shepard asked with a smile.

"You need to put on these earmuffs too."

"Seriously?" she said, looking over in his direction again.

"Yes, seriously. Trust me, I have a reason for all this. As soon as we get out, you'll only have to walk a few feet before you can take everything off."

"Everything, you say?" Shepard asked, waggling her covered eyebrows in his general direction.

Kaidan snorted. "You know I'd never oppose that, but I don't think I'd recommend it in this particular scenario. Here," he said as Shepard could hear him leaning over from the rustling of his clothes. "I'm going to put these on you, and then I'll come to help you out of the car."

Shepard felt the earmuffs being placed over her ears. Everything was muffled now, but she heard Kaidan's door open and close behind him before she heard her own door open. She felt for the hand that Kaidan was offering and he helped pull her out of the car. There was an immediate and unmistakable bite of coldness in the air. They only walked a short distance before Kaidan stopped.

"Okay, you can take them off," Kaidan said as he let go of her arm.

She pulled off the earmuffs and her blindfold all at once and readjusted her toque quickly as she was met with a beautiful sight. Large snowflakes were falling all around her, if you could even call them snowflakes anymore. They were so big, they almost looked more like small clumps of snow, yet still entirely light and airy. She was surrounded by forest, freshly blanketed in a soft coat of it. The ground was absolutely covered and reached halfway up her calf. There was a pond in front of her that was steaming from the sharp temperature difference, the snowflakes melting away quickly as they touched the water. The absence of sound was striking, especially since living on starships her whole life and even in the city. She'd become accustomed to a constant source of white noise. But now, there was a serene calmness she'd never experienced before in her life. It was so quiet she could hear the flakes powdering the ground. The only way she could describe it was surreal.

This whole time, she'd been looking out at the scenery, barely even noticing Kaidan beside her. She looked over to him, seeing that this entire time, he'd been looking at her in wonder. He finally looked out at the forest, prompting her to look over it again.

"Do you feel it?" he asked, his voice hushed and gentle. "The peacefulness? The silence?"

"Yeah," she said, matching his gentle tone. "This is beautiful, Kaidan."

He smiled as he looked behind him. "Here, why don't we sit?"

She looked behind them to see a large log cabin with a deck and rustic, wooden patio furniture. He sat down on a bench, prompting her to sit beside him. She hadn't even noticed the two thermoses in his hands before now. He poured out some hot liquid in a cup and handed it to her. She smelled it and savoured the chocolatey aroma and warmth before taking a sip. Kaidan poured his own cup before he started talking.

"I know you've seen snow before. We were on Noveria together, after all, so I knew this wasn't exactly a brand new experience for you. But do you remember what you said when we were in port there, waiting for authorization to get in?"

"You mean before we were attacked?"

"Yeah. You were silent for a moment, looking out past the Normandy. It was the first time you told me about growing up in space. You said you never got the chance to appreciate snow before. The only time you'd ever seen it was ground side in the middle of missions, but you never got to savour it. You always thought it looked pretty from the vids on the extranet."

"Yeah, I remember that," she said with an amused laugh. "I joked about possibly getting some shore leave there if we finished the mission quickly enough."

Kaidan nodded. "Yeah. I remember that too. I think about that a lot, actually. I don't think Noveria's the best place to experience snow, mind you. The constant blizzards, the insanely cold temperatures and all that, but the closer you and I got after that, the more I thought, "I can't wait to take her back home with me." Winters in BC were some of my favourite memories growing up. The snow is special, but there's nothing quite like the first snowfall of the season.  It always feels like it puts the world to a halt the way it insulates against the noise. I've never felt more at peace than I have the first time it snows. Even though you were joking on Noveria, I always sensed a lot of sincerity there too. Ever since you said that, I've imagined a time that I could share this with you. It's not every day you get to witness someone experience that for the first time."

She looked at him genuinely, feeling as though she could cry for how sentimental it was. He was right. She'd always wanted a chance to admire the snow in peace. To feel it in her hands, to catch some on her tongue as it fell from the sky. To not need to be in an environmentally controlled suit to be able to withstand the harsh temperatures. It had always been a dream of hers, but she'd never gotten the chance. It was even more than she ever expected it to be. She laced her fingers in his and looked at him. "It's not every day you find someone thoughtful enough to want to share that with them."

Kaidan unlaced his fingers from hers and wrapped his arm around her. "No, it's really not," he agreed. "Was it worth all the trouble I put you through?"

She smiled at him gently. "That wasn't any trouble, Kaidan, but... it was definitely worth it," she said as she took a sip of her hot chocolate, looking out over the forest and the dense flakes falling. She could imagine them making a tradition out of this. Rushing up to the woods to watch the first snowfall, cuddling under a blanket and sipping hot chocolate. Next year, she'd have to watch Kaidan's face light up as they stepped into the snow, the same way he got to watch her this time. She could imagine his sense of wonder and calmness. "I think this is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."

He held her tighter towards him, and she rested her head on his shoulder.

"We've got some free time coming up over the holidays. What do you say to coming back here?"

"I think I could be convinced," she said as she sat up, flashing him a grin.

He smiled back at her. "Good. Mom reserved this cabin all winter for the family to use. We just have to make sure to ask to use it for a certain time. That pond's going to freeze over soon enough. I figure I can teach you how to ice skate."

Shepard let out a roar of laughter. "Oh, I don't know about that. You've seen me dance. I don't think I could get away with ice skating."

"Hmm, good point," Kaidan said as he took a sip of his hot chocolate. Shepard elbowed him in the side and he almost spat out his drink. "What? You're the one who said it, not me," he said with a laugh.

She rolled her eyes at him playfully. "Listen, I'd say we're about on par with the dancing skills, so you might want to shut it," she said, her smile returning.

"All the more reason we could still give it a shot. I'm not half bad at skating. Maybe you'll be better at it than you think. I won't pressure you, though. Whatever you're up for."

"And what if I fall and hurt my hip or something?"

"Then I'll nurse you back to health in front of the fire," he said, leaning in closer to her and grazing her lips gently in a kiss. "There's plenty of other things we could try. Skiing, sledding, snowball fights, you name it. I honestly don't care what we do, just that we're together."

That was a sentiment she knew well. "In that case, I'm up for anything."

[hawkinshellfire]

Right Where You Left Me

Chapter 13 - Enchanted

There I was again tonight forcing laughter, faking smiles

Same old tired, lonely place

Walls of insincerity

Shifting eyes and vacancy vanished when I saw your face

On the drive back from the cottage, Joyce stares out the window at the passing countryside and sighs. “Do we have to go back?”

 “I thought you were looking forward to starting your new job?” Hopper smiles. 

 “I am. But…”

 “One more year Joyce, then we’re outta here!”

 “Yeah?” she states softly, eyes still glued on the passing greenery.

 “Yeah. The moment we cross that stage and grab our diploma’s we’ll hop in the car and drive down to the California coast. You can study art at some big fancy school and we can get a house with a view of the ocean.”

 “Did you win the lottery and forget to tell me about it?’ she chuckles.

 ‘I’ve been saving. Besides, with my scholarship money, we’re set.”

 “Maybe I should get a job that pays more than the library,” she muses out loud. 

 “Absolutely not. You were so excited when they offered you that job. Besides, I’m excited to come and visit you at work.”

 “You plan on checking out books?”

 “I plan on checking you out,” he smirks. 

 Joyce laughs softly and continues to gaze at the passing land. One more year. 

.

.

 Semi-buried beneath her covers, Joyce pinches her eyes shut as the sound of her parents' voices fill the house. They’d been arguing for well over an hour. About what, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she refused to leave her room and get involved. 

 She finds herself watching the dust dance in the sunlight streaming in through the window. The sun was just beginning to set, painting her walls in a pale shade of yellow that provided her with a strange sense of comfort. Watching the dust flit across the empty space in front of her, she thinks that a life lived in warm yellows must be one of comfort. California would be yellow. 

 Joyce closes her eyes and dreams of salty air and a house by the sea. She can see it all so clearly. A lone chair sitting near the window bay, the sandy shore stretching out in front of the glass pane, the sun warming up the room and washing over her face, a familiar sense of comfort becomes her. 

 She’s reading, as she so often does on Sunday evenings. With her book in her lap and a warm cup of tea on the table next to her, she looks around the living room of the house she and Hopper so effortlessly decorated and smiles. A few of her paintings are hung on the wall, something Hopper insisted on doing the moment they were dry. Next to them, his record collection and a few cookbooks. She can hear him in the kitchen, clanging pots and pans as he prepares their meal. 

 This was their Sunday routine. She would read silently in her corner of the world while Hopper scurried around and made them dinner. Sometimes, no words were exchanged. They moved in tandem, slowly enjoying all that their lives together had to offer and for a brief moment, the world stood still. She never craved the business that came with Friday night football or the weekly grocery trip they took to the market on Saturdays, but she craved the way the world stood still for them on Sunday. 

 Life was simpler here. People were kind and welcoming. She didn’t have to fall asleep to the sound of her parents fighting, or prove herself to girls she didn’t care about. 

She and Hopper had built an entire life for themselves and it was more than she ever could have imagined for herself. 

 Rubbing the bridge of her nose, she stares out at the sandy shore and the sunny sky and draws in a deep breath before going to join Hopper for dinner. 

 The sound of something shattering breaks Joyce out of her daydream. Sadly, she takes in the bland walls of her bedroom and lets herself cry. She cries until she falls asleep, telling herself that she only has one year to go. 

 .

.

 Across town, Hopper is working out in the yard when he hears his parents arguing about something through the open kitchen window. He places his weights down on the grass and approaches the window, where it becomes clear that his parents are arguing about the letter he recently received in the mail. 

 His father had been so proud the day Hopper returned home from the cottage, hoisting the letter into his arms and exclaiming that it was time to serve his country. Hopper, on the other hand, had a sinking feeling in his gut since the moment he was handed that envelope.

 He knew he couldn’t not go. He’d been called to serve, much like a handful of his classmates, but the thought of leaving Joyce was killing him. Even thinking about telling her about the letter made him feel sick. 

 He’d been doing his best to forget about it for the past two days. Senior year started the next day and he would much rather be focused on the football season and his girlfriend. 

 From inside the kitchen, he can hear his mother explain to his father that he shouldn’t put so much pressure on him about going. He listens as she explains that she knows he’ll have to go and only returns to his workout when he can hear his mother begin crying.

 He just wasn’t going to think about it.

 Deployment was months away.

 For now, he was going to focus on starting his senior year and pretend that the life he and Joyce planned didn’t seem light-years away. 

.

.

After his workout, Hopper devours a bowl of cereal and stands next to the sink while waiting for his water bottle to fill. The phone rings next to him and he reaches for it with a mouth full of corn flakes on the second ring.

 “Hello?”

 “Hey, it’s me,” Joyce’s voice rings through the receiver.

 “Hey,” he says softly. “What’s up?”

 “I was just thinking about you,” she informs him.

 “Oh? What about me?”

 “I can’t wait for us to get the hell out of here.”

 His heart sinks and he stutters. He could tell her about the letter, but he doesn’t want to hurt her. Just picturing her shattered expression makes his stomach sink and instead he replies, “me too.”

 “I just called to tell you that. And to tell you that I don’t need a ride tomorrow,” she says.

 “You sure? I can pick you up before practice.”

 “It’s alright. It’s our last first day and I want to walk.”

 “Can I still drive you home?”

 “Only if we can stop for shakes.”

 “You drive a hard bargain, Horowitz.”

 “See you tomorrow?” she asks.

 “See you tomorrow.”

 Hanging up the phone, Hopper drops his head to his hands and exhales. He had to tell her about the letter. He couldn’t let her go on planning their future together knowing he was going to be the one to rip the plans away. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place, a lose-lose situation.

 If he told her, he would break her heart. If he waited to tell her, he would break it more.

 .

.

 The first day back as seniors, Joyce faces a few stares from classmates and freshmen, all likely wondering why someone like Hopper was interested in someone like her. With Chrissy and her minions having graduated, Joyce faced a lot less hazing. Sure, a few of the cheerleaders in her class made faces at her when she passed them in the halls, but most of their gossiping was harmless and she was so genuinely happy with Hopper that she didn’t listen to any of it. 

 True to his word, Hopper takes her to the diner after school for milkshakes and it becomes their Monday ritual. Joyce would work in the library until football practice ended and then she and Hopper would end up at the diner, splitting a chocolate shake. 

 She attended every one of his games that fall. Sitting on the bleachers with the rest of the fans, and occasionally his parents, she slowly learned the rules of the game and grew not to hate football. Her favourite games were the ones his father attended because he would explain the plays to her as the game went on and she didn’t have to worry about making small talk with classmates she only saw at the games. 

Two months into senior year, Hopper and Joyce had become the couple to envy. They walked down the halls arm in arm and nearly every freshman girl swooned over Hopper. 

 They were inseparable. He sat at a library table and did his homework while Joyce worked. She smoked on the bleachers while she waited for him at football practice. 

 Their weekends were filled with nights at the drive-in and once the weather began to cool, they spent nights watching movies in the Hopper’s living room. They spent time with Benny and Helen and soon enough Joyce and Helen became actual friends. 

 Hopper noticed Joyce was spending less time at home but didn't press her to tell him why. Instead, one night while walking home from a small party at Lover’s Lake, he listens intently as she tells him that her mom hadn’t returned from her latest business trip (one she’d taken a month prior). Hopper listened as she spoke and offered to help in any way he could. 

 That night after returning home he asked his parents how they would feel about Joyce occasionally spending the night. After hearing more about her situation at home, they agreed as long as Jim’s bedroom door remained open and he was respectful of the house rules. He informed Joyce the next day that she was welcome to spend the night whenever she felt uncomfortable at home and though she was initially mad at him for involving his parents, she eventually admitted she was grateful. 

 Three months into senior year Joyce spends her first night at his house. They don’t do anything wild, just do some homework and read side by side before bed, but it feels strangely intimate to her. 

 She doesn’t make spending the night a habit, but on a handful of occasions she finds herself tucked in next to Hopper, wearing one of his flannel shirts.

 He’d yet to tell her about his letter because how could he be the one to burst her bubble.

 When December rolls around, he asks Joyce if she wants to go to senior prom with him. Initially reluctant to attend another prom, Joyce tells him she’ll think about it. Helen eventually convinces her that she has to join them at prom or it “just won’t be the same” and Hopper tells Joyce that he’ll buy them tickets.

 That Tuesday morning, Joyce is lingering near the ticket table waiting for a teacher to unlock the art room so she can grab the notebook she’d left behind the day before. A girl in her class, Clara, spots her and marches over with a fake smile. Clara was tall, blonde, and this year's head cheerleader. She’d never spoken a single word to Joyce, though Joyce always saw her at football games and knew she and her friends often gossiped about her. She hated girls like Clara, who reminded her of Chrissy. Tall, blonde, beautiful and extremely cruel. 

 “Isn’t Jim buying you tickets?” the tall blonde snarls.

 “Why do you care?”

 “I didn’t think prom was really your scene.”

 “It isn’t. It’s full of mindless idiots. You’re going, right?” Joyce smirks. 

 “Ugh, whatever. I was just going to tell you that if you don’t go, you should keep an eye on Jim. He’s a hot commodity and someone might just try and snatch him up.”

 “Are you threatening me?” Joyce steps towards the girl, who immediately shrinks and steps back. 

 “Just thought I’d be nice and give you a heads up,” Clara smiles wickedly. 

 “How kind.” Joyce rolls her eyes, stuffs her hands in her pockets and marches towards her next class. 

 Girls like Clara and Chrissy were always trying to get under her skin and she’d decided long ago that she wasn’t going to let them. Why then, did she find herself chomping down on the inside of her cheek as she took her seat, fists clenched at her sides? She knew Clara was only trying to get a rise out of her, but for some odd reason, her insult played on a loop in the back of Joyce’s mind. She knew that Hopper wouldn’t care if she didn’t want to go to prom. She also knew that he would never stand by and let another girl flirt with him; she had his heart and that she was certain of. What bothered her was the subconscious thought that kept her awake some nights; Were girls like Chrissy and Clara always going to make her feel like she wasn’t enough for Hopper? 

 After school that afternoon, Hopper excitedly flashes two prom tickets at Joyce before unlocking the car. 

 “Got them!”

 Unsure of what to say, Joyce wordlessly climbs into the passenger seat and kicks at her book bag. 

 “Joyce?” he looks over at her with concern, “everything alright?”

 “Yeah,” she replies, “everything’s fine.”

 “You still want to go to prom, right? Because we don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

 “No no. I’ll go. It’s just…”

 “Can I promise you something before you continue that sentence?” 

 Joyce nods. 

 “This isn’t going to be like all the other proms. I know dances aren’t really your thing but I promise you that this one is going to be different.”

 “I don’t know Hop, it’s still a dance.”

 “I know it is. But it’s me and you. And if you’d like it can be just us two.” 

 “Just us two?”

 “Just us two. We can pretend like no one else is there. How does that sound? We go together, you let me steal a dance or two and then if it’s horrible we can leave.”

 “Hmmm,” Joyce contemplates out loud. “Aright, fine. I’m wearing sneakers with my dress,” she informs him. 

 “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he smiles. 

 “And when it’s terrible, we’re leaving.”

 “You’ve got yourself a deal Horowitz.” 

 “Can we swing by the diner for a milkshake?” she asks. 

 “Of course.” 

 Joyce decides to forget about what Clara said that morning. She trusts Hopper means it when he says they can leave the dance if she’s not having a good time. Besides, she’d be lying if she said she didn’t want to have him hold her in his arms while they danced. It was her one regret from the previous dance she’d gone to; not getting to dance with him. 

 .

.

 January 13th was senior prom night at Hawkins High. Hopper nervously fiddles with the buttons on his jacket while he paces the length of Joyce’s porch. He told her he would pick her up at 8 o’clock sharp and it was now 8:07 and he’d get to see her. 

 When he rang the bell, knowing her parents were both away for the week, she yelled back telling him she’d be ready in a few minutes. 

 Instead of wearing down the soles of his dress shoes, Hopper takes a seat on the edge of Joyce’s porch and pulls out a cigarette. He lights it, takes a long drag and exhales a deep breath. 

  He was going to make tonight perfect for her. With his deployment date looming closer and their senior year passing quicker than expected, he knew he wanted to remember this night with Joyce forever.

 The door opens behind him, bathing the porch in dim yellow lighting and the floorboards creak as Joyce steps towards him. 

 “Ta-da,” she laughs, holding out her arms to show off her dress. It was a deep red colour, the top hugging her chest tightly while the skirt floated it just below her knees. Not at all what he expected her to wear. 

 Hopper turns to face her with a smile and takes in the way her curly hair hangs over her shoulders. She shyly smiles back at him and decides to twirl around and show off her dress (and her converse). 

 “You look beautiful.”

 “You don’t look half bad yourself,” she grins. “I didn’t choose the dress, Helen did.”

 “You’d look beautiful in anything.”

 “Sap,” she laughs, smacking his arm. “Should we get going and get this over with?”

 “First,” Hopper scrambles, nervously reaching into his back pocket, “this is for you.” He hands her a small white flower with a silver wristband. 

 Joyce reaches out and runs her fingers delicately over the edges of the petals. “Hop.”

 “I know it’s lame but I just thought…”

 “It’s beautiful,” she smiles. 

 She extends her wrist in his direction and cocks her head. “Will you put it on?”

 He nods and slips the flower on her wrist. 

 “There. Now we’re ready to go.”

 “Actually, I have something too.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out a small silver flask. “To make the night tolerable.”

 “You’re wild, Horowitz,” he shakes his head and takes a sip from the flask. He coughs immediately, “Jesus, what is that?”

 “Don't question it, just close your eyes and drink.”

 “Shall we?” he asks, extending his arm in her direction. 

 “We shall,” she giggles, looping her arm through his. 

 Halfway to the school, Hopper notices Joyce fiddling with her thumbs and reaches over to take one of her hands. 

 “Hey,” he says softly, “this is going to be fun. Just me and you.”

 They drink the contents of her flask in the parking lot before entering the dance and giggling as they make their way into the already crowded gymnasium. 

 Outside the entrance a tower of balloons welcomes them. The gymnasium is covered in green and white streamers and the dance floor, located in front of the bleachers, is covered in confetti. 

 “Joyce!” Helen exclaims when she spots her. She rushes over, dragging Benny behind her. 

 “You guys made it!” she adds.

 Hopper and Benny high five and Joyce compliments Helen’s hair which is piled high in her head in a lump of curls. 

 Joyce looks around the dance and lets out the breath she’d been holding. It wasn’t that bad. The foursome makes their way over to the punch bowl and helps themselves to glasses that are more alcohol than a punch. 

 A jazz song begins playing and Helen squeals and grabs Benny’s hand. “Let’s gooooo! I love this song.” 

 She drags him off towards the dance floor, leaving Joyce and Hopper alone next to the punch table. 

 “Whatcha thinking?” Hopper asks Joyce.

 “That if you’d told me during junior year I’d be at senior prom with my best friend I would have thought you were crazy.”

 “Joyce, we’re at senior prom together. Still think I’m crazy?”

 “Of course you are. You’re dating me.”

 “The only kind of crazy that makes me is crazy for you.”

 She shakes her head and rolls her eyes at his comment but allows him to snake an arm around her waist and pull her closer.

 “You wanna dance?”

 “I’m fine here.”

 “Come on,” he smirks, taking her hand and tugging her towards the dance floor. 

 She notices a few of the cheerleaders in her class staring as Hopper leads them to the dance floor and does her best to ignore them. They were just jealous because they would never understand what she and Hopper had. She was beginning to believe that no one would ever understand their connection. It ran deeper than even she knew how to describe, a thought that terrified and thrilled her all at once. 

 Lucille begins playing as they reach the center of the dance floor. Surrounded by her classmates, Joyce awkwardly sways next to Hopper. He reaches out and squeezes her hand, silently telling her to let go. And she does. 

 She lets him twirl her inwards and outwards again, laughing as he awkwardly attempts to dip her but fails. The two of them jump and spin and scream along with the song until they’re breathless and in each other’s arms. When the music stops, Joyce leads Hopper away from all the commotion and they take a seat on the bleachers. 

 “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asks.

 “It might have been fun.”

 “Alright everyone, it’s time to announce our prom king and queen!” 

 The announcement echoes through the gymnasium and kids begin to gather in front of the small platform acting as a stage. On it, the class president Veronica stands with the microphone in hand. 

 Joyce winces and leans against Hopper. She hated popularity contests. It was something she’d battled with all of high school since her best friend was popular and she wasn’t. Now that they were dating things only seemed to get worse. Popularity was a black and white concept at Hawkins High. Hopper was popular, she was not. The girls in her class went out of their way to make sure she didn’t forget it. 

 She grips Hopper’s arm and watches him watching the stage. He looks down at her and offers her a reassuring smile. 

 “We had an overwhelming amount of votes this year, and I am happy to announce that our prom king and queen for this year are Clara Samuels and Jim Hopper!!”

 Joyce feels like the wind has been knocked out of her when Hopper’s name is announced. Hopper looks stunned but before he can react a group of guys are chanting his name and leading him through the crowd towards the stage. Clara is already front and center, waving in her tiara and sash when he reaches the stage. Veronica has him lean down so she can place a gold crown on his head. He looks for Joyce and locks eyes with her, trying his best to convey an apology. 

 Joyce folds her arms over her chest and watches as Clara and Hopper are instructed to dance under a spotlight in the middle of the dance floor. 

 Helen comes up on her left and softly whispers, “you good?”

 “Yup,” Joyce responds, popping the “p.”

 Hesitantly, Hopper puts his hands on Clara’s hips and they begin to move to the music. He looks uncomfortable while Clara has a smug grin on her face. When her eyes meet Joyce’s from behind Hopper’s shoulder, she smiles and pulls Hopper closer. That’s all Joyce needs to make a beeline for the exit. She can hear the music begin to fade as she marches out into the parking lot, but she doesn’t dare look back.

 She reaches Hop’s car in a haste and frustratedly digs around in her bag for a cigarette. Lighting it, she leans back against the car and inhales. She can tell that the music inside the gym has become quick-paced again and wonders how long the king and queen dance actually lasted. 

 Of course, Clara would be voted the prom queen. It was always going to be girls like Chrissy constantly reminding her that she didn’t belong with Hopper because she wasn’t his traditional type. She knew none of it mattered to Hopper. It shouldn’t matter to her either. Joyce closes her eyes and focuses her energy on her cigarette. 

 “I thought I might find you here,” Hopper’s voice cuts through the silence. 

 “Shouldn’t you be taking Royal photos?” Her words come out harsher than intended.

 “Nah, one dance was enough. I bet it was a joke that I was even nominated.”

 “That crown looks good on you,” she compliments, attempting to cut some of the tension. 

 He lifts it off his head and places it on hers. “Looks better on you.”

 She attempts to remove it but he places a hand in hers and holds it in place. “It’s yours now.”

 “I’m not wearing your crown.”

 “Please.”

 “Why?”

 “Because you’ll always be my prom queen.” 

 She blushes and looks down at her shoes. He lights his own cigarette and leans on the car next to her. 

 “You genuinely believe that, don’t you?”

 “Of course I do. I love you, Joyce.”

 She rocks forward on her toes, plants a hand on his chest and kisses him. 

 From inside the gymnasium, the soft sounds of a slow song spill out into the parking lot. 

 “Can I have this dance?” Hopper asks, extending one hand to her.

 “Out here?”

 “Why not?” he shrugs. 

 Joyce takes his hand and lets him pull her into his chest. He wraps both hands around her waist and she rests her head beneath his chin. 

 The crown he placed on her head brushes against his cheek and he smiles. 

 They dance in silence for a few moments, gravitating towards one another as they move. 

 “This is exactly what I had in mind when I asked you to the dance,” he whispers. 

 “It is?”

 “It is. Not to sound like a broken record but, I love you, Joyce.”

 Looking up into his blue eyes, she feels her heart lurch and she knows that he’s the real thing. He didn’t care about what anyone thought. He saw things the way she did; it was the two of them against the world, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. 

 She pulls her gaze away from his and bites on her lower lip, an unfamiliar sensation overcoming her. 

 “Hop,” she whispers. His hands flatten against her back and he stills them from swaying. 

 “I - “ she stutters. Looking up, she locks eyes with him and a calm washes over her entire body. 

 “I love you too.”

 A smile settles over Hopper’s face and he leans down to kiss her. On the outside, he allows his facial features to soften and his shoulders to relax, demonstrating to Joyce how much her words mean to him. On the inside, however, he’s a mess. How was he supposed to tell her he was leaving now?

 The lingering question kept me up

Two a.m., who do you love?

[maemi324]

Seasonal

Hey there friends!  As I am posting this it is my Birthday! I’m a whole 25 years old.  I.FEEL.ANCIENT. But I decided to post this blurb that came to me, talking about seasonal depression, which is hitting hard as it’s starting to get cooler and becoming fall. To be clear, this is just my experience with Seasonal depression, everyones is different. It’s something that affects me, and many others, in different seasons, so I hope this little blurb will give you some form of joy- regardless of whether or not you have the depressions.  It was actually kind of hard to write, but I got through it! Warnings: Talk of seasonal depression, numbness the like.  Only been seen by one other person, and only edited by me. So I probably missed some stuff. Let me know what you think!

The day was cool and dreary, overcast that hung in the air. Cloudy days themselves weren’t bad, but the cool breeze nipping at the previously warm air kept you inside, scrolling through your phone. 

It was a myriad of posts, those glad for the cooler weather and excited for the spooky holiday on the rise. You huffed a small laugh as the skeleton song popped up onto your page for the umpteenth time in that hour alone.

Even still, it was hard to see a constant reminder of the bleak months ahead as you tried to push it from your mind. But there was no fooling your body, or your mind. Seasonal depression was starting to kick in, and kick hard. The fucker never played fair anyway.

You were so tired, arms heavy as lead as they shook, a feeble attempt at keeping your phone from falling out of your grasp. Your mind was filled with the overcast clouds, no room for anything but sleep. You went to bed tired, you woke up tired and had the hardest time staying awake.

You leaned back further into the couch you were sitting on, looking onto the wall that held the crystals you gave to Keigo. Even with the sun gone, there was still enough light to show a few gentle prisms.

Though the colors were pretty, it didn’t alleviate the frown on your face. You had read that getting up and doing things would help you wake up or at the very least stay awake. Active, but simple things, cleaning up your bedroom, brushing your teeth and getting ready for the day. 

How could you when your arms refused to lift for most things, hands feeling too smooth to actually grip, not that you had any product on there to cause said sensation. Whenever you got up, your knees felt like they were jello, though you got from place to place. Was it just in your head? Of course it was, but getting out of your head was the hard part.

You turned to look over at the end table beside the couch, only then remembering to turn on the happy light you were advised to get. You weren’t entirely sure it actually helped, it didn’t mimic the sun's golden hue, despite how bright it was, it maybe made the room a bit warmer. But it was still such a cold light, much like hospital lights that made your eyes ache after a while. 

You pass another video, someone putting up fake skeletons whilst what you assumed to be a friend ran about in cheer for the cooler weather once again. You refrained from making any snide remarks in your head, it wouldn’t be fair to ruin their happy time. After all, Your summer could be their fall.

Your eyes gazed onto the clock. It’s only nine am ??! It was hardly close to lunch time even.

Irritation flashed within you, stomach gurgling in agreement. You hadn’t eaten breakfast yet, though you knew you should have. Food currently had no taste, no matter the amount of spices you added. It didn’t matter what was made, it never filled you and your stomach raged on. 

You shuffled further into the blankets you covered yourself with, your tank top and shorts hardly keeping you warm, but you refused to wear pants, they just got tangled in the blankets and felt so constricting. You glanced to the kitchen, a glare on your features as the usually wonderful treats in there mocked your current state of taste bud. 

You focused back onto your phone, ignoring your stomach for yet another random haul a user got for Halloween. Your eyes slowly began to fall closed, the music in the video, despite its energy, lulling you into a sense of...calm.

Thunk!

Your heart hammers hard against your chest, eyes wildly glancing around for the noise source.

Instead of monsters clawing from the grey shadows of daylight, you were met with sweet honied eyes.

“Well hello to you too angel” His voice hid none of his amusement, his hand held out towards you. You looked down to his hand only to find your phone. You must have dropped it at some point.

You took the phone from him, setting it on the coffee table and wrapped your arms around his neck. “ Keigo…” you cooed sleepily, “ You’re home for Lunch a bit early.” 

You pressed kisses to his cheek and neck, trying to ignore that empty feeling growing back to life.

“Early? Nah, right on time, it’s noon babe. You fell back asleep it looks like” He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you so you were standing with him. He looks you in the eyes, searching for something.

“Yeah, I guess I did” you murmur, eyes averting his gaze. He’d known you were having trouble staying awake, that the change of seasons really hit you hard. He seemed to have found whatever he was looking for as he pressed a sweet kiss to your lips and let go. 

“Well, I guess that just makes it more of a surprise, speaking of surprises!” he turned to the coffee table, rummaging through some bags. With a chirp of victory, he hands you a take out box filled with your favorite, (F/food). “ I brought your favorite back home with me” 

You couldn’t help but smile, though it didn’t feel forced, it didn’t feel like you were emoting quite right though your genuine happiness was there. He sat down on the couch with you, leaning into your side as he flipped on his phone for something.

A soft beat came first, followed by the gentle plucks of a guitar, sounds you usually associated with summer time music. You glanced over at him, brow raised in a silent question. 

He was already opening his take out, a smirk on his face

“Sorry dove, it was just a bit too quiet” was all he said.  “Hardly a quiet moment with you Keigo” you teased, “ But I can’t say I dislike your choice in mood”  “My sense of mood is never wrong angel!” 

You ate relatively quickly, wanting to spend more time with Keigo than focusing on the food, which did have just a bit more taste than anything else you had eaten. 

He talked to you about his day so far, nothing too crazy that he couldn’t handle. 

The relaxed tune you had been listening to turned into something a bit more fast paced.

It was a favorite between the two of you, the song you danced to at the bar, the night you had your first kiss on the beach. He stood up, offering his hands to you, “ Come on, it’s our song love bird!” It might have been corny to have a song but you couldn’t care less. Not with that smile that lit up a room, a laugh so sweet you could eat for dessert.

So you took his hands, his wings fluffed up in excitement. He took off his visor, and placed it on you, your vision becoming slightly yellow tinted. 

Oh it made so much difference

Everything looked and felt a bit more...alive. There weren’t any dull sensations of haze and endless numbness. You grabbed his hands again as he pulled you in.

It was hardly a masterful thing to fawn and coo over, but it had you laughing as he spun you around, his feathers having moved the coffee table out of the way. As you would spin out, he’d do something entirely and fantastically goofy, waving his hands in the air then pulling you back in. All to make you giggle and laugh as he hugged your back to his chest, blowing raspberries on your neck. 

“Keigo!”  “Oh what? Did I spin you too slow, so demanding my dove” and he spun you out again with an extra kick of some sort of energy. 

The song came to an end, and you were all red in the face, heart beating hard, but it was welcome.

“You utter goof” You giggled, pushing his visor off of your eyes, the change dented your happy mood, but only just slightly. 

“Your goof” he pressed a wet kiss to your cheek.  “So, I noticed you liked the visor? It is pretty stylish if I do say so myself”

You flopped back onto the couch, nodding, “ Yeah, they look real good on you. But it was nice, things just looked...better” 

Did the color really change your outlook so much? 

“Well, I was doing some late night browsing and found that sometimes glasses that are yellow tinted or block blue light can help with your seasonal grey time blues” a feather brought over a small bag, hiding between the food bags, and placed it in his hands.

“So I thought...these might help, whenever we can’t just dance the blues away” His cheeks turned a slight pink as his wings flapped awkwardly at your lack of response. 

He’d gone out of his way to get you these special glasses, just so that you could feel better. 

Your eyes watered slightly, getting back up from the couch and walking over to him. You placed both hands on his jaw and pulled him down for a tender kiss that he gladly reciprocated. “ You are entirely too sweet for your own good Keigo. I love you, thank you...thank you so much” 

He unfolds the glasses, placing them gently on your face. 

“I love you too song bird”

[schrijverr]

No guests in Jons office

Set at the start of season one. There is a spider in Jons office when he comes into work, Jon is very afraid of spiders and freaks out. The rest is there and he tells them about his run in with a Leitner.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: spider and a panic attack, be safe kiddos

~~~~~~~~~~

Jonathan Sims had never liked spiders. They were gross and they made him uncomfortable. His fear for the spindly creatures had elevated from a mild discomfort to a panic attack after his encounter with Mr. Spider.

It had mellowed out slightly over the years, but that didn’t mean the fear was gone, so when Jon found a spider sitting on the side of his desk when he came into work one morning, he did the only thing that came to mind.

He screamed.

He had been running late that morning and missed the tube, which meant that the other were already there when it happened. Tim and Martin were out of their chairs and at his side within seconds, Sasha running after them from where she had been between the shelves.

Wide eyed and alert Tim asked: “What’s wrong, boss?” while he scanned the room.

With a shaky hand Jon pointed to the spider. Now that he had regained the ability to move again he quickly stumbled backwards in an attempt to get as far away from the spider as he could. Tim looked between him and the spider and raised a brow as he said: “Really, boss? Afraid of a tiny spider?”

In Jons opinion the spider in question was pretty large and every spider no matter how small was a spider too many. He didn’t say that though, instead opting to say: “Please, just kill it.”

“No.” Martin stepped in, “I can take it outside. The spider hasn’t done anything wrong, we shouldn’t kill it just for existing.”

Jon glared at him and told him: “It is inside, it belongs outside. Enough of a crime, kill it.”

Sasha picked Martins side and said: “Martin is right, Jon. You should be fine once it is gone, why care if it lives or dies?”

Tim nodded, also deciding to be in camp ‘the spider lives’ although Jon couldn’t decide if it was because he believed it or if he just wanted to mess with him.

He ignored it in favor of answering Sasha: “I care, because if it is dead it can’t come back. It’s already gotten in once, it knows the way. I don’t want it here, so please kill it. Now.”

The others were giving more arguments for why the spider should be taken outside, but Jon wasn’t listening. He wasn’t listening, because no one was moving to do something about the spider and it was just sitting there undisturbed. It could move at any moment. It could scuttle away and they wouldn’t be able to get it away and it would be there, but Jon wouldn’t be able to see it, but he would know that it was there. It would be there and able to strike at any moment and Jon wouldn’t be prepared and…

And he was breathing heavily, worrying himself into a panic attack.

He hadn’t had one since his first week at the Institute, but he couldn’t help it. This was the breaking point for him, apparently. He thought he had grown out of it, but the constant stress of his new position combined with the fear and the helplessness had pushed him over the edge.

His vision was blurring, but also hyper-focused on the spider. He couldn’t breathe and the room was too small. In the distance he heard voice that sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place them through the panicked haze.

He felt a hand on him, small, warm, Sasha. He almost calmed a bit, but then one of her bracelets tickled his arms and suddenly all he could feel was spiders crawling over his skin.

He jerked away and started to scratch and rub over his body in an attempt to get them off him. He didn’t care that his assistant were there and he didn’t care that he was ruining the professionalism he had built up so carefully. He just didn’t care. He didn’t care. He just wanted it to be over.

He wanted the spider dead and he wanted the crawling of his skin to stop, but most of all he wanted to be able to breathe again.

Gasping for air he collapsed to the ground and curled into himself as he tried not to look at the spider or anyone else there. It didn’t help with getting his breath in order and he felt like there was no room for his lungs to expand, but it was safer on the ground.

Safer curled into himself.

Because he felt a bit safer he could focus more on his surroundings. He heard a voice, male, Martin, he registered. Martin was talking to him. It was mostly meaningless words of comfort that glided over Jon and didn’t help, except maybe grounding him again. What really got his attention, however, was hearing Martin say: “It’s okay, Jon. Tim killed the spider. He’s gone. The spider is gone.”

He peaked out over his knees and with a soft and weak voice he asked: “Really? It’s, it’s gone?”

Martin nodded and smiled. “It’s gone. Just breathe, it’s all okay. Don’t worry.”

Slowly Jon got his breathing under control and after a few minutes he felt good enough to uncurl some more, although he didn’t try to get up from his sitting position.

Sasha had disappeared a few moments earlier, but she now returned with a big glass of water that she handed to him as she told him to take small sips. He did and it was quiet until Jon was about halfway through emptying the glass. Then Tim asked: “Want to tell us what that was all about, boss?”

Jon stared at the ground and took another sip, trying to ignore them.

It didn’t work. Martin was kneeling in his sight and he could see Sasha legs on one side and Tims outline by the door. He mumbled: “I don’t like spiders.”

“Why?” Tim asked and Sasha told him: “Let him calm down for a moment, before you interrogate him.”

“Yeah,” Martin agreed, “He’s probably exhausted right now.”

And Jon was, the adrenaline was wearing off and the tiredness was seeping into his bones. He blinked heavily and swayed a bit. He didn’t want to be tired, he still had a lot to do and there could be more spiders or they could’ve lied to him to get him to calm down. His throat tightened again and he had to make sure. Ignoring Martins protest he crawled to the door of his office and peered inside.

The spider was gone.

Where it had sat was now a dark brown stain. A small sense of security came over him and he carefully cataloged the entire office to make sure there weren’t any other spiders lingering. He let out a relieved sigh when he found nothing and turned back to the other who were watching him with different stages of confusion and concern written over their faces.

Slowly he got up, almost falling over before Martin caught him and steadied him. He shot him a grateful smile as he held on until he could stand on his own. Then he dusted himself off and politely said: “Thank you for removing the spider, lets all get back to work now.”

He was still exhausted and was planning to collapse on the couch once everyone was gone, which he hoped would be soon, since he was fighting to suppress a yawn that was threatening to crawl up his throat. He didn’t like that analogy and shuddered slightly, but he then got distracted by Tim, who demanded: “Oh no, you’re not glossing over this just like that.”

Jon frowned. He wanted to argue that he had a right to his privacy and that he didn’t need to explain a phobia if he didn’t want to, but that also seemed like a lot of work. Instead he opted for ignoring Tim and walking to his couch where he flopped down.

Tim cut of the indignant comment he was making about being ignored when Jon did that and just turned to Martin and Sasha with a bewildered expression. Martin gave him a sympathetic smile and said: “I think you can interrogate him once he has woken up again and gotten some rest.”

Looking back to Jon, he found Jon already asleep. He looked different without the worry lines and scowl, he looked young and vulnerable. A strange feeling crept up Tims spine as he realized Jon was much closer to his age than he initially thought. That he wasn’t weathered by age, but by stress.

He decided to let him rest and followed the other two back to their desk. Although not much work got done that morning as they all shot glances to the half open door of Jons office.

It was nearing lunch when Jon reemerged. He looked a bit better, less pale and more present. The heavy concern flowed out of the room as three pairs of shoulders relaxed.

Going for a more light and less interrogative tone Tim stood up and said: “Hey, boss, looking a bit better, I see. Are you alright?”

Jon tensed slightly as he answered: “Yes, I’m fine now, sorry for my earlier episode. I didn’t mean to alarm anyone, it was just unexpected that’s all.”

“No, don’t worry about it. We should be sorry for not listening to you and arguing about it for so long.” Sasha said, “Sorry we pushed you.”

“It’s alright, Sasha.” Jon assured her, “You didn’t know about this phobia of mine. You were just trying to do what you thought was right, I can hardly fault you for that.”

“Is it really just a phobia?” Tim asked, trying to get the conversation back on track, “Or did something happen to you? I know some arachnophobes, but I’ve never seen a reaction like that.”

Martin could see Jons muscles tighten and saw how he was retreating back into himself, so he decided to save him by saying: “You don’t have to answer, of course. We were just curious that’s all.”

Jon scanned all their faces, trying to find a reason to get angry, to shut them out and be able to forget. He only found genuine concern and curiosity, no malice.

He looked down and fiddled the hem of his shirt as he tried to find the words to explain this as short as possible. He swallowed once before he said: “When I was younger, around ten, I had a run in with a Leitner. It was called A Guest for Mr. Spider and if you read it, you would be compelled to knock on a door, I was about to knock when, I can’t recall his name, but he was a bit of a bully, decided to push me down and attempt to make fun of what I was reading. He read it and knocked in my place, I only saw two big hairy spindly legs pull him in. No one ever saw or heard from him again.”

A heavy silence fell over the Archives and when it dragged on Jon tried to defend himself: “It’s stupid, I know. It was probably-”

He got cut off by Tim, who said: “It’s not stupid.”, he knew how uncomfortable he still got around clowns, he couldn’t imagine how he would be if he had gone through that as a child, “It’s not.” he said again.

Martin and Sasha quickly backed him up in assuring Jon that his little freak out about the spider was completely normal and nothing to be ashamed off. Jon relaxed bit by bit until he smiled slightly and thanked them once again for getting rid of the spider and apologizing once more for the entire thing.

After that they all wordlessly agreed to never speak of it again and without telling Jon the other three tried to remove spiders from the Archive sneakily. It was in vain, of course, but for now the Web didn’t mind that much. It still had enough eyes on the place.

[five-wow]

I have a little crisis going on. My friend saw me checking in on tumblr on my phone a week or so ago and asked me what I was looking at. I told her about H 5-0 and McDanno. She likes gay ships and started watching.When she was finished with season one and had watched the conclusion of the season final she asked me why Danny ditched Rachel in favor of Steve. I told her because he loves him – duh! But I guess she just doesn't feel the vibes for that ship. (1/2)

She told me while she got why maybe Steve would fall for Danny she didn’t understood how Danny could develop feelings for Steve, didn’t even get how they’ve become friends with all the arguing. I know I can’t convince her and I don’t want to.But when I was home again, it got me thinking… and to my sheer horror I nearly came up with nothing (okay, he payed for the dolphin swimming and helped finding Meka’s murderer, was there for the memorial service) but otherwise? (2/2)            

Dear god, I don’t know myself why Danny would fall for Steve. I haven’t watched season 1 in a while. Could you please remember me? Sorry for the Long three part ask. (3/3)             

OKAY SO. Tragically, I haven’t watched season 1 in a while either, because I still haven’t gotten around to that rewatch I keep saying I should probably do, BUT. HOWEVER. YET.

It might be a bit of a mess, but I’m always ready to ramble about why Danny might fall for Steve. This ended up as nearly 2k words, so I’ll put it under a cut:

I think that a crucial first thing to understand is that when Danny yells, it does not necessarily mean he’s genuinely angry. I definitely get how if you do interpret it that way, the entire show could just kind of look like Danny doesn’t even like Steve very much, let alone loves him. Yelling CAN mean he’s angry, and of course it often DOES mean that, but just as often (or perhaps even more) it overwhelmingly means that he cares. Loudly. Right in your face. (There’s a later episode, 3.15, in which Steve does something heroic but stupid and Danny yells at him afterwards and Steve goes, kind of gleefully, “You were worried about me” and Danny says “Worried? No, no, I was worried about my car” but it’s VERY obvious that he’s lying, like, to the point where that’s the whole joke here. There are probably other instances that prove the yelling-Danny-does-not-mean-a-Danny-who-doesn’t-like-you, but this is my favorite because it’s extremely, blindingly obvious, and the narrative actively wants us to see it that way.)

To jump right in with the deep stuff: Steve offered Danny a job and gave him a family and a place in Hawaii and a purpose and the feeling of being useful, and he did it at a time when Danny was living a pretty miserable existence where even after six months he was still being hazed by the other Detectives for being the haole who wears a tie. Danny tells Tani in one of the very early season 8 episodes that Steve has a way of coming into people’s lives at just the right time, and that he did that for everyone on the team, including Danny. Obviously if you’re watching season 1 you can’t know what’s being said in season 8, but it’s just confirmation of stuff that’s definitely there on screen in season 1, too.

Steve is good at his job. Really, really good, and even if his methods are crazy, he ends up helping people. Danny can be shocked at the means and still appreciate the end at he same time.

Steve’s surprisingly smart, too. A bit of a dork sometimes - Steve with that teacup in 1.10? “I like tea.” NERD. (He’s also absolutely saying that to rile Danny up, and essentially that just means he enjoys arguing with Danny which is SO PERFECT for Danny, who can’t stop it even if he tries. More about that later.)

Steve makes Danny laugh. It may sometimes be a laugh borne out of shock, perhaps even anger, but there’s definitely laughter. (Steve also goes along with Danny’s silly banter and smiles about it - Danny’s “you miss me, don’t you?” when Steve is being a super secret spy on the museum ship in 1.07 and Steve’s “yeah, yeah” and “but you don’t swim” are a wonderful example.)

But then, on top of all of that, Steve is also kind. Of course there’s the hotel room with dolphin swimming he gives Danny as an apology after Danny makes it clear that he thinks he deserves one (which, by the way, still make me scream a little, because everything after that one moment ALWAYS portrays Steve as extremely unwilling to spend a lot of money on anything, even gifts, AND because yes, it’s a way to apologize, but it’s also something that immediately shows Steve gets Danny, because it’s not just for Danny, it’s for Grace! it’s for Danny to have fun with Grace), but he also makes a call to the Governor when Danny has issues with Rachel over visitation rights for Grace, and he does it behind Danny’s back. He comes to Meka’s funeral, not because he needs to grieve, but because Danny is grieving. When Grace and Rachel get car-jacked and Danny has to leave suddenly in the middle of a case, Steve’s immediate response is to tell him to call if he needs anything and then look completely thrown for a moment after Danny leaves. tl;dr: Steve CARES, and Danny, a man who is definitely not stupid, knows this. I mean, it’s not like he has to look far to see it anyway - he experiences it, over and over and over again. (And Steve’s there like this for the whole team, not just Danny, but in season 1 it’s definitely mostly Danny, because after Steve he just has the most problems, poor guy.)

(Side note, that episode I mentioned in which Grace and Rachel get car-jacked and Danny rushes to them? 1.16? Later on, Steve is going full camouflage ninja in the forest on his own and then his phone starts buzzing and he sees it’s Danny and the first thing he does after picking up is ask “are Grace and Rachel okay?” and when Danny then asks about the case he goes “don’t worry about that” to calm Danny down, and they end up having a lengthy conversation about Danny’s problem while Steve is panting trying to hold a log in the air for some very important SEAL reason, but he doesn’t complain a single time or even mention that he’s kind of busy. Danny needs him, so he’s available.)

And I mean, obviously, there’s these: “Maybe you’re not as alone around here as you think, Danno.” “I know you.” “I picked you, didn’t I?”

If I can just circle back around to something we’ve sort of covered: Danny yells a lot. He has a temper. He gets angry. He doesn’t get along super well with most people, and then along comes Steve, who initially INFURIATES Danny to the point where Danny ends up hitting him after they meet, but instead of getting angry back or holding a grudge, Steve is impressed and takes it in stride and still wants Danny to work with him because he sees Danny’s talents, and he doesn’t let himself be intimidated by the attitude. He lets Danny rant and get angry and he argues back but also calms Danny down when needed, and everything we’re shown indicates that he enjoys that dynamic. Essentially, Steve is the ideal partner for Danny, and Steve is also lonely and he’s loyal to a fault and they have a similar sense of humor and their banter flows ridiculously smoothly right from day one and their personalities just click and Steve keeps inviting Danny over for beer and letting him walk into his kitchen unannounced and dragging him into Steve’s classic car for its first test drive, so what do you know? Steve’s also a really great best friend.

Danny says Steve is terrible with kids and then Steve is actually GREAT with Grace. Like, when Danny gets hit with the sarin gas and Steve picks Grace up from school because he knows she’ll be getting out soon and there will be nobody waiting for her? That’s something that you can bet means the world to Danny, because Grace is his world. ALSO, Steve goes to get Grace and deliver her to the hospital personally, even though it’s a ridiculously busy day with two cases to work at once, one of which might lead them to Wo Fat, the killer of Steve’s father, which is Steve’s Huge Tragic Backstory and the thing he’ll usually drop anything else for. Except Grace! (Obviously, if he knew when Grace would need to be picked up and hadn’t done anything about it, that would have been a huge dick move, so you could say he had no choice, but that still means that 1) he knows when and where to pick Grace up in the first place, which shows he cares enough to pay attention to something that he couldn’t have known would ever be relevant until that moment, and 2) he could have sent Chin or Kono or Jenna or Duke or Kamekona or random HPD officers, and he did not do that. He went there in person. He went to get Grace.)

Which leads us neatly here: Steve, a guy with virtually no family left except for one very estranged sister (and an aunt we don’t know about yet and a mother who’s actually still alive, but those can’t really be counted at the end of season 1), is a HUGE FAMILY MAN. What’s Danny’s whole reason for uprooting his life and being miserable five days a week but still feeling it’s totally worth it for those other two days? LOVE OF FAMILY. Danny definitely, 100% can appreciate that quality in other people, and Steve has it, he just had nowhere to direct it for the longest time.

In the same vein, Danny is a True Dad. He sees Steve, this lonely guy who just lost his dad, and in the fandom it’s generally acknowledged that Steve saw Danny and went “yes, this one, I’m keeping this one”, but for all of Danny’s complaining, he also adopted Steve on the spot.Steve needs a Danny so he doesn’t get himself killed (the very first episode immediately hammers this point home really hard), and there’s no way Danny isn’t aware of that on some level.

Also just. Yes, Steve does a lot of things Danny tells him he shouldn’t do. Yes, Steve is an idiot sometimes. But he also listens to the things Danny yells at him, and when it really matters to Danny, he changes his behavior. There’s that apology hotel room, for one, but there’s also that bit in the episode about Meka, Danny’s former partner, where Steve is not entirely convinced that Meka wasn���t a dirty cop even though Danny keeps insisting he can’t have been because he was a good guy, and Danny gets so mad Steve doesn’t believe him that he walks off (“If my word is not good enough for you, then I don’t know what I’m doing here,” he says), so a while later Steve goes after him and he keeps asking questions until he understands what Danny means - you know your partner, you trust your partner, the way Danny trusts Meka is the way Steve trusts Danny and that’s why Danny’s behavior makes sense - and from that point on, he fully has Danny’s back in this crusade to clear Meka’s name, even though there it’s not like there’s suddenly more hard evidence to support it.

So why would Danny ditch Rachel to go chase after Steve? Well, because he knows at that point, no one else might do it, and at least not the unrelenting way Danny will. Because Steve doesn’t have many people and deserves to have someone stick up for him. Because there is zero doubt Steve would do the same thing for him.Because Danny knows that in that moment, Steve needs him more than Rachel does. Because he has to make a choice and he’s inevitably going to regret not being there for one of these people, but apparently, to Danny, getting to Steve is more urgent. Because he’s putting Steve’s needs before his own. Because they’re partners and they’re family and they’re friends and that really, really means something. Because it’s Steve, and he means something.

[myinconnelly1]

A Life Unlived Ch. 3: Life Goes On Pt. 2

Masterlist / Previous

Word Count: 1,618

A/N: Season 4 still good luck don't murder me

Warnings: non-graphic smut, themes of cheating, canon gore

September 2008

Dean watched as the Demon chained to the chair choked on the black smoke that it was made of.  He hadn’t heard much from outside, but he had heard enough.

“Slutting around with that demon bitch.  What were you doing all those months?”

Dean couldn’t stand there anymore.  He burst into the warehouse.

“Dean,”  Sam said genuinely shocked.  “I can-”

“If you say you can explain…”  Dean said heavily.  “Why don’t you start with who she is?”

“It’s good to see you again, Dean.”  Ruby faked a smile at the older Winchester.

“Ruby?  Is that Ruby?”  Dean asked looking at Sam.  He hurled himself at her, pinning her against a grate and pulled the demon knife intent on stabbing her.  Sam intervened, telling Ruby to leave.

“Dean?”  Dean!”  Sam called after his brother as Dean walked out of the warehouse and got in the Impala.  He had no idea where he was driving to but he needed to get somewhere.

The motel he arrived at was not the one that he and Sam were staying at.  It also wasn’t the bar that he had planned on going to.  He saw Myin’s Camry parked there and realized he had gone to her.  Maybe she would understand.  She had refused to stay around Sam since Dean had returned from hell.

“Dean?”  Myin asked surprised when he knocked on the door.  “Are you okay, what are you doing here?”  She let him into the room, locking the door behind him.  The sat next to him on the bed.  She caressed her thumb and knuckles down his cheek in a well-practiced motion of care.  Dean turned to face her and leaned his forehead against hers.  Myin had always been generous with her physical contact, a fact about her that made her seem warmer and inviting.

She lifted his chin with her index finger so that his eyes met hers and his nose bumped against hers.  Dean’s attention was brought to her lips as she licked them, concern etched on her face.  He went for it.

He pressed his lips against hers.  The pain he carried from hell, the anger at Sam for his betrayal, the expectations of Castiel and the angels and God all crashing down on him and out in a cathartic release as he kissed the short brunette.  His hands slid around her waist, her body was so warm and comforting, and he didn’t want to let go.  Much to his surprise, she kissed him back after a moment of surprise.

He pulled her body close as her hands curled into his short hair.  He kissed her again, and again, letting his hands feel her not wanting to break contact.

“Dean,”  She gasped against his lips.  He kissed her again, getting his hands under her legs to pull her onto his lap.  “Dean!”  her cry was muffled against his mouth.  He flipped her onto her back his erection hard as he was nestled in the cradle of her legs.

“Dean, stop.”  Her words finally cut through his haze and he pulled himself away from Myin as if he had been burned.

“Myin, I’m sorry, shit I’m sorry.”  He babbled his apology even as he looked at her, lips kiss chapped and hair fanned on the bed below her.

“It’s okay,”  She said as she sat up and licked her lips.  “What happened?”

“I, uh, followed Sam and saw him with someone that made me really unhappy,”  Dean chuckled as he explained without trying to sell Sam out in a bad light even after everything.

“So you met Ruby I take it?”  Myin mumbled as she bit her lip.

“Yeah, how did you know?”  Dean was taken by surprise at how quickly she had come upon the name.

“When you died Sam came to live with me and the girls.  It was good for a while.  We were happy I thought.  But I guess I wasn’t enough.  He wanted me to cast a spell to save you.”  Myin stood from the bed and crossed her arms.  “I told him the cost was going to be too high, magic always comes with a cost.”

“He left because you wouldn’t cast a spell to save me?”  Dean asked looking at her bewildered.

“I guess Ruby is a better witch than me.  At least in bed.”  Myin looked down at the floor bitterly.

“He’s sleeping with her?!”  Dean nearly shouted as all the anger flooded his system again.

“What did you think they were doing together?”  Myin asked looking at him as if he had two heads.

“She’s a demon,”  Dean said as if it were obvious.  “Didn’t you know?”

“No?!  Why would I know that?”  Myin threw her hands out in exasperation.  

“You could see the angel, I figured it was all of them.”

“I have no idea why that happened,”  Myin said looking away.  She was a good liar, in Dean’s opinion, but it takes one to know one, he thought ruefully.

“So he wanted you to cast the spell and you wouldn’t so he left you for ruby?”  Dean clarified.

“Yeah after about a month of them doing whatever it is they do together.” She rolled her eyes as if saying the next thing couldn’t make anything worse.  “It’s funny cause I found out right before I was going to tell him I would cast the spell anyway.”  Myin shook her head again, but when she turned to look for Dean she realized he had walked out the door.

“No, that’s okay, Dean.  I can hold a conversation by myself for the both of us.  It’s not like I sent up a red flag to the Angels or anything.”  She muttered as she closed the door to her motel and went about fixing the blankets on her mattress before calling her kids.

June 2008

“This one requires a witch,”  Myin said hesitantly.  “You don’t have a witch.”

“Well,”  Sam gestured to her.  “Maybe your dad let something that could be helpful, and you just don’t know it?”

“I don’t know, Sam.  Magic always has a price.  Even if you don’t know what it is.  It’s not safe.”

“We have to try,”  Sam said desperately.

“I’ll look.  But no promises.”  She brushed his hair out of his face, then kissed his lips.  

“Hey, Sam?”  Myin called as she unlocked the front door to her house.  The Dani and Penny were away with Myin’s mother in law, and Myin was hoping for a long weekend with Sam.  It would be nice to have some time together that wasn’t quickies once the girls had gone to bed.  Not that she minded the quickies, but she liked the sore feeling that she got after having Sam inside her for longer than twenty minutes.  “I was thinking about cooking tonight, I got chicken and pork, any pref-”  

Myin cut off mid-question as she dropped her groceries and nearly threw up in her mouth.  Sam was in the living room with a skinny brunette, licking blood from her wrist.  They were both partially naked and Sam was fucking her senseless.  The glass of a jar shattering was enough to get their attention, and Sam nearly dropped the girl as they moved to cover themselves.  Myin turned her back to the two of them shock and disgust evident on her face.

“I’m gonna leave now,”  The brunette muttered as she scrambled to get past Myin.  Myin grabbed her shoulder and punched her in the face.

“Ow,”  The slut groaned but broke free of Myin’s grip and rushed out.

“Myin, I’m sorry I can explain.  Ruby… Ruby and I were trying to find a way to save Dean…”  Sam was starting to trail off as he realized how bad the entire situation looked.

“I think you should leave,”  Myin said numbly.  “I’m going to go out, please get your things and leave.”  Myin grabbed her keys and walked back out the front door.

She found herself in a church parking lot, a place she hadn’t been since before Jay died.  She walked in, soaking wet from the rain and had a seat in one of the pews.

“Can I help you?”  The priest walked over to her and placed a hand on her forehead.  “You look like you are in so much pain.”

“Father, I- I feel like God has deserted me,” she sniffed pathetically as the tears continued to stream down her cheeks.

“God always looks after us, even when we think He has left us, that is really Him helping us the most.”

“I have a favor to ask Him, but after everything, I’m not sure I am very high in His books.  I don’t think He likes me very much.”  Myin giggled a little manically at her awful joke.

“He has time for favors from those of us that are farthest from Him.”  The Priest said.  “If you need help asking Him for a favor let me know.  We’re on good terms.”  Myin smile for real this time, but the priest walked away to give her space.

“If You’re listening, I need help.  Someone very special has been misplaced.  He is a good man, and he is in hell,”  Myin whispered her prayer as she stood and walked to the baptismal font.  “I offer you my sight, in hopes that you will see how important he is.”

She reached her right hand into the water then let the droplets hit her eyes like eye drops from her fingers.  Her tears intensified for a moment before stopping and her vision cleared.

“I will help you,”  A voice carried on the wind caressed her ear.  “I hear your call.  Dean Winchester will be saved.”

@waywardbaby​ @destielhoneybee​ @snffbeebee​ @deangirl7695​ @spnbaby-67​ @maddiepants​ @tabrown2021​ @ladywinchester1967​ @woodworthti666​ @miraclesoflove​ @tumbler-tidbits​ @emilyshurley​ @akshi8278​ @mannls​ @wendibird​ @bobasheebaby​ @flamencodiva​ @theoneandonlymelol​ @chelsea072498​ @donnaintx​ @justsomedreaming​ @supernaturalenchanted​ @kalesrebellion​ @prettydeaneyes​ @emoryhemsworth​ @yourdommelb​

[anoutlandishfanfic]

Season Four Finale Pt. 2.

This rewrite has been in the works for quite some time (*cough* four and a half months), so THANK YOU for your patience and tenacity in not letting it sit in google docs forever unfinished.

Like many of you, I was less than enthused with Jemmy’s birth at the end of season four and decided to rewrite it, mixing in what I loved from the books and the elements I actually did like from the episode. You can find Part One/ Claire’s POV here. If you haven’t read it, you should, otherwise all you need to know is that Claire and Jamie have arrived back to River Run just in the nick of time. Claire is already upstairs with Bree and Jamie is trying to sort things out downstairs.

I had hoped to post it actually *on* Father’s Day, but life and theater productions happened and I didn’t quite wrap it up in time... but HAPPY FATHER’S DAY JAMIE.

“You’ve arrived in good time,” Lord John assured as we walked briskly towards the open front doors of River Run.

A measure of relief washed over me, but it was still out of heightened concern that I asked, “How is she, then? Is she—“

The inquiry over my daughter’s health and disposition was answered by Bree herself: a heart rending scream spilling out the open front door. I broke into a full run, sprinting towards her and I’d nearly crossed the threshold before he stopped me.

“Jamie, wait,” he insisted, his hand taking a firm hold of my elbow and pulling me up short. “Claire will be at her side in a moment. She can do far more for her than we can.”

Raking a hand wildly through my hair, I nodded and he let go.

“We?” I rose a brow in wry amusement.

“Yes, some help we’d be, you and I,” John chuckled as we walked through the door. “You’ve some knowledge of foaling and the like, I expect, but I’m afraid I’d just be in the way.”

My hands gripped the banister as I hovered near the bottom step of the grand staircase, thankful for its sturdy construction as I pushed mightily against it. The solid oak didn’t make any sound in complaint under my abuse, nor did it budge an inch as I gave it a good shake. I could hear snippets of the conversation going on above and was torn between rushing to my daughter’s side and heeding my friend’s truthful advice.

I knew if I mounted the stairs and waited in the hall, I would be unable to keep myself from bursting through the door and directly into the middle of things. I would only be in Claire’s way and much like a fish out of water, gaping slack jawed at my daughter’s turmoil and flopping this way and that in my attempt at being helpful.

No, I mentally sighed, I would let Claire handle things and trust that she knew what was best for our daughter.

I turned back to him, finally, agreeing, “She’ll have things well in hand shortly.”

“And your grandchild delivered soon after that, no doubt.”

John’s smile was forced, but his assurance genuine. I noticed the worry, the light of concern in his eyes and it made me consider the time he’d spent at River Run with Brianna. I knew he would have dutifully looked in on her, but there were many ways of going about such a task… had he introduced himself as a friend or made a point of doing business with my aunt more frequently than he might have otherwise?

These questions and more were on the tip of my tongue, but squelched as my godfather burst through the door, completely out of breath.

“Claire’s with her, then?” He blustered, his gaze upturned to the second level and brow deeply furrowed.

I swallowed the urge to smile — even as my gut churned mightily within me — when my wife’s voice broke out loud and clear.

“I am her mother and if you think for one sec—“

The door to Brianna’s room was shut hastily and any further noise stemmed.

“Oh, aye,” Murtagh chuckled wryly.

I watched in annoyance as he and John cautiously eyed each other, both obviously wanting to be within earshot when something happened, but not thrilled with the idea of being in the other’s presence.

They didn’t speak, but sighed and shifted uncomfortably, setting me even more on edge than I’d been before. I lifted my hand and raked through my hair, pulling at the back of my neck in frustration. I set my jaw, turning my gaze away from them and fixated on the door of Brianna’s chamber, instead.

I desperately wanted to know what was going on within.

Would it be soon or a good while longer?

Were things going as they should or were there complications?

There were so many things that could go wrong, only so much that Claire could do. I had complete trust in my wife and knew she would do everything she could and then some… but what if it wasn’t enough?

My thoughts quickly spiraled into a hurricane of worst case scenarios involving losing both Brianna and her bairn and I could stand it no longer.

I quickly climbed the first set of stairs and began to pace the length of the landing, back and forth, back and forth. I was closer… but still very much in the dark when the door above suddenly opened and Lizzie burst through, clattering down the hall and closing the distance between us at top speed.

“Easy, lass,” I caught her as she missed a step and nearly fell head first into me.

“What do they need?”

Relief washed over her face as she eagerly reported her task, “Mistress Claire is askin’ for her medicine box. She said you’d ken the one.”

“Aye!” Murtagh nearly shouted from below. “‘Tis right here!”

Taking two long strides to where he’d deposited the store of more necessary items from our saddlebags on a nearby table, he was back post haste, up the stairs and handing it to the trembling lass a moment later. With the goods now in hand, she spun on her heel and disappeared back up the stairs. The dust had barely settled in her wake when the door opened again and out tumbled my aunt and a woman I could only assume was the midwife.

“Well, I never!” spewed the woman. “Jocasta, I don’t understand how you can stand for such behavior in your own home! Sending a respectable midwife away from the childbed of a young woman who is in obvious need of—“

“My niece is a verra fine healer, Mrs. Gordon,” my aunt interrupted, forcefully supporting my wife’s expulsion of her friend from the birthing chamber, even while her carefully schooled features bellied her concern over this unexpected turn of events.

“She’s no’ one to stand on ceremony, an’ for that I do apologize, but Brianna is in good hands, I assure you.”

The crotchety old woman paid little heed and continued on her rant as the pair descended the grand staircase, “You are placing them both in grave danger and I will not stand for this!”

“Aye, I understand,” I caught the impatient gleam in Jocasta’s eyes as she moved closer, “but I will be followin’ Claire’s instructions on the matter, Mrs Gordon. You’re welcome to stay in case she needs a helping ha—“

“I thank you for your hospitality, but I will not remain while you let that madwoman do as she pleases!”

With that pronouncement made, Ulysses appeared out of nowhere and quickly, yet politely ushered the wretched woman to the door.

“Thank you, Auntie,” I murmured, for her ears only, informing her of my presence with her on the landing as well as recognizing her part in the proceedings.

She sighed, “Your wife has the habit of showing up at the most unexpected times, nephew.”

“Aye,” I grinned, having to admit that she did. “But I’m glad we made it in time.”

“Brianna is too,” she patted my arm with a smile. “She wishes to see you.”

I found myself quite suddenly unable to move, my feet firmly nailed to the floor as I fought between the overwhelming relief at being wanted and the sting of an even greater feeling of regret. Brianna and I hadn’t parted under ideal circumstances and, though I’d given a letter to John for him to deliver, the words of apology remained unspoken between us.

Could I face her while she was in such pain?

How could I bear to see her so, when I knew I could have prevented all of it… if I’d let Bonnet hang as he should have that fateful day… if I’d been able to defend my wife and men that bloody night on the river?

“Jamie?” Murtagh’s voice broke through the haze of immobility, “Bree needs you.”

It was those three words that set me off at a dead run up the stairs, freeing me from my mental prison and enabling me to run to my daughter’s side. I took the stairs two at a time and leapt over the remaining landing entirely in my haste. All was quiet for a moment, now that the commotion had departed, but I could hear the low hum of voices as I paused before the door of Brianna’s bedroom.

I pressed my palm against the carved oak door, hesitating for only a moment as I tipped my head forward to rest my brow against the smooth, polished wood in silent prayer.

Let them be safe, both she and the child.

The petition was well worn, my spirit having uttered it countless times in the last twenty four years. I’d prayed it for my wife and unborn child, alone in that cave. I’d repeated it over and over while imprisoned, going about my work, and in the still of the night…

Now, I prayed it for my daughter and her child.

I lowered my hand to the knob, gripping it tightly as I eased open the door. Bree let out a cry of relief as she saw me and stretched her arms out wide, reaching for me as she staggered across the floor.

Closing the gap between us in one stride, I held her close as she nearly strangled me, the loop of her arms around my neck tightening with an alarming veracity.

“I’ve got you, a nighean,” I choked out, both from her grip and the tears that threatened to fall.

Bree’s response was incoherent, her words tumbling together into a mighty sob as she clung to me.

“Musch, a leannan, musch,” I crooned, my hand cupping the back of her head as I looked wildly around for my wife. “I’ve got you, dinna fash.”

Claire suddenly materialized beside me and I opened my embrace to her, encircling the both of them and holding them close. My arm around Claire’s waist tightened in correlation to the constricting band of emotion around my chest. I dipped my head, placing a kiss amid Bree’s curls as her sobs dissolved into hiccuping sighs in time, no longer trembling against my chest.

“Da?”

Bree’s voice, husky and low from crying, brought our attention immediately back to her.

“Aye,” I cooed, rubbing her back,  “I’m right here, I’ve got you.”

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have… I was awful to you.”

“Ach, nighean,” my heart broke, “as was I… forgive me?”

She nodded as she set us into a swaying motion, one I willingly took up as I supported her, her body leaning heavily against me. Claire stepped away and into motion as well, coming to stand behind Bree as her hands began to massage her lower back.

“That’s it, luv,” she coaxed, her brows furrowing slightly as she tried to gauge what was going on within our daughter.

I tensed, realizing that things were really going in earnest, my gaze flicking towards the door.

“I, ah… I think I’d best get out of yer way, then.”

“No!” Bree screeched, her head snapping up and colliding solidly with my chin.

“Don’t leave me, Da!”

I patted her arm reassuringly, trying to ease out of her vice grip, “You dinna need me here, a leannan… you’ve your mother and Phaedre and—”

“Don’t leave me!” she repeated, shaking her head wildly, her eyes wide as she took great fistfuls of my shirt.

I quickly took a better hold of her, keeping her from collapsing into a heap at my feet as she sobbed, “You can’t! You promised! You said I wouldn’t die. Remember? You said I wouldn’t die.”

Die?

I looked to Claire in panic and found her shaking her head.

“Bree, lovey—“ she started to console her, but our daughter interrupted.

“You said I wouldn’t die, Da!” Bree hiccuped. “If you stay, it’ll be alright… If you stay, I won’t die!”

“Ach, mo chridhe,” I crooned, wrapping my arms around her again, cradling her against my chest

“You are not goin’ to die.”

But Bree shook her head, not hearing my words as she looked up at me suddenly, tears streaming down her face as she hiccuped, “If I… Da, if I… will you… please, Da.”

“Brianna, a leannan,” I lifted my hand to her cheek, my thumb wiping away her tears as I pressed a kiss to her brow.

“You are healthy... you are so verra strong… and you have the best of help,” I reassured her.

“You can do this.”

Bree looked to Claire, still unsure.

“Your father’s right, luv,” she crooned, rubbing her back. “Baby’s in good position, you’re doing wonderful.”

“Really?” Bree hiccuped.

Claire’s smile was lopsided but the truth of her sentiment was genuine in her eyes as she echoed, “You can do this, Bree.”

Bree slipped one arm around Claire and I did the same, welcoming her into our embrace. Claire’s head naturally rested on my shoulder and Bree’s tucked neatly beneath my chin as I held them close, their curls mingling together and brushing against my skin. We stayed that way, wrapped in each other’s arms and swaying slightly until Bree spoke again.

“But you’re not going to leave me, right?” she made sure.

I shook my head and shifted her in my arms, pulling her away from me just far enough that I was sure she could see my face, even going so far as ducking my head until we were eye to eye.

“No, I willna leave ye,” I promised.

Bree nodded and let out a deep sigh as she took me at my word.

I will never leave you, my heart vowed.

“What can I do?”

I’d asked this of Bree, but it was Claire who answered, urging, “Walk her.”

Turning and blinking at my wife in complete confusion, I watched as she bit at her lower lip, trying her best not to laugh at me.

“Like a horse with colic, Jamie,” she clarified.

“Aye, well,” I stammered as I gingerly slid my arm about Bree’s waist. “Off we go… ‘round the paddock.”

Bree laughed at this and I found myself smiling as well. I would endure a great many jokes at my expense tonight if it distracted my daughter from her inner turmoil.

Claire smiled at us as we started out across the room before moving off to one corner to change out of her dirty clothing. I rather thought she’d get soiled again before the night was through, but saw the merit in not bringing the dust of the road into Brianna’s childbed.

My gut clenched as we slowly walked passed it, my mind skipping ahead to what would happen in the hours to come. John had been right, I knew foaling and calving and lambing well enough, but I was entirely out of my depth here in the murky waters of childbirth.

I’d told Claire once that I could bear my own pain, but I didn’t think I could hers and now our daughter would be in excruciating pain for hours on end. I would keep my promise, I would stay by Bree’s side until her bairn was safely in her arms… but would I have the strength to be all she needed?

We turned a corner and Claire was once again in view, standing in profile to me as Phaedre helped her out of one skirt and into another, but I saw her instead as she’d looked in Paris, carrying Faith.

She’d born two daughters into the world without my presence at her side... Could I have prevented the tragic end of the first and aided her in the second, if I’d been there with her?

A low groan from beside me rapidly brought me back to this birth. I may not have been at my wife’s side when she needed me, but I could be at Brianna’s side.

I would be at Brianna’s side, every step of the way.

“Are ye alright?” I murmured, slowing my pace and coming to stop, but she urged me forward with a decided snort.

“I’ll tell you when I’m not.”

I heard Claire chuckle at this and found her looking over at us, her gaze softening as she watched us draw near.

“Oh, aye,” I grinned at her, even while I was speaking to Bree. “Tell me anything you like… even call me names, if you wish. Always makes your mam feel better.”

Claire shook her head at me in mock reproach, knowing I was teasing her indirectly about her particular skill for it.

“Are you too warm, love? We can open the window if you like... maybe catch a breeze?” she changed the subject.

Bree nodded and Claire moved to do so, giving me a firm whack on the arse as she passed by. I felt Bree turn in my arms as she tried to redirect our course to follow her mother. Certainly not objecting to this change in direction, I steered us towards the now open window.

There was, indeed, a breeze and the three of us paused to take it in. I breathed deep, filling my lungs with the deep green smell of the willows by the river. The room had taken on a stuffy atmosphere without my noticing and I now found it disappearing around me, the distant sounds of dusk creeping in.

Bree reached out for the windowsill, anchoring herself to it as she bent forward. Another low moan bubbled up from deep within her and Claire slipped between us. I stepped aside, giving them room to work together, and watched as Claire began to dig her thumbs into Bree’s back, massaging the taut muscles just above her hips.

She noticed my absence and turned her head round, panic obvious in her eyes as she asked, “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere, nighean,” I assured her. “Just givin’ ye a bit of room to breathe.”

“Stay here... I can’t breathe anyway,” she grumbled, turning her gaze back to the open window.

The light breeze stirred the curls around her face as a whimper left her and I reached out for her hand, covering it with my own and squeezing it tight. She squeezed back and I held my breath until her grip loosened, her breathing evening out again.

“Feel better?” I asked, rubbing the back of her hand with my thumb.

Bree glared up at me, her eyes boring a hole through my skull as she shook her head. Her displeasure only grew as I found myself grinning down at her.  

A dhia, she looked just like her mother when she was like this.

I nodded, trying to swallow my amusement as I offered, “Can I help you lie down?”

“No,” she spat emphatically and I decided to give her some space, stepping away ever so slightly, but she pulled me back to her side, her fingernails digging into my palm.

“If I get on that bed, I’m not getting back off.”

Her voice was thin and reedy, her pupils dilating as she saw the daunting task ahead of her instead of the support of those beside her.

Claire’s gaze was kind as she squeezed our daughter’s shoulder reassuringly, seeing the stark fear in her eyes, “You’re doing fine, lovey… Just fi—“

“No, Mama,” our daughter interrupted, insisting, “I am not getting on that bed.”

Claire and I shared a look over Bree’s head, my wife’s lips twitching at this vehement outburst. Obviously, she didn’t feel Bree needed to lie down so just now and would not be pressing the point, my suggestion falling completely flat.

“Aye, well,” I cleared my throat. “What would ye like then, nighean?”

“I want to walk… I need to walk,” she muttered.

This pronouncement sent Bree and I about our familiar motions again, her weary legs setting the slow, but steady pace. I could hear Claire speaking with Phaedra behind us, asking for more candles to have on hand once the sun set and shooing Lizzie away from the work table with a dismissive wait.

Everyone was on edge, tip-toeing about our tasks as we put Bree’s needs and emotions above our own, but Lizzie was handling things the worst out of all of us. Her usual helpful nature was replaced with a dogged determination to provide for her mistress’ every need and this manifested itself in hovering around both Bree and Claire, asking numerous, unimportant questions. The lass meant well, to be sure, but I knew she was beginning to get on my wife’s nerves, which were already wearing thin.

We were back at the window and I nodded towards it, “What if we stood here a moment and let Lizzie plait your hair over again? Get it off your neck an’ let the breeze cool you a bit, aye?”

Bree cast a glance towards her lady’s maid and the hint of a smile tugged at her lips as Claire all but physically moved the lass out of her way. She agreed, making a beckoning motion with her hand before turning to gaze out the window, leaning against the sill.

Lizzie bounded over to us with a wide smile on her face, eager to do anything to aid her beloved mistress. Her nimble fingers undid what was left of the long plait that had been in place, retrieving the escaped curls and neatly tucking them into place as she set about her work. Tying off the end, Lizzie took up the damp cloth Claire had already prepared on the table nearby and gently applied it to the back of Bree’s neck.

A shuddering sigh left her in relief and she turned to her companion in thanks, “You’re too good to me, Lizzie.”

“Och, no, Mistress!” Lizzie burst. “Tis nothin’ at all! I only wish I could do more for ye. Can I be fetchin’ ye anythin’? A cool glass of buttermilk, perhaps?”

Bree pulled a face in answer, making the lass laugh, and we returned to our walk. Claire and Phaedre were puttering about with something and I noticed that the general hubbub of the room was beginning to agitate my daughter. I looked over my shoulder to find Lizzie practically on my heels, anxious to be of use.

“Lizzie, would ye, ah… would ye fetch us some more water?” I punted, figuring we had use of it, but then had an idea.

“But fresh from the well, aye? Or the coldest ye can find, anyway... Tha’ might be nice to keep Bree cool.”

Claire peeked over her shoulder at me, one brow rising, her eyes twinkling in silent laughter as Lizzie sought approval from Bree and then nearly sprinted out the door.

“Thank you,” Bree sighed as it shut and things began to settle down around us.

I chuckled and patted her hand, “Dinna fash, a nighean.”

We continued our circuitous route for a good while more before Bree suddenly stopped dead in her tracks, her mouth dropping open as she gasped for air. I looked wildly over her head and Claire was at our side the next instant, her hands flying to Bree’s hips as she took up a slow but urgent massage. Bree turned into me, burying her face in my chest.

“Easy, luv,” Claire crooned. “Keep breathing.”

My hand rubbed smooth circles between Bree’s shoulder blades. I felt the low intonations of her words, but couldn’t make out what she said.

“Say it again, a leannan?”

Bree didn’t budge, only moving her mouth ever so slightly away from my body as she repeated herself with as much force as she could muster.

“I — want — to — lie — down.”

My head snapped up and Claire sprang into action, Phaedra abandoning whatever it was she was doing to make final preparations for the bed.

Claire and I slowly brought Bree to the edge of the bed, where Phaedre perched with arms outstretched to help her move. The three of us painstakingly coaxed, supported, and guided Bree into place against a mountain of pillows.

She shifted about, agitated and flushed, trying to find a position that suited her.

“Da?” Her hand reached out as tried to think of a way to help, her voice urgent.

“Da, I need you.”

I climbed onto the bed beside her, taking up her hand and brushing a kiss across her knuckles.

“Right here, mo chridhe.”

She reclined against the pillows, finding solace for a brief moment, but turned her cheek into the pillows, determined to keep me in her sights as she grabbed for my other hand.

“I’ve got you,” I assured her. “I’m right here, I won’t leave you.”

She nodded as her gaze unfocused and she stared right through me as her pain intensified. Her grip tightened and I shifted beside her, turning so that she could hold onto me without compromising any position she wanted to be in, my long arms reaching and giving her the freedom to move. She did so, dropping my left hand to place her own on the great swell of her belly.

“How… how much longer? How long til he’s here?” Bree rambled, her eyes wide.

“I’m not sure,” Claire answered, gently but honestly. “Not an awfully long time, I don’t think.”

Bree nodded and turned back to me, breathing heavily as she demanded, “Talk to me, Da!”

“Oh?” I looked to Claire who was already settling about her work, arranging things within easy reach, “What shall I say, then?”

“It doesn’t really matter… tell her stories, just keep talking to get her mind off things,” she assured me.

Stories.

“Aye… well,” I scrambled. “Have ye heard the one about Finegal’s Cave, then? An’ it’s giants?”

A low groan was my answer and I plunged headlong into the tales of my youth. I held her hand as her gaze became more and more distant, turning inwards instead of latching on to the stories of silkies and seal catchers, of pipers and elves, of the wee folk and their tricks. All of these tumbled from my lips out of pure habit, for I’d been telling them my whole life long… to Jenny’s children, and then her grandchildren, to the men at Ardsmuir in the still of the night, to a skittish mare in need of coaxing, to the empty wind upon the moor.

I was somewhere between Columba’s fountain and Thomas the Rhymer when Bree let go of me all together and strained forward, her damp shift clinging to her as she began to bear down with all of her might. I reached out an arm to support her in this new position as Phaedre quickly built up the pillows behind her.

“There, now,” Claire crooned, her hands readjusting the hem of Bree’s shift. “There we go, Bree.”

Bree gasped for air and then pushed again, an inhuman noise escaping her as she fought to bring forth her child. The contraction eased after was seemed like an interminable amount of time and her head tipped back against the pillows.

“I just want to be done, Da,” Bree wheezed, desperation in her eyes as she struggled to catch her breath. “I just… want… him here.”

I leaned forward, cooling her brow and neck with a cloth before kissing her gently, just behind her ear.

“Soon, a leannan. He’ll be in your arms in just a moment more.”

We went through many such bouts, with Bree giving it her all, Claire coaching from between her knees, and me at her side, helpless to do anything but pray. One pain came on top of the last and Bree reached out blindly for me, her face turning red with effort, then white, then back to red again… beads of sweat mingling with the tears that streamed down her cheeks.

“Almost, lovey,” Claire assured. “You’re almost there.”

The next contraction began with staggering strength and I watched as something snapped within her, Bree’s demeanor changing entirely as she got down to business in earnest.

“There we go! That’s it, luv,” Claire cheered as she lifted Bree’s hem higher.

I could see nothing — were there anything to be seen at present — and was rather glad of it. From what I knew about the messy process of being born, I wasn’t entirely sure I really wanted to watch my grandchild enter the world. I would be here, in the room and at Bree’s side, and that was plenty enough for me.

Claire’s brow furrowed in concentration as she shifted to get a better view of things, urging Phaedre to bring the light closer as mother and daughter worked together as one.

“Good, lovey,” Claire crooned, her shoulders hunching as she ducked her head, disappearing from my sight.

With a frustrated whimper, Bree’s head tipped back against the pillows and her eyes slid shut in defeat.

Claire’s face reappeared, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright as she cheered, “You’re doing fine, lovey… just fine.”

She tore her eyes from Bree’s face only for a moment to look at me, her heart adding and so are you.

I sighed, shaking my head with a weary smile. I was doing nothing, really… she and Brianna were the ones doing all the work, with the latter doing the lion’s share. Claire’s gaze returned to her patient and her head ducked down again, hidden from view behind the screen of Bree’s shift.

Another pain gained momentum and Bree let go of my hand, her face darkening with effort as she began to push once more.

“Good!” Claire praised, cheering, “Good, Bree!”

“Guid, a leannan!” I picked up my wife’s pattern of urging, encouraging my daughter in the language of my heart.

I knew she wouldn’t hear my words, so deeply consumed with the task at hand, but that my tone, the intent of the words that tumbled out of my mouth would make it through to her… bolstering and sustaining her in ways that I physically could not.

“You are so strong, my brave girl,” I encouraged in Gaelic. “You can do this, he’s almost here.”

“Again, Bree,” Claire urged and I changed my course, slipping in and out of English.

“Once more, a leannan. Once more!”

I moved closer to my daughter’s side, keeping my head near hers as I coaxed, “You are doing so well, Brianna.”

Bree’s head tipped back as her hips dug into the mattress and she quickly let the air out of her lungs through clenched teeth, hissing as Claire assured her, “Easy, luv. That’s the way.”

“Guid,” I crooned, not knowing entirely what I was congratulating her for, but knowing without a doubt that she deserved it. “Verra well done!”

A sharp cry left her lips and her hand reached out wildly, searching between her legs.

“Can you see him?” Bree turned her gaze, trying to find her mother in her hazy delirium. “What… what does he look like?”

Claire chuckled at this, her voice muffled as she continued about her business, “He’s rather unhappy at present, lovey. Quite the scowl for one so young.”

“He’s a boy, then?” I asked, hesitantly, wondering just what exactly was going on.

“God help him if he isn’t,” she teased and Bree chuckled for a half a moment before the sound changed into a sort of strangled moan as she began to push.

“Once more,” I encouraged. “Once more and he’ll be here!”

Claire cheered and Bree let out a mighty shout as her battle ended and her child entered the world. The bairn suddenly appeared on the quilts, wriggling like a landed trout within Claire’s guiding hands. My heart leapt into my throat, cutting off all words of congratulations before they could even begin to form, and I watched in awe as Claire lifted the squalling infant into Bree’s waiting arms.

“Oh, baby,” she crooned, her thumb caressing his damp cheek. The bairn turned his head towards her, his cries waning into annoyed puffs at the inconvenience of being born.

“I’m so glad to finally meet you!”

She looked up a half moment later in surprise, catching Claire’s eye as she proclaimed, “He is a boy!”

“He is,” Claire beamed, her voice thick and cheeks as wet as my own. “I’m so proud of you, lovie.”

Bree’s chin wobbled for a moment before her gaze dropped back down to her son.

Her son.

My daughter has a son.

Tears blurred my vision as I turned to find Claire, still about her work, but a grin splitting her face into two. I sniffed and blinked once — twice and the world settled back into focus. I could see the tears of joy trailing down her cheeks as she felt my gaze upon her and looked up for a brief moment.

I had no words to speak — my heart so very full —but I found it didn’t matter. Claire’s eyes sparkled as her spirit reached out to mine, whispering well done.

Chuckling softly, I shook my head.

No, I hadn’t done anything. Not much, anyway. It was them that had done all the work, I’d merely been along for the ride.

And what a ride it had been.

My hand reached out as I returned my attention to Bree, gently cupping the back of her head as I placed a kiss just above her temple.

“Verra well done, a leannan,” I murmured, my lips brushing against her curls.

“Verra well done, indeed. 

[nocakesformissedith]

For the ‘send me a tv show and I’ll tell you the top 5 things I’d change about it’ thing, could you do Scream Queens?

Ah I’m so sorry that I’m responding to this so late!! And thank you!!

1. have Grace interact more with Kappas that aren’t Zayday or Chanel. ESPECIALLY CHANEL NUMBER FIVE. You’re gonna sit there and tell me Grace, who a) stood up to Chanel and refused to let her “haze any of these girls”, b) expresses genuine compassion towards and reached out to Chanel AFTER Chanel had burned Bean’s face off and threatened to frame Grace for it and c) wants to take Chanel down and change Kappa would just.... never talk with Libby who Chanel treats the worst and who repeatedly threatens to walk out on Chanel and about how “Chanel doesn’t deserve to be president”?!

Especially with the final episode of season one ending with Grace thinking they’re sisters!! I did like that Chanel #5 was the only Chanel that Grace defended even a little during Hester’s accusations though lol.

2. don’t make Hester the Red Devil. I’m biased as hell because I wanted it to be Libby but I do have my reasons for not wanting it to be Hester!! The scene where Chanel “kills” Hester was great, and the show backtracking on it (so that Lea Michele can play the killer) and not following through fucking ruined it. It was really a moral event horizon for Chanel, and it implied that 3&5 were finally getting tired of or at least more afraid of Chanel- both of which could have led to really interesting plots (I’m still a little bitter the show never really had that 3&5 trying to take down Chanel plot the show teased at a few times) and her being alive and The Killer All Along just.... wasted that. Second, the reveal kind of ruins her whole comedy? Like. The joke with Hester was that she thinks of herself as this evil mastermind manipulator usurping Chanel— and in any other show she probably would be— but Chanel is actually smarter and more ruthless than her. The finale flipping that by saying “oh but wait Hester actually was an evil genius the whole time!!” was boring, and it wasn’t funny. It also ruined the whole “creepy nightmare fetishist” schtick because imo this girl just being obsessed with horror and death for no real plot reason (she’s just Like That) is funnier than it being because she’s a ~psycho killer~ it also kind of makes the reveal redundant- surprise! The person running around loudly talking like a serial killer is.... a serial killer.

3. related to the above— make Chanel #5 the killer!! Instead of a constant hammering in your face that she was ~psycho~ (as with Hester) you get that ONE scene where Chanel learns of and immediately dismisses the fact that #5 has been plotting to kill her, and having Chanel overlook that fact and then revealing that Libby is in fact the killer would have been genuinely funny. It also would have required the Red Devil origin story/flashbacks to be more complex than “Boone is the strong idiot and Hester is the smart one” that we got. The season clearly showed that the Red Devil twins didn’t get along, and RD!Boone killing her boyfriends and coming after her could have been part of that or why they don’t get along (maybe why she eventually kills him, in this version instead of Pete doing it). It would also have been funny to have Chanel’s constant, baseless accusations that Libby is crazy or evil actually turn out to be entirely true. There was also s theory I read way back after the Thanksgiving episode aired that her “eight meat stuffing” was actually made of characters that had been killed off, which would be so twisted and make her “pigs will eat anything” line in the first episode interesting.

4. have more Kappa Sisters. Mostly for a bigger kill count (I’m terrible haha). But it’s also always felt weird that KKT only had The Chanels (Five people) before the pledges came?? I suppose some sisters left after the Melanie incident but. The social power Chanel is implied to have as Kappa President just.... doesn’t mesh with her only have four people (her minions) in her sorority?

5. A few Season Two changes, mostly taking place with Season One being as is/without my changes : Make season two take place in a summer camp. AHS 1984 showed how much fun the team can have and make with a summer camp theme, and I think it would’ve worked really well with the Scream Queens characters. While S2 did have some great moments (and I firmly believe Halloween Blues is one of the best/funniest episodes of the series) I think the hospital setting- or at least what they did with it- was by and large a mistake. Don’t kill off Chad Radwell - at least/especially not so earlier in the season. It was definitely a bold move to kill of their best character so soon, but the season’s quality proved they weren’t ready lol. Make a Liz Daw character!! Show more of the Chanels in the asylum. More Gigi, some how. She was the best killer/villain— more Boone too, but mostly Gigi. Kill off Hester to bring them back idc.

6. BONUS— Make Grace and Pete not a romantic couple. They’re both gay. God bless.

[starfaring-princelotor]

Historic Significance

Summary: Prince Lotor glimpses at what his heart desires, yet he can not help but wonder if it is true or a skewed figment of his imagination. 

Pairings: Lotor x F!Reader

★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I kindly ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Allura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing. Thank you. ★

Warnings: Blood. 

Future Sight___Historic Significance___No Time Like the Present___Thinking Ahead ___Best Friends

 Lotor clinked the mugs then cheered with his fellow teammates, the drink inside sloshing with the rough movement. Simultaneously, they chugged together and reveled in the warm butterbeer heating up their bodies. They needed this, all of them, in order to play Quidditch at their top form in the middle of winter. Those winds were as merciless as Slytherin’s Head of House, Dayak.

“Zethrid, try to send a Bludger towards that Lance fellow. A little birdie told me he has not quite recovered from his cold yet, so expect him to be weak in the air. Ezor and Acxa, keep to the quaffles, though watch yourself with their team captain, Shiro. He has gotten stronger since last game and I would hate to see any of you fall off your broom from a - “

The Prince’s attention snapped to the flapping drapes as your face peeked in through the slit, eyes searching for who he could only assume was him. Once you spotted his tall self, you grinned and waved eagerly while granting yourself permission to enter. Technically, no one but Slytherin were allowed in. Though, judging by the looks of his teammates, they certainly won’t be ratting you out to anyone.

Friendly visits should be allowed, anyways.

“In any case, do not break formation if a Bludger chases me. I can handle it. Now, pardon me,” he excused himself from the group then approached you with a raised brow, “Hm. Last I checked, you were not on Slytherin’s team roster this season, little Ravenclaw.”

“Pfft, what? I can’t come and wish you guys luck?” you peered over his shoulder, shouting an encouragement to his team, “By the way, good luck out there you guys! I’ve got 5 galleons on you!”

A round of chuckles came from Zethrid and Ezor, two of your pals who knew that if you did win that bet, then you would at least treat them out for a job well done.

“A peculiar way to boost morale among my team,” Lotor grinned, leaning his chin on the edge of his broom, “Thank you, dear. It does them good.”

“Ah, I’m not done. This,” you shuffled closer to him to use his body as a barrier from prying eyes then pulled out a sizable rock from your pocket, the smooth oval stone fitting perfectly in your palm, “is for you.”

The plain stone, it was emitting a very faint orange color.

“It’s a thermal stone. Something to keep you warm so you don’t freeze your ears off up there,” a tone of pride was laced in your voice, “I checked the rule books and technically, it’s not illegal. I doubt those garbs are enough to prevent frostbite anyways.”

Lotor was staring at your face while you spoke, only half paying attention to the rock in your hand. His mind was more preoccupied with the fact that you were willingly giving him this thoughtful gift for...for what reason? He was well-adapted to the cold, so was this a sort of repayment for earlier in the forest? Or were his eyes playing tricks on him and that blush on your cheeks was caused by something other than winter’s kiss?

“I want this back when the game’s over,” he accepted it and noticed that it instantly warmed his entire body, better than any butterbeer could do, “It’s my favorite stone.”

Despite Lotor’s different eye colors compared to the other students, he had very sharp vision. It helped in useful situations, like catching the Golden Snitch or noticing you in the far distance, but it only worked if he was mindful of his surroundings. As of now, the game was over, and Slytherin had won. As expected. No injuries, thank goodness, yet as he laid in bed with that stone in his hand, he couldn’t help but let his mind wander to what he saw in your hand.

Or rather, in your palm. There was a old, jagged scar, like it was cut with broken glass or a piece of ripped steel.

Sure, Lotor had his own scars. Several, in fact, but his were from fights and battles and training incidents. Maybe you accidentally cut yourself picking up broken shards? Or was it inflicted by a sharp talon when you tried to handle your owl? Questions, questions, yet no answers. The stone was still warm, after all this time, and his tired body curled in a crescent shape, ready for a comfortable rest to claim his aching muscles.

In his dream, he saw the moon, the stars, and a blue haze noisily fighting against the never-ending darkness.

“Ah, Prince Lotor, perfect timing. Please escort this unruly student back to the Ravenclaw wing.”

You were looking down in shame, one hand rubbing your elbow as to preoccupy yourself from paying attention to the professor outright embarrassing you in front of Lotor. The halls were empty and he, himself, was on his way back to the Slytherin chambers. That is, until he passed the library. Any students out this late was only looking for trouble.

Lo and behold, he found you.

“Yes, professor. I will make sure she arrives safely.”

Part of you wanted to grumble, but 50 points was already taken from the Ravenclaw house, and you know you will never hear the end of it once news spread to your other housemates. Lotor held his arm out, offering you to step ahead of him, as the two of you walked further and further away from the archives. It was only until the both of you were out of earshot did you finally speak up.

“I wasn’t gonna take any of the books or nothing,” you were pouting slightly at your confession, “I mean, it’s not like I can anyways. They’re enchanted.”

“You were in the forbidden section?” now, that impressed him, “What ever for? You know very well those books are not for student’s eyes.”

“I was looking for info on...mmf…” you mumbled, crossing your arms in a childish fit, “...We’re friends, right? I can trust you, right?” 

In any other circumstance with any other person, he would have mocked you thoroughly. However, right now, he found himself genuinely fascinated with the hidden reason why you would willingly keep on breaking school rules. Were Ravenclaws known to be such rebels? That is something he expected more from Keith, if he was to be honest. Slowly, Lotor pulled out that stone from his pocket, now cold and bland, then offered it back to you.

Instantly, your eyes lit up as your suspicions faded, hand gladly accepting your favorite rock back.

“...You heard of the Mirror of Erised?”

“Ah, yes. I heard it was once at this school until it was moved, no?”

“Yes, but…” you shifted your glance around, making sure no one but him was listening, “I heard they destroyed it. Or tried to. It just broke into large pieces.”

It was then that you pulled out a folded cloth, footsteps halting as the windows filtered in the night’s moonlight. Lotor turned to face you completely in curiosity while careful fingertips unraveled the handkerchief you pulled out of your pocket. It wasn’t until the glint of a mirror winked at him did he freeze stone-cold. No...that was impossible. Surely this was just a piece of glass from any mirror, right? But judging by the knowing look on your face, it was the real thing.

“Is that what I think it is?” he asked in a hushed whisper, definitely more piqued now.

“Yes. My father collects rare artifacts and he somehow got a piece of the mirror,” it reflected the passing grey clouds as the both of you hovered over it, “I wanted to see if the rumors were true.”

Deep down, Lotor should report you immediately to the headmaster for carrying an illegal magical item on the school grounds. This was beyond him, beyond marching in the Slytherin tent, beyond waltzing in the forbidden forest by yourself. You could lose your wand, you could go to Azkaban for even possessing such a thing in the first place. And, just by what you told him, it wasn’t even YOURS.

You stole an illegal magical item from your own father.

“Wanna see if it works?”

“We should absolutely not be doing this,” he hissed, ushering you into a darkened corridor and blocking the entrance with his back, “It is called the Mirror of Erised for a reason. Do you not understand what you have in your possession right now?”

“Lotor, I’m not going to die from looking into it, I’ve done it before,” you could hear the alertness in his tone and, perhaps, he was right to be cautious, “Many times, but I never...saw anything. The books said that a spell was cast over it to prevent the mirror from working properly.”

Oh, he was so interested in seeing what would reflect in that mirror. After a moment of silence, he gave you some space and narrowed his eyes, just about ready to scold you some more. But, another part of him, a darker part, was tempting him. Dark arts was something he was very fascinated about. His mother studied it, his father utilized it, and he did want to master it as well. Though, not for destruction as many would believe.

This forbidden mirror, well, it called to him.

“What else did you find out?”

Your shoulders slumped in ease, now relaxed that he wouldn’t get you in trouble, at least not yet, “It only works under a blue moon and, if I’m correct, there is one tonight.”

“Ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath as you offered the mirror to him, “You are sure this is the real mirror?”

“Yes, I doubt my dad would be easily fooled.”

You, however, he would definitely call a fool.

Lotor carefully picked up the mirror then held it up besides the window, moonlight reflecting off the sleek surface. At first, his eyes could only see himself in the small fragment. Silver hair, deep shade of lavender skin, glowing yellow sclera, and nebulous eyes stared right back at him. Nothing out of the ordinary stuck out and, just as he was about to give it back to you, his reflection...smiled.

And Lotor has never seen himself smile like that before, like he was comfortable. Happy. Free.

He would say this was an odd phenomenon to see himself in this alternate universe of sorts. It was even more strange when, out of the tiny mirror, your face appeared besides his, just as joyful and - dare he say - in love as his own. He knows that look. Seeing you wear it so care-freely around him struck a resonating chord in his heart. Lotor couldn’t lie to himself that this right here? This scene of you planting a soft, adoring kiss on his dotted cheek? It made his soul yearn in aching want.

“Well? Do you see anything?” you asked across from him and, cheeky bastard, his reflection winked knowingly at him before giving you a full, open-mouthed kiss, slick tongue and all.

Lotor could do two things right now. Tell you the truth and incite an awkward wedge between your slow-growing friendship or lie and make sure you never fall victim to the Mirror of Erised.

“I saw…” it took all his strength to drop his hand, keeping the mirror out of his eyesight, “I saw my future. I was with someone I deeply care about.”

Instantly, your expression lit up, but not because of what Lotor said. You were ecstatic that it worked. It was definitely worth the risk, the 50 points from Ravenclaw, the small, optimistic obsession hidden behind your eyes. You reached out for it, intending to take your turn with the mirror, but Lotor stepped away from you, earning him a questioning stare.

“I can’t believe it really is - Hey, it’s my turn, give it here,” you reached again, but this time he gripped your wrist from snatching the mirror shard.

“Stop,” he ordered, using that infamous leadership tone of his, “You can not look in it. It is not safe - “

“Lotor, give it back,” you tried wrenching your arm from him, but his hold was firm, “It’s not yours, anyways!”

“Listen to me. This is too dangerous, I can not let you do this. Whatever you see in it, whatever you want to see, it is not real,” he tried to reason with you, knowing that his own vision already deeply affected his psyche, “Do you not understand? This is what the mirror does. It makes you want things that can not happen.”

For a moment, you only looked at him with a blank slate. Then, a seething, hateful glare.

“I don’t care, Lotor. You don’t know - I need to see - “ finally, you yanked free from his grip, “How do you know about my future?”

There it was again. That hopeful look, but it was heavily laced in your desperate tone, and Lotor eased his shoulders down at how small, how vulnerable you sounded. How you stared at him with a mixture of uncertainty, disappointment and, yes, a smidge of betrayal.

“How could you possibly know?”

He didn’t have an answer for you because, well, how could he possibly explain that the future was not set in stone, yet vehemently deny that there was a chance of you two being...happy together? It was hypocritical of him to assume such things, but deep down, he understood that was exactly how the Mirror of Erised works. It would be irresponsible of him to let you fall to its power.

Lotor hadn’t realized it until he opened his palm, but he was gripping the mirror so hard, it had cut into his skin.

“I do not know what the future holds, what your future holds,” he gently cupped your hand, inwardly kicking himself when he saw you flinch, yet you ultimately let him place the blood-tinged mirror in your palm, “But I know that this mirror will prevent you from truly seeing what lies ahead of you.”

You hated how right he was and now, that dash of hope lingering in your heart was snuffed out like a candle in the wind. There was a reason why you wanted to see the future. As with anyone, you wanted to know if things would be okay. If things would turn out for the better as long as you kept true to the path laid out for you. As long as you let fate control your actions, your words, your very life. Lotor noticed the fire in your spirit wane and he covered your hand with his larger one, both to show support and to shield the reflection from your eyes.

“You must return this to your father. Get it off the castle grounds before someone else finds it,” his eyes implored you to listen because, well, he was already breaking the rules and he hoped you knew this was for not just the school’s safety, but for yours, too, “Do you understand?”

Your eyes were still locked onto his hand, covering what you so desperately wanted to peer in.

“Look at me.”

And once you did, Lotor could see the rim of your eyes shimmer with unshed tears. No, you wouldn’t let them drop. You couldn’t. You weren’t just sad. You were angry. Frustrated. At life, at him, at how every time he was just coincidentally looking out for you. But most importantly? You felt alone. Even with your friend supporting you, right in FRONT of you, you felt terribly isolated again.

“...Okay. Okay, I’ll send it back tomorrow.”

It was no surprise that you had avoided him the next few days. Given the circumstances, perhaps that was the best choice of action for the both of you. Lotor's mind was still taunting him with that image he saw in the mirror. It was stronger at night, when he was asleep, and it even plagued his dreams. The worst part of it all? He liked it. He really liked it, when he knew he shouldn't.

Deep down, he knew being hopeful never worked well for him.

"-tor? Lotor? Hello, Earth to Lotor?"

He blinked when a pink hand waved an inch from his face, fully gaining his attention from his daydreaming state, "Yes, Ezor? What is it?"

"Class is over. The gals and I were wondering if you wanted to head to the sweet shop..." Ezor tilted her head, truly studying his far-away look, "Hey, you okay? You don't got a cold, do you?"

Lotor brought a hand up to his cheek, noticing right away they were unusually warm. No, not unusually. He knows why. He was having less than pure thoughts only moments before Ezor interrupted him. The Prince was fantasizing kissing you, marking your neck with his eager fangs, hands groping the heated flesh of your thighs, higher and higher, until his fingers reached the valley of your wet -

Perhaps a walk would do him well.

"It is nothing," he stood up from his seat, gathering his bag and hooking it over his shoulder, "Unfortunately, I must meet with Professor Alfor regarding an assignment. Though, if they have chocolate frogs in stock, do grab me a few. I would appreciate it."

With a playful two finger salute, she was gone in a blink, bouncing down towards the exit of the class where Zethrid was waiting for her. Lotor walked up to the wooden door on the adjacent side of the room then knocked three times. A soft "Come in" and he was turning the knob, allowing himself entrance into Professor Alfor's office. All around him were books, both ancient and new, and a few strange artifacts decorating around the room.

"Ah, Prince Lotor. Come, come, I just finished brewing coffee," Alfor, white hair tied back in a ponytail, motioned for Lotor to take a seat, "What can I do for you, my lad?"

The Prince nodded in thanks then picked up the teacup, blowing the steam wafting in the air, but not quite taking a drink yet, "I have a question regarding the final project for the class. I understand we are free to pick our chosen topic, but I wanted to check in with you first before dedicating myself to work."

"Of course. The Dark Arts are not for the light of heart and I am always willing to guide students if they need help. Tell me, what have you chosen?"

"I wish to know more about the Mirror of Erised."

"Ah, excellent choice, my Prince. Yes, yes, an innocent object enchanted by the most forbidden of spells," instantly, Alfor hummed in thought, "And I can see why this would be difficult to do research upon since any books pertaining to it are restricted from students."

Professor Alfor stood from his seat, marching to his bookshelf and scanning for one specific title, "Although, the historical aspects of the mirror are not restricted. I know I have one book here that covers almost all of its safer characteristics."

"Professor," Lotor spoke up, "I was actually wondering how it works and if those who gazed upon the mirror have ever been cured of it."

"Cured?" Alfor glanced back at the purple student before sitting across from him, placing the book on the desk, "Well, interesting question. To find a cure, one must understand how a disease works in the first place, no?"

Lotor gave the Professor his full attention now, coffee still left undisturbed.

"The Mirror of Erised works differently than most of the forbidden items known in magical history because it infects individuals in the mind. It does not cast a curse on the looker, rather, it simply amplifies the person's obsession. Many believe it shows the future, but in reality, it doesn’t do any of that. No one can tell the future, not even mystical objects. The mirror taints the mind by latching onto one person's deepest desires and forces them to fixate on false hope. That, my lad, is man's greatest downfall. Hope."

Alfor took a sip of his drink, eyes not once breaking from Lotor's gaze.

"Hope of what could be. Believe it or not, this ancient item has actually caused wars and won wars in the past. In some cases, just seeing oneself in the mirror bolsters their confidence. Keeps them eager to fulfill their destiny. On the other hand, it also clouds each person's morals and judgement compass. It poisons the mind and confuses those who look upon it. Makes them wonder who they truly are. They lose a part of themselves, the potential of who they could be."

Lotor was already connecting the pieces together.

"This is why there is no cure. At least, no overall cure. Many have tried potions, memory erasing spells, even resorting to magical creatures for a way to relieve one of their obsession. Although, I have heard of a few people who were able to break free from the mirror's hold. They denied their desires, their path laid out before them, even if the results were catastrophic in the end. However, from what I gathered, that required a great amount of will, something not everyone has within themselves."

The Prince finally sipped on his warm coffee, tongue tasting the bitterness of the drink.

"A will to change."

You sat besides him without saying a word. The mess hall was sparse with lingering students here and there, all either studying or enjoying a meal together. Lotor himself was currently eating a chicken pot pie, warm and fresh from the kitchen, but when you appeared, he halted and instead silently studied you. A few hair strands were out of place, it looked like you rushed through a shower, and the house scarf was messily skewed around your neck.

Tired. You looked so tired.

"It's gone," you spoke lowly, voice sounding more grave than he cares to admit, "I sent it back home. I don't have it anymore and I...I didn't look in it."

Lotor released a breath of relief he wasn't aware he was holding. He wasn't above bending the rules to his will, but that was only when his well-being was on the line. With others came more risk, something he didn't like at all. The Prince took notice of you staring at his food and, grabbing another fork, he offered you part of his meal. You were hesitant at first, unsure if you deserved to eat after what happened, but with an encouraging nod from the Prince, you dug in with him.

"My dear," he couldn't keep his studious eyes off you, "May I ask you a question?"

Something that has been bugging him for quite a while now. Something about your obsession with the mirror.

"What did you think you would have seen if you looked in the mirror?"

Your eyes glazed with sadness again, the same intense sadness from before, "...My family. My happy family."

Lotor was hidden behind his usual facade of stoicism. While he saw his own obsession with you in the mirror, he could only imagine how much more potent it would have been for you to see your loving family, despite whatever situation was clouding over your head at home. His own family wasn't the best and, well, he found himself unsure of what to even say to you.

Even if right now would be the perfect moment to make you rely on him for his own sick desires.

"Thanks for...for helping me," you murmured lowly, "I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry, Lotor. I said I wouldn’t drag you into trouble and I went - I know you’re my friend and you were looking out for me and - and I guess I was just..."

Stupid?

"No," he slid an arm around you, pulling you in for a small hug and lending you his shoulder, "You will be okay, darling."

You have him, that dark voice whispered in his mind.

You fully turned in his hold and embraced him in a complete hug, hiding your face in his chest. Twice now, twice he has been there for you, and you were ever so damn grateful to have a friend like him, someone to tether you when your wants got out of hand. Someone to not...shun you for mistakes. Someone who didn't abandon you when they learned more about you.

"Ahem..." he cleared his throat, his capacity for PDA already filling up quite quickly, and you pulled away a bit sheepishly, "Come. Eat. I am sure you will feel better, hm?"

The parchment in your hand felt heavy for something so thin. Your eyes re-read the little words scribbled elegantly across it as you stood by the bank of the water. It was chilly and, thankfully, your thermal stone was keeping you nice and toasy. Even so, you made sure to tuck your scarf securely around your neck, long cloak covering the rest of you.

Meet me by the Black Lake tonight.

★L★

Lotor had slipped this in your book before potions class had ended and, although you sent him a questioning glance, he gave you no response and simply left. Odd, but the silent secrecy is what truly made you step out into the night. It was interesting, thrilling, even. What did he have up his sleeve? Were you two going into the forest? Perhaps he took your invitation after all.

“Ah, I see you were finally able to drag yourself out of bed today.”

You turned to see the one and only Prince, the crunch of snow under his foot getting louder as he neared the pier. He, too, was layered with clothes, from his signature scarf down to his mittens, but what truly stuck out was what he was holding in his hand. It was was his broom, the one he uses in his Quidditch matches. Sleek, black, a lethal weapon all together.

“Very funny,” you crossed your arms, knowing he was lightly poking fun at you for letting your sadness lock you in bed for the last few days, “I just...needed time. To recover.”

Were his eyes...glowing? It was really an intimidating look in the shadow of the night.

Lotor clapped a hand on your shoulder and gave you a soft squeeze, “I know. And I think tonight will help you even more.”

“Let me guess. You forced me out here to watch you do tricks on your broom.”

“Actually,” he smirked then mounted his broom, “I wish to take you on a ride.”

Fresh, cold air was one thing, but flying through it was even more rejuvenating for the soul. At least, for his soul. You sent him a baffled gape, unsure if you heard him right the first time. Yes, Lotor legitimately asked you to sneak out so you could go for a joyride on his broomstick? Surely there were other things the two of you could’ve done to get you out of this heavy slump.

“Come now, just one. It will be good for you.”

“I, uh, have a fear of heights.”

“Then I shall stay low to the ground for you,” he countered, patting his open chest in offering, “You have my word, dear.”

You sighed at his logical persistence before stepping closer to fix yourself on the thin broom. Of course, you had to lean back against him to fully situate yourself and, well, Lotor did a good job letting you find your balance. Once your rump was flushed against his pelvis, he leaned forward a bit to tower over you, but also to cage you in his arms. Safety first, after all. He couldn’t have you tumbling down the moment he took off, now can he?

Plus...he won’t lie, it was kind of soothing to hold you against his body like this. The trust was tempering his unruly thoughts. Being this close, he could smell the minty shampoo you used on your hair mixed with a scent that was all you. Stay on track, Lotor. This is about giving you a good time. Keep those desires locked away.

“Prepare yourself,” he started a slow push forward with the broom, “Just try to relax. The more rigid you are, the easier it is to tip you.”

Besides, I have you in my arms, darling.

The lake water was barely a few inches away from the tips of your toes. It was...exciting, in a way. Lotor could see you gazing out across the dark surface, taking in the winter wonderland and white moon rippling across the reflection. He could feel your body physically begin to relax against him as the broom carried on its casual speed, calming you and, surprisingly, him as well. The Prince could...well, he could kiss you.

He banished the thought the split second it crossed his mind.

“Beautiful...” you were in awe, the crisp wind gently brushing your cheeks, “I can stay here forever.”

Warm. You were so warm, he could feel your heat seeping through his clothes.

“Learn how to fly and you can do this whenever you wish,” Lotor’s voice was so close to your ear, it sent a lovely shiver down your spine.

“I don’t know. I’m lazy, remember?” you smiled then fully leaned back, pushing your weight onto him and practically using his solid form as a comfortable wall to lean on, “Besides, it wouldn’t be the same.”

You hooded your eyes, gazing languidly into the blurred horizon while the billions of stars above twinkled in the night. If you made a wish, would it come true? If Lotor made a wish, could he believe it came true because of fate or by his own doing? He took a deep breath and ushered himself to relax, placing his chin on your shoulder while nearly cuddling you from behind. If his obsessive desires were strong enough, would they still feel honest?

[sicklylittlesnowflake]

I am absolutely begging you to write a sick Jonathan Byers fic if you have the time😭😭 I just finished the first season of stranger things yesterday and I’m so in love with the idea of him getting sick. Thank you!!!!

(Ya girl is back! My writing is a bit rusty, and a little shorter but hopefully that’s ok!! I love my boi Jonathan, and I love u guys; so lets hope this goes well! Takes place only a bit after S1, so no s2 spoilers here for u anon!! :) )

Jonathan cannot afford to get sick.

And when he says that, the phrase extends to have multiple meanings. A.) it means that Jonathan in a literal sense of the word, cannot afford to get sick. The Byers are not rich, medicine is costly, and they rely Jonathan’s wages from the cinema, so Jonathan cannot afford to be sick.

And B.) It means Jonathan can’t get sick because he has way too many responsibilities in his life to get sick. Jonathan has to be a good son. He needs to cook his family breakfast, do his chores, take Will to school, all to keep his family afloat. But most of all, Jonathan has to be a good big brother, especially after the whole debacle that had happened with Will. Will needed him more than ever, and Jonathan was going to assert every fibre of his being to make Will feel safe again. And to do that, he couldn’t be sick because that would mean he could not put every joule of his energy into Will.

and C.) Jonathan cannot look weak. It is only now that Jonathan for the first time has two people who genuinely do want to be around him, and it is only now that Jonathan is surrounded by people who make him feel safe, wanted and cared for. He cannot ruin anything he has with Nancy or Steve, because now that he’s had a taste of friendship, Jonathan doesn’t think he could return to the lonely world he once knew.

So when Jonathan wakes up Friday morning by an intense tickling in his nose, causing him to convulse in his bed with three harsh sneezes against his pillow, he feels a feeling of dread rise in his stomach.

When he rises out of bed and sat up, he was greeted by a pounding, splitting headache so painful it practically sweeps him; so hard that Jonathan could have fallen back over back into bed. Then he realised he cant breathe through his nose, and despite the little hot air he is breathing out and the hot flush he feels on his cheeks, he feels frozen.

As much as his soul cries out at him to stay in bed, and as much as he feels his heart reach for the bed and cling on for life, Jonathan’s brain knew he couldn’t stay. He weakly thrusts his aching, fevered body out of the comforts of his bed and steadies himself by grabbing onto his bedside table for dear life.

It seems like an eternity before the world stopped whizzing and whirling around like he was on some acid trip of a merry go round, but all things come to an end, even oddities like this. Jonathan weakly stumbles over to his door, his vision quite tunnelled, fading in and out with each throb of his head.

He doesn’t know how he made it out into the kitchen without falling over, but he does, despite the zig zagged direction he chose to take and the shaky nature of his legs, like jelly, about to succumb to his illness any moment now.

When Jonathan makes Will’s lunch he’s sloppy. His sandwich isn’t perfectly positioned and when he cooks breakfast he shakes and the fried egg ends up an odd shape. When he pours the orange juice into the glass he spills some over, because his hand can’t stop to tremor and his entire body is racked by the freezing temperatures only he seems to notice.

What Jonathan also doesn’t notice is that Joyce has flown into the room and has immediately noticed his current state. And she is Joyce, so naturally she fusses and she beelines for the thermometer and shoves it in his mouth. Jonathan protests of course but she’s Joyce, and she doesn’t  lose.

And before he knows it he is being hoisted to bed by his feisty mother and Jonathan is defeated.

In his feverish haze time doesn’t pass quite right and he’s not quite sure what time it is but he hears a gentle knock on the door, to this rhythm so familiar it brings Jonathan back to his senses, and he knows it’s Will. He always knocked on his door with his own little rhythm since he was little, Jonathan would know it anywhere.

“Yeah, come in,” He rasped out, his voice so rough he cringed, resembling nails against a chalkboard.

His little brother tiptoed in carefully as not to further his headache or anything to upset his weakened body; he was always thoughtful like that, and Jonathan loved him for it. He was proud of him always.

“Hi Jon,” Will whispered lowly, a sweet smile spread across his lips.

“Mom told me you were sick so I brought you these,” He continued as he set down a box of tissues, the mix tape Jonathan had made for him and a R2D2 stuffed toy.

“The Artoo toy always makes me feel better so hopefully it can do the same for you,” Will said as Jonathan gave him a smile, although weak, still bright, as Will always made his day a little brighter.

“And your mixtape always makes me happy, so I’m hoping it can make you happy too,” Will grinned as he placed the tape into a player.

“You’re the best Will,” Jonathan grinned softly as he turned on his side to face him, before his face contorted and he quickly retreated into his pillow to muffle three vicious sneezes that leeched him off his remaining energy. He groaned softly.

Will frowned as he leaned in to feel his forehead, pushing the hair out of his face, “You’re not feeling great, are you?”

Jonathan chuckled weakly, his voice congested and deep, and he was sent into a brief coughing fit, turning away from him to cough into his arm. Once he recovered, he sniffled and wiped his irritated tears away, forcing a smile, “I’ve felt better.”

He leaned in to ruffle his hair and bat him playfully on the cheek, “Now go away to school, you don’t want to catch this.”

Will chuckled and hit him back, “I’m sure it’s better than listening to Mrs.Leahy drone on and on.”

Jonathan made a monstrous noise to scare him and jabbed at his stomach to tickle him, “Raaaarrrghhhh! The plagues gonna get you!”

Will giggled and ran away.

Jonathan couldn’t help the wife, bright smile that spread across his lips. That laugh could save the world. And to think just a two months ago he thought he’d never hear it again, was terrifying. Hearing it made him immediately feel just a bit together.

Jonathan doesn’t remember much but he knows he managed to drift off to a feverish sleep halfway through one of Pink Floyd’s songs, and now he’s waking up to a splitting headache and he feels like he’s burning alive but he can’t stop shaking either, and waves of blistering hot crash through him followed by a tidal wave of freezing cold leaves him curling up within himself.

He feels dreadful, and his body feels so heavy and weak and he genuinely wants to cry out because everything hurts too much. When Jonathan coughs its chesty and raspy, each cough pressing daggers into his lungs. He whimpers in pain as he tries to brave through it.

When the pain simmers down enough Jonathan becomes aware of the knocking at the door. The knocking is too much for his overstimulated brain and it’s too much for him to handle and an electrifying spark of pain causes his head to throb repeatedly. He whimpers again but somehow he pushes himself off of his bed.

When he stands a wave of nausea hits him and his vision fades into black. Jonathan feels so light and he can feel the sickeningly haunting pit in his stomach as he free falls. He pulls himself off of the ground and his legs shake and he can barely walk as he is shaking too much, and his vision is fading in and out but he grabs onto the walls to try and get there.

It’s a long and treacherous journey but he makes it, and at the end of the tunnel is a beam of light, because when he opens the door it reveals a worried looking Steve and Nancy.

He’s too shocked to reply, and his brain is way too slow to say anything so he can do is cling onto the door frame and shake. Nancy and Steve are the same and are too horrified at how awful he probably looks and shame pulsates throughout him. But Jonathan can’t dwell on it too long because he’s bursting into another harsh coughing fit that doubles him over, each cough causing his head to throb and lungs to scream in pain. He clings onto the door frame to support himself and he feels so faint and weak he can feel himself losing control.

Just before he slips from the door frame and falls, Steve is lunging in to catch him, supporting him so he can finish coughing, rubbing his back comfortingly. And when he finishes Steve slings Jonathan’s arm over his shoulder and the look Steve gives him is so kind that it melts him all over.

His eyes are so kind and so filled with care, “Hey bud, you okay there?”

Jonathan nods and sniffles, groaning as a tickle flares within his sinuses and he pushes away slightly to violently sneeze twice into his elbow.

“Bless you Jon,” Nancy says sympathetically, quickly caressing his face. “We need to get you back into bed.”

She slings his arm around her shoulder too and they get him back, gently laying him down on his bed. She tucks him into the blanket and hops onto bed with him to feel his forehead, and Jonathan can see the panic flash in her eyes.

“Steve, Steve he’s burning up!” Nancy said worriedly, trying not to sound too frantic.

“I’ll get him a cold towel,” Steve replied, trying to disguise the worry in his voice as he went off to the kitchen.

“Why are you here?” Jonathan asked feverishly, his voice weak and barely audible.

She gave him a small smile and started to play with his hair, brushing it out of his face, gazing at him sweetly, “We were looking for you. We couldn’t find you so we asked Will and he said you were sick, so we skipped class and ended up here.”

Jonathan’s eyes twinkled with adoration, his eyes watering as he felt so cared for, “You..were looking for me? You didn’t have to skip class just for me.”

Nancy looked a little taken aback, “Jon..of course we were looking for you. You’re our friend. We care about you.”

“Really?” Jonathan asked in disbelief, his voice cracking as he was unable to comprehend the fact that anyone actually cared for him bar his family. It left his heart soaring.

Steve returned with a damp towel in his hands. He climbed atop Jonathan’s bed and gently laid the towel on his forehead. He smiled softly and started to massage his temples, “God Jon, you’re really sick, huh?”

Jonathan nodded but pushed away as a sudden tickle itched at his nose, so abrupt he hadn’t had time to build up to it or warn Steve, with only time to turn his head away and aim away from them, sneezing two loud and violent sneezes that leeched him off his remaining energy.

Steve frowned and reached for a tissue and wiped at Jonathan’s nose for him, “Bless you buddy, you feeling okay?”

Nancy offered him a sympathetic smile and climbed in next to him and comfortingly leaned against him, playing with his hair.

And suddenly in that moment Jonathan is hit by the revelation that he is surrounded by two of the kindest people he has ever met. When he looks at Nancy he sees the softest, sweetest gaze looking upon him with so much care, and each stroke of her fingers against his messy hair is tender and loving. He looks over at Steve who is watching over with him ever so bravely, ever so determined to keep him safe. Jonathan has never felt this safe, so secure, so loved in his life.

It feels so good that it fills every ounce of him with sunlight and starlight and everything beautiful, and he is then hit with another revelation. A revelation that crushes him to his core; the realisation that should he lose it he doesn’t think he’ll be the same because now he would be aware of the void. And this won’t last; Jonathan knows it. It’s not possible that he’d be loved like this. No one ever has really before.

Jonathan can’t even stop himself, and his lip is wobbling and his eyes are watering and before he can even put the walls he has built with such an endeavour back up again tears are spilling from his eyes.

“Jonathan?” Nancy asked, alarmed by the sudden tears.

Jonathan aggressively tries to wipe his tears away, but new ones keep replacing the ones he’s gotten rid of, and eventually Jonathan realises that all attempts are futile, and his walls have broken down.

“Hey, what’s going on bud?” Steve asked reassuringly, taking Jonathan’s other side that Nancy isn’t already at and wrapping an arm around him.

“Its just, no ones ever done this for me besides my mom and my brother,” Jonathan hiccuped, trying to stop his sobs.

Nancy softened and pressed a soft kiss into his hair, “And we’ll do it again.”

Jonathan shook his head, “No, no you won’t.”

Steve furrowed his brow, “What do you mean?”

Jonathan sobbed and sniffled, causing him to cough harshly into his fist, “You won’t. Because I’ve built these walls around myself and hidden the parts of me I don’t like, and now they’re down you’ll see me for who I really am and you won’t like me anymore, and I’m going to be alone again.”

Jonathan loathed the silence that ensued.

“Jon..we’re not going to do that, ever,” Nancy promised, reaching for his hands and holding them in her own, eyes bright and so sure.

Steve tightened his grip around Jonathan and pressed a kiss against his temple, “You are never going to be alone again, Jon. We’re here now.”

“You won’t like what you see,” Jonathan whispered softly.

“I think it’s you who doesn’t Jonathan, not us,” Steve said gently.

“Are the walls down now, Jonathan?” Nancy asked softly.

“Yes,” He whispered with shame.

Nancy kissed his cheek softly, “I still love you.”

Steve nodded, “As do I. I think you need to start loving you too.”

It would take a while, but Steve and Nancy would be there every step of the way.

They never left his side that night, connected for the first time really.

And they would be for a long time.

[sienna-walsh]

Someone will love you, but someone isn’t me.

“Si Si, sweetheart, when is that Nathaniel arriving? Didn’t you say he was coming for Christmas?” It’s been nearly two years since Nate and I broke up and at least three since he last joined the family for the holiday season. This is also the sixth, maybe seventh time Grandad has asked about him since I’ve arrived in London only a few days ago. After all this time, it hasn’t gotten any easier hearing his name. My tongue goes dry, like sandpaper in my mouth. My hands get clammy. The room begins to spin. It’s not that I miss him, not even in the slightest. It’s the reminder of what I’ve done, the crushing weight of the guilt, that makes me feel so weak. Luckily, Nan or Ruth, his caretaker, are usually around to answer for me and placate poor Grandad’s confusion while I undoubtedly freeze in place, dumbfounded, and stare blankly back at them with a doe eyed expression. By the time I unglue myself from the couch in the parlor, everyone’s cleared out. Nan has Bridge to play at the club and Ruth has taken Grandad upstairs for a lie down and I am left to my own devices. A dangerous place for me to be, unsupervised and weighed down with unsought nostalgia. It dawns on me that I don’t have anywhere to go, no plans for the evening, another dangerous rarity. Sitting back down, I lose track of time as I get lost in my thoughts. My memories. ↠ “It’s not a fucking death sentence, Sienna, it’s a ring! A big, fucking shiny one at that! I don’t understand what your problem is.” Nate growled from the driver’s seat of his Lexus IS as we weaved precariously through the never ending Los Angeles traffic He’s mad again. Pissed. It’s our latest routine, we fight until we are both too exhausted to fight anymore and rather than resolve the issues, we pretend they don’t exist and move on…until the next blow up. “If you don’t want me to say no, then stop fucking asking me.” I retorted coldly without looking at him. Instead, I stared longingly out the window, contemplating just how much damage my body would take and if I would survive if I opened the door and rolled out of the car right then and there. It seemed preferable to having this conversation…again. My words ended it for now though and we drove the rest of the way back to campus in silence. I was supposed to stay with him that night, but I wasn’t surprised and was genuinely relieved when we pulled up to the Tri-Delt house. I got out of the car and slammed the door without saying goodbye. ↠ “Did you look at any of those houses I texted you?” I didn’t need to answer him verbally, Nate knew me well enough to know by the vacant expression on my face that I hadn’t. That I wouldn’t. He called me stubborn, claimed I was just afraid and nervous of the future. With graduation just a week away, Nate had us both convinced this was just cold feet. He believed we could get through this together, get through anything together. Because we loved each other, but I was beginning to question the difference between loving each other and being in love with one another. That was the first instance where I started to feel the crushing weight of guilt in my chest. Squeezing my lungs. Suffocating me. My stubborn nature proved more resilient than I could ever admit to myself. The need to prove people wrong, to fight them telling me ‘no’ because everyone had seen it. My family, my sisters, my friends. The entire 3 year span of Nate and I’s relationship had this dark shadow of doubt cast over it. They all knew what I was just beginning to understand. This wasn’t my forever and no matter how many times and various ways I was warned, I brushed it off because I wanted to be right. I wanted to fit ‘the mold’ Nate wanted me in, because I cared for him. I loved him. Didn’t I? ↠ “Sienna Penelope Slater!” The Chancellor called my name. Shrouded by the roar of cheers and echoes of applause, I traipsed across that stage in my cap and gown with the world at my fingertips and accepted my diploma. My future. For the first time in a long time, I had felt like myself. Facing seemingly endless opportunity made my heart race with anticipation. Little did I know, I had also accepted my fate. The ceremony lasted nearly another two hours, but it felt like eternity. Even though Commencement happened outside, in Alumni Memorial Park, I was beginning to feel stifled. Cooped up. The past four years, being stationary, settled in one place with one person, finally caught up with me. I had never experienced a panic attack before and at the time I had no idea what was happening. Why it was happening. I began to feel light headed, dizzy. My hands were coated in a thin sheen of cold sweat. I could feel my heart hammering in my chest and for a moment I swore it was going to break through my ribcage. I never got to hear the Commencement Speech Mellody Hobson gave that day. Before she took the stage, I had excused myself from my seat in the seat of other graduates and swiftly made my exit. ↠ Dinner with the ‘rents. Meet you there. I left Nate’s text message unread on the home screen of my phone. I was just leaving my dad’s house after having lunch, tea, and some catch up time with my own family. My parents were heading to dinner with my Aunt and Uncle, my grandparents had already retired to their hotel, and Elijah had no desire to join Brinley, Lia, and I at the Tri-Delt house for the sorority’s senior farewell party. If I was being honest with myself, which I hadn’t been for the past four years, I didn’t even care that Nate would be late and by the time we got the party, I didn’t even care if he showed up at all. I had lost count of the shots I had taken in a matter of an hour. I had lost track of Brin and Lia long before that and for a fleeting moment, everything felt good. Light. Airy. Free. The panic from earlier had subsided and I was joyous in my celebration of all the potential the next chapter of my life had in store. It wasn’t long before that weightless feeling intensified, courtesy of the liquor that flowed through my veins. I was careless and giggling, reminiscing with my sisters and friends. All of us elated on the high of accomplishment and jello shots. I was immediately deflated the moment I saw Nate walk into the backyard. That’s when things get foggy. I wouldn’t see my boyfriend again until later that night, when he finds me in bed with Jay Turner. ↠ Never in my life could I recall a silence so loud, so deafening. I wanted to say something…anything, but I couldn’t formulate a single coherent thought let along manage to string words into a sentence. The cold, dead expression behind green eyes that had only, until this moment, gazed upon me with such love and adoration numbed me to the core. I waited for what felt like an eternity before Nate finally spoke, words that would haunt me for years to come, not for their kindness, but because of how much truth rang in them. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Sienna?” He started with a question he had asked before and one I’ve been asking myself for even longer. I still didn’t have an answer, so I blinked in response. That seemed to satisfy him enough to continue his tirade. “I have given you everything. Everything anyone could ever want, could ever dream of, and this is how you repay me? Playing me for a goddamn fucking fool? After everything we have been through together, you can’t even find the decency to end things civilly? Of course not, you’re so fucking selfish, it makes me sick. No one is ever good to be good enough for you, are they? I can’t even look at you anymore.” God, I should have said something, but anything I had to say would just be excuses he wouldn’t want to hear. Whatever fucked up excuses I would have used to rationalize my infidelity weren’t going to make him feel better because he was right. I was selfish, as were my reasons. I was scared to settle, terrified of losing myself forever in a future I wasn’t sure I wanted. I panicked. Sabotaged. I wanted to tell him I cared so deeply for him and that’s why I couldn’t bring myself to break it off when I knew I should have. I wish he would have believed that I did love him, just not the way he wanted me to. I wanted to apologize for not being able to get there and for stringing him along. I only wanted that for me, to ease my guilt, to be forgiven. I didn’t deserve that. So instead, I let him go and that’s the last time we ever spoke. ↠ “Sienna, dear? It’s dark, do you want me to turn a lamp on?” Nan’s gentle voice coaxes me out of the somber haze I had fallen into. I blink a few times to get my bearings, coming to the realization I’m still in the parlor in my grandparents home. Nan has just gotten home from Bridge, so I must have been lost in thought for at least an hour. I’m not ready to speak yet, afraid my voice will shake and give away my vulnerable state. Instead, I muster my best smile and shake my head in response. Nan doesn’t listen, a trait inherited, and flips on the lamp that sits on the corner table before she joins me on the couch. She wraps her arm around my shoulder, pulling me close, sensing my need for comfort. I nuzzle into her warmth and she cradles me like a child and I feel safe. I feel at home. “Are you happy, my girl?” Nan asks, breaking the silence as she brushes her fingers through the ends of my hair. I smile, lifting my head from her shoulder so our gazes could meet and I nod again. “I’m always happy, Nan.” I tell her, a hint of laughter lacing my voice. She chastises me with a click of her tongue, making us both laugh while I roll my eyes. “You were thinking about Nathaniel. Do you miss him?” My smile fades to a frown and I furrow my brows, shaking my head once again. “I don’t miss him, Nan, I just wonder sometimes. What he’s doing, if he’s doing well. If he found the one.” I lift my hands to use my fingers to put air quotes around the last two words. Nan doesn’t say anything right away and just when I think she isn’t going to at all, she surprises me with her next question. “Do you think you’ll ever settle down?” The shock on my face at her inquiry must have been evident, because she’s laughing now, but doesn’t follow up with anything else. She’s waiting for me to answer and I choose my words carefully. “I settled before, Nan. Never again.” I vowed. “I don’t mean your spirit, Sienna. I mean your heart.” She didn’t wait for an answer this time. Instead, she left me to ponder her words as she pat my thigh and rose from the couch. “I’m tired, babygirl, goodnight.” As Nan walks out of the parlor, she peeks over her shoulder. “To the moon.” “And back.” I reply with a smile and find myself spending the rest of the night in the same spot contemplating just what her parting words of insight meant.

[purplemonkeyemi]

exit, or, how i spent 2 evenings

Okay. I love writing my thoughts down. I used to do it all the time in my mid-teens, but life being as it is, I didn’t even dream of keeping that up. I don’t really know entirely why I’m writing this all down, but, I have a lot of free time and maybe one day I’ll find it amusing. I do think it’s important to discipline oneself to at least get one’s thoughts in order about things. So, this was my latest, intentional, grappling with a piece of art.

So, why “Exit”? Why did I spend, what, 3 hours or so watching about 15 different performances, in about 20 different videos, of one song from U2’s 2017 Joshua Tree tour? I’m not sure. And that’s probably why I did it. In hindsight, I feel like that’s the point in the U2 concert a couple weeks ago that I could have yelled at my husband, “Just shoot heroin in my arm next time!”… but, really, I think that had started about 8 songs earlier. Whatever the reason, I have not been able to get that performance out of my mind. I was admittedly enraptured by Bono as a performer that night, but this was different. And I couldn’t get it out of my head, like a ghost, or a shadow. Or a koan that I have to solve. I needed to interpret it to exorcise myself of it.

In a burst of girlish enthusiasm the other day, I decided I was going to find all of the high quality videos from the tour of Exit that I could find and watch them until I understood that performance. By this time I had figured out enough of my personal fascination with it—it’s very theatrical and it relies on several layers of “acting.” [I guess this requires a brief diversion into my general fascination with performers who become other people, including characters of themselves, especially relating to stage names.] BEGIN DIVERSION: Obviously, Bono is a stage name, one he’s carried for nearly (or exactly as?) long as he’s been in U2, over 40 years; it’s what everyone calls him, even his wife. But Bono, stage-Bono, like stage-the Edge, stage-Adam, and stage-Larry, like all musical artists, are, really, actors putting on a stage show. Each night, the same “costumes,” same lines, same set, same characters—they have to “be” themselves. A concert is an eleborate play. Sure, there’s some ad-lib, adapting for different audiences, etc. But those guys are “concert” versions of themselves for those 3 hours. Using Bono again, I’m 100% sure that stage-Bono, as earnest and genuine as he appears up there, is not the same Bono that his wife Ali lives with. Is the Bono that appears in public the same as Bono-at-home? Who knows, but I imagine unlikely. I can’t imagine how larger-than-life people maintain any sense of identity. I’m fascinated by all four members in this regard because they got together as 14/15 year olds and were rock gods by 20. What does that do to a person? :END DIVERSION So, one element: the performer—immersed in a multi-layered act which ends in a character created to protect himself from the darkness of the song (citation--one of several interviews I read). Bono as a real, everyday, married-with-kids-human, performing “Bono” for the audience (as much as he appears in-the-moment, and, often, utterly possessed by frenzied “in the zone”-ness), who is additionally portraying a character-- the Shadow Man—who exists only for this one song on this one tour. It’s an act, on an act, (conceivably on an act. I can’t imagine how public figures with alternate names maintain their sense of self after decades..). I bring this up, because the layers of the performance affect the interpretation. Next element: political commentary in which the song is set The lead-in to Exit (as well as the time-allowed for a significant costume change, it is theater after all), is a brief excerpt of an old television show. An enigmatic charlatan comes to an old West town claiming the only way to protect oneself and one’s home is to a build a wall. Another character calls him a liar, and the charlatan says he is the only one who can save them. Sounds familiar, right? Oh yeah, the charlatan’s name is Trump. An excellent find on the part of whoever unearthed it. Next element: song lyrics. I include them below. The song is about a wise, esoteric holy man who starts with good intentions, becomes obsessed with this idea of “the hands of love” and goes crazy (I can’t remember the details. Again, from an interview.)

And on this tour, there are two additional lyrical bits inserted at the end, which I’ll just do from memory. First, I believe, is a poem excerpt, “Where you’ve come from is gone, where you are is no good, and where you’re going was never really there.” Then a purposefully used version of “Eeeny Meeny Miny Moe,” chosen explicitly for its occasional racist uses (again, according to an interview, somewhere).

Final element: the stage—regular stage front, and a catwalk. I think the only way for me to do this is to annotate the lyrics. It should also be noted that variations occurred. BEGIN DIGRESSION: Watching this performance so many times from different concerts, it was obvious what was scripted. What was also obvious from this experiment, interviews, general observations, and such, is that during performances Bono exists in a very altered state of mind, becomes subject to his otherworldly soul, and turns into a performance artist, making choices (or being led by) based on said otherworldly soul. Clearly he can see through the haze, handling technical issues and such, but, from time to time, he seems to exist purely in the moment and interprets at will. Short version: each performance was a little different because Bono is a very free, uninhibited, one-of-a-kind spirit, especially on stage. It’s part of what makes him a fascinating human. :END DIGRESSION

So, let’s start interpreting this thing. I would like to note that, like interpreting literature, this does not always assume authorial intent. I imagine that artists of all types work as much by intuition as by purpose. Whether some of the choices made for this particular piece were logical or intuitive are irrelevant. “You know he got the cure But then he went astray He used to stay awake To drive the dreams he had away. He wanted to believe In the hands of love.”

-- Shadow Man walks with a slow saunter and swagger (rather than Bono’s charismatic, confident stride) to the mic stand; there’s some hand motions here, most importantly on “hands of love,” he rubs them together in front of his chest. Shadow Man is beginning his journey. He is intrigued, a little haunted, but earnest. He stands still at the mic stand. Sometimes, instead of sharply grabbing the mic, he pulls it, like an arrow, into his chest, in some sort of symbolic gesture. Then begins his descent. BEGIN DIGRESSION: I am/was really fascinated with how Bono interacted/interacts with his mic stand. It’s extremely physical, intimate, and borders on sexually aggressive (imagine Mad Men’s Don Draper and how he speaks to women). He stands very close, sings with his mouth basically on the mic, and takes the wireless mic with excessive force. This observation is one of performance and physical use of space. A similar energy also emerged with him and the camera.

I often try to figure out if stage/screen presence and charisma are tied to body language (conscious or unconscious); in Bono’s case, absolutely. His physical presence was inextricable from his bearing, demeanor, and his use of space/physicality. I think some of it is the learned artifice of a seasoned performer, while some of it, perhaps some of the mic dynamic, is natural and intangible charisma. I bring this up partly because Shadow Man does not have the same physical presence Bono did in the rest of the numbers—through purposeful artifice. This is a distinct character. :END DIGRESSION “His head it felt heavy As he came across the land A dog started cryin' Like a broken-hearted man At the howling wind”

--- Shadow Man begins his descent into darkness and confusion, portrayed by movement around the mic stand (yes, somewhat reminiscent of a stripper. I’ll address the song’s occasional increased sexuality in the next verse), visually representing a vortex. Now we get away from the stationary mic…

 “He went deeper into black Deeper into white. He could see the stars shine Like nails in the night.

 A hand in the pocket Fingering the steel The pistol weighed heavy And his heart he could feel was beating. Oh my love, oh my love” 

--- Shadow Man touches violence and approaches his breakdown in the frenzied beat and lighting; also, in about half of the performances, this also has very sexualized choreography and vocalizations (ours did not), which I don’t need to detail; now, I don’t know for sure, but I’m fairly certain this is part of Shadow Man’s characterization. It could also be just “In the moment” performance-artist Bono taking over his body. But since it happened as many times as it didn’t, I think it’s purposeful and thus requires reckoning. The Shadow Man has progressed another step away from himself. “So hands that build Can also pull down. The hands of love.”

-- Shadow Man walks across the stage to the catwalk, where, on repeated refrains of “hands of love” he clearly has some conversion experience as conveyed by the choreography (AKA, basically just Bono going crazy, as he does do from time to time), also occasionally sexualized. This is Shadow Man’s transformation from which he emerges as a demagogue, using his mystical fascination as a tool to control rather than build or heal. After this, Shadow Man saunters dramatically down the catwalk, exhorting the crowd to put out their hands (or put their hands to the screen, as if he were a politician of TV evangelist). Of course, the audience does extend their hands—because, of course, it’s the appropriate thing to do when a rockstar tells you to. Except, this isn’t Bono, this is the Shadow Man. This is where the performance layer comes in. The audience is taken for a ride, just like the Shadow Man’s dupes are. U2’s audience becomes the Shadow Man’s audience. This is blatantly analogous to how the “dupes” who support the man who wants to build a wall respond to and believe that charlatan (remember the video this number was introduced by). The “hands of love” could just as easily be the hands of power. They both can build up or tear down, as the lyrics state. Of course, this US presidential administration is tearing down, and this song (among others, of course) is a rebuke. Also, it’s important to note that Bono’s a charlatan too, as all performers are to a greater or lesser degree (performing Shadow Man, and performing himself as a rockstar, of course).  One could also add that he acts as a contrast to the Shadow Man, someone who has the ear of the people who tries to build up, to use his power, and hands, well. It’s perfectly constructed meta-commentary.

Next, Shadow Man gives his impassioned, broken-voiced, “Where you’ve come from is gone, and where you are is no good, and where you’re going was never really there” speech to his (U2’s) audience (all still with their hands out, as instructed). This sounds like, to me, the emotional appeal of the political right, or used on the political right. Shadow Man sounds, again, like a televangelist…or a politician. Then he approaches the camera arm, usually right up in it (sexually aggressive again), to give a crescendoing rendition of Eeny Meeny Miny Moe—working himself and the audience into a frenzy the louder, faster, and more frantic he gets. Remember, this snippet was included for its racist uses (though the traditional lyrics are used) and that the Shadow Man is a demagogue. Now he’s learned to manipulate his followers, and he’s led them to the realm of hate. (Hmmm…) The followers again are implored to put their hands “against the screen.” In one performance (perhaps the earliest one I found?) they’re even reminded to send him ten dollars, like a huckster, televangelist, or a politician. There’s a price for being swept up by the Shadow Man. The music then abruptly ends, and, during most of the performances, this happens as the Shadow Man is starting to saunter back towards the stage, and the moment it ends, he turns arounds (or stays forward, it varies), looking malicious of victorious (or is it Bono, with a look of condemnation?). Following this, Shadow Man strips of his jacket (if after one of the sexualized performances, this is still “in character” and it’s done sexually, like a striptease). Then he’s Bono again, who takes off the hat and moves into the next song as himself. Did I mention that the jacket covers a beautiful black vest embroidered (in black) of part of the US Constitution? Analyze that one. The narrative arc and political metaphor is clear and beautifully portrayed as a theatrical performance art piece, scripted yet also subject to the whims of (or forces acting upon) the artist.

It’s weird, and gorgeous, and bizarre. It’s far too layered to absorb in the moment. And I really enjoyed watching it, in various permutations, over a dozen times. When I could afford it, I remember seeing local community plays and musical repeatedly so I could see the subtle differences between performances. This was just like that. In this one Bono had to switch out his mic and remove/replace his earpieces right before the frenzied climax, interrupting the flow and breaking character, or in that one a verse was spoken more than sung, or in this one this choreography was a little different, etc. etc. Theater is alive and this piece of it caught me and would not let me go. Maybe now it will.

[artificialqueens]

Yoü and I Ch. 3 (Shalaska) - pradatrash

AN: Thank you, thank you again for your kind words and encouragement, sorry for the delay in chapters, I hope you enjoy the third installment to this angsty af mess!!! Love you all xx prada

For goodness sake, I wasn’t told you’d be this cold

Despite what each post-breakup interview sounded like, the two were by no means on speaking terms. It had actually taken Justin a good four months to come around and even think about communicating with Aaron, let alone move his stuff out of their old house.

He had crashed on a few friend’s couches for a bit but was now semi-permanently sleeping on Detox’s couch in L.A.  before he got back on his feet. Justin didn’t understand this post breakup limbo he was in. He constantly felt like he was underwater, in some weird  haze of confusion.

He refused to go into detail about what really happened the night they broke up, mainly because a part of him still wanted to protect Aaron from the backlash but there was also a part of him that refused to believe it was truly over. If he tried hard enough he could even convince himself sometimes that it wasn’t real and it never happened, but anything on social media reminded him it was most certainly real.

Now Aaron found himself on a plane to L.A. with the rest of Justin’s things in a small box and in retrospect it was weird for him to be flying halfway across the country to deliver things to his ex but it wasn’t like he had ever stopped caring about him. It had been almost a year and a half and in that short time Aaron had moved on with Chad, or that’s what he liked to tell himself. There was something about that name that Aaron had yet to get used to.

It didn’t roll of the tongue in the way Chad Michaels did, it kind of just fell flat.

Waking up next to someone who wasn’t Justin every morning had felt refreshing at first but it had only lasted a week or two and the reality of it all had truly set in. They wouldn’t sit on their couch and watch TV together anymore, they wouldn’t have Cerrone around to interrupt their make out sessions, and they certainly would never be in this house together again.

When he had proposed it had of course thrown Aaron off guard, because they had been dating less than a year, but what was even more strange was that he had asked for time to think about it.

It felt like some sort of surreal experience but everything that Chad was Justin wasn’t and at the time that was what Aaron needed, the complete opposite of Justin. The amount of pain that he had felt at the end of their relationship was something he could never relive—it had almost killed him.

“Let me go to L.A. and just figure things out…and I’ll have an answer for you.”

It was a complete red flag and also the fact he didn’t tell Chad the real reason he was going to L.A., but it didn’t really feel like he was lying to his boyfriend because in truth he was also going to do some drag work but it’s not like he had to tell him his entire trip was based around Justin.

It was so strange, when he spoke with Justin on the phone it was okay. That’s the word Aaron would use: just okay. Justin would rave about living in Los Angeles and the vegetarian tacos that Aaron had to try when he was there, and all the fun Hollywood things but he could hear the pain behind his voice and Justin could probably sense his as well.

The minute Aaron steps into the L.A. air he squints against the sun and feels a drop in his stomach. Just being in the same state as Justin was anxiety inducing. His hands start to shake and he thinks he might have a full blown panic attack right here at LAX but he spots a familiar and comforting face coming towards him.

For as long as Aaron lives he swears by the savior that is Chad Michaels. His best friend in everything that he is, there was nothing he couldn’t trust with him. The older man grins at him and envelops him into a tight hug. “I missed you bitch.” Aaron lets out a hoarse laugh and clings to his friend, shaking his head.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“I think you have to, you two haven’t really seen each other alone since you broke up.”

Aaron shakes his head and helps load his bags into the back of the car before hopping in the passenger seat. “I could have just shipped his things…” He exhales and Chad gives him a pointed look,

“There’s a reason you didn’t.”

—

“America’s next Drag Superstar is…Jinkx Monsoon!”

The audience erupts into a flurry of screams as music starts blaring over the loud speakers, echoing off every wall in the theater. Sharon feels her heart drop into her stomach and instantly looks to Alaska who plasters on a wide grin and moves to give Jinkx a huge hug.

“Now prance my queen!”

Sharon feels someone take her hand and looks to Chad, complete anxiety showing on her face as they squeeze knuckles. “She got so far, she should be so proud.” She hears it whispered next to her but she doesn’t hear anything right now, she only sees Alaska, her gorgeous smile obscuring the utter desolation under it.

Once they’re all led backstage the first thing Sharon thinks is to just find Alaska, immediately, she looks like a frantic mess trying to weave through the clusters of queens, her heart beating rapidly. Various people try to stop her and say strike up conversation, she tries to throw a genuine smile to Latrice and Raja passing her but her mind is just thinking one thing: Alaska.

“Sharon, it’s so good to see you!”

“Sharon, how are you feeling about Jinkx winning?”

She throws an apologetic smile to the voices shouting to her, her eyesight is only fixed on one thing and that’s getting through this chaotic mess to the one person she needed to see. What did her opinion matter right now when the most important person in her life was shattered? The only thing stopping her from screaming at everyone was Chad gently guiding her through the throngs.

Suddenly she feels someone collide into her and she instantly reaches out to steady herself and the other person when she sees a sweep of ginger hair. “Sharon, oh my god! I—“

She blinks and suddenly Jinkx Monsoon comes into view and is still somehow clinging onto her. “I just want to thank you because if it weren’t for you winning your season—“ Sharon doesn’t mean to be rude but she cuts the newly crowned queen off, her eyes looking everywhere but Jinkx. “I’m sorry but I have to find—“ Jinkx’s eyes widen in realization and she quickly steps aside to let her go, Chad giving the new queen a small apologetic smile. “Oh of course, I’m so sorry!”

That’s when she sees her, a broken vision in pink, she’s leaning over a bit talking to Detox quietly and Sharon doesn’t realize she’s just shoved a production manager aside to get to her but then she touches her arm and Alaska instantly turns.

Her eyes meet Sharon’s and it hits her like a fucking bus, the pain. She pain swirling in her eyes is heart wrenching it almost makes her lose her balance. “Come with me.” She speaks before she pulls them both away from the crowd as Detox is mid sentence. Alaska’s trembling from where Sharon is gently holding her arm and they just need five fucking more seconds until they can get privacy.

Sharon’s mind is panic-stricken searching for a private space but backstage that’s pretty much unheard of and even though it’s a last resort she yanks the door to the nearest utility closet open and tugs them both aside, the door slamming.

The minute the door clicks shut Alaska breaks into her arms. She throws her body against Sharon and she catches her, rubs her back, whispers into her ear because that’s all she can do right now and she feels fucking pathetic. She’s angry with herself for not being able to do anything that matters, if it were up to her she’d march right into that dressing room and yank the crown off of Jinkx’s head, she should fight RuPaul if it came to it but that’s not what this is about.

This is about the love of her life, trembling and defeated in her arms, in this very moment that’s all that matters. Every small sob that escapes Alaska’s lips is like a knife to her chest, she just clings to her tighter. She puts one hand on Alaska’s cheek and presses her face into her neck. “Shhh, baby, I’ve got you…”

“I failed, I fucking failed you, my family, I didn’t know this would hurt like this but fuck—“

“No! No, don’t say you EVER failed, okay? You deserved to win, you deserve everything…I swear you did better than anyone else this entire season…”

She cradles Alaska’s shaking form against her and kisses the top of her head repeatedly, squeezing her eyes shut. She tries to convey all the love she has for her right then and there by rocking her gently, trying not to let herself break because she has to be strong for Alaska right now.

“Let me take care of you, I’m going to get through this with you…I promise.”

She breathes into Alaska’s neck and holds her even closer, both of them clinging to each other like life rafts. They didn’t make it to the after party, or even the after after party. They didn’t even care to dedrag, all they could do was lay in that hotel bed and cling to one another desperately.

Sharon had never felt rage like this in her entire life. Sure, when bullies had waited for her outside of school she had felt enraged and scared but this, seeing the love of her life broken in her arms, made Sharon think she would rather get beat up a million times than see what was in front of her.

Alaska cried into the early hours of the morning until she wore herself out and even after she had long passed out Sharon lay awake, holding her closely and whispering comforting things into her hair. She physically held the broken pieces of Alaska Thunderfuck in her arms and vowed from then on to never see her hurt like this again.

—

He feels like he’s in a movie, probably some rom-com shit because he’s sitting at a Starbucks, twiddling his thumbs, listening to the conversations around him as he waits for his ex to walk through the door. He can hear the girls next to him complain about their boss, and then a man a few seats over is whispering angrily into his phone. He tries to distract himself by looking out the window at the busy L.A. street but just the thought of seeing Aaron makes him pull his eyes away from it.

The chattering sounds of people talking around him start to become louder, his heart beat picking up rapidly and he thinks he might be having a panic attack but then the door opens and that familiar spiky blonde hair walks and immediately spots him, Justin’s panic dissipates instantly and a feeling of calm washes over him.

Aaron looks unbelievably skinny, like he’s lost at least 10 pounds and not in a good way, just looking at him worries Justin to his core. He stands with a smile before wrapping the blonde in a hug,

“Hey Noodles.”

It’s weird, hugging Aaron so tightly like this, but it oddly feels like it’s the only thing Justin needs in the world right now, even more than oxygen. “You look good.” He didn’t but Aaron said it anyways, because if he stops to think for a second about how shattered Justin looks he won’t be able to get through a simple coffee date.

Aaron sits across from him and for a moment there’s an awkward silent before he snaps into it and gently lifts the box full of Justin’s things and hands it to him. “I don’t think there’s anything fragile in there, so nothing was hopefully broken on the plane…”

He watches Justin break the tape seal and lift the lid of the cardboard to peer inside the box as if he thinks Cerrone is going to jump out of it or something. Justin glances over the array of things inside before he sets it aside and moves his eyes back to the person across from him.

“How—“

“So—“

They both start talking at the same time then pause and exchange knowing smiles with a light chuckle, Aaron shaking his head. “How’s staying on Detox’s couch? Hear anything interesting?” Justin scrunches his noise in that adorable way and shrugs his shoulders. “He just has a lot of sex, and I hear all of it.”

They laugh again at the irony of it all and to probably also hide the fact that both of their hearts are beating in the same proximity, and it’s almost suffocating for both of them. Aaron pushes his glasses up his nose and looks down at the table in front of him, deciding to count the rings in the fake wood.

“H-How’s your boyfriend…?” Justin’s voice gently drawls but Aaron knows it’s not his usual tone, it’s nervousness. He doesn’t answer right away, and he can’t explain why just his boyfriend’s name on Justin’s lips gives him an uneasy feeling. He opens his mouth to respond after what feels like an eternity but he doesn’t mean to say it, it just comes out,

“I miss you.”

Justin’s eyes don’t move from his, they widen a bit, but they still remain locked onto Aaron’s. He doesn’t flinch at the words either, but his bottom lip quivers and Aaron has to look away because if one of them starts crying right now that’s it.

Justin waits a beat before he whispers back brokenly, “I miss you so fucking much, it’s insane.”

Aaron puts his face in his hands and feels the hot sting of water against his eyelids, he can’t fucking stand it because the love of his life is sitting across from him, just as broken and just as destroyed.

The taller queen shakes his head and runs a stressed hand through his hair, inhaling sharply as he too tries not to cry. It’s like they’re right back in their old home in Pittsburgh the night they broke up, the night their worlds ran at full speed into each other and everything shattered into a billion pieces upon collision.

He doesn’t know what to say, he doesn’t know how to make things right—he can’t even make sense of his world right now. He has all he’s ever wanted, getting to be a professional drag queen has been his life goal, he should have everything but yet he has nothing. Aaron’s teary voice breaks through his thoughts and he feels his chest seize at the broken words,

“Was it worth it?”

He feels a tear spill from his eye and in all honesty the question, while he was expecting it, hit him like a sixteen wheeler truck speeding on the highway. Flashbacks of that night keep assaulting his brain, tearing him limb from limb once again.

“I don’t know Aaron, I don’t know…” He replies just as brokenly and finally Aaron looks at him, his eyes are now red and tears have stained his cheeks but to Justin he has never looked more real.

“It breaks—“, Aaron bites his lip, trying to hold back more tears, but continues in a small voice,

“It breaks my fucking heart just to look at you.”

Whatever is left of Justin’s heart shatters in its entirety and he audibly gasps softly in pain. He can see it in Aaron’s eyes, and it’s then he realizes even though Aaron had been the one to end it, there are two equally broken hearts here.

“Noodles—“ But before he can say anything the older queen is on his feet and swiftly grabs his things before Justin can stop him, then he’s out the door and all that’s left of him is the box in Justin’s arms, full of memories they once shared.

That night Aaron said yes to Chad’s proposal.

—

Now it’s my time to depart, and I just had a change of heart